I stood there in the damp, cavernous room, the cold working its way through my socks and soaking into my tire arms, chest, and back. I felt a cough coming on, but fought it dawn,
About five minutes passed, maybe less, but not more. Tobin must now be wondering if I'd backed out quietly. I was positioned between wherever he was and the entrance to the tunnel behind me. I doubted he could get past me if he lost his nerve and wanted out.
Finally, Tobin blinked, figuratively speaking; he tossed something like a piece of concrete against a far wall. It echoed in the huge ammunition room. It startled me, but not enough to draw my fire. Stupid trick, Freddie.
And so we both stood in the dark, and I tried to see through the blackness, tried to hear his breathing, smell his fear. I thought I saw the glint of his eyes, or of steel, reflected in the dim light of the opening in the roof. The glint came from my left, but I had no way of judging distance in the dark.
I realized that my knife might also reflect a glint of light so I moved it to my left side, away from the dim light source overhead.
I tried to see the glint again, but it was gone. If I saw it one more time, I decided, I'd rush toward it and do a knife number — lunge, slash, parry, stab, and so forth until I came into contact with flesh and bone. I waited.
The more I stared at what I thought had been the glint, the more my eyes began to play tricks on me. I saw these sort of phosphorescent blotches dancing in front of my eyes, then they took form and turned into gaping skulls. Wow. Talk about the power of suggestion.
It was hard to breathe quietly, and if it weren't for the sound of the wind and water overhead, Tobin would have heard me, and I'd have heard him. I felt another cough coming on, but again fought it down.
We waited. I assumed he knew I was alone. I also assumed he knew I had at least one pistol. I was sure he had a pistol, but not the.45 with which he'd killed Tom and Judy. If he was carrying a rifle, he'd have tried to kill me out in the open from a safe distance when he realized John Corey was on his tail. In any case, a rifle was no better in here than a pistol. What I didn't count on was a shotgun.
The roar of the shotgun blast was deafening in the enclosed room, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. But as soon as I realized I wasn't hit, and as soon as my brain registered the direction of the blast — about ten feet to my right — and before Tobin could dive for another firing position, I fired my single round right where I'd seen the muzzle flash.
I dropped my pistol and charged, lunging and slashing blindly to my front, but I didn't come into contact with anything and didn't trip over a body on the floor. Within a few seconds, my knife scraped the wall. I stopped and stood frozen.
A voice, some distance behind me, said, "I guess you had only one shot left."
I surely didn't reply.
The voice said, "Speak to me."
I turned slowly toward the voice of Fredric Tobin.
He said, "I think I heard your pistol hit the floor."
I realized that each time he spoke, he had moved. Clever man.
He said, "I can see you in the light from the overhead opening."
I noticed now that my charge toward the shotgun blast had put me closer to the dim light.
Again, the voice moved, then said, "If you so much as flinch, I'll kill you."'
I didn't understand why he hadn't fired again, but I figured he had an agenda of some sort. Taking advantage of this, I moved away from the wall and said, "Fuck you, Freddie."
Suddenly, a light came on behind me, and I realized he'd moved around me, and I was caught in the beam of his flashlight. Tobin said, "Freeze or I'll shoot. Freeze.'"
So, I stood there, my back to him, his flashlight on me, and an unseen gun of some caliber pointing at my ass. I kept the knife close to my body so he wouldn't see it, but then he said, "Hands on your head."
I slipped the knife into my waistband and put my hands on my head, my back still to him.
He said, "I want you to answer some questions."
"Then you'll let me live. Right?"
He laughed. "No, Mr. Corey. You're going to die. But you'll answer my questions anyway."
"Fuck you."
"You don't like losing, do you?"
"Not when it's my life."
He laughed again.
I said, "You don't like losing, either. You got wiped out at Foxwoods. You're a really stupid gambler."
"Shut up."
"I'm going to turn around. I want to see your capped teeth and your hairpiece."
As I turned with my hands on my head, I sucked in my gut and did a little jiggle so that the knife's hilt and handle slid down into my tight jeans. That's not where I wanted it, but it was out of sight.
We were facing each other now about ten feet apart. He was holding the flashlight on my midsection, not my face, and I could make out an automatic pistol in his right hand aimed along the beam of light. I didn't see the shotgun.
The flashlight was one of those halogen types with a narrow-focused beam that are used to signal over long distances. The light wasn't diffused at all, and the room was as dark as before, except for the beam hitting me.
Tobin played the flashlight over me from head to toe and commented, "Lost some of your clothes, I see."
"Fuck you."
His beam paused on my shoulder holster and he said, "Where's your gun?"
"I don't know. Let's look for it."
"Shut up."
"Then don't ask me questions."
"Don't annoy me, Mr. Corey, or the next round goes right into your groin."
Well, we didn't want Willie the Conqueror getting shot, though I didn't see how I could avoid annoying Tobin. I asked him, "Where's your shotgun?"
He said, "I cocked the hammer and flung it across the room. Thankfully it fired without hitting me. But you went for the bait. You're stupid."
"Hold on — it took you ten minutes standing in the dark with your finger up your ass to think of that. Who's stupid?"
"I'm getting tired of your sarcasm."
"Then shoot. You had no trouble killing those two firemen in their sleep."
He didn't reply.
"Aren't I close enough? How far were you from Tom and Judy? Close enough to leave powder burns. Or would you prefer to bash my head in like you did to the Murphys and to Emma?"
"I would prefer that. Maybe I'll wound you first, then smash your head in with my shotgun."
"Go ahead. Try for a wound. You get one shot, prick. Then I'm on you like a hawk on a chicken. Go for it."
He didn't go for it and he didn't reply. Obviously, he had some issues to resolve. Finally, he asked, "Who else knows about me? About any of this?"
"Everyone."
"I think you're lying. Where's your lady friend?"
"Right behind you."
"If you're going to play games with me, Mr. Corey, then you're going to die a lot sooner and in a lot of pain."
"You're going to fry in the electric chair. Your flesh will burn and your toupee will ignite, and your caps will glow red, and your beard will smoke, and your contact lenses will melt into your eyeballs. And when you're dead, you'll go to hell and fry again."
Mr. Tobin had no reply to this.
We both stood there, me with my hands on my head, him with the flashlight in his left hand and the pistol in his right. Obviously, he had the advantage. I couldn't see his face, but I imagined it looking very devilish and smug. Finally, Tobin said to me, "You figured out the part about the treasure, didn't you?"
"Why did you kill Emma?"
"Answer my question."
"You answer mine first."
He let a few seconds go by, then said, "She knew too much and she talked too much. But mainly, it was my way of showing you how extremely displeased I was with your sarcasm and your meddling."