Shotgun Opera

?I can believe it,? Mike said. ?You?d be surprised. I think somebody in your line of work knows all the imaginative things that can be done with piano wire. Or even a simple pair of pliers.?

?Don?t hurt him.? A hint of a plea in her voice.

?Who ordered the hit on Andrew Foley??

?Get me out and I?ll tell you.?

Mike shook the wallet at her. ?I?ll kill him! I?ll cut out his eyes and his tongue and his liver, then I?ll fucking kill him.?

?Don?t!?

?Who ordered the hit??

?My sister!? She sobbed, gasped for air. ?It was my sister.?

Mike blinked. Her sister? ?What are you talking about??

In his peripheral vision, Mike caught a flicker of orange. Something had sparked, more smoke from the engine. Flames.

Mike clutched Meredith?s purse and cell phone and backed away from the chopper.

?Wait!? Panic in her eyes. ?Pull me out!?

A sharp hiss from the engine, a pop, then a belch of fire from the back of the chopper. Heat washed over Mike, blew him back. He scrambled to his feet and ran from the chopper.

Meredith screamed.

Another small pop, then an explosion. Fiery debris flew in all directions. Mike hit the ground, covered his head with his arms. A chunk of charred metal the size of a doormat landed two feet from him. When he looked back, fire had completely engulfed the chopper.

Mike stood, brushed himself off. At this distance, he still felt the heat of the flaming helicopter and backed away a half-dozen steps. He watched the fire and regretted that he?d left the woman inside to burn to death.

He?d planned to shoot her in the head.

* * *

When he returned to the vineyard, simmering rage, the immediate need for blood had subsided. He now felt the aches. Each step was agony in his knees. He tried to remember if he still had any Bengay in the medicine cabinet. His shirt was soaked with sweat.

Although his bloodlust had subsided, his mind-set was the same. Mike?s make-believe life had been swept away by fire. The vineyard had only been the window dressing of his pretense. The real charade had been in his heart and soul, in the belief that he was anything other than a killer. Dan had tried to tell him. It had taken Mike forty years to see that his brother was right.

So if he was a killer, then he would kill. He would stalk and find the ones who deserved it.

Linda and Andrew were waiting for him. They?d wrapped Keone?s body in a dull green blanket. Linda?s eyes were red, cheeks wet. He looked beyond them to the cabin. Now it too was burning.

?It must have been the gas line or something,? Andrew said. ?It just started two minutes ago.?

Mike shook his head, said nothing. He looked at his truck. The windows had been blown out. The entire side of the truck facing the cabin had been scorched black.

Linda stepped close to Mike, put a hand on his arm. ?You okay??

Mike nodded.

?What happened out there??

?I took care of it.? Mike noticed that the Cadillac hadn?t been damaged. He felt in his pockets, found the keys.