Last Diner Standing (27 page)

I opened it and led our little parade inside. In the murky depths of the club, I could make out black debris on the floor. There was definite damage to the place, but most of the lead glass windows stayed intact. The bar stood, but the tables and chairs were scattered, broken, turned upside down. The smell of smoke was overwhelming, and layered over that, was a moldy, damp scent. My breath hung visibly in the air.

“Down the hall to the office,” Mike said.

“Did you set this fire?” I asked as I slowly walked.

“No, I had Stuart do it. I’m the one who shot at the both of you that night.” His cockiness frightened me.

I opened the door to Sullivan’s office and shuffled inside. The round table, where I’d sat with Sullivan, had been tossed against a wall, but the heavy desk stood upright. It was wet and ruined, but in one piece.

I glanced around the room, lit by four portable LED lights that gave off a too-bright glow. That artificial light felt like daggers shooting into my eyeballs. I blinked and held up one hand to shield myself from their brightness. It took a second for my eyes to adjust, but then I noticed we had cellmates. Who weren’t moving.

“Walk,” Mike said.

Sullivan remained silent as I moved us farther into the room. Marcus and Kyle. Both sported a bullet hole between their eyes and they took a beating before they died. Fuck. Nausea settled in my stomach and I swallowed convulsively as I looked away. We were going to die here. I would never see my friends or family again.

I blinked back tears. Mike said he wasn’t ready to kill Sullivan yet. What the hell did that mean? He obviously had no compunction about killing people, so what did he want?

The money. He was still looking for the money. But I didn’t know where it was. Could I string him along? Keep Sullivan and myself alive long enough to break out?

Mike grabbed an overturned chair and placed it upright. “Sit.” He pushed on Sullivan’s shoulder, forcing him into the chair. Then he lifted Sullivan’s arms up and draped them over the back.

I’d never seen Sullivan’s face so impassive. He was devoid of emotion, he wouldn’t look at me.

Mike waved the gun in my direction. “Over there, next to Marcus.”

I glanced down at Marcus’ slack face and took a deep breath of acrid, smoke-scented air.

“Sit next to him. You’re going to wind up just like him if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”

I stepped on an ice puddle—water from putting out the fire had frozen—and slipped as I made my way to Marcus. I sank down on the wet floor next to him, but I didn’t look at him, I couldn’t. It freaked me out too much. I’d seen too many dead bodies lately. And I was probably about to join them.

Mike gazed at me and smiled. “I want to know where the money is.”

My eyes skittered to Sullivan. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“I don’t know where it is,” I said.

Mike tsked. “Wrong answer.” Then he bashed the gun handle into Sullivan’s face.

I gasped at the bloody gash on his cheekbone.

Mike looked at me with mock pity. “Oh honey, we’re just getting started. I will cut off his balls and feed them to him if I have to.” His face became a frightening mask. “I want my money!” he screamed, saliva shooting out of his mouth. Then he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

He took a deep breath and regained control of himself. “Okay,” he said, nodding. “I see you’re going to need a little convincing. No problem.” He shoved the gun in his coat pocket as he walked toward me. When he reached me, he jerked me up by my ponytail then slammed the side of my head into the wall. The same side as the goose egg on my forehead.

I thought my skull would burst open, my brain was too big for my head. I was pretty sure I had concussion this time because things were kind of fuzzy. “I haven’t been looking for any money,” I said.

He pressed his face close to mine and kept hold of my hair. “I just don’t believe you, Rose.” He threw me to the ground and I landed on my back. Then he stuck his boot on my chest, pushing me down. I gasped for breath, but he kept applying pressure. The floor beneath me was littered with wet, broken pieces of furniture that dug into the backs of my legs.

I tried to bat at his foot, tried to pull it off me, but he reached down and slapped me across the face. “You will tell me what I want to know. If you tell me right away, I’ll kill the both of you quick. But if I have to beat it out of you, well, it’s going to hurt.” His eyes glittered with anticipation. He got his rocks off on this. “It’s going to hurt a lot.”

Chapter 28

Mike removed his foot, and reaching down, grasped me by the lapels of my coat. He wrenched me up until I was standing once again. Then he backed me up against a wall and placed his forearm across my throat. In vain, I tried to push at his arm. He increased the pressure and my eyes watered from the pain. I gasped for air before he let up a little, allowing me to breathe.

“Where’s my money?” he asked, calmly.

I clung to his sleeve, kept trying to push his forearm from my neck. “I don’t know,” I wheezed.

He sighed. “That’s too bad.” Making a fist, he let go of my neck and punched me in the stomach, knocking all the air from my lungs. Fire burned in my midsection. I tried to double over with pain, but he held me up. “Yeah, this is going to get really painful.”

