The Grim Reaper's Dance (21 page)

Casey looked at the haggard group of kids. They were angry, sad, disappointed…and in danger.

“Okay, guys, listen,” she said. “You can’t go out to the shed again—”

“Never?” Terry wailed.

“—until this is taken care of. Until I am gone and the men are, too.”

“What men?” Bailey frowned.

“The ones who are after me. One of whom talked to Johnny at school yesterday.”

“One of—” Johnny paled. “You mean he wasn’t a cop?”

“No, Johnny, he wasn’t.”

Johnny moaned. “He wasn’t wearing a uniform. He said he was undercover, trying to help you without scaring you off.”

“I’m sure he was very convincing.”

“I’m sorry.” He sniffed again, and Sheryl patted his arm.

“I don’t blame you,” Casey said. “I’m the one who got you all involved. I just want to get you
un
involved until it’s over.”

“Oh,” said a voice from behind her. “I think it’s already over.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

“
Run
!” Death said.

Randy Westing stood smiling in the middle of the alley. Flanking him were Owen Dixon and Craig Mifflin, the man she’d knocked out first at Davey’s. Neither of them looked quite so pleasant. Behind them, expressions neutral, were the other two large men Casey had seen behind the grocery store.

Casey swiveled, shoving Bailey behind her, along with the other teenagers.

“You think you can save them all?” Westing asked pleasantly.

“You don’t want them. You want me.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Westing said. “They probably know enough to help us. Especially the one.”

“Hey, there,
Johnny
,” Dixon sneered.

Johnny moaned. “The
cop
.”

Dixon jerked his chin up. “Thanks for the tip about the phone. Led us right to her when she turned it on here a few minutes ago.”

Casey carefully didn’t look at Terry.

“
Run
!” Death said again.

But Casey wasn’t about to leave the kids in the hands of the men. Not that she had much of a chance of escaping, anyway. Behind her were two cars, a Dumpster, and a U of brick walls. The five men were spread across the alley, and even if she should get past one, the other four would be close behind. The only chance she really had would be the door to the pizza place.

“Bailey,” she said. “Take everybody into the restaurant.”

“But—”

“
Go
.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

Casey ground her teeth. “Martin?”

“Right. Come on, everybody.” He gently pushed Sheryl and Terry toward the building.

Johnny stood, stepping up beside Casey, his body tensed. “It’s my fault. I’m staying.”

He was a large presence, which was nice, but he’d only be a liability in a fight. Casey would have to spend all of her time either protecting him or worrying about him.

“Johnny.” Casey spoke without taking her eyes off of Westing. “The best thing you can do for me is to take Bailey and go inside.
Please
.”

“I told you,” Bailey said. “I’m not—”

Johnny picked Bailey up and swung her over his shoulder, trying to avoid her flailing arms and legs.

“Johnny! Put me down! I’m staying! She needs us.”

Westing laughed out loud. “She doesn’t need you, sweetheart. She needs something else. Like an army.”

Casey did have something else. Death leapt from the Dumpster. “I’ll do what I can.”

The back door of the restaurant slapped shut, and Casey was relieved to know the kids were inside, out of danger. “You realize they’ll call the cops.”

“Probably already have. That’s why we’ll make this quick.”

Death moved between Westing and Dixon, arms outspread to go through their chests. Both men shuddered, but kept their eyes on Casey. Death couldn’t take someone before his time, and Casey couldn’t depend on mere distractions to get her through this. She took a deep breath through her nose and readied herself for what was to come.

“So where’s Evan’s stuff?” Dixon growled.

“Easy now.” Westing’s voice was silky smooth. “She’ll tell us.”

And sign her death warrant. “It’s in a safe place.”

“I’m sure it is. Not on you, I’m afraid?”

“Not even close.”

“You had it with you when you went to see Bruce at the hospital.”

“I wanted his reaction. How is he, by the way? Will he ever walk again?”

Westing nodded. “Modern medicine, you know. But thanks for caring. It’s not like it’s the first knee injury he’s ever had. He’ll be fine. I suppose someone else knows where Evan’s information is?” He kept smiling, his pose casual. The other men, however, were ready, even with Death running fingers up and down their spines.

“The kids don’t know. They’ve never even seen it.”

Dixon frowned. “Of course she’d say that.”

“I think it’s the truth,” Westing said, amused. “The Cross kid didn’t know anything when he thought you were a cop. You
did
ask him about it, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did.”

Casey went cold, thinking how easily Dixon could have harmed Johnny.

