Part 19 (1/2)

”Radar,” said Allie, ”let it go. You can understand why she doesn't believe you.”

”Yeah, I can,” I agreed. ”I've learned a valuable lesson in credibility through all this, I'm telling you that right now.” A thought crossed my mind. ”But tell me something,” I said. ”How did you find us here?”

Scovil hooked a thumb at Hines. ”He told me where he'd be. In case he needed backup. Which, to the look of things, he does.”

”So you were in it together?”

”From the start.” She smiled in mock surprise. ”What? You think you're the only one who can spin a yarn?”

”And the bit about killing us all with his gun?”

”Don't tell me you can't take a joke.”

”Some joke,” muttered Mirplo. ”I think I c.r.a.pped my pants.”

Scovil waved the gun lazily back and forth. ”Right. Get off him now. Wrestling hour is over.”

We rolled off of Hines. With a fair amount of bruised dignity, he rose to his feet, wiped off what mud he could ...

... then popped Scovil in the jaw.

I'm not sure Hines could've taken Scovil in a fair fight, she was that staunch, but sucker punched as she was, she went down hard. The gun flew up out of her hand. In one smooth motion, Hines caught it on the fly by the barrel and gonked Scovil on the skull. Lights out.

”She ...” started Allie. She didn't get any further.

”She's my partner?” mocked Hines. ”Guess she's not the only one who can spin a yarn.”

Yeah, I guess. In my mind I quickly restacked the facts. If Scovil and Hines weren't together (and judging from the heap of Scovil lying at his feet, I think you could take that as read), then from the start, all she was to him was a problem to solve. But which kind of problem? Honest cop or compet.i.tion? Even at that moment, I couldn't confidently say, but I realized that from Hines's point of view, it wouldn't matter. He couldn't stand to let her s.h.i.+ne a light on his operation, and as for sharing the take, well, let's just say that sharing wasn't his strong suit. Now, of course, it had all gone to h.e.l.l, and Hines had the haunted look of a bunny in a leg trap wondering, Well, how much of this will I have to gnaw off? Well, how much of this will I have to gnaw off?

Hines positioned himself near me in the mud. He picked my nose with his gun muzzle. I could smell the acrid scent of its recent discharge. I wanted to sneeze, but thought maybe I wouldn't. ”This is your last chance to be honest,” he said.

”I'll take it!” I cried.

”The dash cash. Is it real?”

”I ...” I hesitated. Honesty did not come naturally to me. ”I may have overstated the exact amount.”

”Is there five figures?”

”Oh, definitely.”

”It'll have to do.”

So here was the new play. Hines and I would leave everyone here, locked up. We'd go back to my place and dig up the dash cash. If it was there-at least five figures-Hines would give me the key to the padlock, and I could come and fetch my friends at my leisure. ”Or not,” he said. ”That'll be up to you.” I have to tell you that I found this statement very offensive, which was a measure either of how far I'd come or how far gone I was. In any case, I didn't hesitate to take the deal. Anything that made s.p.a.ce between Allie and Hines made sense to me.

Hines unlocked the padlock and extracted me from the Mobius cable. He rolled me over in the mud and held me, p.r.o.ne, at gunpoint, while the others locked themselves back up, adding the limp Scovil to the chain. If she ever woke up, there'd be a fourth for bridge. Then he bound me and hustled me into his car.

All the way back down the mountain, I tried to make chitchat with Hines, but he wasn't in a gabby mood. It was night now, and though I knew vaguely where in the mountains we were (I saw a sign for Cedar Springs) I feared I'd have a b.i.t.c.h of a time finding the others in the dark.

Once again, and for what I hoped was the last time, I tried to play the game from Hines's side of the board. He'd be disappointed, no doubt, at finding only ten grand in dash cash, but it'd be enough at least to get him to whatever offsh.o.r.e nest he had undoubtedly feathered in advance. What he needed was a head start, clear transit through some airport or across some border. It wouldn't serve him for me to send up a signal flare the moment he was out of my sight. I suppose he'd feel he had to tie me up or something. I could live with that.

I know what you're thinking. I should have been thinking it, too. But every time I thought my head was starting to clear, it turned out that it wasn't.

So when we got back to my place and Hines had me dig up my ammo case from its hillside home, I stood there feeling rather grand as he counted out the money. At least I'd told the truth about that. Honesty? Best policy? Yeah!

”That's it?” asked Hines.

”It,” I agreed. The rain was really pouring down again, and the hillside was shot through with rivulets of flowing debris. ”I have some vintage baseball cards if you want those, too.” I slipped on the slanty slope as I turned and headed back up to my place.

”Stop right there,” he said.

”No baseball cards?” But before I turned around, I knew he'd pulled his stupid gun again, and speaking of stupid, I guess I get the prize for that. I should have realized on the car ride down from the mountains that Hines didn't need a short head start but a long one. Just tying me up was not going to cut it. But murdering me and leaving me on a wet hillside ... yeah, that'd do.

”Oh, what is this?” I asked tiredly.

”What do you think it is?”

”Look,” I said, ”all I want is to walk away. I won't drop a dime. Really. You can trust me.”

We both knew how ridiculous that sounded.

And you know what? I was kind of ready to go. After all, I'd saved Allie, right?

Right? Sure, right.

Except after he'd done me, what was to stop Hines from going back up the mountain and finis.h.i.+ng the job? Once you get into murder, the actual body count becomes somewhat moot.

Well, that just completely and utterly burned my bacon. Here I'd made a reasonable deal with the man (giving up $10,000 is not nothing!), and he'd treated me like some kind of schoolyard mark. Which, I guess you'd have to say, I was.

So there we stood on the hillside, rain pouring down, mud covering our shoes, one guy holding a gun on the other. A real noir moment. Far below I could see the glowing lights of the Java Man. I thought of all the times I'd been up and down the hill to that place. I knew that slope pretty well. I knew how treacherous it could be, even when half of it wasn't draining away in the rain.

I also knew how many neighbors' windows looked out on that tiny slice of urban verdance.

”On your knees,” hissed Hines. ”Now.”

”You know what? No.” It was the hiss that gave him away. He wanted to keep this whole thing nice and quiet: another skull-gonk, say, then a smother in mud or similar silent demise.

Hiss notwithstanding, Hines wasn't ready to concede the point. ”Do it,” he said, ”or I'll shoot you where you stand.”

”Shoot,” I said. ”Go ahead. And everyone will hear, and you won't even make it out of this neighborhood, much less on the last flight to Wherethef.u.c.kistan or whatnot.” I've said it before and I'll say it again: The grift is like poker; when you're down to deuces, deuces is what you play. And when you think the other guy is bluffing, you go with your gut, and raise.

I turned and took a single step uphill.

Blam! A single shot rang out. A single shot rang out.