XXXII
You turn back from our objective too easily," Sievers said to Fat Jack. "It's still obtainable." His tone was clipped, as if he were talking about a military operation.
Fat Jack wasn't swayed by Sievers' concise confidence. "Christ, Marty, this thing is blown. I mean, hey, let's face it and get out while we can. I mean-"
"Shut up," Sievers interrupted. "Stay shut up." Patton meets blues man, Nudger thought. New commander. Battlefield commission. "I was outside the door. I heard everything you and Nudger said. This operation isn't scratched; we simply have to tighten the time frame."
"Tighten what… how?" Fat Jack said, sounding vague and confused. Obviously not Green Beret material.
Sievers was looking directly at Fat Jack, but at an unnatural angle that kept Nudger fixed firmly in his peripheral vision. Nudger had never seen anyone do that before. It made the flesh on the back of his neck creep. "We get in touch with Collins as soon as possible," Sievers said. "We collect what money we can within the next hour, before Collins learns about Hollister's body being found and figures there's murder in the game and maybe his daughter's dead. He'll be more likely to balk at paying then and call in the law."
"Why is the money so important now?" Nudger asked. "Alive is better than rich, when you're staring at a homicide charge and the death penalty."
Sievers swiveled his head slightly to look at Nudger, keeping Fat Jack in sight to the side in that peculiar way of his. It was easier with Fat Jack because of his bulk, but the odd intensity stayed in Sievers' eyes. It was sheer concentration and calculation; his juices were flowing as they probably hadn't since Vietnam.
"The money's important because of who we owe it to," he said. "Fat Jack and I borrowed a lot of money to cover unwise investments made with the club's profits. We not only dipped into David Collins' till, we took out loans from people who administer their own death penalty to debtors who can't pay. And without that ransom money, Fat Jack and I can't pay."
"I ain't worried about that now!" Fat Jack said. "We can run from those guys easier than from the law. You get a murder rap on you, and kidnapping Collins' daughter to boot, and you got no place to hide, Marty. No place. Hey, don't you understand?"
"I understand that we're going to finish what we started," Sievers said. "We're ramrodding this through."
"Collins won't even know you're involved," Fat Jack said. "But what about me? He'll come straight for me. And we hang around here and get nailed by the law while we're trying to collect a ransom and everybody in Louisiana will want to witness our executions just for the entertainment value. You're underestimating Collins' influence."
"I don't care what happens to you," Sievers said flatly. "The operation is what's important."
"Certain soldiers are expendable," Nudger said. "Every good military man knows that. And this one's back in Vietnam; he'll take his objective even if it kills all his men."
"Some of us have the guts to do what needs doing," Sievers said, glancing over with contempt at Fat Jack. "This tub of shit was expendable from the beginning. I knew it would be that way; I know men. I had to do everything because he was too frightened. He was always making excuses, hiding behind his obesity. There's no sand in him, no will to do what's dangerous or unpleasant."
"Then you're the one who killed Hollister?"
Sievers grinned. "Sure. We led him to believe he was going to murder Ineida, then share the ransom money with us. He liked the idea of profiting two ways. Music and money. Not that he had a choice."
"Hollister's throat was crushed," Nudger said. "Like Billy Weep's in St. Louis. Did you use a karate chop on them?"
"Exactly." Sievers seemed pleased with Nudger's correct guess, as if he'd encountered an unexpectedly apt pupil. "I followed you to Weep's apartment and neutralized him after you left," he said. "We didn't want him to mention that Fat Jack was a close friend of Jacqui James. Fat Jack witnessed Hollister's murder of the James woman years ago in St. Louis; that's how we controlled Hollister, got him to agree to murder his next lover for money as well as art. Fat Jack could have fed him to the law anytime it suited."
Fat Jack's eyes were bulging; he was terrified. "You're saying too much, Marty!"
"It doesn't matter," Sievers snapped, and Fat Jack seemed to shrink into his bulk and was quiet.
"Why didn't you let Hollister kill Ineida?" Nudger asked.
"Oh, we intended to give her back to Daddy. It was the only way to keep Collins from spending the rest of his life using his resources to hunt us down and kill us."
"Then she really is still alive."
Sievers nodded.
"Where is she?"
"That hardly matters to you," Sievers said.
Nudger didn't like the way he said it. Sievers looked hard at Fat Jack, warning him, fixing him in position standing up behind his desk, the way an infielder glances at a runner on third base and freezes him there before throwing the ball to first for the sure out.
Nudger was the sure out.
His stomach jumped around in violent warning; fear ran like molten copper along the edges of his tongue and the back of his throat. Sievers, with a solemn, businesslike expression that was scarier than a scowl, was slowly advancing toward him. Time for some of that danger and unpleasantness. A good commander wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. Or bloody. Best to neutralize the Nudger problem as quickly as possible, get it out of the way and carry on.
"Now, wait a minute," Nudger said. "Let's talk about this. Figure something out…"
"We don't have a minute," Sievers told him. "You saw to that. As it turns out, you committed a tactical error." He slid obliquely to his right, just enough to place himself between Nudger and the door.
Nudger considered yelling for help. But he could barely hear the music from the club downstairs. The office was almost soundproof. No one would hear him. No one would come if he called.
Sievers angled his body slightly sideways, suddenly was airborne and twirling, his right foot slashing out in what karate aficionados call a crescent kick. Nudger leaped backward and felt a brush of air as Sievers' tassled brown loafer arced past his face.
But the backward movement to avoid the kick left Nudger near a corner, with almost no room to maneuver. Sievers stepped closer again, setting himself for more explosive mayhem. He felt about killing with his hands-or feet- the way Hollister had felt about making music.
Nudger knew there was a single, low-percentage chance of staying alive. Not taking that chance would be reprehensible. Would be giving up. Forever.
He gulped down his terror and charged.
Sievers was caught off guard by this sudden attack from a supposedly subdued opponent. That was why he just grazed the side of Nudger's head as he danced nimbly from the path of the charge and chopped hard with the heel of his hand. Not a clean hit. But no problem for the old trooper. He actually laughed at this unexpected sport.
Nudger's right ear was numb and buzzing. His desperate surprise attack had gained him nothing. His back was literally against the wall now. In a very few seconds he would join Billy Weep.
Sievers was moving closer, crowding him, daring him to charge again, wanting him to charge, yearning to taste fully the violence he'd only sampled; his fighter's blood was up. The bland man's compact body was coiled inside his conservative brown suit, building energy to trade for Nudger's death. His eyes hardened; he cupped his hands in peculiar half-fists and crouched low to spring. He became very still. He was ready.
Nudger didn't hear the shot.
He doubted if Sievers heard it.
Presto, change-o! There was a round bluish hole just left of center on Sievers' forehead. It might have been a magician's illusion or the special-effects magic of movieland. Only it wasn't; it was real life. Real death. His body didn't move, but the energy seemed to flow out of it; the intensity drained from his eyes. He was his old bland self. Amiable average Marty. The guy you'd want your sister to bring home to dinner.