Chapter 24 - Devil to Pay

Deira stared out the window of the truck, letting her focus go soft. The streetlights were a blur, a line of halos mocking the damned. She didn't want to see, didn't want to think. She couldn't stop feeling. Her ribs ached a little, her wrists more. She shook her head, not wanting to catalog the other sensations. The scent of him was everywhere.

"I understand if you are angry with me." His voice filled the truck.

"Not at all," she said.

"I want to," he started. She cut him off.

"I think I've had enough of what you want for one night. I don't need an explanation. And if you offer me an apology, I might have to hurt you."

"It would only be fair."

"There you go again with the idea that things should be fair. They aren't. Never have been. So if you're looking for me to assuage whatever guilt you have over what happened, you're shit out of luck." She finally looked at him. His hands were tight on the steering wheel.

"I liked that," she said, clearly articulating each word. "It was exactly what I expected from you."

He responded as though she had slapped him. She sat back in the seat and smiled. A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of her apartment.

"I would like to come up," he said.

"Why not?" She laughed and got out of the truck. She took her bag from the back seat and headed for the door.

"Wait!" he called, grabbing a case and following quickly. "The code has changed. I forgot to tell you."

"Distracted, were you?" She unlocked the door, stepping aside so he could disarm the alarm. He glared at her, then punched in the numbers.

"I will write it down for you."

"Six, seven, zero, five, three, five, one. I got it."

She followed him up the stairs. He bent down to check the tape.

"Sort of low-tech, don't you think? I mean, there is an alarm."

"I know how to disable such things, so I am fairly sure others do. Sometimes the old tricks are useful, especially if people are thinking all the security measures are state of the art."

"Good point." She unlocked the door and turned on the light.

She dropped her bag by the couch and went to the kitchen. She put the cup in the sink and ran water in it.

"So," she said, leaning against the counter, "are you here for the obligatory after sex nightcap?"

"No. I have things to do yet tonight."

"And you never drink."

"You noticed."

"I notice a lot of things. Someone taught me observation was key to survival."

"I am glad you took it to heart."

"You say that now." She laughed. "So you aren't here for a drink. And I know you're not here for more sex. So what is it?"

"This." He set the case down on the counter.

"That's a gun case."

"Very observant." He handed her a key. She put it in her pocket.

"Are you going to open it?"

"Is it the Glock?"

"Yes."

"Then there's no need. I'll take it into my room when I go to bed." Giving her the gun had been a huge act of trust. There was no way she was going to take it out while he was there. His shoulders loosened, and she knew she had done the right thing.

"Thank you," she said. "I'll return it to you when this is all over."

"That will not be necessary. You may find you enjoy shooting as a hobby." He stressed the last word.

She snorted. "Yeah, I suck at knitting. And scrapbooking is right out."

"I need to go," he said, turning towards the door.

"Of course you do."

"I will call you tomorrow to discuss the final arrangements for the job."

"Sure you will." She was too drained to moderate her tone.

He turned to regard her, raising one eyebrow.

"Men always say they'll call the next day." She walked past him. "But they rarely do."

"I will."

"Uh huh." She opened the door. "Get out. I'm tired and sore, and there's a big glass of whiskey with my name on it."

"Get some sleep," he said as he walked down the stairs. "And do not drink too much."

"You need to decide if you want to be my lover or my guardian," she called as he walked down the stairs. Then she closed the door.

He was left in darkness. He cracked the front door, reset the alarm, and got back in his truck. He took out the cell phone Nicky had given him to track Cavuto's men and checked the call volume. It had been slow for most of the day. In the past twenty minutes, there had been eight calls. He put in an earpiece and began to drive. If something was going down, there would be more calls.

He did not have to wait long.

"What is it?" The voice belonged to one of the bodyguards Gage had seen at the warehouse. He checked the number and confirmed it. Butch. Another fucking dog's name.

"There's been a lot of traffic by the house." The voice belonged to Franco, a small, squirrelly man with bad teeth who ran the whorehouse when he wasn't selling pump to kids. It wasn't difficult to figure out how he managed to work both jobs.

"So? Maybe you'll do good business tonight. You could use it. The numbers have been down this week. The other guys want their cut, so make some fucking money for us, or I'm going to tell Cavuto you're working on the side."

"I'll tell him you're part of it." Franco said.

"Like he'd believe you over me. Just do your job. Invite whoever it is in and put those bitches to work for a change." Butch wasn't known for his kindness to women. Or dogs.

"Well, they ain't getting out. A coupla cars have been by a few times. Something ain't right." Franco had better instincts than Butch, who had never run the streets.

"You're getting worked up over nothing. Don't call me again unless there's a real problem." The call ended abruptly.