Death stood beside Dixon, an arm around his shoulders. Dixon shivered, glancing around him.

“Boys,” Westing said. “I think we need to persuade this lady here to help us.”

Mifflin didn’t wait for the others, but came for Casey quickly and ferociously, head down, fists up. Casey dropped onto her right leg and lifted her left, flexing her foot. Mifflin ran right into it, expelling all the air from his diaphragm in a gush and bending over, hands on his gut. Casey planted her left leg and brought her right leg up around and down, axe-kicking him with her heel between the shoulder blades. Mifflin went slack, doing a face plant on the ground. He was out.

Casey turned to run for the restaurant door, but Dixon had already gone around to the back of her, cutting her off. She darted behind the second car, which gave her about four feet to move between the brick wall and the little Focus. Dixon grabbed for her neck with both hands. Casey grabbed his right hand, bent his elbow down into an arm lock, and smacked his face against the trunk of the car.

One of the other men climbed onto the trunk and kicked at her head. She ducked and grabbed his planted leg, pulling it toward her. He fell backward onto the car, half on, half off the trunk, his elbow cracking against the back window.

Dixon, blood running from his nose, reached over the guy’s leg and grabbed Casey around the shoulders, spinning her and knocking her face against the brick wall, bear hugging her from the back, trapping her arms. Dizzily, she kicked back at his shin, but her foot glanced off his leg. Dixon spun her around, kneeing her in the stomach. When she bent over, he pummeled her in the face with both fists.

Other hands were grabbing for her now, yanking her from behind the car. Dixon continued to hit her.

“Dix, stop it. You’re done.” Casey thought it was Westing’s voice, but everything had gone fuzzy, and her vision doubled as she looked at the faces.

She stumbled, but was yanked upright, Dixon’s fist connecting once more, an uppercut to her stomach.

“Dixon! Bring her to the car.”

Someone grabbed under her arms while another picked up her feet. They carried her down the alley and tossed her into the back seat of a waiting car.

“Have a nice ride,” Dixon said, and punched her in the face.

Her lights went out.

Chapter Thirty

Casey hurt all over. Her head pounded, and her ribs throbbed, maybe not broken, but bruised, for sure. Her eyes, when she opened them, didn’t open far, and even when they did she couldn’t see anything in the dark. She tried to raise a hand to feel her face, and to remove the gag from her mouth, but her arms were tied behind her, roped in with her feet. Her cheek lay against a dirt floor, and her nostrils were filled with the tangy scent of peat moss and vegetation.

She closed her eyes, trying to remember what had happened. The last she could picture was the sight of Death’s anxious eyes in the unfamiliar back seat, just before she blacked out. She didn’t want to think about what had caused her to do that.

Voices mumbled in the background. Angry, low. Men. She had no idea what time it was, or whether anyone even knew she was gone. The kids. She took a sharp breath, gasping at the shot of pain it sent through her body. Were the kids all right? Where had they…the pizza place. They’d gone inside. Had they
stayed
inside? God, please let them have stayed inside.

“The kids are fine. Freaked out, but otherwise okay.” Death sat against a bag of fertilizer, hands clasped tightly at bended knees. “You, on the other hand…I thought you looked bad
yesterday
.”

Casey groaned.

“Martin called the cops as soon as he and the first two got inside. Told them there was a bad fight out back of the restaurant, and men with guns. He probably should have just told them to get there fast, because with his warning they weren’t about to come without back-up, and they took forever getting there. By the time they arrived you were long gone. The teenagers were a mess, all trying to talk at the same time, and the cops weren’t sure who or what to believe.”

Death leaned over and placed both hands on Casey’s ribs. For once it felt good—like an ice pack. Casey moaned, and Death shushed her gently. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. Although I had to say I wasn’t sure if you were about to get your wish and go with me to the other side.”

Casey’s eyes blinked open. Had she really been that close? That close, only to come back here, to this pain, and this place?

“Sorry, hon,” Death said. “You have to hold on a little longer.”

Casey looked past Death’s face toward the ceiling. Her eyes were adjusting enough she could see foliage above Death’s head. Unfamiliar foliage. She let her eyes close again. Yonkers’ greenhouse. That’s where she was.

“Drove right here,” Death said. “Like Yonkers was expecting you to be delivered. Haven’t seen the man yet, but from the sound of their conversation he’s coming soon, and they’re not happy. You still haven’t given them what they want.”

A surprise, since Casey couldn’t remember what she’d given them. As long as she hadn’t given them the kids. The kids…her eyes opened. Were the kids okay?

