I stood face-to-face with Bronson Carew, arms by his sides, his flashlight aimed at the ground. He glanced down to the missing part of my right arm, an out-of-kilter smile forming. “It’s you.”
I kept my lase-pistol on his chest, wondering why I hadn’t already wasted the bastard.
Black bangs hung over ink-centered eyes. “You can’t shoot me. In fact, you’re going to give me your gun.”
I caressed the trigger, itching to get this over with, but he was unafraid. Confident.
He twisted his neck to look toward the boathouse’s back corner. “Come on out, Ang.”
From behind one of the canoes came Ang Samusaka. He held a knife to his own throat, trickles of blood running down his neck and sopping into his shirt collar.
Carew reached a hand into his shirt pocket, pulled out an empty snail shell. “I told him if anything happens to me, he should start slicing. Give me your gun.”
Shoot him anyway. That was my first instinct. Who gave a shit about the Samusakas’ youngest? Punk was a junkie blackmailer. Screw him.
Carew put his index finger into the shell, made it dance like a finger puppet. “Give it or I tell him to do it.”
I had to pull the trigger. Kill him and plant my evidence. The Samusaka kid didn’t matter. Let him hack through his carotids. Why should I care?
Carew put the shell back in his pocket and held out his hand. “Gimme.”
My gaze turned back to Ang, knife held in his fist, blade pressed under his chin. Eyes dead as gravestones. “Ang. Put the knife down.”
He didn’t budge.
“Don’t bother,” said Carew. “Keep at him long enough, he might start obeying you. But I’ve been working him for a whole day now.”
Ang was so young. Barely out of school.
Stop thinking that way. He’s a junkie and a blackmailer. He was disposable. I couldn’t afford to let myself think of him as a victim.
A victim trapped in this hell for a whole day. Victim of a fucked-up home. A domineering asshole of a father.
Just like my father.
And Niki’s father.
Like so much of the misery in this world, all of our collective pain and anguish could be traced back to that one simple cause: assholes having babies.
Carew held out his hand. “Give me the gun.”
“Ang!” I called. “Put the knife down.”
Carew stepped forward, put his hand over my gun’s barrel. “Let go.”
I didn’t want to. This was a time to be hard. Cold. Ruthless. This fucker had to burn. Wu’s little girls demanded it.
Yet there was Ang, his death sentence tied to my trigger finger.
A cockeyed grin broke on Carew’s face. “Ang, this is your brother. When you hear me reach three, start cutting.”
Sweat rolled down the back of my neck, pulse kicking into high gear. Pull the trigger. Fucking do it.
“One.”
Can’t be helped, Ang. Collateral damage. That’s what you are.
“Two.”
Heartbeats flew by like fence posts at high speed. You should’ve grown up faster, Ang. Should’ve made your life count for something when you had the chance.
“Th-”
“No!”
His voice stopped short, lips poised to finish the word.
“Fucking take it.” Disgusted, I let him twist my gun from clinging fingers. My hand stayed where it was, reluctant to break aim. I glared at the blank-faced Ang. You better be worth it.
Carew took a step back and trained the lase-pistol on my head. “Move away from the door.”
I complied. Plan B was already formulating. Cops were coming. Soon. All I had to do was keep us alive for another ten minutes. Fifteen, tops. No fucking problem. Son of a bitch like him had to play with his prey before feeding.
“Don’t want you running away. Go over to the window. Get on your knees.”
I walked to the window, a row of wrought iron bars twisted by a strangle of viny roots. I stole a look out, praying for the sight of approaching flashlights. No luck.
I set my plastic bag on the floor and dropped to my knees next to a short stack of canned goods, Ang little more than a meter away. “Tell him to put the knife down.”
Keeping the gun trained on my head, Carew took a seat on a short stool by the door. “Ang, my darling brother, it’s time to cut your throat.”
Before I could react, Ang dragged the blade across his flesh, plowing a deep red furrow.
I jumped for him, reached too late, caught a warm spray on my hand. “What the fuck!”
Carew laughed, a childlike giggle etching into my eardrums. “You should see the look on your face.”
Helpless, I watched Ang fall forward, bumping one of the canoes partly off its shelf before he flopped to the left and hit the floor, a bent-back leg pinned underneath as his blood and life drained into the dirt.
Bile scorched my throat. I’d fucked up royally. Never give up control. Never!
The sound of screeching lizards drew my eyes to the wall, a half dozen stripe-faced man-eaters reacting to the ruckus, strings running from a stake in the ground to tiny leather collars around their necks. To their right sat a small terrarium, slimy glass walls dotted with snails.
God, I was such a dumb fuck. I wiped my hand on my pant leg, white linen stained red. Just like my burning cheeks. I should’ve known better, dammit.
“You should’ve shot me,” he said.
“No fucking kidding.” Cops are coming, I told myself. This wasn’t over. They’d be here soon. They’d see the light in the window just like I did.
“Who are you?”
“Juno.” All I needed was time.
“You a cop?”
“Used to be.” Just keep him talking.
“Cops are liars.”
“Yes, they are.” Time.
“You were in Wu’s apartment when I brought back his head.”
“I was.” Every second my odds got better.
“You saw his wife and daughters.”
“I did.” Tick, tick, tick.
“He killed them all himself, you know. You should’ve seen it.”
I opened my mouth to respond but his words drilled deep. Some suspicions didn’t need confirmation. The thought of those poor girls waking up in bed, their father standing over them, a lase-blade in his hand. The confusion. The betrayal. The terror.
I couldn’t stand to look at him, had to look away, my eyes landing on Ang’s lifeless body.
His gaze followed mine. “Now I regret killing him so soon.” He pulled a tube of glue from his pants pocket and gave it a good whiff. “I wasn’t done with him. Barely got started. But I couldn’t resist fucking with your head.”
I turned back to him; his grin was knotted and twisted like the gnarled roots hanging overhead. “He was your brother.”
Carew made like he wanted to spit. “He was spoiled. Undeserving.”
“Sounds like every rich kid I ever met. What did he ever do to you?”
“He wouldn’t respect me. Me. His own brother. I’m no street trash.” He rapped the gun against his chest. “I’m a Samusaka! He and his asshole brother lived in my rightful home. They ate for free. They fucked for free. They got everything they ever wanted, cars and clothes. Money. I deserved to live that life. I’m his son too.”
“Did they even know you were their brother?”
He brushed the question away with a wave of the gun. “Why are you here?”
I bit the inside of my cheek, unsure how to play it. Decided I had nothing to lose by playing it straight. “I came here to kill you.”
“Ha!” He waved the gun at me. “How did that work out?”
“Not good.”
“Why do you want to kill me?”
“You’re a monster.”
He leveled the lase-pistol. “That’s not true. Take it back.”
I stared into the barrel, wanting to wilt, wanting to melt into the dirt. But I had to keep him talking. I fished for courage, summoned enough to look him in the eye. “You kill people for no reason.”
“Bullshit! They deserved it. Every one of them deserved to die.”
“Wu’s family didn’t deserve it.”