Josh Aterovis is the author of Bleeding Hearts (ISBN: 1930928688) and the upcoming Reap the Whirlwind (Coming in May of 2003), published by Renaissance Alliance Publishing Inc. (http://www.rapbooks.biz) The Truth of Yesterday is the fourth book in the Killian Kendall series.
Visit "Black Sheep Productions" for more information. Official Site of the Killian Kendall Mystery Series http://www.steliko.com/bleedinghearts
The Truth of Yesterday
Chapter 29
After all his growling about keeping him overtime, Evans kept us cooling in the waiting room forever. Or maybe it only felt like forever because I was trying to keep TJ from bolting. I had to do everything but hog tie him just to keep him there, and the only reason I didn't resort to that was because I don't really have any idea what hog tying is, let alone how to do it.
Finally, Evans seemed to feel he'd made his point. He stuck his head into the cramped sitting area and motioned us back with a jerk of his head. I practically had to drag TJ with me as we followed the detective into his office. I'd never been in a detective's office before, so I took the opportunity to take a quick look around. I'm not sure what I had been expecting, but it wasn't this impeccably neat shrine to the Baltimore Ravens football team. Not so much as a pencil was out of place on the faux wood-grained top of his standard metal desk. The guest chairs were also standard office issue-hard, upholstered maroon seats with wooden arms and legs. Nothing else in the office was standard issue. It seemed as if every other item in the room was either purple or black. Glass-fronted display cases housed autographed footballs, helmets, photographs, stuffed animals wearing the Ravens uniform, caps with the team logo, even a mini-reproduction of the stadium. A framed shirt with scrawled autographs of the entire Super Bowl winning team hung on the wall over his desk. It was a little overwhelming, kind of like walking into a museum.
"I would have pegged you for a Redskins fan," I said as I sat down.
A look of disgust passed over Evans stoic face. "Please, just because I live in DC? I gave up on the Redskins years ago. But we're not here to talk football. You said on the phone that you had some important news for me. I'm assuming that news has something to do with your friend here?"
"Yes, excuse me for not introducing you. Detective Owen Evans, this is Thomas Jackson, better known as TJ." TJ flinched at his introduction. I plowed on doggedly. "TJ was dating Paul. He knew a lot about what was going on, he knew who Paul was writing the letters to, and he knew about the tickets and the bank book in the safe. But the best part is he has proof."
Evans held up his hand as if to stop traffic. "Ok, we'll get to the proof part, but first I want to know how you know about the tickets and the bank book in the safe. On second thought, I don't want to know. About that proof?"
Slightly flustered, I produced the file TJ had given me and handed it to the detective. He carefully flipped through it, his expression never once changing as he did. When he'd gone all the way through the file, he laid it carefully on the desk and looked up at TJ.
"You had this all along?" he asked in a deadly calm voice. A slight shudder rippled though my body. I'd heard someone else use a voice like that whenever he was furious-my father. I moved quickly to head him off.
"He was scared and grieving. His lover had just been murdered, he was afraid the killer would come after him if he came forward with the information."
"So he was going to let his lover's killer just walk away?"
"He wasn't exactly in a condition to be making solid judgment calls."
"If he'd come to us in the first place the killer would be behind bars and he'd be safe."
"We both know it doesn't always work like that. Good lawyers can get even the guiltiest clients off Scot-free, and Black can afford the best lawyers in the country. Besides, if Black has mob ties, and there is evidence in there that he does, then he could exact revenge even from behind bars."
"Hello?" TJ interrupted. "I'm sitting right here and this isn't exactly making me feel any better about this."
"Feel any better?" Evans snapped. "Why should you feel any better about anything? This isn't about making you feel good; it's about catching a murderer and bringing him to justice."
"So you do believe that Black is the killer now?"
"I at least think he was behind it, although it would be more likely that his type would hire to have it done."
"The crime didn't show any signs of a professional hit. Everyone has said it seemed more like a crime of passion."
"Black is smart," the detective insisted. "After we talked earlier I made a few calls about this guy. He's a very wanted man. They've been trying to get him for years and the man is like Teflon, they can never get anything to stick. He's suspected of being behind no less than six deaths-five murders and one suicide-and that's just in the US alone. It's long been common knowledge that he is involved in the drug trade and rumored that he has mob ties. The man is scum, but they've never been able to prove anything. He's very careful. I doubt he'd be so foolish as to hire a killer who would make this look like a professional hit. They'd want to confuse things as much as possible."