“Stop!” Sullivan yelled.

Mike released me and I slid to the floor, clutching my belly. “He speaks.” He stalked toward Sullivan. “Tell me where it is.”

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, Mike. I would have paid you double on whatever the hit was.”

Mike smirked. “It’s not just about the money. It’s about getting to the top. I would never be anything more than a soldier in your army. But Clay’s going to make me a general. When I heard he was putting a contract out on you, I jumped at the chance to prove myself. I do this for Clay, and in return, I get a little extra cash on the side. You have no idea how much a cop’s salary sucks.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to move up in my ranks,” Sullivan said. He spoke like he was having a conversation about the weather. Casual. Detached.

“You never asked.” Mike circled him, kicked shards of broken wood out of his way.

“Sheik stole your money?” Sullivan asked.

When Mike had his back to me, I struggled to sit up. My stomach cramped from the punch and my head and neck ached with intense pain.

“Yeah, he stole it,” Mike said. He made another trip around Sullivan and when he saw me trying to sit up, he laughed. “Is this the part where the bad guy tells all? Well, let me confess my sins. First of all, I hit Sheik.” There were equal amounts of pride and derision in his voice. “Right after he argued with that crazy bitch ex of his, I snuck in the back door and he and I had a little talk. But he wouldn’t give up the cash. I lost my temper, hit him on the head.” He frowned and scratched the tip of his nose. “Going to have to kill him if he ever comes out of that coma,” he said, like he was reminding himself to buy a gallon of milk.

He continued to pace around the room. “Then Freddy Libra called Clay, said Crystal was looking for the money, too, threatening to call the police.” He shrugged and propped his hands on his hips. “See where we’re going with this, kids?”

“I don’t understand,” I said, my voice croaky from his chokehold. “Why not just shoot them? Why did you hit them?”

He looked at Sullivan, but pointed at me. “Is she always this stupid?”

His eyes met mine and he walked toward me, kneeling down in front of me. “Because those hits weren’t planned. See Marcus and Kyle and the great big bullet holes in their heads? I had time to sweat them out, gave them the opportunity to tell me what I want to know. And I have time to get rid of the bodies.”

He leaned closer, his face an inch from mine. “But the thing is, neither one would tell me about the money. And I’m obviously willing to kill to get it, so maybe you’ll be smarter than either of them. But I’m not holding my breath.”

“Why did Sheik have it in the first place?” Sullivan asked.

Mike held my gaze a moment longer before rising. “Stuart put the money in a clean car that I was going to use so you wouldn’t recognize my truck. And since you seem to be slow to figure things out, Rose, that’s the same truck I used to run you off the road the other night. You were supposed to die, by the way.

“Anyway, Sheik stole my clean car. Dumb luck, huh?”

I didn’t know if he was talking about Asshat’s bad luck or his own. Didn’t really care because I was worried about my own misfortune just then.

Mike planted himself in front of Sullivan. “Now, enough chitchat.” He slammed his right fist into Sullivan’s nose. “I want. My fucking. Money.” He punctuated each phrase with a punch to Sullivan’s chin, jaw, and gut.

Sullivan breathed hard through his bloody nose. He finally looked at me, rage and hatred burning from his eyes.

Mike straightened. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair and walked behind the desk. He opened the bottom drawer, pulled out the bottle of brandy, and shook it. “Still here, even has a few swallows left. You always kept the good stuff for yourself.”

Before he could uncap it, a ring tone broke the stillness. Mike pulled out his phone and glanced at it. “Shit, I’ve got to take this. It’s work.” He seemed conflicted as he looked back at Sullivan. “If you two don’t keep quiet, I’ll cut out your tongues. And Rose, if you’ve moved an inch when I get back, I’ll turn what’s left of your brain into spaghetti.” Then he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

“How are we going to get out of here?” I asked.

“We’re not,” Sullivan said.

That’s not what I wanted to hear. I wanted reassurance. Not a death sentence.

I wished I had time to take a couple of pain relievers before I got abducted. Getting kidnapped sucked balls and my head felt like it would split open like a cantaloupe. Oh my God.
Pills
. I had pills in my pocket. The Clonazepam.

My heart pounded, out of fear of getting caught by Mike and excitement that maybe we had a way out. But what if he came back and found me trying to drug his brandy?

Stupid Rose, what the hell did it matter? He was going to kill us anyway. I’d rather go quickly than with a long, drawn out torture scenario.

I pushed myself up against the wall, inch by inch. I’d made it to a crouching position, every breath agony in my chest and head.

“What are you doing, Rose?” Sullivan whispered.

