I watched the cop go down in a heap, a stunned look in his eyes. The man in the doorway, Barnes, didn’t move. The other cop, Denton, stood there staring at the body, a sick smile on his face.
The stench of blood and gunpowder soiled the air, death lingering like steam, and it was blowing my way.
“Better to take him out of the equation, leave it to the three that matter,” Denton said, looking at the assassin in the doorway. “Name’s Leonard Denton. Bet you don’t remember me, do you?”
The assassin flinched, his shotgun wavering.
“I just want Parker,” Barnes said, but his voice sounded unsure now, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle.
“Come on, Shelton. You remember, don’t you? That night in your loft? That pretty wife of yours? Or maybe you’d remember better if I had a hood on. Your first and last warning, asshole.”
Barnes’s arm went slack. The gun dropped to his side. With his other hand he gently touched his chest, as though making sure something was still there.
“Anne…” Barnes said, his voice tremulous. I couldn’t move. Something was playing out here, an old wound being reopened between these two men.
Denton nodded. “That’s right,” he said.
“DiForio,” Barnes added. Denton nodded.
“Sometimes you have to do whatever it takes to get ahead in this world. When I was a rookie, I said, ‘Hey, what’s the big deal if I take a few bucks, kill some low-level punk who needed killing?’ You pissed off the wrong guy, my friend, and Michael made it my job to fix you. Problem was, Shelton, you didn’t die. Your wife died like she was supposed to, bless her heart, but you didn’t take the hint. You came back and killed everyone else, somehow missed out on me. My good luck, I suppose.” Barnes’s gun hand shifted, the shotgun stirring slightly. “Your wife- Anne was her name, right? She was a pretty thing. Shame it had to end that way for her.”
Without warning, Denton raised his gun, three more explosions ripping through the room. Barnes flew backward against the wall, the shotgun coming to rest on his knee. I heard a ragged breath escape his mouth, then he lay still. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. But then it snapped into my head. The puzzle came together.
“You killed Hans Gustofson,” I said to Denton, stepping into the light. “You were the one who tried to steal the album.”
“Guilty,” Denton said, raising his hands above his head. “And back up, will you Parker? I need to wait until the cops get here before I do this. Can’t just sit on a body for ten minutes, you know?”
“Why?” I asked. Denton sighed, but his body remained solid.
“You know, I guess I’m just like every other nine-to-five schlub. Just didn’t see my career progressing the way I wanted,” Denton said. There was a hungry ambition in his eyes that chilled me to the bone. All’s fair, they say. No matter whose life has to be destroyed.
Or ended.
“Working for Michael DiForio has its perks, but I genuinely did enjoy law enforcement. Problem was they don’t want to give you a break unless you make a major case, and I wasn’t as fortunate as our friend Joe here.”
“So you steal the album, pretend you’re the hero.”
“That’s one of two possibilities.”
“And the other was switching sides, bringing it to Jimmy Saviano.”
Denton’s smile widened.
“You’re a bright guy, I’ll give you that.” Outside the building, I heard several car doors open and slam shut. Footsteps on the pavement. I turned to the window, saw a dozen uniformed policemen approaching the gate.
“That’s my cue,” Denton said. “It’s been fun, Parker, but I’m tired of this. I kind of wish your friend Barnes there had gotten off a shot, but with all the shit you pulled the NYPD won’t really ask questions. If only you weren’t so goddamn persistent, none of this would have happened. Now the only thing I have to do is find Ms. Davies. I’m guessing she’s got the album, am I right? I’m sure she won’t be too hard to find or persuade.”
Hate bubbled up inside me as I stepped forward. “You touch her with the tip of one finger, I swear you’ll die. I’ll come back from the fucking grave if I have to.”
Denton seemed to consider this. “You know, let’s see if that’s true.”
The muzzle flashed, then I heard a deafening roar, and a searing pain sliced through my chest. The blast threw me onto the floor, a burning sensation eating through my torso like scalding water. I cried out, gasped for air. It felt like a 400-pound weight was pressing on my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. I looked up, my breathing ragged, to see Denton approaching.
“It’s a shame, Parker. You probably would’ve made a good reporter.” The gun was less than a foot from my face. I closed my eyes, waiting for the world to end.
“No!”
The scream came from the doorway. It was Amanda, and she was clutching the album. Denton turned and aimed the gun at her, and she screamed again.
Summoning my last bit of energy, the hatred in me overcoming the wretched pain, I lunged at Denton, driving my shoulder into his back. He toppled forward, landed hard on the floor.
The gun exploded again, splinters flying out of the wall. I couldn’t feel my left arm, but with my right I grabbed his gun hand. I was stronger than Denton, but weakened from the gunshot. I lifted my fist and brought it crashing down on Denton’s face. Again. And again, harder. I heard a snap as his nose broke, blood spurting out. Again. Blood covered my hand. I could feel nothing.
Denton yelped beneath me and we both struggled to our feet. My hand was still on the gun, holding on for life.
Like that night…
A sticky wheezing sound came from my chest with every breath. Denton took a step back, gaining leverage, and I braced myself, my legs rubbery, barely able to hold my weight. But instead of using his leverage to better grip the gun, Denton swung his leg forward and up. Right into my groin.
I fell back, pain like I’d never experienced shooting through every nerve in my body. I writhed on the floor, my chest burning, my energy completely sapped. My limbs didn’t work. I looked up to see Denton standing over me, a horrible leer on his face. He wiped blood from his busted nose, laughed at it.
“Goodbye, Parker.”
His gun traced an invisible line between my eyes.
Suddenly a gunshot rang out. Then another. I saw smoke curling out of Denton’s chest. The man looked stunned, unbelieving. Small dark patches bloomed under his white shirt, visible in the moonlight. One more shot shattered the air and Denton fell forward, his gun clattering on the wood. His body spasmed once and then lay still. I looked to the corner.
Barnes was sitting up. His face was pale, drained, and staring at Leonard Denton’s fallen body. He blinked twice, like a sleep-deprived man trying to stay awake.
Like me, Barnes was losing the battle.
“For Anne,” he whispered, then his eyes closed. The shotgun fell from his grasp.
A moment later Amanda burst into the room, tears flowing down her cheeks. She knelt down beside me, wrapping her arms around my head. I felt sleepy, leaned into her, feeling my body slowly drifting away.
“Oh, my God,” she said. “Don’t worry, Henry. You’ll be okay.” Hot tears dripped onto my face, warmth like a comforting hand. I let it soak in, letting my mind fall away. “It’s all over.”
I heard the sound of footsteps, looked up through a haze to see a dozen policemen enter the room, guns drawn. Immediately they came to me. Two men and a woman leaned over Mauser’s body. I heard a raspy breath as they placed an oxygen bag over his face, loading him onto a stretcher. Mauser’s fingers twitched, and he was carried out.
I could tell Denton was dead from the way they examined him.
A mustached officer knelt down next to me. My eyelids felt heavy and I let them close. Through the darkness I heard Amanda screaming, the sound so distant, so far away. Struggling to open my eyes I saw an officer holding her back. I smiled at Amanda, fell further and further into the darkness.
“Barnes,” I said, my voice merely an echo.