"Or maybe Black went to talk to Paul, maybe to try and scare him off, and it got of hand."
"Why the hell does it matter whether it was a professional or an amateur?" TJ suddenly blurted out. I took a good look at him and realized that this whole ordeal had been harder on him than I had thought. In fact, I hadn't been thinking about him at all; I'd been focused on one things and one thing only, catching Fenton Black. I reached over and took TJ's hand. An expression I had never expected to see flickered through Evans' eyes, compassion.
"You're right, Mr. Jackson. It doesn't matter. We have more than enough reason to bring Fenton Black in for questioning at the very least. It's much more likely that we can do more than that thanks to the contents of that folder you brought in. I have to be honest with you; there's a good chance you'll have to testify at the trial, but there is no reason why your name should ever come up before then. If it would make you feel better, we can place you in protective custody until then, and since I'm sure the FBI will be involved in this before it's over, I can even say it's a safe bet you could be offered the witness protection program."
TJ shook his head. "None of that. Whatever happens will happen. I'd like to stay out of the media as much as possible, to protect my job, but if that can't be done then I guess I'll just have to face the consequences."
"You've certainly changed your tune since you walked in here," Evans remarked thoughtfully.
"Listening to you has made me realize that this is a lot bigger than me. This man has to be stopped."
The detective nodded and turned his attention to me. "Mr. Kendall, on behalf of the police department of Washington D.C., I want to thank you for your part in bringing this evidence to our attention. Now you're part is finished. You've done a fine job. We'll take it from here."
"Hey, you'll get no argument from me," I said quickly. "I'm not some maverick who wants to bring this guy down on his own. As you said, I've done my part; the rest is up to the professionals. I only have one request to make."
Evans rolled his eyes and heaved a monumental sigh. "Here we go," he muttered.
"It's not that big a deal. I just want a little time before you move on this, maybe one day at the most."
He narrowed his eyes. "A little time for what?"
"I'm afraid that's private," I said quietly. I wanted time to get Jake out of there before the SWAT team burst in and arrested him, but I couldn't very well tell Evans that. I didn't know how I was going to contact Jake if he was holed up with Black, but I had to try. I owed him that much at least.
Evans stared at me a while longer, then shrugged. "It's going to take about 12-24 hours to get the warrants in order. You have however long it takes. I can't give you any more time than that and I can't nail it down any more than that. When the team and the warrants are ready, the team will move in. Simple as that."
"It's something," I said.
"It's a damn sight more than you had any reason to expect," Evans replied.
I nodded. When you're right, you're right. The detective stood up and TJ and I quickly followed his lead. We both shook his hand and then we were led out. Standing outside the police station, I turned and gave TJ a careful once-over.
"Are you going to be ok?" I asked.
He gave me a bleak look. "Only time will tell," he said wearily. "I don't really expect them to be able to keep it out of the news forever. Eventually it will come out and so will I, out of the closet that is. And then I'll lose my job and quite possibly my life."
"You could always take them up on their offer of the witness protection program."
"And spend the rest of my life pretending to be someone I'm not? I've done that for the first half of my life, I'd rather not have to do it for the rest of it. No, I'll just take things as they happen."
"Maybe it won't be all bad. Things seldom are, you know. You could find another great job at a more accepting school."
He shrugged. "There's always hope." He held out his hand for me to shake. "Thank you, Killian."
"For what?" I asked, confused.
"For forcing me to take some action. That file had been eating away at me ever since Paul died, but I seemed paralyzed to take that first step. You took the decision away from me and it was actually a relief. Come to think of it, I'm half hoping the papers will get a hold of this and out me. It would save me the trouble." He flashed me a feeble grin and I impulsively reached out and hugged him. He returned the hug, clinging to me for several seconds as if I were a lifeline; then he released me all at once and stepped back as if embarrassed.
"Take care of yourself, TJ," I said.
"I will. And you take care of yourself. You're the one with the dangerous job."
"Really, it's not usually all that dangerous."
