"I'm willing to forgive you for putting my head through the wall that time at the house," said Cecil, the pistol steady on Thorpe's chest. His knuckles were raw. "I'm willing to forgive and forget, because I'm a little shorthanded now, and I'm going to need some help when I take over the operation."
"Clark might have something to say about that."
"I'm not worried," sneered Cecil. "You should have seen him, blubbering like a baby, talking to Missy like he expected her to answer. When he left, he told me he was going to grab his board and paddle out until it didn't hurt no more." He shook his head. "Hey, she was my sister, but you don't see me dying about it. You got to move on, right, Frank?"
"Easier said than done."
"Well, I said it and I done it." Cecil's finger curled around the trigger of the machine pistol. It was all he could do to hold himself back. "You going to work for me or not?"
"I don't even want to be near you."
Cecil grinned, pulled the trigger. Nothing happened, of course.
Thorpe stepped closer, pulled the pistol away, and swatted him across the head with it. "You have to flip off the safety."
Cecil groaned, rolled across the floor, holding his head in his hands.
Thorpe turned to Vlad. "If you and Arturo didn't kill Bishop…" He was thinking out loud, and not liking the answer he kept coming up with.
"Frank?" Vlad nodded toward Cecil.
Thorpe flipped the safety off, pointed the pistol at Cecil. "Don't do it."
Cecil stared up at Thorpe, the.22 in his hand. "You scared? I'm not."
"Put the gun down and get out of here," said Thorpe.
"I don't think so," said Cecil.
"Go home," said Thorpe. "It's over. We can stop now. All of us."
"I don't want to stop. This ain't the old Cecil you're talking to."
"I don't want to kill you," said Thorpe.
"Look at you, all serious and concerned." Cecil showed his bad teeth. "I don't need you after all, Frank. Like I told Missy, I got an aptitude." His finger tightened on the trigger.
Thorpe shot him three times, knocked Cecil backward in a spray of blood. Ears ringing, Thorpe wiped the machine pistol clean and tossed it onto the table. He felt an overwhelming heaviness, as though the room were caving in on him. He had been wrong about everything.
"I know what Cecil meant," said Vlad. "It's hard to stop once you start."
Thorpe nodded. "Sometimes I think it's nearly impossible… but we have to try." He moved closer. "I should drop you off at a hospital."
Vlad smoothed the lapels of Arturo's suit. "The first time Arturo saw me, he crossed himself. I didn't understand, so I waved back. It was a silly mistake. A lucky mistake." He smiled. "We bumped into each other at Los Angeles Airport, and when I waved, he thought I was a courier from the Bucharest syndicate. I had worked for the syndicate before, done some cold work for them, but I had left to come to America. I wanted to see cowboys. Arturo and I stood in the airport, talking and watching the luggage circling round and round, and by the time my bag arrived, Arturo said he didn't care if the syndicate hadn't sent me, he had work for me." He glanced at Thorpe. "What's wrong?"
"Just… coincidence." Thorpe shook his head. "All of our planning and calculation and research, but ultimately our lives pivot on a missed signal or a man in too much of a hurry."
"Have you ever seen The Lion King, Frank?"
"Ah… yeah, sure. I like that movie."
"I told Clark and Missy that they didn't have to kill Arturo. They could have exiled him instead."
"Like Simba?"
"I knew you would understand." Vlad sighed. "I wish Arturo had just asked me for money, instead of going to work for Guillermo. I have over three million dollars in my closet, I would have given it to him."
"You have three million dollars in cash and you're living in the back of a store?"
"Arturo used to say that, too." Vlad patted Arturo's shoulder. "He told me to buy myself some clothes, a sports car, a house, a woman… but I never wanted any of those things. I never wanted anything at all. If I had found something I really wanted, I would have spent every penny… but I never did." He trembled. "I just wished Arturo had asked me. I would have given him all the money he needed." His shirt was soaked now. "Arturo was too proud to ask for help."
"Arturo didn't betray you. He wasn't working for Guillermo."
"Clark and Missy said he was. They had proof."
"I set Arturo up." Strange the relief Thorpe felt telling the truth. "I was the one who betrayed you all."
Vlad peered at him. "Why?"
Thorpe shook his head.
"Why, Frank? What did we ever do to you?"
"Ray Bishop was a friend of mine, and I thought… I thought Arturo had killed him. I thought I was protecting the Meachums." Thorpe looked around the room, taking in the dead. "I knew the kinds of things you and Arturo had done. Somebody had to step in… and that was me."
"I see." Vlad stared at him with those pale blue eyes. "Some of the things Arturo and I did… they made me sick. They gave me nightmares. Arturo and I, we did bad things, terrible things, but we didn't kill your friend, and Clark told us not to touch the Meachums." One eye was rimmed with blood. "Are you going to kill me now, Frank?"
"No."
"Arturo is dead. There's no one for me now."
"I'm not going to kill you."
Vlad's hands twitched in his lap. "The scientists used to talk about these things they created… these cellular catalysts. They said their best work was sleeping inside us, just waiting until we needed it, but the scientists…" He looked at Thorpe, forced his hands to be still. "The scientists, they didn't really know what we needed."
"Let me take you to a hospital."
A red tear slid down Vlad's cheek. "I've seen enough doctors."
42
Thorpe was halfway through the front gate before he spotted the man sitting on his front stoop reading a newspaper. The paper hid his face, but Thorpe recognized the posture, legs splayed, the same way he had sat when they were crouched in the underbrush, hiding from Lazurus's men. It was the Engineer.
"You coming in, Frank?" the Engineer said from behind the newspaper. The same voice that Thorpe had heard while lying in the plastic surgeon's office, flat and uninflected, not a trace of the European accent from the running track. "If you're going to rabbit, there's no need to sprint. I'm too out of shape to chase you."
Thorpe checked the street, checked the windows of the other apartments. He shut the gate behind him, heard it lock, then crossed toward his front door.
The Engineer folded the paper, stood up, fleshier than Thorpe remembered, his face newly sunburned. He wore dark pants, a short-sleeved dress shirt, and a clip-on necktie. Good camouflage. "I don't know if you're a comics fan," he said, tucking the paper under one arm, "but that Dilbert still cracks me up. Nice to see-"
Thorpe drove the heel of his hand under the Engineer's chin, snapped his head back, and knocked him onto the grass. The newspaper fluttered in the breeze. Thorpe waited, but there was no sign of Gregor, or anyone else the Engineer might have brought along.
The Engineer groaned, tried to sit up, then lay back down again.
Thorpe patted him down for weapons. Nothing.
"You… you still mad about that bit of fun at the safe house?" gasped the Engineer. "I thought we were past that." He rolled over onto his belly, got to his hands and knees. "You going to hit me again? If you are, do it now, so I won't have so far to fall."
Thorpe watched him.
The Engineer got slowly to his feet. He spit, his tongue sliding across his mouth. "You chipped my front tooth." He straightened his necktie. "I got back a few days early and wanted to surprise you. Black's Beach is nice, but you really don't want to see me naked, Frank." He stuck his hand out. "No hard feelings."