“In a couple of minutes I’m going to undo your handcuffs, and we’ll flip a coin to see who goes first. I’m going to give you a knife and then you’re going to fight.”
“Why am I chained and they’re not?”
“Because I want it finished here. I don’t want you running away and I don’t want to have to shoot you in the back.”
“You don’t want to do this, Richie. There’s no happy ending.”
Crey’s cell phone rang, he stepped away, and Marquez got to his feet, his hands still cuffed behind him. The Blazer’s headlights shone on a clearing and on rows of vines. On the road in here the team could run without lights. Shauf won’t mess around. The signal from his boots still came from the garage, but she would have seen the Blazer leave the driveway. Probably didn’t see him get loaded in back, but one of the team would have followed the Blazer.
Crey rubbed his face as he talked. Torp and Perry watched him, didn’t like the delay, and Crey didn’t like the phone call. He argued with whoever was on the other end. He looked down the dirt road, then at Marquez. When he hung up he was suddenly in a hurry and walked over to Marquez, waving Perry forward as he did.
“Turn around and I’m going to free your hands.”
When the cuffs fell away Marquez started rubbing his wrists to get circulation. Crey laid a four-inch knife on the hood.
“That’s yours,” he said. “Since they don’t have your reach I’m keeping it fair by giving them bigger knives. Rules are we’re going to go one at a time.” Crey had moved back beyond where the twenty feet of chain that held Marquez could reach. “Pick up your knife. Everybody get ready for the coin toss. This here is the Super Bowl of knife fights.”
He flipped a coin that flickered through the headlights and landed in the dirt of the clearing. Leaned over the coin, then grinned at Torp.
“Your lucky night, Liam.”
“Crey, these guys are already going down. You don’t want to tie yourself to them.”
“Are you going to beg now, man? You going to piss on yourself or be a man? The knife is on the hood with your name on it. Pick it up because the rules are fight to the death.”
Crey scratched out a half circle in the dirt with his boot.
“That’s as far as he can reach with his chain, so the rules are no one leaves the circle unless the other man is dead. If Liam kills him, it’s over. If John wins, Lou, you’re up next.”
Marquez picked up the knife.
“Okay, here we go,” Crey said. “I’ll take it down from one minute starting now.” He held his watch in the light. “Thirty seconds to go.” He smiled at Marquez. “Ten seconds.” He nudged Torp. “Get in there and make the fucker pay. You’re fighting for your honor, man.”
Torp crossed over the line and moved to Marquez’s left, talking as he did. “When I get you down I’m going to pull your teeth out one at a time before I kill you.”
“Take it easy,” Marquez said. “You look better than you did and your breath is a whole lot better.”
Crey and Perry laughed as Torp slashed at him. Marquez jumped back, and Torp tried to corner him, get him out on one end of the chain, but Marquez kept the truck at his back. He blocked the left headlight, felt the heat of the headlight low on his back and lifted his left leg just high enough to grab the chain. He hoped Torp didn’t see that, hoped that without the headlight Torp’s view was restricted, and when Torp slashed at him again he barely moved and the blade caught skin on his right side. A line of red erupted, and Torp lunged in again. As he did, Marquez swung the chain, throwing a long loop, hooking Torp’s head for a moment, then his arm. He jumped sideways and spun the chain around Torp’s arm before he could pull back.
Torp jerked back hard, trying to get his arm free, diving for the outside of the circle and tripping. He lost his knife. He got to his knees and almost got away before Marquez caught up to him. Part of Marquez’s mind registered Perry lifting the shotgun and Crey pushing the barrel up as he brought the knife down in a hard cutting slice across the back of Torp’s foot. He felt it slow, then go through the Achilles tendon. Torp screamed, twisted, and the blade slid free.
Now Torp curled outside the circle, grabbing his ankle, calling for help as Crey got the shotgun from Perry. He heard him tell Perry, “We’re doing this like we said. We’re doing this fair.” He pushed Torp with his boot. “Get your ass back in there.”
Then there were headlights coming toward them, and Crey stopped prodding Torp, and Perry ignored the lights. He quickly stripped off his shirt, picked up a knife, and moved into the light in front of Marquez. Marquez watched the way he crabbed and moved forward and knew he was in trouble.
“You’re gone,” Perry said and moved sideways, was trying to grab the chain, then tried to step on it. The knife snicked off the hood, and a horn sounded, and Ludovna’s car drove into the clearing. He drove straight at Perry, who dove out of the way. Ludovna hit the brakes and jumped out of the driver’s side with a gun aimed at Crey.
“What did I tell you?” He kept the gun on Crey. “Come here. Unlock him.”
Crey didn’t argue, leaned over near Marquez’s ankle, and freed the cuff.
“You, come here,” Ludovna said to Perry, and, to Marquez’s surprise or maybe because Perry was too far from the shotgun, he came over. He stood near Crey, and Marquez edged away from both. There was something more to happen here. Ludovna had Crey toss the keys to the Blazer to him, and he swung the gun over at Marquez.
“Don’t move any farther.”
The gun swung toward Torp and Perry.
“The fucking detective came to my house today.”
He pointed the gun at Torp’s head, and Marquez knew one of the team had to have followed the Blazer and must have seen Ludovna’s headlights come down here.
“He came to my house asking about Sherri who used to come see me.” He waved the gun toward Torp and Perry again. “These fucks killed her. He’s got murder warrants. They sold her car, and no one told me.” He stared at Crey. “You know what you’re going to do now. You come here. The rest of you lie down.”
Marquez didn’t lie down, knew where this was going and knew it was going to happen fast. Crey had the boat, and he’d borrowed money from Ludovna, so it wasn’t easy to get rid of him. He had a future utility. But not the rest of them, not Torp, Perry, or himself.
“Let me talk to you alone,” Marquez said.
“Get the fuck down.”
He pointed the gun toward Marquez, fired wide, and Marquez didn’t move. Ludovna walked toward him, closing the distance, pointing the gun at his head, Marquez speaking quietly as he got close.
“I’ll do it,” Marquez said. “I know what needs to be done. They were going to kill me so I have no problem with it. Get my gun back and give me the keys to the Blazer, then leave, and I’ll deal with it.”
“Get down! Get the fuck down!”
Marquez pointed at Crey.
“He won’t do it, but I will.” Marquez whispered. “Tell him and see what happens. He’ll make an excuse. He’ll argue with you.”
Ludovna’s eyes narrowed. “Richie, come here.”
Ludovna stepped away with him. They talked, and Ludovna kept the gun aimed at Perry. Then Crey retrieved Marquez’s gun and the shotgun. He handed Ludovna Marquez’s gun and the Blazer keys. He leaned the shotgun against Ludovna’s car. Marquez knew Crey had a handgun as well, but this was the boldness of Ludovna. He had Crey stand next to him, then handed Marquez his gun and pointed at Perry and Torp.
Now, Marquez walked them out at gunpoint toward the darkness of the vines. Torp had to lean into Perry. He could barely walk and left a trail of blood. He whimpered in pain, and any second Marquez expected Perry to shove him away and run. He figured Perry was waiting to get outside the headlights.
“No farther,” Ludovna called.
But Marquez pushed Perry, said very quietly, “Don’t say anything. Do exactly what I say and maybe there’s a way out of this. Lay down.”
He brought the butt of the gun down across the back of Perry’s head and clubbed Torp to his knees, then kicked him in the head and fired a shot into the dirt an inch from Torp’s ear. He blocked Ludovna’s view and brought the gun down hard on Torp’s scalp. He made sure Torp bled enough to look like he’d been shot.