"If you say so." He waved and walked away to his car. As soon as he was out of sight, I felt all the remaining energy I had just drain right out of me. My vision blurred and I felt myself swaying a bit. A shook my head and forced my feet to walk to my car. I climbed inside and rested my head against the steering wheel. I'll just close my eyes for a few seconds, I thought.
The next thing I knew someone was tapping on the window. I jumped upright, and for a brief, disoriented moment, I didn't know where I was. Then I focused on Evans' sour mug glaring in through the car window and it all came back to me. I glanced down at my watch as I opened the door. I'd been asleep for almost half an hour.
"I hope you weren't waiting to bug me some more," he growled.
"No, actually I just fell asleep. I haven't been sleeping very much lately."
"If you're that tired are you sure you're ok to drive?" he asked, sounding almost concerned.
"Yeah, I'll be fine after that power nap," I answered with a cheeky grin.
"Then get going," he said with a slap on the roof.
"Yes, sir." I sketched a salute and pulled the door shut as I started the car.
He tapped on the window again, but this time I just rolled it down. "One more thing," he said leaning down to look in at me. "You be careful. You're one of the good guys; it'd be shame to lose an investigator like you. That was some fine detective work you did. I'd be proud to have you on the force."
"Thank you, Detective Evans," I said, sincerely moved. He moved quickly away across the parking lot. I watched him go, and then put the car in reverse and backed out of the space. I started for Chris' house; I owed her an explanation.
When I arrived, Chris' father Louis insisted that I stay for dinner so I could tell them what had happened. So that's what I did; I gave them the whole story while we ate a very homey meal of roast beef, potatoes, carrots, and green beans. Their reactions to my account were all that a storyteller could hope for; Louis was impressed, Chris hung on every word, and Kevin was in awe.
"Man, you're like the Hardy Boys or something," he said when I'd brought them up to date. "Both of them rolled into one."
I laughed. "At least you didn't say Nancy Drew," I joked. "That would have to be Chris; I couldn't have done it without her."
Chris actually blushed a little. "So that's it, then?" she said, in an effort to shift the attention away from her, "The case is closed? Fenton Black killed Paul Flynn?"
"Well, the case won't be officially closed until they arrest Black, but yeah, all the evidence points to Black as the killer."
"But our part is finished?"
"You're part is finished. I still have one more thing I have to do."
"What would that be?"
I shook my head. "It would be better if you didn't know."
"It's not something illegal is it?" Louis asked.
"No, nothing like that."
"Then what did you mean it would be better if I didn't know?" Chris asked.
"Just that if you knew what I had to do you would probably try to talk me out of it and it would be pointless because it's something I have to do."
"So it's something stupid or dangerous," she said darkly.
"Or both," Louis added jokingly.
"Killian..." Chris started.
"Chris, really. You don't even know what I'm going to do, so why try to talk me out of it?"
"Listen to him, Christina," Louis said before things degenerated into an argument. "Sometimes there are things on a case that have to be cleared up that aren't part of the official investigation. The investigators need it for closure. God knows we don't often get it, so if we have the chance, we have to go for it."
I practically glowed under the inclusion implied in his statement. This veteran cop considered me to be an investigator. I was still basking in the warmth his words had given me when Chris sighed.
"Well, at least you're spending the night here," she said.
"What?" I yelped. "I can't spend the night here; I have to get back tonight."
Chris frowned. "Why? What's the rush?"
"I...I just have to get back as quickly as possible."
"Does this have to do with your closure?" She said the last word sarcastically.
"Yes."
"Killian, I'm going to have to side with Chris on this one," Louis said. "It's obvious you're tired. If you hadn't been telling us about the investigation I think you would have been asleep in your plate by now. It's not safe to drive when you're that tired. Whatever it is you have to do will wait until morning."
I shook my head vehemently. "That's just it; it might not. I have a very narrow window if opportunity. I have to take advantage of it now. It could be too late by tomorrow. I have to drive back tonight."
Everyone sat in tense silence for a few seconds while Kevin looked back and forth between the three of us, all equally stubborn and determined. Louis finally broke the deadlock.
"Ok," he said.
"Ok?" Chris demanded.
"Yes, ok. Killian isn't my child. In fact, he isn't a child at all. He can make his own decisions. He knows the risks. If he says he has to drive back tonight, then he has to drive back tonight. I can't stop him."
