Chapter 24
Still sitting at the game table with the three men, Claire reached out and slowly turned over the top card in the Live or Die pile. She blew out a relieved breath. ALIVE. Okay, so far, so good, but this kind of luck was not going to last much longer. She felt a shiver start up her spine and tried to stop it.
Lucky hooted and clapped his hands. “Well shit, woman, you are as lucky as Satan himself. But this time you gotta draw from our bag of tricks. We need to get this show on the road. We get bored if things don’t move faster than this.”
“What bag of tricks?”
“Just watch and learn, my love. I can’t believe there’s been no blood spilled yet. Damn, you two are really beginning to grate on my nerves.”
Claire realized that Junior was not laughing with Lucky, also known in police precincts as the psychopath Troy Edward Wood. Junior was not enjoying the game as much as his partner in crime. This game was serious business for him: the business of murdering his father, something he had no doubt looked forward to for years. To him, Claire was just icing on the cake, somebody Lucky could play with. She watched Junior take hold of the bag and pull out a card. He read it silently, and then he grinned evilly at his father. “Now we are talking, Dad.”
Junior turned the card around so Claire and Lucky could see it: FINGER FUN WITH JUNIOR.
Lucky laughed out loud. He reached down and cupped his hand over Claire’s breast. She slapped it away with her bound hands. “Touchy, touchy, but you’ll get used to me touching you, Claire. You’ll end up begging me to do that instead of hurting you. And now you’re going to see something you don’t see every day. Finally, some blood’s gonna get spilled on this nice clean table.”
Claire felt herself tense up. She had been sitting still since they’d brought her to the table; her whole body felt as rigid as a board. She wasn’t sure what they were going to do next. She was afraid to think. They were sadists. They loved to hurt people and inflict as much pain as they could. She watched Junior pull out a large switchblade knife. He slung it out hard so that the blade flipped open. Claire could see that the edge had been honed until it was razor sharp. Oh God, what was he going to do?
“Put your hand down on the table, daddy dearest,” Junior was telling Jonesy. His face had grown hard now, unrelenting, and something else glowed inside his eyes, behind those black glasses: pleasure. “And spread out those talented guitar-pickin’ fingers of yours.”
“No.” Jonesy’s voice came out very low. Claire froze up even more, afraid for what was going to happen to him.
Junior smiled. It was one of the most evil expressions that Claire had ever seen on a human being. “Do it, or I will cut off your ears one at a time. Then your nose, then other parts I’m sure you don’t want to lose, not with that sexy girlfriend waiting for you back at the hotel.”
“No.” Jonesy managed to draw himself up a little, displaying a belated burst of courage. He balled both hands into fists and held them down on his lap. Claire was glad to see him resisting a little. These guys were not men who admired cowardice, no matter what terrible deed they were perpetrating on their victim.
Junior did not hesitate. He gripped the knife by the hilt with the blade pointed down, and then swiped down through Jonesy Jax’s ear. Part of it came off in Junior’s hand, and Jonesy’s scream was so shrill and awful that Claire’s blood ran cold.
“Stop!” Claire tried to grab Junior’s hand with the knife but he shook her off. Then Lucky stood behind Claire and held her down in her chair with a tight, two-fisted grip on her shoulders. Jonesy was breathing hard, holding his bleeding wound, sucking air in and blowing it out. He was staring down at his partially severed ear lying on the table in front of him.
“Okay, Dad, you want your other ear down there on the table, too? Quit playing around and put your hand on the table and spread out your fingers.”
Jonesy was pressing his bound hands tight over the bleeding. Junior held the dripping blade aloft, more than eager to take off the other ear. Claire struggled to get free as Jonesy slowly placed his hands down on the table. He spread his fingers wide and shut his eyes. That’s when Claire realized what Junior was going to do. She’d seen it done before, in films.
“Now you hold real still,” Junior told Jonesy, “and maybe I won’t cut off your fingers by mistake.”
Jonesy did not move. What was left of his ear was bleeding down the side of his neck. Claire held her breath. Junior started his game by placing the sharp tip of the blade down between Jonesy’s spread fingers, very slowly at first, just tapping the table, and then he started doing it faster and faster until he finally missed, and the blade sliced deeply into Jonesy’s ring finger. Jonesy screamed in agony, and Claire squeezed her eyes shut. These guys loved inflicting pain. They were laughing together now, and Jonesy was hugging his injured hand up tight against his chest. He was losing a lot of blood and gasping for breath.
“Stop it, stop it!” Claire was angry now, angry that they were just sitting there laughing and torturing him. She made a grab for the knife at Lucky’s waist, but he was faster. He got hold of her arm and twisted it until she was forced down in her chair.
“The fun is just getting started, love o’ mine. You still have your own torture to look forward to. Be patient. It’s just his finger. He’s gonna miss that ear more. But he’ll die soon, so no real harm done.”
