where the whispers were coming from or who was doing the whispering, Myron merely reacted. He leapt up, knocking the papers and photographs from the couch. Behind him he could hear the trailer door being smashed open. Myron dropped and rolled behind the couch.
Two men burst into the room holding guns.
They were both young, both pale, both skinny, both on something-what they used to call “heroin chic.” The one on the right had a huge, complicated tattoo coming up out of the collar of his T-shirt, rising up his neck like a flame. The other had the practiced tough-guy goatee.
The one with the goatee said, “What the… we saw him come in.”
“He’s gotta be in the other room. I’ll cover you.”
Still on the floor behind the couch, Myron silently thanked Win for making sure that he was armed. There wasn’t much time. The trailer was tiny. It would only take a few seconds to find Myron. He debated jumping out and yelling, “Freeze!” But both were armed and there was no way to know how they’d react. Neither looked particularly reliable, and thus there was an excellent chance they’d panic and start firing.
No, better to keep them confused. Better to make them scatter.
Myron made a decision. He hoped that it was the correct one, the rational one, and not just the emotional one, the one that yearned to lash out and inflict harm because his father was maybe dying and his brother was… He flashed back to Brad’s passport and realized that he had no idea where his brother was, what he was doing, how much danger he was in.
Clear the mind. Act rationally.
Goatee took two steps toward the bedroom door. Staying low, Myron shifted to the end of the couch. He waited another second, took aim low at Goatee’s knee, and without calling out a warning, Myron pulled the trigger.
The knee exploded.
Goatee let out a shout and collapsed to the ground. His gun skittered across the room. But Myron wasn’t paying attention to that. He ducked low, kept out of sight, and watched for Neck Tattoo’s reaction. If he started firing, Myron had a bead on him. But Neck Tattoo didn’t. He too screamed and, as Myron hoped, he scattered.
Neck Tattoo turned tail and dived back outside. Myron moved fast now. He jumped up and came out from behind the couch. On the floor in front of him, Goatee rolled in agony. Myron bent down, grabbed the man’s face, made him look at him. Then Myron jammed the gun into Goatee’s face.
“Stop screaming or I’ll kill you.”
Goatee quieted the scream to animal-like whimpers.
Myron quickly retrieved the man’s gun and then ran toward the window. He looked out. Neck Tattoo was hopping into a car. Myron checked the plates. New York. He quickly put the letter-number combination into his BlackBerry and sent it to Esperanza. Not much time now. He went back to Goatee.
“Who are you working for?”
Still whimpering he said in a childlike voice: “You shot me!”
“Yes, I know. Who are you working for?”
“Go to hell.”
Myron got down on his haunches. He pressed the barrel of the gun against the man’s other knee. “I really don’t have much time.”
“Please,” he said, his voice going up too many octaves. “I don’t know.”
“What’s your name?”
“What?”
“Your name. Never mind. I’ll call you Goatee. Here’s what’s going to happen, Goatee. I’m going to shoot your other knee now. Then I’ll move to the elbows.”
Goatee was crying. “Please.”
“Eventually you’ll tell me.”
“I don’t know! I swear.”
Someone in the park had probably heard the gunshot. Neck Tattoo might come back with reinforcements. Either way, Myron had very little time here. He had to show he meant business. With a small sigh, Myron began to pull the trigger-he was that far gone-when a moment of common sense pushed through. Even if he could do it-even if he could shoot an unarmed, helpless man-the result of the shot would probably backfire on him. The pain would more likely make Goatee pass out or go into shock than get him to open up.
Still Myron wasn’t sure what he would do when he said, “Last chance…”
Goatee came to the rescue. “His name is Bert! That’s all I know. Bert!”
“Last name?”
“I don’t know! Kevin set it up.”
“Who’s Kevin?”
“The guy who just left me here, man.”
“And what did Bert want you to do?”
“We followed you, man. From the hospital. He said you’d lead us to Kitty Bolitar.”
Man, now Myron really knew that he was slipping. These two numb nuts had been behind him this whole time and Myron never spotted the tail? Pathetic. “And when you found Kitty, what were you supposed to do?”
Goatee started crying again. “Please.”
Myron put the gun against the man’s head. “Look at my eyes.”
“Please.”
“Stop crying and look at my eyes.”
He finally did. He was sniffling, trying to hold it together. His knee was a mess. Myron knew that he would probably never walk again without a limp. One day, that might bother Myron, but he doubted it.
“Tell me the truth and this is all over. You probably won’t even have to go to jail. Lie to me and I shoot you in the head, so there’s no witness. Do you understand?”
He kept his eyes surprisingly steady. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”
“No, I’m not. You know why? Because I’m still the good guy here. I want to stay that way. So just tell me the truth and save us: What were you supposed to do when you found Kitty?”
And then, with sirens signaling the approach of police cars, Goatee gave Myron the answer he expected: “We were supposed to kill you both.”
Myron opened the trailer door. The sirens were louder now.
There was no time for Myron to get to his car. He ran left, away from the Glendale Estates entrance, as two police cars came into the trailer park. A powerful beacon of light from one of the cop cars hit him.
“Stop! Police!”
Myron didn’t listen. The cops gave chase-or at least Myron assumed they did. He never turned around, just kept running. People came out of their trailers to see what the commotion was about, but no one got in his way. Myron had tucked his gun back into his waistband. There was no way he’d take it out and give the cops an excuse to open fire. As long as he wasn’t a physical threat, they wouldn’t shoot.
Right?
The squad car’s loudspeaker came out with a crackle: “This is the police. Stop and put your hands in the air.”
For a moment he almost did it. He could explain. But it would take hours, maybe days, and he simply didn’t have that kind of time. Win had found a way to get them to Adiona Island. Somehow Myron knew that it was going to come back to that place, back to the reclusive Gabriel Wire, and he wasn’t about to give him the chance to slip away.
The trailer park dead-ended into a wooded brush. Myron found a path and started on it. The police called for him to stop again. He darted to the left and kept going. Behind him he could hear movement in the bush. The cops were giving chase into the woods. He picked up his speed, trying to gain some distance. He debated hiding against a boulder or tree while they ran by, but what good would that do him? He needed to get out and free and up to Teterboro Airport.
He heard more shouts, but they were farther back now. He risked a glance behind him. Someone had a flashlight, but they were pretty far away. Fine. Still moving, Myron managed to dig his Bluetooth out of his pocket and jam it into his ear.