"Thank you," I said quietly. "I'd better head back soon though, so I'll be that much less tired." He nodded and Chris scowled. "I have a few phone calls to make first though. I'll use my cell phone outside."
"You don't have to go outside unless you need the privacy."
"Well, that and I get better reception. I'll say goodbye before I leave." I excused myself from the table and slipped outside, where I quickly dialed Judy's house. She answered on the first ring, as if she was sitting right next to the phone waiting.
"Judy, it's Killian," I said.
"Oh, hi Killian." Her voice was filled with disappointment, which pretty much answered my reason for calling. "You haven't heard from Jake?" I asked, just to be sure.
"Nothing. Not a word since he left for the AIDS Ball."
"That's what I figured. Well, try not to worry. I think I know where he is and I'm going to try to go get him," I told her.
"Be careful," she said, her voice carrying much more weight than I would have thought those simple words could convey.
"Do I have reason to be?" I asked carefully.
"Yes."
"Does this have anything to do with your...feeling? The one you told me about the other night?"
"Yes. The feeling has gotten stronger."
I took a deep breath as the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. "I'll be careful," I promised.
I disconnected from her and quickly dialed Micah's number.
"Hello?" he answered.
"Hey, it's me," I said.
"What's going on? How are things going?"
"Very well. I'll tell you everything but you have to be quiet until I'm finished because I need to hurry."
"What's the rush?"
"I'll get to that." I quickly told him everything that had happened since I'd talked to him last. I finished up with, "So Evans told me I only have 12-24 hours before the move to arrest Black. I have to get to Jake before that."
"Considering how badly he's wanted, I'd say you're probably closer to the 12 hour estimate, maybe even less."
"That's what I figured. So what I need from you now is Fenton Black's address."
"Why do you need to know that?"
"I just told you I have to try to get Jake out of there before the police show up."
"You're not going to be able to just waltz in. He lives on a gated estate and I'd be willing to bet he has security guards. You could be walking right into their hands."
"It's a risk I have to take. I can't just leave Jake in there."
"Killian, this is nuts. Do you have a death wish?"
"No," I said between clenched teeth, trying not to think about Judy's premonition. "I do not have a death wish. If you're not going to help me I'll figure it out another way, but I'm doing this with or without your help."
Micah didn't say anything for so long that I began to think he'd hung up on me. Finally, I heard a small sigh. "Ok, fine. I'll help, but only on one condition."
"What's that?"
"That you wait for me."
"Huh?"
"Black's house is only about twenty minutes on this side of the bridge. He's closer to you than to me, so I want you to wait for me."
"You're not coming," I said firmly.
"It's the only way you'll get the address from me."
I stewed and argued for a few minutes, but eventually gave in. Micah gave me the address which I scribbled into my notebook.
"The house is on a back road," he told me. "There aren't any other houses nearby and it sits back from the road itself by quite a bit. A fence runs around the perimeter of the yard and the only way in is the front gate. The whole fence is electrified so don't try to climb it. If you go by the house, the road ends in another half-mile. There's a little cul-de-sac so you can turn around. On the left side of the cul-de-sac is a small dirt lane. I think it was a logging access road but it's mostly grown over now. There should be enough room for you to pull in and hide your car. Pull in as far as you can so I can get in behind you. Wait for me there."
"How do you know all this?" I asked as a funny feeling churned in my stomach.
"I staked out the house this morning."
"Why?"
"Just in case I needed to know. I like to be prepared."
There was a long pause. "When can you leave?" I asked.
"I'm at work so it'll take me a few minutes to get everything squared away. I can't just walk out. It'll take me about an hour and half at least to drive up, so expect me in about two hours. From DC, it should take you about an hour to an hour and a half depending on traffic and how fast you drive."
"I'll wait for you there," I said and hung up, having no intention of doing so.
I let myself back in to find Kevin waiting for me by the door.
"Are you really going to do something dangerous?" he asked eagerly.
"I don't know. Maybe."
"Will there be a shoot-out?"
"I hope not. Where is Chris?"
"She went up to her room. Do you have a gun?"
"No. Can you show me to her room?"
"Yeah, follow me." He chattered incessantly all the way up the stairs to Chris' bedroom door, which was closed. I tapped hesitantly on the door.
"Chris? It's me; can we talk?" I called.