“I’m going to drug him. Hope this works, because this is all we’ve got.”

With every ounce of strength I possessed, I pushed up and forced myself to walk to the desk. Tears pricked my eyes from the lightning bolts shooting through my brain with each step. As quickly as I could, I shoved my hand in my pocket, searching for the pills the doctor’s wife gave me. Don’t mix with booze or take on an empty stomach, she’d said. With shaking hands, I unscrewed the brandy cap, fumbled a bit as I quickly broke each pill in half and dropped them into the bottle. I recapped it and gave it a shake before staggering back to the wall, where I allowed myself to collapse.

Sullivan watched me. “Rose, I want to tell you—”

The door opened. “All right, let’s make this happen,” Mike said, striding into the office. He glared at me, but I barely lifted my eyes to meet his gaze. “You ready to tell me?”

I said nothing.

With agitation Mike grabbed the bottle, unscrewed the top, and chugged the contents. He threw it against the side wall and glass rained down the damp, heat-blistered surface.

“Okay, we’re going to have to expedite matters.” With a sniff, he pulled out a sheathed knife from his inner pocket. He extracted the long, serrated blade and held it up to the portable light. His eyes met mine. “Ever seen a man gutted?”

How fast would the pills work? Why wasn’t he calming down? I thought those suckers were for anxiety, but maybe he was too hopped up on adrenalin.

“I know where the money is,” I blurted out.

Mike blinked at me. “Oh, do you now? What a coincidence.”

“Kyle hid it, but I know where it is.”

He smiled. “Really? Because I did some pretty horrible things to him and he never said a word.” He rubbed his eyes. “This wouldn’t be a ploy, would it? A bid to buy more time?”

Totally.

“Sullivan and I will take you to it,” I said.

He waved the knife in front of his own face. “Unh, unh, unh. I don’t believe you.”

My eyes flew to Sullivan’s. Blood still ran from his nose and a bruise was forming on his cheek.

Mike leaned against the desk and rubbed his forehead. “I feel weird.” He took a deep breath and straightened. With halting steps he moved to the desk chair and sank down, dropping the knife. “What were we talking about?”

“The money,” I said.

His eyes drifted closed, but then he snapped them open. “The money. I want my money.”

I sat in silence, waiting to see if the pills were going to put Mike out completely. Nope. He hung onto consciousness.

“Worked hard for that money. Sheik stole it from me.” He seemed beyond drunk. A nice combination of sedated and wasted. 

Sullivan may be handcuffed, but I wasn’t. This was my chance. I shoved myself to my feet and slowly placed one foot in front of another. I stopped to pick up a long, narrow piece of wood off the floor. Used to be a table leg in its former life. The wet splinters dug into my palm.

“What are you doing?” Mike asked, his words slurred.

I took a deep breath, gathered every bit of strength I had, and hit his head as if going for a home run. The sound of the wood on his skull was a sickening thud and I felt the vibration clear up to my shoulders. Mike slouched face down on the desk.

I stumbled toward him, my makeshift bat at the ready, but he didn’t move. I grabbed the knife and flung it across the room, then dug into Mike’s coat pocket for both his gun and Sullivan’s, which I shoved in my own pockets. I found the handcuff key in his jeans, and step by painful step, made my way toward Sullivan.

When I unlocked the cuffs, he swiftly rose to his feet and rubbed his wrists. “Is he dead?”

I glanced over at Mike. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. “No.”

Sullivan grabbed the wooden scrap from me and raised it above his head to finish what I had started.

I grabbed his arm. “No.”

He glared down at me. “I’m going to end this.”

I shook my head, almost collapsed from the pain stabbing through my temples. “No. Please. I don’t want to decide who lives and who dies. Not this time.”

He stared at me a moment, then threw down the wood. After he retrieved the Mercedes keys from Mike’s jacket, he scooped me up in his arms and carried me to the car.

The next morning, the news repeatedly replayed Mike’s perp walk and the tale of how the crooked cop murdered three people, put one in a coma, and set fire to a local bar.

Janelle got her fifteen minutes of fame. She was interviewed by every local station and full of ‘I told those fools I was innocent.’ She threatened to sue the police department. Seems the I’m-sorry-we-accused-you-of-assault-and-murder gift basket didn’t quite cut it.

Sullivan insisted I go to the emergency room. Their conclusion? A mild concussion. Rest and take it easy for a couple of days. Didn’t need a doctor to tell me that.

At Ma’s insistence, I skipped work the next day. But that night, I let Roxy do what she does best—break into Fit and Flex. I figured if Mike couldn’t find the money in Kyle’s apartment, this was the next logical place.