Forty-Five

Come to Papa. Predesignated spot. Game over.

Bill Reiser had received the message on the BlackBerry he’d been given just as he crossed into Tennessee an hour ago. He was looking at the Nashville skyline now. He hoped this didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be able to hit his final target.

He took the exit and swung around onto Ellington Parkway. He was surprised at how quickly the turn came; within five minutes he was on Gass Boulevard heading toward the target.

The navigation told him he’d arrived at his destination.

What the fuck was this? The Tennessee Bureau of Investigations offices were on his right. This was wrong. This was a suicide mission. He was supposed to shoot someone at a federal building?

Bull. Shit. Hell, no. He wasn’t crazy enough for that.

He drove past the building. There was one more building on this road, he’d turn around in that parking lot and go regroup. Send Troy Land an email and tell him no way, no how. What did he look like, an idiot?

He turned into the building’s parking lot, saw a white van that said Medical Examiner on it and realized where he was. Jesus, this place was a morgue. Great.

He parked for a moment so he could send Troy the message. He was tapping away when he saw a blur of flashing light behind him, looked in the rearview mirror. Plainclothes cops. Shit. Was this private property maybe?

He used his left foot to shove the gun all the way under the seat. Play it cool, accept the ticket. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. At least not right this minute.

He hadn’t done anything wrong in at least fifteen hours.

He watched the big guy approach the car carefully, his left hand on his weapon. He used his right to touch the back of the car palm down. He’d read once that cops do that so their fingerprints were left on the car in case the driver snatches them, or shoots them.

He could shoot him.

He could shoot the cop.

A rush of adrenaline flowed through him. The cop knocked on the window, made the universal sign for “roll it down.”

Think it through. Wait to see what the deal is. He probably just wants you to leave. If it’s just a ticket, don’t be dumb. You still have a game to win. So much money. Erase the past shitty year with one lump sum payment. And you’re so close. Don’t blow it now.

He pressed the down button for the window. The man was at an angle, nearly behind him. A cold wind whipped in his face.

“Sir? Please step out of the vehicle.”

“Why, Officer? What did I do?”

“Step out of the vehicle with your hands up.”

Oh, this wasn’t good at all. He bit his lip. He’d only have one chance at this. He glanced in the side mirror, the other man had sidled to the passenger side. His gun was drawn.

Bill’s heart sank. Troy was right, he was blown. They’d found out. They knew. God, what should he do? There were only two of them. The gun was fully loaded. He would have to be quick.

The cop wasn’t going to wait while he made his decisions.

“Get out of the car, now, sir. Show me your hands. Show me your hands right now.”

The other voice joined in, slightly lower, more demanding. They were getting twitchy. He heard the decibel level rise. He really didn’t have a choice. He didn’t want to go to jail. Maybe he could talk his way out of it. No, probably not. These guys didn’t look like they were in a talking mood.

He raised his hands up, then slowly used his left to open the door. As he started to step out, he let his right trail behind, like he was using it to boost himself. His fingers brushed the metal of the gun.

“Hands, now!”

Now was right. He whipped the gun out from below the seat and stood, aiming at the cop closest to him. He squeezed the trigger. Saw gray sky. What? He squeezed the trigger again but the shot didn’t go off. Shouting, screaming.

Oh.

He felt the pain now, a searing blaze through his chest. The gravel smelled like gasoline. A flock of geese flew overhead, honking. He smiled. He’d always liked geese. His grandfather had them on his farm, up in Northern California. Thought they were a nuisance. He’d always wondered…