Deadly Dreams (33 page)

Paulie was surprisingly calm at the possibility. “The feds will get warrants for his homes and financials. We still may get a lead, although I doubt even Jennings knew the identity of his employer. It was probably all handled anonymously.”

“Is there going to be a guard around the clock on him?” Nate voiced the worry that had been preying on Risa. When they all looked at him, he shrugged. “I’m just saying. Now that Jennings isn’t around anymore, there’s a chance that whoever hired him will line up someone else. Or else try to finish the job himself.”

Johnny had been up all night thinking about it. With the help of Jim Beam, the answers had become increasingly clear.

Someone from the John Squad was responsible for the recent deaths.

He tipped another finger of bourbon into his glass and tossed it back. Welcomed the scorching path it took down his throat. The motivation wasn’t important. Greed or guilt, he figured, but the why never mattered worth a damn to the dead. It was the living who mattered. And Johnny had no doubt which of the surviving members was behind this.

Juan didn’t have the guts. He’d probably already loaded up and hauled ass out of the city, given his behavior earlier today. Hans . . . Johnny surveyed the bottle consideringly. Hans had the guts. He had the brains. But Johnny would stake his life that the other man was solid. This job relied as much on instincts as it did police work, and he’d trust Hans with his life. The man had handpicked him. Brought him into the group. Been a mentor of sorts to him all those years ago.

No, it wasn’t Hans. Not just because he didn’t want it to be but because it didn’t make sense. The older man wasn’t the one acting crazier than a mental patient off his meds.

That description only fit Jonas.

He wouldn’t have thought Jonas had it in him either, but all his talk earlier of atonement had convinced Johnny otherwise. Maybe he was having some sort of mental breakdown. Maybe he’d already gone whack-job loony. But Johnny thought it was past time to discover which, once and for all.

Glancing at the clock, he took one more swig from the bottle before getting up to collect a few items. He knew where Jonas lived, although he’d never been inside. He’d hit a pay phone on the way and tell him to expect him and Hans.

The lie would be exposed when Johnny showed up alone. But it would have Jonas opening up the door, which he may not have otherwise.

Which would mean, of course, that the man wasn’t totally crazy.

Jonas swung open the door and turned to walk back into the darkened room, leaving Johnny to follow. He pushed the door shut with the sole of his shoe. He didn’t have a plan. Not really. But there was no sense being careless and leaving fingerprints.

The other man was still dressed from work, although it was the middle of the night. He looked like shit, though. Worse, if it were possible, than he had at the meet. And he’d looked bad then.

Johnny had practiced his story on the way over and launched into it without delay. “Hans should be here any minute. He was going to meet me.”

No answer. Apparently Jonas didn’t give a shit. “Beer?”

“No thanks.”

The man pulled one from a twelve pack at the foot of the chair he’d been sitting in and popped the tab. Swayed slightly as he drank. Johnny didn’t need the empty cans on the floor to attest that the guy was well on his way to smashed.

Which might make the upcoming conversation easier.

“Listen, Hans and I got to talking after you guys left and the thing is, we think maybe Juan might be behind this whole thing.” He waited for Jonas’s exclamation of surprise. It didn’t come. He watched the other man more carefully. “Makes sense if you think about it. Whoever is doing this has to know all of us. And Juan has always bitched that his associate brought in lower earnings than the rest of ours. Remember that? He hasn’t been happy with his share since he started.”

“Juan is running for his life right now.” Jonas gave him a grin that had Johnny’s flesh crawling. “Just like you should be. And Hans.”

He didn’t think it was the bourbon that had him reacting to Jonas’s words. They were a threat. “But not you?”

“I’m not afraid. Not anymore.” He drank a long swallow. Wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Not like the perfect gentleman he always acted like before. “Things become very clear when you know what has to be done. When you know you’re doing God’s will. Finally. Seems like I’ve been scared for years.” He peered closely at Johnny in the semidarkness. “That’ll seem pussy to you. Never frightened of anything, are you, Johnny? Bet you’re afraid now, though. If you have any brains, you’re scared out of your fucking mind.”

Thoughts racing, he played along. “Hell yeah, I’m scared. Think I’m stupid? But you and me and Hans, we’re going to put an end to this. We need to take Juan down before he gets to another one of us.”

A little smile was playing around Jonas’s mouth. “Juan’s hundreds of miles away by now. I know it. So do you.” He reached down for another beer. Brought up a gun he’d laid down behind it. “You should have gone, too.”

“Hey, buddy!” Johnny held up his hands with a half laugh. Scanned the area to get the layout. “You’ve had one too many beers tonight. Better put the weapon down.” Or he’d pull his throw gun from his ankle holster and do what he’d come here prepared to do.

Get rid of the crazy prick once and for all.

