The stairs were easy to find, because a light shined down from the top.
We waited for a moment in the darkness, because Raphino had not said to continue. He crouched and perked his ears up, listening over the hums. My hands were numb. I wished the light upstairs was not on. I tried to listen as well, tried to mirror Raphino, but all I could hear were the hums.
Finally we proceeded. The stairs creaked but not enough to arouse suspicion. Again we were cautious and slow. I heard nothing from upstairs. The top of the stairway was shielded by a knee wall; we stopped a few steps from the top to avoid revealing ourselves. We regrouped in the light, careful not to cast shadows where anyone could see them. It was still silent. The light was nothing more than a soft yellow glow from a single floor lamp, but seemed blinding compared to the darkness of the basement. We let our eyes adjust and took inventory. Raphino slowly counted down with his fingers.
3. 2. 1.
In unison, we sprung up above the half-wall and faced the large, empty room. We both pointed pistols outward, searching for movement across the barrels. I pretended I knew what I was doing. Nothing moved, thank God. We stood for a few seconds, silently tracking an empty room. I saw the front door on the far wall, where I had entered for soirees. I saw the couch I sat on the first evening, drinking beer and watching the music, Suzanne beside me, passing a joint and making me feel comfortable. It looked different now.
Raphino rotated his body clockwise, then back, scanning the room. When he was satisfied, he nodded his head forward, and we tiptoed on. Off the top stair, on to the wood floor, across the large decorative rug. Each time the floor squeaked, we both stopped and walked slower, more carefully.
We cleared rooms methodically. First the living room, then the kitchen, then the bar area, pointing the guns and looking for movement in the dim light of a single lamp. They were all empty. Raphino made his way to the long hallway and I followed, ready to start going through all the rooms that lined it. But there was another light, softer even, coming from the single room at the end of the hall. A light shined from beneath the door of Vince’s office.
56
The two of us walked to the end of the hallway, while I expected the doors to swing open any moment. I waited to be apprehended or shot in that hallway. I accepted the fate. I preferred it, in some ways, to making it to the end. But each journey has an end, and ours was the light at the end of the hallway, and whatever was behind that door.
We reached the door and listened. There was no sound. Raphino motioned for me to enter.
Me? I asked with a head nod and shoulder shrug.
He nodded.
I inhaled and put my left hand on the doorknob. It was stiff, but turned right. It was time to be quick now, so when the door unlatched, I swung it wide open and pointed my pistol. I felt Raphino’s gun swing over my right shoulder, pointing in the same direction. We made noise now; our silence was broken. Again the room was lit by a floor lamp. Across the office, at the large wooden desk, sat Vincent Decierdo. He looked at me with a straight face and calm expression. I knew he was no longer Vince; I knew he was Ben Murray. I knew this. But when I looked at that large, bearded Irishman sitting behind that desk, I saw nothing but Vincent Decierdo. Drug lord, manipulator, killer, and king of the mountains. On the desk in front of him lay a pistol grip shotgun.
He said nothing, and we moved into the room quickly. My heart beat fast, my brain refreshed, waiting for the realization that it was all an illusion, that he wasn’t there, that the room was really empty and we had come up skunked. He stayed. We stood twenty feet from him and pointed our guns.
“Hands where I can see ‘em,” Raphino yelled. “Where I can see ‘em. Right now.”
Decierdo waited to speak.
“Where I can see ‘em, motherfucker,” Raphino repeated.
“They’re here on the desk,” Decierdo said. His voice was calm, measured. “Can you not see the desk?”
“Push the gun away,” Raphino barked. “Push it out of reach.”
Decierdo didn’t move.
“Are you deaf?” Raphino asked.
Vince looked down and spoke. “No, in fact. But what you’re asking is not practical.”
“Push it away.”
“Understand the situation that’s presented itself.” He was calm, strangely calm. “Two gentlemen pointing weapons in my direction, and you’re asking me to willingly absolve my ability to defend myself. It simply wouldn’t be wise. I’m sure you can appreciate that, officer.”
Raphino, in plain clothes and no visible badge, said nothing.
“Eagle County, correct?” Vince asked. “The desk man? You’ll have to help me with the name.”
“Shut up,” Raphino said. He gathered himself.
“If you’re an officer, please identify yourself,” Vince said. “Otherwise this is nothing more than a home invasion.”
Raphino paused and pulled up his shirt to reveal a badge on his belt.
Vince nodded in satisfaction. “Very well. I expect you have a warrant?”
Raphino cleared his throat and recalled his mental script. “Confirm your name is Benjamin Murray.”
Vince tilted his head to the side. Inquisitive. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I don’t know a Benjamin Murray. My name is Vincent Decierdo, but your comrade can tell you that.” He nodded his head in my direction.
Raphino, gun still raised, looked over his shoulder at me.
I cleared my throat.
“Good evening, Julian,” Vince said. “I hadn’t expected you.”
“We know the truth, Vince,” I said. “We know your real name. We know everything. It’s over.”
His right hand moved, and we both held our pistols higher. Before Raphino could yell again, Vince picked up his wallet from the right side of the desk. “Would you like to see my identification?” he asked.
“You think we’re stupid?” Raphino said. “You think we’re stupid.”
Vince nodded to himself. “Very well then. Gentlemen, my hospitality is running out. I’m going to need you to produce a warrant or leave my home.”
There was a thud in the basement. Raphino and I looked at each other.
“Mr. Murray,” Raphino said, “is there anyone else in this house?”
“You’ll have to address me by my name,” Vince said.
“Is there anyone else in this house?” Raphino asked again.
Vince shrugged.
Raphino looked at the door, then me. He lowered his gun and walked toward me.
“I’m going to go check it out,” he said quietly. “Just hold him here until I get back.”
“What?”
“You’ll be fine,” he said, and vanished through the door.
I looked to Vincent Decierdo, alone with him in the room. It was quiet. He held a blank expression, his eyes concealing whatever thoughts were running through his head. His hands seemed to have moved a half-inch closer to the shotgun. I thought back to the last time I was in this office with him, and the conversation we had. It was different, this time.
“Hands away from the gun,” I said.
He said nothing. My palm and fingers perspired on the pistol. I badly wanted Raphino to come back.
“Hands away,” I said. He didn’t move.
Vince’s eyes studied me quietly. Murray’s eyes I reminded myself. Murray.
“You going to shoot me, Julian?”
“I will if I have to.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Shut up,” I said. “Scoot your chair back, away from the shotgun.”
“I just described to your partner the reason I cannot do that,” he said. “You know I’m a pragmatist, Julian.”