“The kids are fine.” Death smoothed her hair with a chilly hand. “I told you that a minute ago. They’re all with their parents. Safe and sound.”

Casey relaxed, wincing as her ribs moved.

“Uh-oh,” Death said. “Here he comes.”

An overhead door opened and a vehicle drove into the building, its headlights illuminating the jungle standing over Casey. She was surrounded by plants and trees—hidden from the sight of anyone who might stumble in unawares. The overhead door slid shut, and the car turned off. “Where is she?” The voice was loud, echoing in Casey’s head.

“Over here.”

Casey looked up at Death, who crouched over her protectively. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t leave you.”

Casey tried to take comfort in the cold cushion at her back.

“So. This is our troublemaker.” The man squatted, studying her face. “Looks like she ran into a little trouble herself.”

Casey blinked up at him. Yonkers. She recognized him from the photo in the paper. He was clean-shaven, with a receding hairline, and seemed to be wearing a
suit
. This was the man everyone was talking about? The guy they were so loyal to? He looked like…like a
dentist
.

“Seems you know a little bit more than is good for you, don’t you?” Yonkers studied her, as if confused. “But I don’t know you. Should I? I usually know people who come around, or I’ve at least seen them before.” He looked at her some more. “Of course, it’s hard to tell with your face being all…” He wrinkled his nose. “Dix!” He stood and Dixon appeared at his elbow, also looking down at Casey. His nose was swollen, and already the skin around his eyes was turning black and blue. “Bring her into my office. We’re expecting a delivery tonight and I don’t think it’s necessary to show off our little problem here.”

“Sure thing.”

Yonkers patted his hands together, as if shedding them of dirt, and walked back the way he’d come.

“Miff!” Dixon said. “Help me move this.”

Mifflin was chewing gum when he got there, his mouth open, like an ugly horse. Casey closed her eyes and braced herself, turning her face toward Death’s chill.

“Hang in there,” Death whispered. “It’s going to be—”

“
Aaah
.” Casey groaned beneath the gag as the men gripped her, one under each arm.

Dixon laughed. “Little bit of your own there, girl. Can’t say any of us feel too bad about it.”

Mifflin grunted. “Not sorry at all.”

Casey’s head hung as they dragged her, bound feet scraping the ground, toward the far end of the room. They took her through a doorway, banging her against the doorjamb, and held her up.

“Put her there.”

They dumped her onto a reclining lawn chair and she fell off, smashing her nose on the floor.

“On the
chair
,” Yonkers said. “Untie those things if you have to.”

“But Yonk, if we let her loose her she could—”

“Look at her, Craig. Do you really think she’s in any shape to escape?”

“It’s not escape I’m worried about.”

Yonkers snorted. “I didn’t realize you were such a little girl, Mifflin. Especially when surrounded by your team. Now
untie
her.”

Mifflin was anything but gentle as he worked at the knots. He finally got so frustrated he sawed through them with a knife, managing to knick Casey several times as he did it. Finally, he and Dixon grabbed her and threw her onto the chair.

Casey pressed the side of her face into the weave of the seat.
L’Ankou. Please. Take me away.

“Not now, dearheart. It’s not your time.” Death ran cold fingers through her hair.

“Now,” Yonkers said. “Miss…Jones, was it? I suppose that’s as good a name as any at this point. Miss Jones, I understand you were in the truck with our unfortunate friend Evan a few days ago.”

Casey breathed around the gag in her mouth.
Evan? Who was Evan again?

“The trucker,” Death whispered. “Evan Tague.”

Right.

“Dix,” Yonkers said. “Take that thing off her face.”

Dixon untied the knot on the gag, yanking out some of her hair in the process, and unwound the fabric from her face. She stretched her mouth open and shut, easing the pain.

“How was it you were in Evan’s truck, Miss Jones? Had you planned to meet somewhere?” He waited, and when she didn’t answer asked, “Just how deep were you into this with him?”

She swallowed, her mouth dry from breathing through it, and tried to speak. Her voice wouldn’t come.

“A drink, Mifflin. Do I have to tell you everything?”

Mifflin left the room and came back with a glass of water, probably straight from the hose. He poured it on her face, some of it actually making it into her mouth. She tried again. “Hitched. Ride.”

“Oh, I see. You hitched a ride. From where?”

Where had she been? She thought she shouldn’t tell him. Somehow it didn’t seem… “O…hio.”

“Ah, yes, Ohio. Lovely state. We do lots of business with people in Ohio. And you just happened to be traipsing along in Ohio when Evan drove up with his wealth of stolen information, is that right?”

