“Hey!” Junior said.
“Hey, you want her back? I’ll let her go and she can claw off your face if you want.”
Then Turnbull looked down into her furious eyes and said, slowly, “If you don’t calm down I am going to calm you down and you do not want that. Are you going to be calm?”
She made a series of unintelligible guttural noises that, had she been able to speak, probably would have been a string of words that boiled down to a series of questions regarding his mother’s chastity. But she stopped squirming.
“Calm down,” Turnbull said again. “I know you’re a Texas woman, but go against your instincts and stop trying to hurt me.”
She made another short, abrupt noise, then was quiet and still, her dagger eyes still fixed on him.
“I’m going to let you talk. Don’t scream. I just want a yes or no. Okay, we took out a guard downstairs. Are there more guards? Yes or no?” Turnbull eased up on her throat.
“Fuck you!” Turnbull pressed down and muffled most of the “you.”
“Okay, that’s not a yes or no. I just want a yes or no. Let’s try it again.” He eased up.
She didn’t say anything for a moment.
“More guards. Yes or no?”
“No,” she said. “Just the one asshole.”
“I’m going to let you go now,” Turnbull said. “Don’t run. Don’t throw anymore shit at me. Don’t try to kill your brother again. Okay?”
“Yeah,”
“Okay, just be calm.” Turnbull rolled off her, and stood up. His hip hurt like hell.
Amanda sat up and looked at Junior.
“You stupid idiot, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m here to get you out!”
“Yeah, I guessed that. You know how dangerous this is? You know they’ll kill you when they catch you?”
“They aren’t going to catch me.”
“Do you have any idea whose house this is? The PBI director for the West Coast!” She stood up; there were tears on her cheeks. Junior holstered his Glock. Turnbull sat down in one of the soft, black leather chairs around the table.
“I know that,” said Junior.
“And you came anyway?” Amanda replied.
“Yes,” Junior replied.
She rushed at him again, and the hug he expected turned into a hard slap across the face.
“You dumbass! You have to get out of here before he gets home or we’re all dead!” Now it was Junior’s turn to try and restrain her.
Turnbull sighed and stood up. The pain in his hip was now a dull ache, and he was losing patience.
“Can you two knock it the hell off? We need to get out of here.”
“Who are you?” asked Amanda, relaxing and ceasing her struggling. “Are you his assistant or something?”
“Assistant?” sniffed Turnbull. “No, I’m the guy your daddy paid to get your dumb ass the hell out of Dodge. He’s the assistant. Now, are you coming along voluntarily or not, because if I have to tie your ass up, ball gag you and carry you out of here over my shoulder, then I need to get on with that before your boyfriend shows up with his posse.”
“You won’t get away. Martin can’t let me go. It’d be too embarrassing. He’d do whatever he has to do to stop us. You two just need to go. Leave me here. I’ll be all right.”
“Amanda, you have to come. It’s all falling apart out there. We’ve been out there. This whole country is on the edge and I can’t just leave you here in the middle of what’s coming,” Junior said.
“Yeah, that,” Turnbull said. “And also, I really want my money. In fact, mostly I want my money. So if you can grab your shit, I’d like to walk out of here instead of having to shoot my way out.”
“We’re heading to the border with Arizona,” Junior said. “We have travel passes and carbon offset vouchers for all of us. We get there, then we hike over. Kelly has done this a lot. You need shoes you can walk in over rough terrain, and you need a coat.”
Amanda just stared, processing.
“Amanda,” Turnbull said. “Go with your brother and pack a bag with your stuff. If you have a backpack, use that. Now, two questions. When does lover boy get home, and do you have any kind of food in your kitchen because we should probably stock up?”
“I,” she mumbled. “I don’t know when he’ll be back. It could be in five minutes, it could be midnight, it could be tomorrow. I don’t know. His driver always calls Lou on the radio when he’s almost here. Where is Lou?”
“Lou didn’t make it. No one ever warned him that smoking is hazardous to your health. Junior, keep listening to that handset. If he does show up while we’re still here, we need to welcome him home. How many guards does he have?”
“Just two. Big assholes, like Lou.”
“Weapons?”
“Um, not the big long ones. The guns you hold in your hands.”
“Handguns?”
“Yes, handguns. I’ve shot guns before.”
“Okay, what’s Martin carry?”
“Oh,” she laughed. “Martin doesn’t carry a gun.”
“This guy has zero redeeming qualities. Okay, you two pack and I’ll check the fridge.”
The radio call from Arthur came in as Junior and Amanda were in the midst of packing her clothes. Junior ran down to the kitchen, where Turnbull was finishing a chicken sandwich, and said, “Hey, they’re coming.”
They made a quick plan, and Turnbull handed the Ruger over to Junior, who slipped out the side door. Turnbull told Amanda to get in the back bedroom and keep quiet, then went to the foyer and opened the door slightly until it was ajar. Then he stepped behind it.
The gate started to creak open with a mechanical whir, and a vehicle entered the front, followed by the gate closing. There were vehicle doors opening and closing outside; inside, Turnbull pulled back the slide on his Glock just a hair to ensure a hollow point round was seated in the chamber.
One was.
Footsteps. He could hear them coming, several people. The door swung in a bit, and someone stepped inside. There were two noises in rapid succession – to Turnbull, they sounded like thwacks! There were groans and rustling, and now Turnbull was moving around the door, toward the slight man with dark hair who was staring out at his two slumping thugs.
Turnbull planted his huge hand on the man’s shoulder and forced him back against the door jamb with a thud; then he planted the Glock right between the terrified man’s eyes.
“Welcome home, asshole,” Kelly Turnbull said.
The man quivered. Turnbull grabbed his shoulder again and roughly pulled him inside. Outside on the doorstep, still holding the Ruger, Junior stepped over the bodies of the two dead guards and followed them into the house.
Turnbull double-checked Rios-Parkinson for a weapon and relieved him of his cell phone, then frog marched him into the living room and threw him forward into one of the black leather seats. Behind him, through the window, lay the vast expanse of Los Angeles.
“Sit,” Turnbull said, the Glock still pointed at the Director’s face. Junior entered the room, the Ruger still in hand.
Rios-Parkinson stared up at them, his face flush with both anger and fear. Turnbull stared back.
“Did you piss yourself?” he asked, noting the dark stain on the Director’s suit pants that was spreading south. “You know, it’d be almost unsporting of me to shoot you. Not that I won’t shoot your sorry ass.”
“What do we do with him?” asked Junior.
“I vote shoot him,” offered Turnbull. “Shoot him and get out of here.”
“You won’t make it out,” Rios-Parkinson sputtered.
“Oh good, piss boy speaks. You know, I got this far. I got into your house. I got you. And you’re in a poor position to influence events going forward.”
“We know who you are,” Rios-Parkinson said. “If you surrender to me now….”