That smile was back. The one chock full of loony. “I don’t think so. It’s taken a lot of courage to get me this far. More than you can know. Sort of sorry it’s going to end this way, though. Was kind of hoping you’d be the next to burn.” He raised the weapon.

Johnny threw himself to the floor, rolled, frantically pulling at the gun in his ankle holster. The first shot sounded before he’d cleared the holster. But he managed to return fire. Before he realized he’d misjudged the situation. About as badly as anyone could.

Gray matter was spattered on the nearby wall. On the carpet. And blood was pooling beneath what was left of Jonas’s head. Johnny’s bullet must have caught the man in the chest as he was falling. But only after he’d swallowed his own gun.

“Jesus.” He wiped one damp palm on his pants. Switched the weapon to his other hand and wiped the free one. “Jesus.” Belatedly, he crossed to the window, looked out. The house next door remained dark. But as he watched, an upstairs light snapped on in the house across the street. He had to get the hell out of here. Fast.

Dammit. He needed to think but his mind was a jumble. He reholstered the weapon and took a quick walk through the place, being careful to skirt the unmoving body. He’d known the guy was unraveling. Just hadn’t correctly guessed the reason for it.

He pulled latex gloves out of his jacket pocket, put them on. A quick glance through the man’s dresser drawers showed nothing important. Similarly the desk tucked into the corner of the bedroom. But the next bedroom had him stopping in his tracks.

The place was a fucking shrine. Crosses all over the wall and a big-ass picture of Jesus. A statue with candles beside it. And at the statue’s feet was a sheaf of papers.

Dammit, was that a siren in the distance? Without waiting to listen more carefully, he grabbed up the papers and retraced his steps, this time heading toward the back door he could see through the open kitchen doorway.

He folded the papers and shoved them in his pocket, then fumbled for the lock on the door. Resecuring it, he pushed open the screen door and shut both doors quietly behind him.

The sound
had
been a siren. And it was getting closer. Johnny lost no time jumping off the back stoop and heading across the dark yard, staying close to the shadows, head down. He’d taken the precaution of parking on the other side of the block. He’d known the night was going to end badly.

He just hadn’t thought it’d go down quite like this.

It took longer than it should have to reach his car. He had to avoid the houses with lights on. But the ones closest to where he’d parked were dark. Maybe he’d finally gotten lucky.

He got in the vehicle, lost no time pulling away from the curb. He caught the strobe of lights between houses as he drove by. At the corner, he turned away from Jonas’s block. And kept driving. It took him well over an hour before he stopped for the first time. After ejecting the magazine from his weapon, he tossed it down the sewer. Got back in the car and drove toward the river. The gun would be thrown in it. And on the way home, he’d get rid of his shoes in a Dumpster. He could expect that to get raided by a homeless person before the night was over.

He’d bet money he hadn’t picked up any trace evidence, but he’d caught more than his share of smart guys who would have sworn the same. So he’d burn the rest of the clothes he was wearing before the evening was out. Starting with his jacket.

His jacket. Johnny shoved his free hand into the pocket and pulled out the papers he’d snatched at Jonas’s place. Probably a bunch of prayers, given the looks of that room. He’d known the man was a do-gooder but there was a thin gray line between religious and nuts in his book, and Jonas had obviously taken a giant leap across it.

Unfolding the papers, he took his eyes off the road long enough to glance down at them. It was too dark to make out much. But a single word at the top seemed to scream out at him.
Confession
. He swerved involuntarily. A horn blared in response as an oncoming car passed, missing his by inches.

But that’s not what had a vise squeezing in his chest. He looked for the nearest place to pull over. Didn’t give a shit when he had to double-park to do so. Punching on the overhead light, he held the papers up and read, disbelief battling panic.

He skimmed rapidly, growing more frantic by the second.

Sonofabitch, sonofabitch, sonofabitch! He pounded the steering wheel in disbelief. And fear. Jesus Christ, if the Cop Killer stood over him at this moment with a lit match, he couldn’t be more shit-faced scared.

Hell, he’d half convinced himself that Jonas was the Cop Killer. Had
wanted
to believe it. But no. Johnny drew a deep breath and forced himself to read the two pages in his hand carefully. The bastard had ratted them all out. Given details dating back nearly three decades. Johnny gave a grim smile when he saw the son of a bitch had spent two paragraphs on Johnny and the fire that had destroyed Tory’s. He’d always known the bastard had hated him as much as Johnny did him.

Balling the papers in his fist, he forced himself to think logically. And when he did, the blood congealed in his veins. He had a bit more to worry about than destroying any evidence that he’d been at Jonas’s tonight.

Like whether the man had left any other letters of confession around the house.

Letters that would send Johnny to the gas chamber.