There was nobody waiting. The houses were quite a distance apart, so I didn't see any neighbors, either, but I wasn't surprised D.C.'s bedroom suburbs were quite dead during weekdays.
I braced myself; on past form, I'd get ambushed as soon as the car pulled up. The kids would jump out at me, with Marsha and Kev close behind. I always made it look as if I didn't like it, but actually I did. The kids would know I had presents. I'd bought a little Tweety-Pie watch for Aida, and Kelly's was the Goosebumps kids' horror books numbers thirty-one to forty I knew she already had the first thirty. I wouldn't say anything to Aida about forgetting her birthday;
hopefully she'd have forgotten.
I got out of the car and walked toward the front door. Still no ambush. So far, so good.
The front door was open about two inches. I thought, Here we go, what they want me to do is walk into the hallway like Inspector Clouseau, and there's going to be a Kato-type am bush. I pushed the door wide open and called out, 'Hello?
Hello? Anyone home?'
Any minute now the kids would be attacking a leg each.
But nothing happened.
Maybe they had a new plan and were all hidden away somewhere in the house, waiting, trying to muffle their giggles.
Inside the front door there was a little corridor that opened up into a large rectangular hallway with doors leading off to the different downstairs rooms. In the kitchen to my right I heard the sound of a female voice singing a station jingle.
Still no kids. I started tiptoeing toward the noise in the kitchen. In a loud stage whisper! said, 'Well, well, well I'll have to leave ... seeing as nobody's here ... What a shame, because I've got two presents for two little girls...'
To my left was the door to the living room, open about a foot or so. I didn't look in as I walked past, but I saw something in my peripheral vision that at first didn't register. Or maybe it did; maybe my brain processed the information and rejected it as too horrible to be true.
It took a second for it to sink in, and when it did my whole body stiffened.
I turned my head slowly, trying to make sense of what was in front of me.
It was Kev. He was lying on his side on the floor, and his head had been battered to shit by a baseball bat. I knew that, because I could see it on the floor beside him. It was one he'd shown off to me on his last visit, a nice light aluminum one.
He'd shaken his head and laughed when he said the local rednecks called them Alabama lie detectors.
I was still rooted to the spot.
I thought: Fucking hell, he's dead--or should be, looking at the state of him.
What about Marsha and the kids?
Was the killer still in the house?
I had to get a weapon.
There was nothing I could do about Kev at the moment. I didn't even think of him, just that I needed one of his pistols. I knew where all five of them were concealed in the house, always above child level, and always loaded and ready, a magazine on the weapon and a round in the chamber. All Marsha or Kev had to do was pick up one of the weapons and blast anyone who was pissed off at Kev--and there were more than a few of those in the drug community. I thought. Fuck, they 'we got him at last.
Very slowly, I put the presents on the floor. I wanted to listen for any creaking of floors, any movement at all around the house.
The living room was large and rectangular; against one wall was a fireplace. On either side of it were alcoves with bookshelves, and I knew that on the second shelf up, on the right, was the world's biggest, fattest thesaurus, and on top of that, tucked well back out of view, just above head level but close enough to reach up for, was a big fat gun. It was positioned so that as you picked it up it would be in the correct position to fire.
I ran. I didn't even look to see if there was anyone else in the room. Without a weapon, it wouldn't have made much difference.
I reached the bookcase, put my hand up, and took hold of the pistol, spun around, and went straight down onto my knees in the aim position. It was a Heckler & Koch USP 9mm, a fantastic weapon. This one even had a laser sight under the barrel where the beam hits, so does the round.
I took a series of deep breaths. Once I'd calmed myself, I looked down and 'checked chamber.' I got the top slide and pulled it back a bit. I could see the brass casing in position.
Now what was I going to do? I had my car outside; if that got reported and traced, there'd be all kinds of drama. I was still under my alias cover; if I got discovered, that meant the job got discovered, and then I'd be in a world of shit.
I had a quick look at Kevjust in case I could see breathing.
No chance. His brains were hanging out, his face was pulped.
He was dead, and whoever had done it was so blase they'd just thrown the baseball bat down and left it there.
There was blood all over the glass coffee table and the thick shag pile carpet. Some was even splattered on the patio windows. But strangely, apart from that, there wasn't much sign of a struggle. I had to make sure Marsha and the kids weren't still here, tied up in another room or held down by some fucker with a gun to their heads. I was going to have to clear the house.
If only room clearing were as easy as Don Johnson made it look in Miami Vice: run up to the door, get right up against the doorframe, jump out into the middle of it, pistol poised, and win the day. A doorway naturally draws fire, so if you stand in one, you're presenting yourself as a target. If there's a guy waiting for you there with a shotgun, you're dead.
The first room I had to clear was the kitchen; it was the nearest, plus there was sound there.
I was on the opposite side of the living room from the kitchen door. I started to move along the outside wall of the room. I stepped over Kev, not bothering to look at him.
The pistol was out in front of me; it had to be ready to fire as soon as I saw a target. Where your eyes go, the pistol goes.
I mentally divided the room into sections. The first was from the couch halfway across the living room, a distance of about twenty feet; I got there and froze by a big TV stereo setup, which gave me a bit of cover while I cleared the door that led back to the hallway. It was still open.
There was nothing in the hallway. As I moved through, I closed the door behind me. I approached the one to the kitchen. The handle was on the right-hand side; I couldn't see the hinges, so it had to open inward. I moved across to the hinged side and listened. Just above the sound of my breath and that of my heart thumping, I could hear some bonehead going on about 'Injured at work? Fight for compensation through our expert attorneys--and remember, no win, no fee.'
My pistol arm wasn't completely stretched out but the weapon was still facing forward. I leaned over to the handle, turned it, gave the door a push, and moved back. Then I opened it a bit more from the hinge side to see if there was any reaction from inside the kitchen.
I could hear more of the radio and also a washing machine-turning, stopping, turning. But nothing happened.
With the door now open just a few more inches I could see a small part of the kitchen. I moved forward and pushed the door fully open. Still no reaction. Using the doorframe and wall as cover, I edged around slowly.
As the angle between me and the frame increased, I gradually saw more of the room. I took my time so I could take in the information in stages. If I had to react, being two yards away from the doorframe would not affect my shooting, and if it did, I shouldn't be in this business anyway. Using my right thumb, I pushed the laser sight button. A small dot of brilliant red light appeared on the kitchen wall.
I leaned my body over to present as small a target as possible.
If anyone was in the kitchen, all they'd see was a very nervous bit of head, and that would be what they'd have to react to, not the full Don Johnson.
The room was like the Marie Celeste. Food was still on the side in the middle of preparation. Kev had said Marsha was going to cook something special. There were vegetables and opened packs of meat. I closed the door
