I nod.
– The nephews.
– Yes?
– They found me.
– And?
– I killed them, David.
– Yes. What else could have happened? Always you are underestimated, Henry. Always.
– Except by you.
He shakes his head and holds up a hand.
– No. Even by me. On some occasions, even by me. Do you have any other weapons?
I take out the sap and put it with the knife.
He smiles.
– You will have to turn around and raise your arms.
I do it.
He comes close behind me and runs his hands down my arms and sides. I flinch when he touches the ribs.
– An injury?
He lifts my shirt and looks at the tape.
– The nephews?
– Yeah.
He drops my shirt and finishes patting me down.
– Yes. That is good.
I turn around.
– What now?
– Branko.
I jerk my head around, expecting to find him behind me. But he’s not.
David pats my shoulder.
– No, Henry. There is time. He will not sneak up on you.
– Where is he?
– Here. In the bedroom. I am not a fool. I would not have you here and be alone. No matter, no matter how much I trust that you love your parents, I would not do that.
– So?
– So we will go in. You will see him. We will talk for another moment or two. And he will take you away somewhere. Yes?
– Yeah. Sure. That was the deal.
– Yes. That was the deal.
He gestures to the hall, to the doors that open off the hall. Two of them are open: one the kitchen, the other the bathroom. The closed door will be the bedroom.
The deliberateness of the exercise has kept it at a distance, but now, walking up the hall, my heart starts to bang. It bangs, and each beat seems to knock against my ribs and pump up the pressure in my face.
My feet stop. Just short of the door, my feet stop.
– Henry?
I try to tell him I’m OK, try to tell him I just need a second, but I can’t get the words to fit together in my mouth. He steps around me, looks at my face.
– Yes. It is hard.
I can’t even nod.
– Here.
He tugs the water bottle from my frozen hand, opens it, holds it to my mouth. He tilts the bottle, water dribbles off my lips, I start to swallow. I reach up and take the bottle, drink a tiny bit more, and lower it from my mouth.
– Thanks.
– Of course.
He hands me the cap and I put it back on.
– That is better?
– Yeah, better.
– Good, good.
He puts his hand on the doorknob.
– Because, Henry, there is, I am afraid, one more thing you will have to do.
He opens the door.
It’s a small room. There is a bed for taking naps on, a TV, a comfortable chair, and a matching footstool. And there is Mickey’s mother, bound and gagged in the chair. And there is Branko, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Branko looks from the woman to the door as it opens. David is standing with one hand on the knob, holding the door open, waiting for me to walk past him into the room. He is watching my face, waiting to see the surprise there when I register his final twist of the knife, when I realize he wants me to kill Anna before he’ll send me away with Branko, before he will ensure my parents’ safety. The smile on his face says it all.
And I do see.
I see what I get.
But I don’t want it.
And I’m not going to take it.
Too late, Branko sees what I have in my hand.
– David!
But David is enjoying the moment so thoroughly, he doesn’t see the water bottle coming until I smash it across the side of his head.
The shock of the blow sends the bottle spinning from my hand and David toward the floor. I grab him before he can go down and jerk him up in front of me, my arm around his neck. Branko comes off the bed, the .22 Magnum in his hand.
We freeze.
David is slack in my arms, blood is leaking from his left ear.
Branko stands by the bed, the gun out, but not yet raised.
I look at Mickey’s mother and back at Branko.
– That’s pretty fucked up, Branko.
He brings his empty left hand slowly to his face and adjusts his glasses.
– David will have things his way. Always.
– Still.
He lowers his hand.
– Yes. Still. It is not how I would have wanted this.
– You’re a pro, Branko.
He tilts his head.
– My mother would not be proud.
– Neither would mine, man.
He gives his little laugh-grunt.
David stirs in my arms.
I charge Branko, shoving David ahead of me.
The gun comes up. Branko wastes a moment trying to get some exposed part of me in his sights, then he shoots at our legs. He gets off two rounds. One bullet snaps into the floor, raising a cloud of tiny splinters. I feel the other one, or at least the shock of it as it enters David’s thigh. And then we are plowing into Branko.
He drops his shoulder to take the blow, but the mass of two bodies striking him sends him backward onto the bed. David is sandwiched between us, howling, his wounded thigh being knocked about.
