Part 15 (2/2)
But neither was Kanan. This block of lard had been lying in wait, and he hadn't spotted him.
The man was three steps and half a second away, confined in a narrow s.p.a.ce. Kanan bunched, threw the door back, and sprang.
The man heard him and began to turn. Kanan swept the man's left knee with his right leg and hit him in the spine flat-handed between the shoulder blades. The man pitched forward. His head cracked the edge of the bench seat and he hit the floor like a pot roast. Kanan stomped on his right hand and took the gun.
He dropped a knee onto the man's back and put the barrel to his skull. ”Who are you?”
Sounding shocked, the man said, ”This is my boat.”
”It isn't. What do you want?”
The man gave up the pretense. Through clenched teeth, his voice roughened. ”You're in trouble. You haven't delivered and the deadline's coming.”
Kanan slid his knee up to the back of the man's neck and pressed his weight against it. ”Where are they?”
The man's face grew red. ”Deliver the stuff.”
”You want to walk out of this alive? Tell me.”
”The stuff. Or go f.u.c.k yourself.” The man raised a hand to his throat. ”Air... get off.”
Kanan pulled his arm back like a batter winding up and swung the pistol across the man's forehead. The man's skin split and his eyes unfocused. A skid mark of blood pulsed from the cut. His head flopped against the floor.
Kanan rifled the man's pockets. He found a driver's license and cell phone. The man's name was Ken Meiring. He scrolled through the phone's call register.
Murdock.
Vance.
A 650 number.
Kanan stopped. He knew that number. What the h.e.l.l?
He scrolled further. The number appeared again, and again, and again.
”Oh, G.o.d,” he said. He had wondered who was behind everything. But not... ”Christ.”
Beneath him Meiring bunched and groaned. Drool slipped from his mouth. Kanan pressed the weight of his knee against Meiring's neck. As he did, his hand hit the phone's camera function. A stored photo popped on-screen.
It was a snapshot of Seth.
Kanan gaped at it. A snapshot of Seth on his bike, riding to school.
The dense rock in his chest seemed to burn. ”You stalked my son? You brought him into this?”
Meiring struggled beneath him, lips pulled back, groaning and trying to squirm away. ”We can all still go home winners. Don't f.u.c.k this up.”
Seth. His boy. Kanan could barely see. His voice cracked like a ruined china bowl. ”Tell me where they are. Or I will kill you.”
Meiring kicked out and tried to grab Kanan's arm. ”Kill me and you're screwed.”
Kanan pressed the barrel of the pistol against Meiring's temple. ”Forget going home a winner. You want to go home? Tell me.”
Meiring's eyes flicked to the pistol's safety, which was off, and the trigger, which had Kanan's finger on it.
”Don't-Christ, okay, I'll... they're down the peninsula.”
”Where?”
”I'll take you.”
”Where?”
”No way.”
Like a bell had begun ringing, Kanan made the connection. The familiar number in Meiring's cell phone. Down the peninsula. Jesus Christ.
”Off San Antonio Road in Mountain View,” he said flatly.
Meiring's eyes widened.
s.h.i.+t. That was the address. An old ranch house, supposedly used as a rental-but these people were using it for a safe house. That's where everything began and ended.
A terrible urgency filled him. He had to get there. And he had to write it down before he forgot it.
”San Antonio Road in Mountain View. San Antonio Road...”
He looked around for something to write with. He stretched and reached for a drawer. Beneath him Meiring roared. Bucking like an animal, he threw him off balance. Kanan fell against the bench. Meiring rolled and began punching like a madman. Kanan wrestled him onto his back, wrapped his thighs around the man's head, and squeezed him in a crazed wrestling lock.
”San Antonio Road Mountain View,” he said.
He pulled out a drawer. Junk poured across the floor. He grabbed a marker with his left hand. Meiring grunted and fought for purchase with his feet. Kanan squeezed his legs around Meiring's neck and pulled off the cap of the pen with his teeth. Meiring groaned, dug his heels into the floor, and arched his back. His fists windmilled, batting at Kanan's legs.
Kanan pressed the marker to the fibergla.s.s floor. Wrote San An- With a strangled roar, Meiring broke free from the headlock. Kanan brought up the gun but Meiring elbowed him in the face and thumped to his feet and fled up the stairs.
Hold on to the words, hold on-Christ, he needed Meiring, alive and talking, because he would forget. Meiring knew everything and he was getting away.
Kanan scrambled to his feet. Up top, Meiring stuttered across the deck. His foot clipped a cleat. He lost his balance. Lurching for the edge, he tried to jump for the dock. He missed.
With a shout, he fell from sight.
Kanan heard a splash. He stared out the cabin door at the empty deck and the blue sky. The sunlight stung his eyes. Gulls shrieked overhead. He put a hand against the cabin wall for balance.
<script>