Was she supposed to answer?

“Answer him.” Dixon kicked the chair, jarring her so that she could hardly catch her breath from the pain shooting through her ribs.

“Dix, give her some time. She can’t think straight, since you guys got so carried away. There, has she fainted now?” Casey’s eyes opened to slits, and she saw Yonkers sitting behind a desk, his hands folded on top. A large window, blinds down, framed him as he watched her. “Oh, you’re awake. Good.” He came around to the front of the desk, pulling an upright lawn chair a few feet from her. He sat and leaned over, his face inches from hers. “When did you and Evan join forces?”

What day of the week had it been? How long ago? “S-Sun…day.”

“Ah, Sunday. Just hours before his little accident. Such a shame. A shame things worked out the way they did—for both of you. You know, we really didn’t want Evan to die.” He tilted his head, looking into her eyes. Was that sorrow she saw there?

She blinked as he went fuzzy around the edges.

“Miss Jones?” He patted her cheek roughly. “Miss Jones?” He sat up, sighing loudly. “Well, congratulations, guys, you’ve done her in so hard she’s no good to us at all.”

“Can we get rid of her, then?” Mifflin sounded all too eager.

Casey strained to keep her eyes open—she wasn’t about to let him kill her with her eyes closed.

“No you can’t get
rid
of her, you idiot. We need her. We need what she has. And unless you know where it is…”

“You know I don’t.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Casey’s eyes drifted shut as she held on to the understanding that Mifflin wouldn’t be killing her just that moment.

“The kids,” Dixon said. “The teenagers.”

Casey kept her eyes shut, but her heart beat faster.

“What about them?” Casey heard Yonkers get up and move behind his desk.

“Don’t you think they know where it is?”

“The Cross kid told us to look at the shed. We did. It wasn’t there.”

“But—”

“He thought you were a cop, Dix, remember? He would have told you. Look, haven’t we been over this?”

A phone rang, and Dixon answered. After a brief conversation his phone slapped shut. “He’s here.”

“Good. Let’s get him in and out. No reason to keep him while we’ve got other…complications.”

“You got it. This is Sandy Greene, though. He was pretty pissed she called him. He probably wouldn’t mind getting a few punches in.”

He and Mifflin both laughed, and shuffled toward the door. Casey listened as hard as she could when they’d gone. Only one person breathing.

“Yonkers,” Death whispered. “He’s the only one left. Can you move?”

She certainly couldn’t take Yonkers out, if that’s what Death was wondering. Yonkers had been right to tell his men not to worry.

“Just try to do something,” Death said. “Move a finger. A toe. He’s not watching.”

She managed to move both. When she’d done that, she concentrated on her hand. Her left wrist seemed to be the one part of her that didn’t hurt.

“Well, that’s a plus,” Death said. “How about an ankle?”

The left one seemed okay. In fact, from what she could tell she didn’t have any broken bones except for maybe some ribs. She’d had broken ribs before, and what she was feeling was very familiar. There was no telling what kind of internal bleeding she was suffering—she vaguely remembered getting hit numerous times in her abdomen.

“Yonk?” Westing’s voice jerked Casey back into the room, and she held as still as she could. “Want to see this? Sandy got some extras, and I’m not sure what you want done with them.”

Yonkers growled. “How many times do I have to tell these guys? No extras—just what’s on the paperwork.”

“I know.”

“There’s a reason these people can’t drive legit anymore. Too stupid.”

Yonkers’ footsteps followed Westing’s, and the door slammed shut. Casey’s impulse was to relax, but she knew this could be her only chance to get free. Or, if not free, to at least arm herself. Biting her lip, she eased into a sitting position, sliding her legs off the chair, her feet on the floor. Her vision swam.

“Steady,” Death said. “I can’t catch you, you know.”

Casey took as deep a breath as she could and looked at the top of Yonkers’ desk. Papers. A clock. Picture frames. Not much within reach. She stretched as far as she could and snagged a pencil. Not newly sharpened, but when you were thrusting lead into someone, it didn’t need to be.

“Coming back!” Death hissed.

Footsteps and angry voices were heading their way.

Casey slid the pencil up her shirt and lay back on the chair just as the door opened.

“But they were just sitting there!” a man said. “A whole pallet of Wiis. Don’t tell me you can’t unload those.”

“Of course I can,” Yonkers said. “And I can come up with paperwork for them, too. But what if you would have been stopped? What if someone had found those in your load? You don’t have the authorization for them.”