She opened it and stood glaring at me. I managed to get a peek around her at the room beyond. It was pretty much what I expected, organized and neat as a pin. A few black and white photographs in simple black frames hung on plain white walls. A state-of-the-art computer center shared the wall I could see with a floor to ceiling bookcase filled to overflowing. The only feminine touch in the entire room was the bed; a pastel abstract print bedspread covered an ornate brass bed.
"I thought you were in a hurry," she said peevishly.
"I sorta am, but I didn't want to leave until we talked."
"What's there to talk about? I thought we were partners and here you go running off to do something stupid and/or dangerous and you won't even tell me what it is."
"Is that what this is really about? That you're not included?"
She frowned. "Maybe," she admitted.
"If I tell you what I'm doing will you ease up on me?"
"Maybe."
"Look, Chris. I meant what I said at dinner. It's true that I could have never done this without you. I've really enjoyed working with you and I'd like to think that we became friends as well as partners in this investigation. It would be great if we could work together again someday, if I have a case that leads me up this way."
"Yeah, I'd like that too," she conceded. "I've learned a lot working with you. You're a good investigator, Killian."
"So are you. Friends?"
"Yeah. Now, what is that you have to do?"
I quickly gave her a rudimentary outline of what I was going to try. She stared at me dubiously when I finished.
"That sounds extremely stupid and dangerous," she said.
I shrugged. "Maybe so, but I have to do it."
"Because this guy Jake used to be a friend of yours?"
"Yeah, and because I feel I let him down as a friend. That's part of the reason he's in this position to begin with. I feel like I owe it to him to at least try to get him out of there before the cops show up. Maybe it will start to make up for being such an awful friend."
"I can't imagine you ever being an awful friend, Killian. It takes two people to make a friendship."
"It's just something I have to do."
"Ok. Just...be careful."
"I will." 'Be careful' was soon going to become my motto.
She stepped forward and surprised me by giving me an awkward hug. "Let me know how it turns out," she said after she stepped back and wiped her palms nervously on her baggy corduroy pants.
"Ok."
"Wish I was going," she added with very real wistfulness in her voice.
I raised an eyebrow. "I think that would make you the stupid one here."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't want to go. It's not that I can't wait to throw myself into harm's way. It's just something I feel I have to do."
She grinned and shrugged. "I'd like a little more excitement in my life. So sue me."
I laughed and turned to let myself out.
"Hey, Killian?" she said. I stopped in the doorway. "You've definitely made things exciting lately. Now I know that I definitely do want to become a cop. Thanks."
"Anytime," I said with a wink. "You'll make a good cop."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
I shut her door behind me, said my goodbyes to Louis and Kevin, and started on the drive to Black's house. I had to make it there well before Micah if my plan was going to work.
My exhaustion caught up with me as soon as I got on Route 50. It was a constant struggle just to keep my eyes open. My eyelids felt like they were made of lead. After a few swerves onto the shoulder, I rolled my window down and let the crisp fall air hit me directly in the face. That worked for a little while, but even that began to wear off before long. I turned on the radio, found an obnoxiously upbeat pop station, and cranked the volume up as loud as I could stand it. It was an exercise in futility.
I began to worry that I'd never make it over the Bay Bridge. I had visions of getting half-way across before falling asleep at the wheel and plunging to my death in the waters below. Maybe that was what Judy's whole feeling of death was foretelling. I'd always felt somewhat uncomfortable around water-I had an irrational fear of dying by drowning-so that thought actually kept me awake all the way across the bridge.
Once on the Eastern Shore side of the bridge, however, the weariness returned with a vengeance. I had to struggle to stay alert enough to follow Micah's directions, which really weren't that difficult. Still, as easy as they were, I almost missed my turn twice and had to backtrack once when I passed the road Black lived on.
When I passed Black's house, I slowed down slightly to get my first look at the place I would have to infiltrate. It was a fortress, and I'm not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that. It was a hulking, gothic structure built of brick and stone with a metal fence surrounding it that stood at least twice as high as I was tall. Security lights were placed at regular intervals around the fence. There was an actual guard booth at the gate, although I didn't see anyone in it as I drove by. The whole place looked like it had been built to withstand an invasion, which come to think of it, maybe it had.
