“Wake up, shithead,” Yancey said. “I want you to look at me and know that, after all these years, I’ve got you. That there’s no one coming to save you this time. That there’s nowhere left for you to run.”
Yancey leaned in close and punched Segreti in the gut. Segreti doubled over but failed to open his eyes, so Yancey slid into the row of seats behind him, yanked him upright by his hair, and rested the barrel of his gun against the nape of Segreti’s neck.
“Aw, c’mon, Segreti,” Yancey continued. “Killing you won’t be as satisfying if you’re not awake when I do it. I confess, this setting ain’t my first choice for an execution, but lucky for me, one of my company’s subsidiaries operates the security cameras for the entire fucking BART system, including the ones in this train. All our surveillance systems are equipped with an emergency backdoor, so it’ll be a breeze for me to wipe the hard drive before anyone’s the wiser-once I send a copy to your buddies at the Council, that is. Which means I get the pleasure of painting this train car with your brains, and there’ll be nobody to dispute my version of events. I’m thinking of going with When I tried to bring him in for questioning, the crazy bastard went for my gun, but I’m open to suggestions.”
“Yancey!”
The call came from the front of the train car. Segreti peeked through slit eyelids once more and struggled not to flinch. Reyes stood just inside the doorway to the adjacent car, his left pant leg caught on his empty ankle holster, a compact Remington R51 nine-millimeter in his hand.
“Christ, Reyes,” Yancey said, “I thought I lost you miles back. You can lower your weapon-this fucker’s unconscious.”
“How about you lower yours?” Reyes said.
Yancey didn’t. “I don’t know how much you heard just now, but this ain’t what it looks like.”
“Good. Because it looks like you were about to kill an unconscious man in cold blood. You told me this guy was a person of interest in the bridge attack, but this seems more like a personal vendetta to me.”
“You know, son, I’m starting to get the impression you don’t like me very much.”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Then tell me what I need to do to, uh, rebuild our relationship.”
“How about you start by letting me turn this man over to the FBI?”
“Sure thing,” Yancey said. “In fact, I’ll deliver him myself.”
“There’s no need,” Reyes replied. “I called them from the station. They’ll be waiting for us on the other side of the tunnel when we arrive.”
Yancey sighed. “I really wish you hadn’t done that.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because, whether you believe me or not, I promise you, Segreti’s a lowlife piece of shit. You, on the other hand, may be a dick, but you’re still one of the good guys. And now I can’t let either of you walk out of here.”
Yancey grabbed Segreti’s collar. Yanked him backward in his seat. Ducked behind him. And aimed his gun at Reyes.
With Segreti in the way, Reyes didn’t have a shot-and at this distance, Yancey couldn’t miss.
Reyes watched helplessly as Yancey’s finger tightened on the trigger. Then Segreti opened his eyes, slipped his hand free of its cuff, and twisted in his seat. He drove an open palm into Yancey’s shooting arm as Yancey’s gun roared and stuck his other hand into the pocket of his sweatshirt. Reyes tensed for impact, but the shot went wide and blew a hole in a nearby window. Wind, cold and metallic, whistled through it.
Three more gunshots quickly followed. Yancey jerked upright in his seat. Then he swayed a moment and slumped into the aisle, the revolver falling from his hand.
His eyes were wide. His face was pained. His stomach blossomed red.
Segreti rose from his seat, the.45 Hendricks had given him trained on Yancey. In his seat back were three bullet holes, their edges scorched by muzzle flash.
Yancey cupped his hands over his stomach, trying in vain to keep his blood where it belonged. It bubbled up between his fingers when he pressed down. Yancey’s face paled, then slackened. His hands fell away. His sightless eyes stared vaguely toward the ceiling. He was gone.
Segreti aimed his gun at Yancey for thirty seconds longer, making sure, and then he lowered it.
“Thanks,” said Reyes, his gun still aimed in Segreti’s general direction. “You saved my life.”
“No problem,” Segreti replied.
Reyes nodded toward the handcuffs dangling from the metal handgrip on the seat back. “How’d you manage to slip those things?”
“They’re not real-they’re plastic toys. Got a hidden release button on the side. Buddy of mine broke into a fetish shop on our way here and stole ’em.”
“The same buddy who sprung you from our custody at the Broussard house?”
Sadness flitted across Segreti’s features at the mention of Lois’s last name. “That’s the one.”
“You didn’t have anything to do with what happened at the bridge, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then how about you put the gun down and tell me why Yancey wanted you dead?”
“It’s a long story,” Segreti said. He kept his weapon pointed at the floor but didn’t drop it. Reyes slowly lowered his.
Reyes looked out the window at the darkness blurring by outside. The car rattled down the tracks, empty but for the two of them, Yancey’s bleeding corpse sprawled in the aisle between. “Seems like we’ve got time.”
“Hey,” Segreti said, “did you mean what you said about the Feds or were you bluffing?”
“I wasn’t bluffing. I gave ’em a ring when I began to suspect that Yancey wasn’t what he seemed. They’ll be waiting for us at the station.”
“Goddamn it. I can’t let them take me.”
“Why not?”
“The people Yancey worked for won’t stop coming for me until I’m dead. And if I’m in custody, they’ll know right where to find me.”
“I don’t get it-what does Bellum want with you?”
“Not Bellum,” Segreti said. “The other ones.”
“What other ones?”
Segreti frowned. “You got anybody in your life you care about? Friends, family, pets, whatever?”
“Sure. Doesn’t everybody?”
“The lucky ones do. And if you count yourself among them, you’re better off not knowing.”
“Fine. Don’t tell me who’s after you, but you should tell the Feds, at least. I’m sure they can protect you.”
“You have no idea how fucking wrong you are,” Segreti said. “The worst part is, I actually thought I’d gotten clear of all this shit. Now I realize there’s no escaping your past-anywhere you go, it’s always right behind you. Hey, you ever hear of a guy named Heraclitus?”
“Who?”
“Never mind. It’s not important. What is important is, I’m sick of this life-it ain’t mine anymore. And the truth is, I’d rather go out on my own terms than wait around for the fuckers Yancey worked for to catch up with me.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Reyes said. “You and me are walking out of here together, okay? The rest will sort itself out. You have my word.”
“Your word,” Segreti echoed. “I’ve heard that one before. Even, once, from him.” He nudged Yancey’s body with his foot. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you’re gonna hafta see this-but if it makes you feel any better, I’m sick. The Big C. I didn’t have long left anyway.”
“Whatever you’re thinking about doing-” Reyes said, but by the time the words cleared his lips, it was too late.
Segreti inhaled sharply. Raised the.45 to his head. As Reyes screamed for him to stop, he pulled the trigger. His head snapped back, and his body fell to the floor.
42.
CAMERON AND HENDRICKS watched Segreti die on the nightly news as they sat holed up in a shitty hotel room. The train’s surveillance cameras captured the whole thing. It was a somber, horrifying affair, traumatic enough that Cameron had to look away. Hendricks watched every second of the footage, though. He felt he owed Segreti that much.