No. Better to get Lupita away from him. Get a clear shot.
In Spanish, I said, “Lupita, when I tell you, bite his arm as hard as you can. He’ll let go. Then run.”
“No!” Markey yelled. The patch of his forehead that I could see was red with rage. The single eye bulged. “Stop! What are you saying to her?”
“I’m telling her to stay calm. I’ve told her that she and I will trade places, and she’ll be free. You win, Markey.” To Lupita, I said, “¿Lo entiendes?” Do you understand?
Lupita’s eyes were on me now. Focused. She gave the slightest dip with her chin.
But Markey tightened his hold on her neck. The veins in his forearm popped as he pressed her throat, the force lifting her off her feet. Her eyes bulged, and her feet kicked as she fought for air. Any more pressure and he would crush her larynx.
“Drop your gun now,” he said, “and kick it over here.”
The moment of truth.
Shit.
His wolfish laugh rang off the walls.
Then a gunshot boomed from up the stairs, and a bullet whined off the wall near Markey.
He jerked at the sound.
I screamed, “¡Ahora!” and Lupita sank her teeth into his arm and broke free.
Markey surged into the stairwell, stepping clear of the door. I could see him plainly now, dressed in black tactical clothes, one hand clenched around a large knife, the other reaching to swing around an AR-15 on a sling. The insanity in his eyes glowed like flames.
I raised my gun. But then Lupita was running straight for me, her body blocking my aim.
He’ll kill her, I thought. Then me.
Lupita reached me, threw her arms around my body.
Another boom from the top of the stairs. The round caught Markey in the gut.
And then another. Boom!
Markey’s forehead exploded. He took a single step back and sank to the ground, as if he were making himself comfortable. His remaining eye looked soft and surprised.
Bandoni came down the steps. He stopped at the bottom and stared at Markey’s corpse.
“They killed Lloyd,” I said.
He glanced over at me, then back at Markey. He toed the body so that it tipped over and sprawled in the blood pouring onto the floor.
“Good riddance,” Bandoni said. “Courtesy of the old, fat fuck.”
CHAPTER 28
When some of us look inside ourselves, we find a whole lot of ugly.
—Sydney Parnell. Personal journal.
Death metal music began to blast from the basement. Low-tuned guitars, distorted drumming. Vocals that sounded like the devil quarreling with himself.
Craze, I figured. Putting out the welcome mat.
Bandoni sat on the bottom stair, gun up, watching the open door to the basement with the demeanor of a hawk hunting roadkill—disgust and anticipation pulling his heavy features into half-lidded predation.
“There’s a wide hall in the basement with twelve rooms,” Lupita told us, her voice raw and hoarse, her throat bruised. “Six to the left of the door and six to the right. But there might be more. They kept us locked away, so I didn’t see everything.”
She and I sat on the floor near the stairs. She was shivering. Markey had carved long lines into her back, and her dress clung to the wounds.
I shrugged out of my coat, removed the extra ammo mags from the pocket, and settled the coat over Lupita’s shoulders.
I slid the mags into the pocket of my suit coat.
“Where are the women?” I asked.
“Sometimes they keep us together in a room at the far end, on the right. But usually we are held apart. He will kill them now, you know. If you don’t hurry.” She pulled on the coat, cried out as it brushed across her injuries.
“What about weapons?”
“I saw them with guns. But Craze . . .” She shuddered. “He prefers the knife.”
I looked over at my partner, who nodded to indicate he was listening.
I turned back to Lupita. “What kind of guns?”
“I don’t know.”
“Small ones?” I asked. “Like mine?”
“Yes. But also big guns. Long ones. Like that one.” She tipped her head toward the AR-15.
“Okay.” I stood and helped Lupita to her feet. “You ready?”
She took a shuddering breath, coughed. Straightened her shoulders. “I’m ready.”
I led her over to the stairs and watched her hobble up. With her right hand, she gripped the railing. In her left, she held my phone.
At the turn in the stairs, she looked back at us, her face pale, her eyes as large as plates in her small face. She gave me a thumbs-up and disappeared around the corner.
She was heading for the third floor, where she should be able to get a signal. She’d dial 911 first. Then Cohen.
Bandoni sighed and made as if to stand before thinking better of it. His face had gone from red to gray, and a hollowness had found its way into his cheeks.
“You aren’t exactly a new man,” I said.
“Close enough.”
“You didn’t see Craze up there?”
“Nah. That was more of Markey’s bullshit. If that dickwad had shown his face, I would have removed it. He’s in the basement. Like any good troll.”
I turned toward the open door where the light flickered and danced.
I blinked.
Blinked again.
The light shone steadily.
The Sir shimmered into existence beside me.
Don’t lose your nerve, he said over the sound of death metal.
“No.” I bent and picked up Markey’s rifle. It was a dangerous weapon to use when clearing a space because it was all but worthless in close quarters. I walked over to the gap under the stairs where the killers had stashed Lloyd and Kurt and hid the gun behind their bodies. Then I went back to Bandoni.
I offered him my hand. “You ready?”
To my surprise, he grasped it, let me pull him up.
“Thought you’d never ask,” he said.
A flight of steps ended in a T-intersection that split off to the left and the right.
We stood at the top of the stairs, just outside the door. With the music throbbing below our feet, Bandoni leaned close and yelled into my ear.
“When we hit