Outside, the strident barking of dogs interrupted their grisly game. Junior and Lucky darted looks at each other, then they jumped up and took off down the steps beside the big waterwheel. Claire jumped to her feet. In his panic, Junior had left the switchblade stuck point down in the tabletop. She grabbed it and turned it around, awkwardly trying to saw through the ropes binding her hands together. She could hear shouting now, and then the rope snapped apart and she was free! She cut Jonesy’s hands free, too, and then she got an arm around his waist and tried to help him stand up. When she got him to the top of the steps, she could see the room right below: They weren’t down there. She wasn’t sure where they were, but this was her only chance to get away.
“C’mon, Jonesy, I’ve got to get my guns and then we can get out of here,” she whispered to the moaning man. He was holding the side of his head, and blood was oozing through his fingers. Before she could turn back, a big hand closed over her shoulder and jerked her back away from Jonesy. Another arm snaked around her waist and a hand clamped down over her mouth. Jonesy fell weakly to his knees at the top of the steps.
“Don’t fight, Claire, it’s me!”
Then he let her go, and Claire spun around to face him, shocked when she saw Oliver Wood. “You’ve got to help us! They’re trying to kill us.”
“They’re downstairs. C’mon, we got to get him out the back. Help me get him up.” Oliver was already half-dragging Jonesy back into the shadows at the far end of the room. Still holding the knife in one fist, Claire turned to follow, but she heard somebody coming hard up the steps right behind her. She spun just as Lucky reached her. Claire slashed at him with the knife, but he was too quick. He tackled her low around the knees and took her down hard on the floor. She twisted desperately to free herself, but he sent his fist hard against her face. She evaded the blow but it landed on her shoulder, numbing one arm. She screamed in pain and started stabbing hysterically at his body, driving the sharp knife down hard into his back. He yelled and let her go, trying to twist away from the knife, but now Junior was right behind him on the steps. He got hold of Claire’s foot as she scooted back away from him and lunged out to stab Junior. She got him once in the arm, but he jumped down on top of her and started twisting the weapon out of her hands.
Behind her, Oliver had dropped Jonesy and run back to help her. He stopped in his tracks, his gun pointed at Junior, but Junior now had the barrel of his gun pressed up against Claire’s head. Nobody said anything for a moment, panting and groaning, but then a small voice came from right behind Oliver.
“Let her go, or I’ll shoot that guy down on the floor.”
That’s when Claire saw Rico. She couldn’t believe her eyes for a minute, but it was him. He stood about five feet away from them, her Glock 19 held in both hands and pointed straight at Lucky’s chest. “I’ll shoot him if you don’t let her go. I will. I promise I will.”
Before anyone else could move, Oliver opened up on Lucky where he lay on the floor, and Junior staggered toward the steps, his gun still hard against Claire’s head. “Die, you bitch!” he yelled, backing down the steps. That’s when Rico pulled the trigger. The retort was so loud, and the bullet went wide. Claire ducked down away from Junior and grabbed his arm before he could shoot Rico, but then more shots rang out from the room below. Junior fell forward hard, dropping his gun. It skittered across the floor, and Claire scrabbled on her hands and knees after it, but Junior was already down on the ground and not moving. Claire crawled toward Rico, and the boy dropped the gun and ran into her arms. She grabbed him and held on tightly as somebody downstairs cried out her name. It was Black. Then his footsteps were thundering up the steps, and she went limp with relief, with Rico still clutched in her arms. He was clasping his arms around her neck in a stranglehold.
“Okay, Rico, you’re okay now, don’t cry.”
But Rico was crying, and Claire felt like it, too, from the fear and the relief and the overwhelming rush of adrenaline. Black was at the top of the steps, his .45 in his hand. He pointed his weapon at Oliver Wood, who was back with Jonesy and trying to wrap up his wounds. Then Black headed straight for Claire and Rico. He dropped down on his haunches beside them. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
“We’re okay,” Claire got out somehow, just relieved they were all still alive. It had been way too close this time. “Call an ambulance, Black. They cut up Jonesy pretty bad.”
“Booker’s already called 911 on the landline downstairs. What the hell happened here? How did they get you? You sure you’re all right?”
Claire nodded, but Rico couldn’t seem to stop crying so Black picked him up and held him tight, and then reached down and helped Claire to stand up. It was over, but it didn’t seem over to Claire. She was shaking like an oak leaf because she knew how close she’d come this time. They would have killed her. They would have put her on that waterwheel. And Rico, too. How did he even get there? He was so little, and he’d seen so much violence, violence from which she and Black had sworn to shield him. But he was okay, all of them were okay. That had to be enough right now. She couldn’t deal with anything else. She just wanted to go home and let somebody else handle it for a while. Booker and Oliver tried to take care of Jonesy, and Black kept one arm around her as he carried Rico outside. He wrapped them both in blankets, settled Rico on Claire’s lap inside the Jeep, and got the heater going. Then they all just sat there and waited for the cops to show up. They were all alive, that’s all that Claire could think about. They were still breathing. Maybe later, she’d figure out the rest, but right now, all she wanted to do was hold Rico close and make him feel safe.