With a smile of delight, the bodyguard began to inch forward threateningly. Stone edged to his right and as he did, Kitten mirrored the move, inching to his left, away from the workbench and his gun. Eric sidestepped again, and Kitten followed with a smile, blocking any possibility of him rushing for the door. As soon as there was a separation of two-yards between Kitten and the weapon on the workbench, Stone reached behind his back, pulled out Anton Stephens’ gun, and without any formalities, shot the huge Russian in the face.
The sound of the shot echoed with a flat bang in the confines of the garage, but it was probably no more audible outside than if he had slammed a car door. Even so, Eric figured that it would not be long before someone came to look for the missing bodyguards. Kitten was not dead, but he was obviously severely wounded. The bullet had struck the bridge of his nose and embedded in his skull. His face was a mess. He was bleeding heavily from the mouth and writhing on the floor in pain. Stone grabbed a washcloth from a box of automotive cleaning materials, and wrapped it tightly around the gun to act as a sound suppressor. Then he took two quick steps forwards, jammed the gun against Kitten’s sternum, and fired again. The Russian heaved once and then lay still.
Before dumping the washcloth onto Kitten’s chest, Stone used it to wipe the blood from his hand. Something on his crossbow had broken when he had thrown it, so with a grimace of regret, he left it on the floor and took Kitten’s gun from the workbench instead. After switching off the strip light, Eric waited at the door for thirty seconds with his eyes wide open, trying to recover some of his night vision. He cautiously pushed the door open and stepped into the glare of the moonlight. No one was waiting to kill him, but the French door at the back of the house was now standing open, beckoning him to enter.
Taking slow, careful steps, Eric moved to his left until he reached the back wall of the house. He waited there, consciously calming his breathing, while he sensed his surroundings. He could hear no voices or suspicious noises, just the distant sound of Carter’s car, randomly accelerating and braking. Except for the wedge of light from the open French door, nothing attracted his attention. Because the air was sharp and cold, Stone could still detect the residual smell of exhaust fumes from Ed’s wildly revving engine. The faint but acrid smell of fresh tobacco smoke, suggested that the skinny man was still at the front of the house.
With his back flat against the wall, Stone sidestepped along the building until he was level with the open door. With the guns ready, he leaned forward and cautiously peeked inside. Although the curtain was partially open, all he could see was a wall and part of a desk. It was when he risked moving a little farther to improve his field of view, that he saw Linda. His heart jumped — she was alive. Linda was sitting on a hard wooden chair, staring blankly at the wall to his left. As Stone prepared himself to charge in through the door, a confident voice spoke loudly.
“Do come in, Mr. Stone. You must be getting cold out there.”
Eric raised both guns and stepped through the curtain.
EIGHTEEN
There were two people in the room, Simon Cartwright and Linda. She was sitting on a high backed wooden chair, with her feet flat on the floor. Her hands were placed demurely on her lap, palms upwards. She was staring blankly at the wall opposite. Cartwright was standing behind the chair. He was holding Linda’s hair, and firmly pressing a gun against her head.
“Stay very still and do exactly as I say, or I will kill her.”
Stone quickly assessed the situation and decided that he had no option but to comply. He felt sickened that he had come this far, simply to fail. However, there was nothing he could do while there was a gun against Linda’s head. His only hope was to wait for an opportunity to rush the man. Stone slowly lowered his guns.
“Put the guns on the floor,” Cartwright said.
Stone complied.
“And now the radio.”
Stone complied.
“Now walk to the center of the room and kneel down.”
Stone complied.
Cartwright smiled and changed his aim. Stone looked at Linda one last time and then slowly closed his eyes.
“Relax, Eric… may I call you Eric? Well, I suppose I can, as I seem to be holding all of the cards just now.”
Stone opened his eyes. Cartwright smiled without displaying any real warmth.
“Anyway… You can relax. I’m not going to shoot you — unless I have to.”
Stone looked at Linda. She was still staring at the wall opposite. She seemed unaware that Eric had entered the room, or perhaps she was just too afraid to acknowledge his presence. He called her name, but got the same blank face in response.
“What have you done to her?” he asked.
“You do me an injustice, Eric. I haven’t done anything to her… yet.”
“If you hurt her… ”
Cartwright ignored the threat.
“I wanted to thank you for disposing of my two Neanderthal bodyguards. It was going to be such problem for me to kill them. You’ve really been most helpful to me”
He waved vaguely towards his computer.
“I’ve been watching you on my security system. You really were most impressive, sneaking through the grass, and firing your little crossbow. In other circumstances I would have made you work for me.”
“Over my dead body!”
Cartwright shrugged.
“That would have been my alternative offer.”
He said it as a statement of fact.
“What do you want?” Stone asked.
“I’m going to be leaving soon, but I have a little time, so I thought we could have a little chat.”
Stone didn’t want to talk; he wanted to kill Simon Cartwright. For all of the things that this dreadful excuse of a man had done, and for all of the things he was planning to do, Stone wanted him dead. He wanted to poke his eyes out with his thumbs, beat him to a pulp, and feed him to wild dogs. Stone wanted to put Cartwright into a headlock, and squeeze his throat until his eyes bulged and his face turned blue. He wanted to feel The Fixer die.
Carter had warned Eric about the dangers of crossing over to the dark side, and about how hard it could be to come back. Right now Stone realized that he wanted that darkness. He welcomed it. That darkness would give him the strength he needed to kill Simon Cartwright, and then save Linda. To do those things, he had to stay alive, and at that moment, talking seemed a better alternative than being shot — so he nodded his acceptance.
“What do you want to talk about?”
Cartwright checked his watch.
“I have a little time to fill, until my plane will be ready. Let’s begin with a question. Why are you so intent on bringing down my Wrecking Crew?”
“You killed Charles Rathbone.”
Cartwright shook his head.
“No, you are mistaken… Rathbone killed himself. We were hired to discredit him. His death was an unforeseen consequence. Actually, it was rather an embarrassing inconvenience.”
Cartwright made Charles’ death sound as trivial as missing a train, or being late to a party. Stone had to work hard to control his emotions.
“All that effort, just because he was getting close to the Wrecking Crew?” he asked.
Cartwright looked puzzled.