Читать книгу Andrew Gross 3-Book Thriller Collection 2: 15 Seconds, Killing Hour, The Blue Zone - Andrew Gross, Andrew Gross - Страница 72

The laundry truck turned down the sleepy street for its last stop around 8:00 P.M. It braked in front of the blue-shingled ranch, blocking the navy Taurus parked on the curb. One last delivery to make.

With some shirts draped over his finger, Luis Prado climbed out of the cab.

The street was dark, illuminated by a single streetlamp. People were in their homes, cleaning up after dinner, watching American Idol on TV, chatting online.

Luis had already killed the young driver with a single shot to the head, stuffing his body in a pile of dirty linens and laundry bags in the back of the truck. He nodded with a wave to the two figures hunched in the Taurus as if he’d seen them before, heading up the walk toward the neighboring house. Then, as he came even with the Taurus, he drew his silenced Sig nine-millimeter from behind the hanging shirts.

The first shot splintered the passenger window with a muffled thud and hit the agent closest to Luis in the forehead, just as he exhaled a plume of smoke, leaving a round, black burn between the agent’s eyes. He keeled silently into his partner, whose face became a contorted mask of alarm, groping inside his jacket for his weapon, reaching for the radio with some garbled, final cry.

Luis squeezed the trigger two more times—the nine-millimeter bullets crashing squarely into the agent’s chest, spitting blotches of red over the windshield, immobilizing him with a gurgling groan. Luis yanked open the door and placed a final round in the agent’s forehead, removing any doubt.

He glanced around. The street was clear. The laundry truck was blocking anyone’s view. Luis took the shirts and headed up the steps to the blue-shingled house. Concealing his gun behind them, he rang the bell at the door.

“Who’s there?” someone called from inside. A woman.

“Cleaning, señora.”

The window shade nearest the door was drawn back, and Luis spotted a blond woman in a tan suit peering out at the white truck. “Next house!” she called, pointing to the left.

Luis grinned like he didn’t understand, holding up the shirts.

The front-door lock turned. “Wrong house,” the government bodyguard said again, barely cracking the door ajar.

Luis rammed his shoulder into the door, smashing it open, sending the blond agent reeling onto the floor with a startled cry, frantically fumbling for her gun. He squeezed two silenced slugs into the white of her blouse, her hands involuntarily pushing out to stop them.

“Sorry, hija,” Luis muttered, shutting the door. “I’m afraid it’s right.”

A dog came out of the kitchen, the white Lab he’d seen a few days before. Luis dropped it with a shot into its neck. The dog whimpered and fell silent on the floor.

Luis knew he had to work fast. Any second, someone walking by might spot the bloody agents in the Taurus. He didn’t know how many people were in the house.

He went into the living room. Empty. He lifted a phone off the hook. No one on the line.

“Pam,” a woman called from inside the kitchen. Luis followed the voice. “Pam, did you tell them it’s the next house?”

Luis stood facing the lady he’d seen emptying the trash a few days before. She was at the stove in a pink robe making a cup of tea. She dropped the cup onto the floor, ceramic shattering, as her eyes fell on the gun. The gas burner was left aflame.

“Where is he, señora?”

The woman blinked, taken by surprise, not sure what was happening. “Chowder? Here, boy! What did you do to Chowder?” she called, louder, backing close to the fridge.

“Don’t play with me, mama. I axed you where he is. Your fucking dog is dead. Don’t make me ax you again.”

“Who? What happened to Agent Birnmeyer?” The woman recoiled, staring into Luis’s dark, formidable eyes.

Luis came over and cocked the hammer, forcing the Sig hard into the woman’s cheek. “No one here’s gonna help you, lady. You understand? So you tell me now. I don’t have much time.”

The woman’s eyes shone with helplessness and fear. Luis had seen the look many times, her brain imagining what she could say, despite knowing that in the very next moments she might die.

“I don’t know what you want from me.” She shook her head. “Where is who? I don’t know—who do you want?”

She looked down the short barrel of Luis’s gun.

“Oh, yes you do. I have no time to fuck with you, lady.” He clicked back the hammer. “You know what I’m here for. You tell me, you live. You don’t, when the police find you, they be mopping you off this floor. So where is he, mama? Where is your huzban?”

“My husband?” she asked. “My husband’s not here, I swear.”

“Is he upstairs, you fuckin’ gray-haired bitch?” Luis pushed the gun into her cheek. “’Cause he is, he’s about to hear your brains splatter all over this floor.”

“No. I swear … I swear, he’s not here. I beg you. He’s been gone. For a couple of weeks.”

“Where?” Luis demanded. He pulled her back by the hair and jammed the barrel into her eye.

“Please don’t hurt me,” the woman begged, shaking in his grasp. “Please, I don’t know where he is.… These agents, I don’t even know why they’re here. Why are you doing this? I don’t know anything. Please, I swear.…”

“Okay, lady.” Luis nodded. He relaxed his grip. He took the gun out of her face. She was sobbing. “Okay.”

He released the hammer, and the gun went out of firing mode. “Who said anything about hurting you, mama? I just want you to think. Maybe he called, maybe he told you something.…”

She sniffled back mucus and tears and shook her head.

The burner was still on. Flaming. Luis felt the heat close to his hand. “Is okay,” he said, softer. “Maybe it’s something you forgot. We just wanna talk with him anyway. Just talk. You understand?”

He winked. The woman nodded, terrified, hesitantly against his shirt, smearing tears. Her breaths were frantic and short. “Calm down.” Luis patted her hair.

“What I think is, maybe we just go at this from a different way.”

He took hold of the woman’s slender wrist. Her hand was shaking. “You know what I mean, mama?” He turned her palm over and ran his finger along one of the lines. Then he brought it closer to the burning flame.

It took a second for her to understand.

“No! God help me. Please … no!”

Suddenly she tried to pull herself back. Luis didn’t let go. Instead he drew her closer to the flame. The woman’s eyes grew in panic now, bulging out of their sockets.

“Maybe you remember now. Time to tell me where he is, mama.”

A few minutes later, Luis Prado climbed back into the cab of the laundry truck. He turned the key in the ignition and threw it in gear, glancing one more time at the crumpled bodies in the government Taurus. He pulled away from the quiet street. No one came after him. The whole thing had lasted only minutes. All it took was a little prodding. He’d gotten what he came for.

Then he put her out of her pain.

A few blocks down the hill, Luis pulled the truck into the parking lot of a closed water-treatment facility. Quickly, in the back of the cab, Luis changed out of his clothes. He carefully wiped down the steering wheel and the handle on the driver’s door. He threw the soiled clothes in back, on top of the linens covering the delivery driver’s body. He stepped out and hurried across the lot in the darkness.

Another car was parked there. A rented SUV. Luis climbed into the waiting car.

“So …?” the driver inquired as Luis shut the door.

“He wasn’t there.” Luis shrugged. “He’s in New York. Hasn’t been here in weeks.”

“New York.” The driver seemed surprised. He adjusted his blazer. He had a troubled look on his face, as if he’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

“That’s what his wife told me before she died. Must be losing my touch. Wasn’t able to find out where.”

“It doesn’t matter.…” The thin, dark-haired driver turned. He put the car in reverse, backing out of the deserted lot. “I know where.”