I drove a little further until I came to the cul-de-sac Micah had told me would be there. My headlights swept the wall of trees as I turned around, illuminating the narrow path-calling it a road would be misleading-right where Micah had described. It was just wide enough for me to ease my Mustang into, but tight enough that I had nightmares of scratching my paint job. I pulled in as far as I could get it, although I wasn't sure if it would be enough room for Micah's car or not. As soon as I turned off the car, I popped the trunk and I was slipping out the door. I had to slither sideways out the small opening since a tree was too close to the driver's side door to open it very wide.
I lifted the trunk and quickly rummaged through the assorted junk that had built up in there-roller blades, a sandy blanket from an impromptu beach picnic Micah and I had gone on a few months ago, jumper cables that Adam insisted I have with me at all times, a lightweight doohickey that plugged into the cigarette lighter designed to inflate your tires and flash a warning light at the same time. Somewhere in here, I knew I had a plastic bag containing a black shirt, black pants, gloves, and a black skull cap. Novak called it the cat burglar ensemble. He said every good investigator needed to keep one handy in case of emergencies. He'd never expounded on what constituted an emergency, but I figured this qualified. I quickly changed into the commando outfit, shut the trunk, and started back towards the house. I had no intention of waiting for Micah. I had to do this on my own.
I moved quickly through the shadows, staying just inside the line of trees. It didn't take long to reach the corner of the fence that protected the Black estate. Micah had said it was electrified and I wasn't about to test it. I crossed to the opposite side of the road to stay under the cover of the trees and made my way to the gate. I watched the gate for a few minutes. There was no sign of anyone in the guard booth. I saw at least one camera mounted to the side of the booth, pointed at the drive. I thought I could get closer to the booth and avoid the camera pretty easily, assuming it was the only one, of course.
I darted across the road again, staying as low to the ground as possible, my heart pounding in my chest. With the rush of adrenaline courseing through my system, my earlier fatigue was all but forgotten. I crouched under the window of the guard booth for a few seconds. Surely, if there was anyone inside they would hear my heart beating. It sounded as loud as a bass drum to my ears. I slowly eased up until I could see into the booth. Empty, although the lights were on, clearly showing the controls to open the gate. I wondered if activating the gate caused any alarm in the house. Even if it didn't, how was I going to get into the booth to push the button in the first place? The only entrance was on the wrong side of the fence and the glass I was looking through was undoubtedly bullet proof. It was certainly thick enough to withstand anything except maybe an atomic blast.
I edged my way to the corner of the booth and peered around at the gate. To my surprise, I realized that it wasn't closed all the way. It was open by what looked to be a little less than 12 inches. It wasn't much, but for once being small might be to my advantage. Then again, how was I to know it wasn't a trap of some sort? Maybe Black or his security team had spotted me skulking around and decided to lure the mouse into the trap before killing it. Cats like to play with their prey after all.
I was standing there fretting about what to do when I heard the distant sound of an approaching vehicle. I glanced down at my watch; it was just about time for Micah to be arriving. I had to move quickly, in just a few seconds I would be fully caught in the headlights of the oncoming car. Should I run back to the security of the trees or risk going within the gates? I stood indecisively until the headlights began to light up the trees at the last corner before I would be in plain view of the driver. I made my decision and dove towards the gate. It was a tight fit, and there was a moment of panic when the button of my jeans snagged, but I managed to pop through and throw myself behind a nearby shrub, just as the car zoomed by. I thought it had looked like Micah's car in the brief glimpse I had caught before I hit the ground, but I wasn't positive. If it was, I knew I had to move fast now.
I quickly began to weave my way across the seemingly endless expanse of lawn, moving in a crouched run from tree to bush. It was scanty cover at best, but it made me feel better if nothing else. I finally reached the house and I sat panting for a moment with my back to the cool brick wall. The breathlessness was as much from fear as being winded from the run. I tried to calm myself down. I couldn't afford to make any mistakes now. My life, and possibly Jake's, depended on me having all my wits about me. Unfortunately, they seemed to have scattered.
