Stay away; the world belongs to us.
They'd been heading north on the Edens, that much he'd been able to catch from a highway marker. He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, and hadn't been able to see their exit, but he guessed they were in Kenilworth, maybe Highland Park. Big-money neighborhoods, the kind where you told people you lived there, they whistled soft, wondered privately what you pulled down.
Jason remembered the alderman saying how he had to live in his district. There wasn't a more polar opposite of Crenwood than the street they rolled down. Owens probably owned some piece-of-shit ranch, had his mail delivered there, put the address on election forms.
The hum of the tires slowed, then they turned left into a driveway, smooth blacktop leading to a high stone wall. Headlights splashed across a heavy metal gate. A car pulled in behind them, the light dazzling after the dark. Galway opened his window, punched a button on an intercom. They sat in silence a moment, then the gate swung ponderously open, revealing a curved driveway snaking up to a large house, boxy and bright with glass. The driveway was fifty yards of white gravel that cracked and popped as they rolled. Galway pulled in along the front steps, killed the engine. Jason closed his eyes, lay still. The silence was loud enough to hear his pulse beat in his ears.
"How are they?" It was Galway's voice.
"Fine. Palmer's been awake for awhile."
"You've got to be-" Interior lights flashed on, painting Jason's eyelids pink-orange. He could hear the seat in front of him creak, Galway turning around. "He doesn't look awake to me."
"He is. Right, Jason?"
There didn't seem to be any point in pretending. He opened his eyes to see Galway's cowboy face staring at him over the seatback.
"How did you know?" Galway glanced over.
"His breathing changed." DiRisio spun, a smile beneath his lopsided nose. His gaze was unreadable as a cobra's. "Why don't you go see if he's ready. I'll watch them." For a moment it looked like Galway was going to argue, but then he opened the door and stepped out.
The engine ticked softly in the summer heat.
"So." DiRisio said softly. "Alone at last, right? Just two soldiers." He looked down at Jason's uniform. "The Class A's are a nice touch. I always hated the things, but you look good."
"You killed my brother."
"Yes." DiRisio stared back. "I did."
Jason grit his teeth. Fought to master it. He made himself look out the window. He'd been flexing his fingers slowly ever since he woke up, and the feeling had come back, sharp pins and needles. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do. He wormed his way upright. Cruz slid off his shoulder, her head rolling to one side. The way she flopped like a doll fed the fire within. Jason flexed his shoulders, feigning stiffness, then brought them down with one elbow resting against the back seat. "I figured a fuck like you would just shoot us, dump us in an alley."
"Now see, that hurts. What did I ever do to you?" DiRisio raised a finger to his temple. "Oh, that's right. I crushed your brother's windpipe and watched him flop to death on a dirty bar floor."
Jason threw himself forward, thrusting off his elbow for leverage, zip-tied hands stabbing forward, fingers out and spread to spear DiRisio's eyes. The big man reacted with startling speed, leaning back, left arm coming up in a wave that caught Jason's attention, something like a block. He started to adjust for it, keeping his momentum going, only somehow now there was a pistol in DiRisio's other hand, the black eye pointing straight at Jason's forehead. Like it had appeared there by magic. Jason checked himself, caught his hands on the back of the seat.
"Easy, Sergeant." DiRisio's finger was inside the trigger guard and gently tensed. "The boss wants to talk to you. Which means I'd just as soon not kill you yet. But you pull something like that again, I might change my mind."
Jason grimaced, then eased himself back.
"Here's something you better understand." DiRisio thumbed the safety and made the SIG vanish. "You've been a pain in the ass. I respect that. But I haven't gotten much sleep the last few days chasing you around, and I don't like fancy parties. So don't irritate me. Because when it comes time for you to go, it can happen fast," he snapped his fingers, "or real damn slow. And not just for you." DiRisio's eyes flicked over Cruz. "We clear?"
Jason turned, looked out the side window. Clenched his jaw. His hands shook, and he concentrated on willing them to stop. On battling the icy spiders climbing his spine and the crackling rage in his belly. Thinking of Mikey, laying on the floor of his bar, eyes bugged and hands desperate at his throat.
"Attaboy. Just sit and hate me real quiet like."
The house door opened, and Galway walked out. The gunman with the scar had been smoking a cigarette on the porch, and flicked it away as Galway joined him. The two men spoke briefly, then Galway strode over and opened the door, his sidearm in his right hand.
"Come on, Palmer. Man wants to see you alone."
"No." He slid his feet under the seat in front of him, tensed his muscles. He could do this much, at least.
"I sound like I was asking?"
"I'm not leaving her with this psycho." He kept his voice calm. "You want to waste me, waste me. But I'm not leaving her alone with him."
Galway sighed. "Jesus Christ."
"Relax, tough guy." DiRisio smiled. "I'll take Palmer in, you see to her."
Galway looked at Jason, who nodded reluctantly. He didn't think Galway would mess with Cruz. Besides, he didn't have much choice. DiRisio opened his door and got out, the car rising on its shocks as his weight left. He opened the rear door, jerked his SIG, and gestured with it.
Jason climbed out of the car, his muscles stiff and screaming. Took a moment to stretch his arms upward. Putting his thoughts in rigid order. Strength and discipline. Whatever lay inside the house for himself, he could take it. Maybe he'd even earned it, mistakes he'd made: Martinez, the Worm, Michael. But Cruz hadn't, and neither had Billy. If the last thing Jason did was save their lives, well, he could die with that.
That was what soldiers did.
"Move."
Jason started up the path. Scarface leered at him, then fell in with DiRisio. The front door to the house was open, framing an inviting foyer painted in creams and tans. Silver-framed mirrors and colorful rugs, a staircase winding up. As he stepped in, Jason risked a glance over his shoulder. The men stood four steps back; out of reach, but too close to miss a shot. Professionals. Jason glared, then continued, the foyer giving way to a high-ceilinged living room. Supple leather chairs, low-slung coffee table, abstract art reflected in pale hardwood floors. A faded red door decorated with Asian characters was set in the far wall, and DiRisio told him to knock.
"Yes." The voice was muffled.
Jason reached for the door handle, willing his body ready, welcoming the old familiar tingle in his fingers. This was as good a spot as any. He visualized the move: open the door, hurl himself through, use the momentum to slam it behind him. It would only hold off DiRisio for a fraction of a second, but that should be enough for Jason to make a play.
Maybe the last of his life.
CHAPTER 43
She swam in some deep fuzzy place, the surface of consciousness rippling above. There were sounds, and someone touching her, but she didn't want to open her eyes. Wanted only to sleep, to plunge back into the abyss.
"Wake up, Elena." A man's voice, close. Jason? The voice was correct, she realized. She should wake up. There were important reasons.