Gage pulled into an abandoned gas station and closed the cell phone. He changed into an oversized sweatshirt, covered with stains. It was not much of a disguise but there was little need for more. If Franco was correct, the Croatians were getting ready to move in. The timing was right. Butch would have a lot of explaining to do after tonight. That's what Cavuto got for hiring muscle out of the gym. Too many blows to the head had resulted in Butch being unable to see possible consequences to his actions. It would not matter soon.

He turned into a residential neighborhood. It had been nice a generation ago. Most of the big houses had fallen into disrepair. The few grassy yards seemed to have grown a collection of cars up on blocks. The ones with bare ground were littered with garbage, some of it human. He wished he had borrowed one of Manny's beaters, but instantly rejected the notion. He would not put the mechanic at risk. Drug dealers had nice cars, and this neighborhood was rife with them, so his truck did not stand out.

He pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store that was shuttered for the night, parking in the shadows next to the dumpster. He put the gun in the pocket of the sweatshirt and waited.

Franco was right about one thing. Someone was cruising the block. A couple of someones. Two cars drove by twice in forty-five minutes, older American models, more than a little beat up. Both held at least two men, possibly more. It was difficult to tell. Gage hoped this was more than sloppy recon. If they did not act in the next hour or so, he would, but he preferred to wait until chaos erupted.

Not for the first time, he regretted giving up cigarettes. They would help pass the time. Of course, they would also make it difficult to remain hidden, which was why he had quit in the first place. He only craved them when he was doing a job.

It was almost midnight when the cars parked, one at either end of the block. If they weren't worried about getting back to their cars quickly, they were planning a bloodbath. Three men got out of one, two out of the other. They had not bothered hiding their guns. Gage recognized the leader and suppressed the urge to start shooting. He would have other chances. He picked up the phone and dialed Franco's number.

"Butch?"

"Get the girls out the back door. Now." He hung up before Franco could ask questions. It was the best he could do.

Lights came on in several rooms. Viktor's men were almost to the door. Gage pulled up the hood of the sweatshirt and got out of his truck. Hunching his shoulders, he shuffled across the parking lot, hands jammed in the pocket of the sweatshirt.

The door flew open and several women ran out. Some were obviously drugged and seemed to have no idea of what to do once they got outside. Gage dropped his head as some of the more sober ran past him, towing their strung out friends.

Viktor's men stepped up to the door, effectively blocking the stragglers. There was nothing to be done about it. A fair amount of screaming came from the house, only some of it from the women who had not gotten out in time, but no gunfire. It would not be long. With the Croatians, chaos was assured.

He walked down the sidewalk. When he passed the first of the battered cars, he doubled over as if he was throwing up. Taking a metal spike from his boot, he slammed it into one of the tires, then straightened up and continued down the sidewalk. They might all get away in the second car, but it would cost them a few minutes, maybe enough time for the police to show up.

The gate next to the house was opening slowly. He stepped into the shadow and leaned against the privacy fence surrounding one of the few decent looking houses. As the first shot was fired inside the house, the gate flew open. Franco dashed out, looking around wildly, clutching his cell phone. He should have taken a gun. The slimy rat had slipped out the back and left the women to face the Croatians alone. Gage pushed off the wall as Franco dashed across the street.

"Hey, buddy," Gage slurred, stumbling into the little man and clutching his arm.

"Don't touch me, you fucking wino." Franco pushed at Gage's hand.

"You're in a hurry to leave," Gage said, straightening a little. He grabbed Franco's hand, pulled it back, and snapped his wrist. Franco screamed, dropped the cell phone and reached for the gun he didn't have. Gage grabbed him and slammed him into the fence. He looked up and down the block. The whores had left and no one had come out of the house. There was plenty of noise from inside.

"You fucking lunatic! I'm going to kill you!"

"You won't have the chance." Gage pulled his gun. "This is for Kara."

"You're gonna kill me for some piece of shit junkie? Why?" Franco was trying to stall him but the inevitability of death was in his eyes.

"Because I was a piece of shit junkie, and I have no use for people like you." Gage shot Franco in the chest. He bent over and picked up the casing and Franco's phone. Both were shoved in the pocket of the sweatshirt before he turned and shuffled down the street.

He cut through the dark alley behind the houses and headed back to his truck. He could hear sirens in the distance, but he did not increase his pace. A perimeter check told him the convenience store parking lot was still empty. He opened the back of the truck, took off the sweatshirt and put it in a plastic bag. He used baby wipes to ensure his face and hands were clean, then added those to the bag before placing it in a small tote.

He got in his truck, threw it in reverse and turned out of the parking lot, away from the carnage. As much as he would enjoy watching Viktor's men scramble, he needed to be gone well before the police showed up. He did not turn on his headlights until he rounded the next corner. He tried like hell to fight the adrenaline rush so he could keep to the speed limit and mostly succeeded. There was nothing he could do about the smile on his face.