'Did you love your son, Ms. Yeller?'
'What?'
'Did you love your son?'
'Get out. Now.'
'If you cared about him at all, help me find out what happened to him.'
She glared at him. 'Don't give me that,' she countered. 'You don't care about my boy. You're trying to find out who killed that white girl.'
'Maybe. But Valerie Simpson's death and your son's are connected. That's why I need your help.'
She shook her head. 'You don't listen too good, do you? I told you before: Curtis is dead. Can't change that.'
'Your son wasn't the type to rob. He wasn't the type to carry a gun or threaten the police with one. That's just not the boy you raised.'
'Don't matter,' she said. 'He's dead. Can't bring him back.'
'What was he doing at the tennis club that night?'
'I don't know.'
'Where did you suddenly get all your money?'
Pow. Deanna Yeller looked up, startled. The old change-topic attention-getter. Works every time. 'What?'
'Your house in Cherry Hills,' Myron said. 'It was a cash deal four months ago. And your bank account at First Jersey. All cash deposits within the past half year. Where did the money come from, Deanna?'
Her face grew angry. Then suddenly she relaxed and smiled eerily. 'Maybe I stole it,' she said, 'just like my son. You gonna report me?'
'Or maybe it's a payoff.'
'A payoff? For what?'
'You tell me.'
'No,' she said. 'I don't have to tell you nothing. Get out.'
'Why are you here in New York?'
'To see the sights. Now leave.'
'One of those sights Duane Richwood?'
Double pow. She stopped. 'What?'
'Duane Richwood. The man who was in your room the other night.'
She stared at him. 'You were following us?'
'No. Just him.'
Deanna Yeller looked horror-stricken. 'What kind of man are you?' she said slowly. 'You get off on that kind of thing, watching other people and all? Checking their bank accounts? Following them around like a Peeping Tom?' She opened the door. 'Don't you have no shame at all?'
The argument was a little too close for comfort. 'I'm trying to find a killer,' Myron argued, but his tone rang lamely in his own ears. 'Maybe the person who killed your son.'
'And it don't matter who you hurt to do it, right?'
'That's not true.'
'If you really want to do some good, then just drop this whole thing.'
'What so you mean by that?'
She shook her head. 'Curtis is dead. So is Valerie Simpson. Errol…' She stopped. 'It's enough.'
'What's enough? What about Errol?'
But she kept shaking her head. 'Just let it go, Myron. For everyone's sake. Just let it go.'
Chapter 35
Jessica felt the cold barrel of the gun against her temple.
'What do you want?' she asked.
Aaron signaled. The man behind her covered her mouth with his free hand. He pressed her hard against him. Jessica could feel hot spittle on her neck. It was hard to breathe. She twisted her head back and forth. Her chest hitched as she scrambled for more air. Panic seized her.
Aaron rose off the couch. The black man moved a step closer, his gun still pointed at her.
'No reason for preliminaries,' Aaron said calmly. He took off his white jacket. He wore no shirt underneath, revealing instead the hairless, bodybuilder physique. He flexed a little. His pectoral muscles made ripples, like a stadium crowd doing the wave. 'If you can still speak when we're through, make sure you tell Myron it was me.' He cracked his knuckles. 'I'd hate for my work to go unaccredited.'
'Should I break her jaw?' the main with the fishnet asked. 'So she can't yell or nothing.'
Aaron thought a moment. 'No,' he said. 'I kind of enjoy a good yell now and again.'
All three men laughed.
'I go second,' the black man said.
'Like hell,' the man with the fishnet countered.
'You always go before me,' the black man whined.
'All right, we'll flip for it.'
'You got a coin? I never carry change.'
'Shut up,' Aaron said.
Silence.
Jessica struggled feverishly, but the man in the fishnet was too strong. She bit down and managed to skim one of his fingers. He yelped and called her a bitch. Then he bent her head back in a way it was never supposed to go. Pain shot down her spine. Her eyes widened.
Aaron was about to unbutton his pants when it happened.
A gunshot. Or more than one gunshot. It sounded to Jessica like only one, but it had to be more. The hand pressed hard against her mouth slackened and slid off. The gun against her temple dropped to the floor. She turned just enough to see the man behind her no longer had a face or even much of a head. He was dead well before his legs realized it and let him cave onto the floor.
At seemingly the same time, the back half of the black man's head flew across the room. He too fell to the floor in a bloody heap.
Aaron's speed was uncanny. Seemingly before the first bullet even bit its target he had rolled into a crouch and whipped out a gun. Everything – the shots, the men going down, Aaron rolling to safety – had taken less than two seconds. Aaron came up aiming his gun at Win, who aimed his right back. Jessica stood frozen. Win must have come in through the terrace window, though how he could have gotten there and how long he'd been there Jessica could not say.
Win smiled casually and gave a half-nod. 'My, my, Aaron, you're looking rather buff.'
'I try to stay in shape,' Aaron said. 'Nice of you to notice.'
The two men continued to aim their guns at each other. Neither blinked. Neither stopped smiling. Jessica had not moved. Her body quaked as though from fever. She felt something sticky on her face and realized it was probably brain matter from the man at her feet.
'I have an idea,' Aaron said.
'An idea?'
'For how to end this deadlock. One I think you'll like, Win.'
'Do tell,' Win said.
'We both put our guns down at the same time.'
'So far it doesn't sound very appealing,' Win said.
'I'm not finished.'
'How rude of me. Please continue.'
'We've both killed men with our bare hands,' Aaron said. 'We both know we like it. A lot. We both know there are very few worthy adversaries in this world. We both know we are rarely if ever seriously challenged.'
'So?'
'So I'm suggesting the ultimate test.' Aaron's grin grew brighter. 'You and me. Man to man, hand-to-hand combat. What do you say?'
Win chewed on his upper lip. 'Intriguing,' he said.
Jessica tried to say something, but her tongue would not obey. She just stood there, stone-faced; the thing that used to wear fishnet shirts bled without a twitch.
'One condition,' Win said.
'What's that?'
'No matter who wins, Jessica goes free.'
Aaron shrugged. 'Doesn't matter. Frank will get her some other time.'
'Maybe. But not tonight'
'Fine then,' Aaron said. 'But she can't leave until it's over.'
Win nodded at her. 'Wait by the door, Jessica. When the fight ends, run.'
'But you have to wait until it's over,' Aaron added.
Jessica found her voice. 'How will I know when it's over?'
