“You got to know her. What about David and Max? Were they expendable too?”
Cheyn’s hands dropped like stone. He spread his legs wider. Every muscle in Cheyn’s body began to pulse with tension. Dante steadied himself. His anger waned, allowing him to focus on the task at hand, as he readjusted his aim toward Cheyn’s chest.
“It wasn’t supposed to go down like that! I let them in, to sneak upstairs to Laurie. Max came back from the gear check too fast. It all just exploded. It wasn’t supposed to go down like that!”
“It wouldn’t have gone down like that if you had just come to me in the first place! You didn’t need to be on this assignment. You could have just stayed the hell out of it.”
“That would kill my family. If she goes into that courtroom, and Kaimi goes to jail, my family starves. I can’t let that happen.” Cheyn tapped his chest.
“They can find other jobs, for God’s sake Cheyn!”
“That’s enough, son,” Albert said gently in Dante’s ear. “Bring him in.”
Dante took a deep breath. He took a step toward Cheyn.
Cheyn stared back at him, but he didn’t move a muscle.
“It’s over Cheyn. I’m taking you in.”
“They’ll just arrest you, man.” Cheyn gave him a sly smile. “They think you’re the mole. You’re the killer. You did that to yourself, bossman.”
“This is all being recorded.” Dante shook his head.
Cheyn’s smile disappeared, as his eyes floated up to the camera above Dante’s head, mounted to the wall. Cheyn’s hand dangled above his gun, his fingers twitching.
“I can’t let you do that, Dante. You’re not bringing me in.”
“Don’t do this, Cheyn. It’s over. It’s time to turn yourself in.”
“No, sir. I’m not going to jail with all of the criminals I’ve helped put away. Either you bring in my body or you don’t bring in anything at all.”
“Cheyn—don’t!” Dante screamed.
Cheyn reached for his gun. He gave Dante no choice. Dante fired before Cheyn even had his gun out of his holster. His shot hit Cheyn square in the chest. A second shot from Bob’s perch above, pierced Cheyn from the back and he lurched forward, falling onto the floor on his knees. Dante rushed forward. He wrestled away Cheyn’s gun—flinging it to the side.
Dante grabbed Cheyn’s shoulders. Cheyn looked up at him, confusion and terror flashed across his face.
“My family,” he choked out.
Dante helped Cheyn lay down on the floor. He applied pressure to the wound, which poured out blood. Cheyn coughed, and blood drained out the side of his mouth, painting his lips in burgundy. Cheyn clutched at Dante’s forearm, and Dante looked down into his dark eyes.
“I’ll take care of them. I’ll call them when we get you to a hospital. Bob, Dad? Call 911!”
Cheyn shook his head and gripped Dante’s arm tighter. He tried to speak, but then his eyes rolled. He gasped in pain. Dante fought the panic rising in his chest. He took his best friends hand, pressing it to his heart. Dante felt the tears burning at the back of his eyes. It took a few minutes for Cheyn’s vision to refocus on Dante.
“He knows. He knows.” Cheyn gripped his shoulder.
“Just hang in there, okay? Don’t talk. We’ll get you to a hospital. You’ll be fine.”
“Listen! He knows you…went to your dad.” Cheyn gasped for air.
“What? No, no, no,” moaned Dante. “Don’t do this. Christ!”
Cheyn looked up into his eyes, and Dante saw the sheer terror there. Cheyn gasped for air. His eyes wandered up and down Dante’s face. Then his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Cheyn’s body gave a shudder. Dante clung to his hand.
“Cheyn! Cheyn! Don’t.”
The light behind Cheyn’s eyes flickered and died. His body went slack, and he sank into the blood soaked carpet beneath him.
Dante knelt, just breathing for a while. He hardly noticed his father and uncle standing over him. He stared at Cheyn’s lifeless expression. He felt sick to his stomach. Then anger welled up in him, bubbling over. He slammed his fist into the carpet several times.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” he screamed. “God damn it!”
He pushed himself off the carpet to walk to the windows. He pressed his forehead to the cool glass, but it didn’t quench his anger.
“You had to shoot, Dante. He went for his gun.” Bob spoke softly.
“Well, why the hell did he have to do that?” Dante turned on his uncle. “I mean why?”
“We don’t have time for this now, son. Kaimi will be here any minute. We have to move the body and get back into our places.” Albert gestured to Cheyn’s body.
Dante turned his heated gaze on his father.
His father looked back at him with sternness, but there was a hint of sympathy there. His father reached out, gripping Dante’s shoulder.
There was no time. Dante knew it, and he hated it.
“I’m sorry. But you have to grieve for your friend later.” Albert gave him a little shake.
Dante turned away. He hit the wall with his open palm. Kaimi was the true target. He beat back his anger, promising himself to take it out on Kaimi. Dante walked over to the safe room door, unlatched it, and shoved it to the side. When he turned, his father and uncle lifted Cheyn’s body, carrying it over into the safe room. Dante locked the door again. Then he picked up a blanket from the couch and dropped it on the floor to cover the fresh bloodstain.
“Remember the plan.” Albert gave a pointed look to Dante. “Wait until they’re all in the living room. Take out the guards first, but spare Kaimi.”
Dante nodded, just as the flash of lights from outside alerted them to Kaimi’s arrival. They dashed to their hiding places as the front door opened.
Kaimi and three bodyguards entered. Dante heard their footsteps as they walked from the kitchen to the living room.
Dante saw the four men stop in the center of the room and look around. The bodyguards dwarfed Kaimi, but he had a more commanding, self-assured presence. His salt and pepper hair was disheveled, and his moustache was pure silver. It gave Dante a moment’s pleasure that he looked more haggard than his last photograph. He wore a sleek, grey suit with pinstripes and an ivory handkerchief tucked in the pocket, but the suit was baggy, bunching around the waist in unflattering pleats.
Kaimi’s bodyguards were massive men. The one on Dante’s left was bald, with a baby face, and a large gut. His nose wrinkled, as he surveyed the damage to the room from the firefight months ago. The bodyguard beside Kaimi was an islander, beefy but fit. He had long black hair down to his shoulders, which were hunched over the rest of his body. The third bodyguard was shorter than the other two. He had a buzz cut, with dark hair. He looked ex-military to Dante, perhaps a former Marine for hire. He was fit, trim, and suspicious of the circumstances. His hand rested on his gun, as he surveyed the room.
“Mr. Apao?” Kaimi inquired. “I don’t have all day to wait.”
“Maybe he’s taking a leak,” the bald bodyguard suggested. The other two chuckled in response, but Kaimi glowered at him.
Now, Dante thought as the third bodyguard spotted the camera he and his father had mounted.
“Federal agents,” Dante shouted as he burst from the closet.
The third bodyguard was fast to fire, but he failed to take aim first. He grazed Dante’s leg.
Dante cried out as he returned fire. He hit the bodyguard dead center in the forehead. The rest of the men all scattered. Above Dante’s head, Bob fired down on the bodyguards, hitting one in the arm as he dived behind the couch.
Albert traded bullets with Kaimi’s second bodyguard from the cover of the fireplace wall. Kaimi succeeded in yanking open the patio door, dodging Bob’s gunfire as he ran into the night. A taste for blood surged through Dante as he watched Kaimi leave. He bore down on his pain and lunged out the door after him.
Dante felt the cool Hawaiian breeze hit his sweat-dampened skin. Dante heard Kaimi running to his right, and he ran after him. Kaimi heard Dante behind him. He fired off two quick rounds. They went wide, hitting nothing but grass. Kaimi made it to the tree line, barreling into the forest. Dante dived in after him.