The Trusted Professions - Chapter 17

Conversely, they were saying that during moments of extreme stress, high adrenaline type situations, your brain can ramp up the pace and start perceiving things at a faster rate per second, give your conscious mind more access to what it usually shuffles away into your unconscious processes as unimportant. I don?t know if the growing old thing is true or not, all sounds a bit subjective to me, but I can tell you for sure that the adrenaline thing is totally, one-hundred percent true, because all of a sudden time seemed to be going at an absolute crawl, and I seemed to be perceiving things in crystal clarity.

Blood, brain, skull fragments, his right eye, they all went splattering across the kitchen, across the bench, across my face and neck, as the left side of Jez?s face disintegrated in an explosive red and grey burst. I dropped to my knees without thinking, or maybe my legs gave out from under me, and I just dropped. About half an hour later I heard the dull thudding sound of Jez?s decapitated corpse hit the kitchen floor, and then, maybe ten minutes after that, the sound of glass tinkling across the linoleum. I looked up at the window of the ranch slider- it was gone, shattered. A high-powered sniper rifle. Our man?s favourite method of execution. Fuck, was he gunning for both of us? Was he aiming for me and just missed? No, you don?t fucking miss with a sniper rifle. Fuck. What the hell was going on?

I heard a screaming sound and for one horrible moment thought it was coming from me, but it was way too high pitched and it was coming from behind me - I whipped my head about and there in the doorway to the kitchen was Samantha, two big bags of shopping in each of her hands, staring down what was left of her husband, sprayed across her beautiful kitchen floor.

?Sam, get down!? I hissed at her, my words taking forever to push out. She continued screaming, mouth open wide. She was dressed in a matching pink and black ensemble. Sam was the sort of person who dressed up to go shopping for groceries.

?SAM! DOWN! NOW!? She didn?t even see me. Hell. I ran crouched across the kitchen and flew into her, tackling her onto the floor of the lounge, shopping tumbling about us as I pushed her down. She seemed to focus on me momentarily, her eyes flooding with tears. She started to mutter.

?Dal? Who was that? On the floor.?

?Sam I need you to stay calm?? Her eyes lost focus and started to waver, and she began to scream again. Fuck.

I slapped her hard across the face and then clamped my hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with shock and horror, mascara-black tears streaming out from either side of them. Her breath rushed frantically in and out of her left nostril, blowing mucous onto my hand. I tried to speak to her as calmly as I could make my voice sound under the present circumstances. I don?t think I did very well.

?Sam, I really do not have time for hysterics right now. Now listen carefully, and try not to make any God-damned noise. We?ve got to get out of this house now, and we?ve got to keep low and quiet while we do it. Is the car out front??

Samantha continued to stare at me. She made a small muffled noise from under my hand.

?Sam, nod if the car is out front.?

Samantha made a small nod.

?Are you going to scream if I let you go??

She shook her head. Her eyes were so wide she looked almost unreal. There was more white to her eyes than there was pupil.

?Good.? I took my hand away from mouth, leaving a white hand-shaped pressure mark where it had been, the rest of her face flushed a deep red. ?Okay, we?re gonna stay low and quiet, we?re gonna go directly to your car. Don?t look around, don?t make a noise. Ready??

Sam made a small whimpering noise which I took to be an assent. I stood into a low crouch and grabbed Samantha?s tiny, pale, cold hand, which was shaking tremendously. It was only a few steps to the front door, which I opened and moved directly through, dragging Sam?s stumbling form behind me. There was no point looking around, checking to see what was out there. If he had his sights on the area, any delay would simply give him time to zero in on us. We had to keep moving. The first shot had come from the rear of the house, and we were out front, so I hoped we had at least a short amount of time before he could reposition. That was assuming he hadn?t just walked right up to the house and was now walking through it, which was a hell of a terrible assumption, but I didn?t see that I had much choice in the matter.

I dragged Samantha directly to the car, a big white Explorer that had probably never explored anywhere much outside zone five. I opened the passenger door and sidled inside, dragging Sam with me. She was barely making an effort to crouch, she was in a complete daze. I angled myself uncomfortably into the driver?s seat, keeping my head below the dashboard. I pushed Sam?s head down hard into the space below the glove compartment.

?Sam, where are the keys??

She said nothing. I suppressed the urge to slap her again.

?Sam! Keys!?

?P-p-purse.? She blurted out.

?And where is the purse?? I said, a sinking feeling in my stomach.

She pointed feebly back at the house, looking at her own shaking finger in wide-eyed shock.

Fuck.

My mind raced for a second as I considered dashing back inside. Then I had another thought - I reached for the fold-out ashtray and tore it out of its runners, then scrabbled my hand around in the space it had occupied.

Bingo.

It was an old habit of Jez?s to hide the spare keys of his car behind the ashtray, in case he ever lost them. I felt a flood of relief wash over me. I jammed the key into the ignition and the big meaty engine roared into life. I shoved the gear into reverse and slammed down the accelerator, the Jeep tearing backwards out of the driveway in a wide semi-circular arc. As soon as it was clear of the driveway, I punched the gear into drive and finally poked my head slightly above the dash to see if the road was clear. Suburbia laid sprawled before me, as placid as ever. I hit the gas and the car squealed out of the cul de sac and onto the street. I took a few corners at breakneck speed, still crouched over the wheel, before I finally sat up in the chair and spoke to Samantha.

?It should be okay to sit up now, Sam.?

She stayed crouched over and shaking. There was a thick sheen of sweat on her face and neck, which were bone white.

?Samantha? You okay??

?Who was that?? she whimpered. ?On the floor.?

?We need to get you to a??

?Dal.? She cut me off. ?Who was it??

