to hurt him?
He came at me again, and I struck his left cheek. I felt bone crush under my fist. He screamed, then moaned, but he didn’t fall, didn’t stop coming after me.
“You can’t hurt me,” he gasped, growled. “You’re going to die. You can’t stop it from happening. You can’t stop this now.”
Gary Soneji came at me again. I finally raised the Glock, got it out. Hurt him, hurt him, kill him right now.
I fired! And although it happened fast, it seemed like slow motion. I thought I could feel the gunshot travel through Soneji’s body. The shot bulldozed through his lower jaw. It must have blown his tongue away, his teeth.
What remained of Soneji reached out to me, tried to hold on, to claw at my face and throat. I pushed him away. Hurt him, hurt him, kill him.
He staggered several steps down the darkened tunnel. I don’t know where he got the strength. I was too tired to chase him, but I knew I didn’t have to.
He fell toward the stone floor. He dropped like a deadweight. As he hit the ground, the bomb in his pocket ignited. Gary Soneji exploded in flames. The tunnel behind him was illuminated for at least a hundred feet.
Soneji screamed for a few seconds, then he burned in silence-a human torch in his cellar. He had gone straight to hell.
It was finally over.
Chapter 64
THE JAPANESE have a saying-after victory, tighten your helmet cord. I tried to keep that in mind.
I was back in Washington early on Tuesday, and I spent the whole day at home with Nana and the kids and with Rosie the cat. The morning started when the kids prepared what they called a “bubba-bath” for me. It got better from there. Not only didn’t I tighten my helmet cord, I took the damn thing off.
I tried not to be upset by Soneji’s horrible death, or his threat against me, I’d lived with worse from him in the past. Much worse. Soneji was dead and gone from all of our lives. I had seen him blown to hell with my own eyes. I’d helped blow him there.
Still, I could hear his voice, his warning, his threat at different times during my day at home.
You’re going to die. You can’t stop it from happening.
I’m coming for you, from the grave if I have to.
Kyle Craig called from Quantico to congratulate me and ask how I was doing. Kyle still had an ulterior motive. He tried to suck me into his Mr. Smith case, but I told him no. Definitely no way. I didn’t have the heart for Mr. Smith right now. He wanted me to meet his superagent Thomas Pierce. He asked if I’d read his faxes on Pierce. No.
That night I went to Christine’s house, and I knew I had made the right decision about Mr. Smith and the FBI’s continuing problems with the case. I didn’t spend the night because of the kids, but I could have. I wanted to. “You promised you’d be around until we were both at least in our eighties. This is a pretty good start,” she said when I was leaving for the night.
On Wednesday, I had to go to the office to start closing down the Soneji case. I wasn’t thrilled that I had killed him, but I was glad it was over. Everything but the blasted paperwork.
I got home from work around six. I was in the mood for another “bubba-bath,” maybe some boxing lessons, a night with Christine.
I walked in the front door of my house-and all hell broke loose.
Chapter 65
NANA AND the kids were standing before me in the living room. So was Sampson, several detective friends, neighbors, my aunties, a few uncles, and all of their kids. Jannie and Damon started the group yell on cue, “Surprise, Daddy! Surprise party!” Then everybody else in kingdom come joined in. “Surprise, Alex, surprise!”
“Who’s Alex? Who’s Daddy?” I played dumb at the door. “What the hell is going on here?”
Toward the back of the room I could see Christine, at least her smiling face. I waved at her, even as I was being hugged and pounded on the back and shoulders by all my best friends in the world.
I thought Damon was acting a little too respectful, so I swooped him up in my arms (this was probably the last year I would be able to do it) and we hollered assorted sports and war cries, which seemed to fit the party scene.
It’s not usually a very charitable idea to celebrate the death of another human being but, in this case, I thought a party was a terrific idea. It was an appropriate and fitting way to end what had been a sad and scary time for all of us. Somebody had hung a droopy, badly hand-painted banner over the doorway between the living room and dining area. The banner read: Congratulations, Alex! Better luck next lifetime, Gary S.!
Sampson led me into the backyard, where even more friends were waiting in ambush. Sampson had on baggy black shorts, a pair of combat boots, and his shades. He wore a beat-up Homicide cap and had a silver loop in one ear. He was definitely ready to party, and so was I.
Detectives from all around D.C. had come to offer their hearty congratulations, but also to eat my food and drink my liquor.
Succulent kabobs and racks of baby-back ribs were arranged beside homemade breads, rolls, and an impressive array of hotsauce bottles. It made my eyes water just to look at the feast. Aluminum tubs overflowed with beer and ale and soda pop on ice. There was fresh corn on the cob, colorful fruit salads, and summer pastas by the bowlful.
Sampson grabbed my arm tight, and hollered so I could hear him over the noise of joyful voices and also Toni Braxton wailing her heart out on the CD Player. “You party on, Sugar. Say hello to all your other guests, all your peeps. I plan to be here until closing time.”
“I’ll catch you later,” I told him. “Nice boots, nice shorts, nice legs.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you. You got that son of a bitch, Alex! You did the right thing. May his evil, hair- bag ass burn and rot in hell. I’m just sorry I wasn’t there with you.”
Christine had taken a quiet spot in the corner of the yard under our shade tree. She was talking with my favorite aunt, Tia, and my sister-in-law, Cilla. It was like her to put herself last on the greeting line.
I kissed Tia and Cilla, and then reached out and gave Christine a hug. I held her and didn’t want to let go. “Thank you for coming here for all this madness,” I said. “You’re the best surprise of all.”
She kissed me, and then we pulled apart. I think we were overly conscious that Damon and Jannie had never seen us together. Not like this anyway.
“Oh shit,” I muttered. “Look there.”
The two little devil-demons were watching us. Damon winked outrageously, and Jannie made an okay sign with her busy and quick little fingers.
“They’re way, way ahead of us,” Christine said and laughed. “Figures, Alex. We should have known.”
“Why don’t you two head on up to bed?” I kidded the kids.
“It’s only six o’clock, Daddy!” Jannie yelped, but she was grinning and laughing and so was everybody else.
It was a wild, let-loose party and everybody quickly got into the spirit. The monkey of Gary Soneji was finally off my back. I spotted Nana talking to some of my police friends.
I heard what she was saying as I passed. It was pure Nana Mama. “There is no history that I know of that has led from slavery to freedom, but there is sure a history from the slingshot to the Uzi,” she said to her audience of homicide detectives. My friends were grinning and nodding their heads as if they understood what she was saying, where she was coming from. I did. For better or for worse, Nana Mama had taught me how to think.
On the lighter side there was dancing to everything, from Marsalis to hip-hop. Nana even danced some.