I finally got my breathing under control and I was on the move again. I had no idea what the best way to get into the house would be. I was sure he must have some sort of security system, an alarm at least, wired to all the windows. I'd never broken into a house before so I wasn't even sure I would know how to get a locked window open without simply breaking it. I had been lucky with the gate, assuming it was luck and not stupidity; I couldn't count on being lucky with an unlocked, unprotected window. I half-crawled, half ran towards the back of the house. I needed a better idea of what I was up against. The front of the house was definitely out of the question. The front door was lit up as if it was broad daylight. I couldn't just march up to the door and knock.
To my relief, the back of the house was not as well lit. Pools of inky darkness collected between security lights spaced too far apart. After a few seconds of study, I decided that the attached garage offered me my best opportunity to gain entrance to the house. People often forgot to lock the door to the garage, or so I reasoned with myself. Getting to the door would involve a race through one of the well-lighted areas, however. I didn't have a choice. With my heart in my throat, I made a mad dash through the light, feeling as if I was in a spotlight. I flattened myself against the wall next to the garage door and wondered if I was being watched this whole time. I could picture the security guards inside watching me on closed-circuit televisions, laughing as I zigged and zagged my way across the property, knowing they could snuff me out whenever the tired of the game. I took a deep breath, grabbed the door knob, and twisted. It opened. I stared dumbly at the open door for a moment, too surprised to walk through. This was too easy. I was becoming uneasy. I inched through the door into the dark interior, the only light was what spilled in from outside. I made out two cars and a space for a third. Both vehicles looked to be brand new, expensive models. I found the door to the house and cautiously made my way to it, being extra careful not to bump into anything in the gloom.
I paused at the door. The way things had been going, I wasn't sure whether I should wish for it be locked or unlocked. If it was locked, I'd have to find another means of entry. Unless, of course, someone had conveniently left a key under the mat. If it was unlocked, I wasn't sure if I could pass that off to incredibly good fortune. Then I realized that I had come too far to chicken out now. If it was a trap, I was well within their reach. If it wasn't, then I was quite simply, the luckiest guy on the face the earth. I would have to follow this investigation with a trip to Atlantic City. I turned the doorknob and I heard the tell-tale click. It was unlocked.
I held the door closed for a few seconds while I collected myself. Assuming that this had all been some sort of amazing coincidence, which I was desperately trying to assume, I was now faced with what could be the trickiest part of the operation. I had to find my way through a strange house that was easily the size of a small hotel, locate Jake, talk to him when he had made it quite clear at our last meeting that he didn't want to talk to me, and get him out of here...all without running into another soul. Easy as pie, I told myself.
I pushed open the door and slipped quickly inside, closing the door behind me. I was immediately struck by the utter stillness of the house. It felt eerily like a tomb. I stood as still as a statue listening for a noise, any noise, but there was only complete and total silence. Of course, as big as this place was, they could be having a party on the third floor complete with live music provided by Metallica and I wouldn't know it. I took stock of my surroundings. The door from the garage had opened into a rather large laundry room that I was pretty certain Fenton Black never used, at least not personally. Another door stood open, leading to what looked like a hallway. There were no lights on anywhere as far as I could see.
I walked slowly down the hall, stopping every few feet to listen. I passed several closed doors, but there was no light showing at the floor and no sounds from within. The hallway ended at a large dining room. Doors opened off of the dining room to the right and the left. I figured the door to the right opened into the kitchen, where a dim light burned. The door to the left, I assumed, led to the rest of the house. I thought it would be wise to check the kitchen before moving on. I crept up to the door and peeked in. I froze as my heart leapt into my throat again. A large man sat at the table with his back to me, backlit by a low-wattage light over the range oven. I was afraid to move for fear he'd hear me and turn around. Suddenly I realized that he was unnaturally still. Was he listening for me to move before spinning around and shooting?
We both remained motionless. It began to remind me of the game we used to play as children where you all try to go the longest without moving or speaking. I hoped the name of the game wouldn't turn out to be a portent-it had been called graveyard. I stayed locked in position until I couldn't stand it any longer. The man at the table still hadn't moved. No one was that good at the game. I took a hesitant step into the room. When he still didn't move, I took another. And then another, until I was within a few feet of the man. My feet stuck unpleasantly to the floor, as if something had been spilled. I moved around beside him and felt the air rush out of me as I began to tremble. A perfect hole the size of a dime punctuated his forehead, a tiny trickle of blood ran down his face. If it was a mob-style hit we were looking for, I had just found it.