I said nothing. We drove in silence for a few minutes. Where the fuck was the entrance to the highway? I hadn?t driven in London for at least a year, I had only a vague idea of where I was.

?It was Jez, wasn?t it??

I couldn?t think of anything to say. I couldn?t lie to her, but I couldn?t tell her the truth, either.

Sam started convulsing in the passenger seat, sobbing violently. There were words in between the sobs, but they were nearly impossible to make out.

?The last thing I said to him was in anger. I said he was a loser. I said he was a failure. We?ve been fighting ever since he started the company with you. Ever since he borrowed the money from my father. Always fighting. I don?t want to fight with him. I don?t care about the money. I really don?t! I just want him to be okay. Tell me that wasn?t him, Dal. We can make it work. We can work it out. I love him. He loves me. That?s all we need. The house, the mortgage, the debt, that?s just?dressing. What we?ve got doesn?t need it. We don?t need anything. Tell me that wasn?t him Dal, tell me. Tell it wasn?t him, Dal. Tell me. Tell me it wasn?t him. Dal. Tell me. Tell me!? She started screaming it at me over and over, ?Tell me?, she just repeated it in this horrible scream, again and again. I just drove on.

Once we hit the ring road Sam calmed down and sort of curled up in her seat, staring sightlessly out of the passenger door window. I was finally able to give some order to my thoughts. Driving is good like that, I guess. Like staring at a blank canvas.

So the hitman was obviously gunning for me and Jez, which made no sense. Why take us out before we?d even paid? Maybe he?d gone to Colmes, told him what we?d asked him to do, and Colmes had made a counter-offer to save his own life and have our maps eliminated in the bargain. Or maybe there was some other explanation and Colmes was still under the gun. Maybe he was already dead. Maybe Keri had hired the hitman to kill us, keep the trail dead. But how the hell would she even know about him, or vice versa? It couldn?t be a coincidence. I was theorizing like crazy, but nothing really made sense, nothing fit together. I was flying blind. I had nowhere to go to, no-one to turn to, nowhere to hide. I thought about calling Max, but I was afraid to put her in danger. I needed to get my bearings, and there was only person I could think of who might have any answers. I took the Hampstead turnoff.

I needed to find Saul Colmes. To save his life or my own, I really wasn?t sure.

I pulled the white Jeep up outside Colmes? mansion, an enormous white-brick palace that overlooked Hampstead Heath. I?d spent several days in a car outside of it, a parabolic mic pointed at the windows to pick up sound vibrations through the glass. I knew the layout of the place as well as though I?d lived there myself, even though this was the closest I?d ever been to it. This wasn?t even his regular home, it was secondary home, a guesthouse. His real home was still occupied by Keri and was somewhere in Richmond.

I looked at Sam, still catatonic in the corner of her seat. A little colour had returned to her skin, and her eyes looked a bit more focused.

?Sam??

She continued to stare out the window. Her lips were moving slightly, but no noise was coming out.

?Sam.? I said quietly. ?I?m gonna miss him too.?

Water started silently running out of her face. I felt a horrible surging feeling in my stomach, a deep, thick pain in my throat. I badly wanted to join her, to weep for my lost friend. Jez was dead. I didn?t have time to grieve for him. I had to figure this out. I slipped out of the car and quietly closed the door behind me, leaving Samantha to her silent tears.

I jogged down the driveway to the entranceway, rang the doorbell three times and then hammered on the giant oak door. It opened almost immediately.

?Saul?? Gillette Ovay stared blinking at me through a crack in the doorway. ?Is that you?? She blinked a few more times. She looked a mess. She?d obviously been crying. ?Who are you??

I pushed the door open and walked forward. She retreated a few steps as I closed the door behind me. The lobby was an enormous marble nightmare, black and white chequered floor, with two vertiginous staircases rising up on either side of the hall, white steps alternating with black like a colossal, twisted piano.

?Ms. Ovay my name is Dalent McKinley. You don?t know me, but I know you. Saul is in great danger. Is he here??

Gillette stumbled backwards a few steps until she hit the one of the staircases and then slumped down onto the lowest stair, dejected. She was looking down at the floor.

?Gillette,? I pressed on ?is Saul here? Has he been hurt??

She looked up at me.

?Hurt? No, he hasn?t been hurt.? She was looking really strange, a look I couldn?t quite place, but knew was familiar to me. My brain searched for the memory.

?Do you know where he is??

?He?s not here. He?s out.?

My brain finally hit upon where I?d seen the expression on Gillette?s face before. It was the day I met Keri Colmes. A twisted mask of hatred. The face of a woman scorned. I swallowed past the lump in my throat.

?Out where??

Her face distorted even further. I felt my innards do the same.

?Out with her.? she spat out the last word.

?Who? Keri?? I said, already knowing it wasn?t true, already knowing the answer.

?No. I don?t know who it was. She showed up at the doorstep this morning, looked like some kind of freaky Goth, said she wanted to see Saul. Ten minutes later he said he was in love with her, and wanted me out.? I thought she was going to burst into tears, but it looked like she had already cried her piece. ?Said he doesn?t love me anymore.?

?Where did they go, Gillette? This is very important. Do you know where they went??

She sniffed. ?No. Said they were going out, would be back in the evening. Said to pack all my things. Said he wanted me gone by the time they got back.?

The weight of all my injuries, which I?d previously somehow been managing to ignore, came back to me tenfold. I felt impossibly heavy. I just wanted to crumple over onto the floor and lie there until it didn?t hurt anymore. But I didn?t.

?Did she say what her name was??

Gillette?s sadness seemed amply replaced by loathing. ?I don?t fucking know. Max or something.?

?Max??

?Yes, Max.?

Max.

Max?

Max.

Ah.

Yep.