Page 61 of Rooke
“Calm the fuck down,” I hiss. “I’m not insane. I assume you’ve destroyed every stick of furniture in the house? Did you find anything to prove Viorelli right?”
Jericho slowly shakes his head. “I found a hundred and sixty-three thousand dollars underneath your bed, though. Saving for a rainy day,hijo? You know, squirreling away that amount of money might look suspicious to some people.”
Jake looks absolutely stunned now. A hundred and sixty-three grand is a shit load of money. I get that. “Does it matter?” I roll my shoulders, cracking my neck. “If you’re going to kill me, can we get on with this? If not, let Jake go. He’s hardly—”
In the time it takes me to pause between words, the strangest thing happens. Jake, sitting on the step with his mouth hanging open one second, does the unthinkable: he gets to his feet.
The next three seconds are a blur. Somehow, from somewhere, Jake has a gun in his hand. A deafeningly loud shot rings out, and then one of Jericho’s guys is on the floor, laying in a pool of blood. A moment passes. Jake stares at the gun in his hand, and Jericho and his boys stare at the guy on the ground, their eyes made of glass.
“What the—”
I react. I have no choice. I’m reaching for the gun I’ve been carrying around all day, the one I’m meant to use on Casper, and then it’s in my hand, and I’m pulling the trigger. A pop of light bursts, white and red, and then another, and then another. They’re not all from my gun. I lunge, driving my fist into the throat of the closest guy, who’s spinning around, about to fire on Jake. He staggers away from me, the back of his head hitting the wall behind him. The cramped space inside the hallway is a confusion of moving bodies. I can’t tell who is who. Someone shouts, a sound of pain, of surprise, and then there’s the sound of another body hitting the floor.
Another gunshot.
“FUCK!”
I don’t know where the cry comes from. It could be Jake. It could be any of the other men. Everything turns gluey, time slowing, my vision tracking wildly through the smoke and the arms and legs, and I see Jericho, raising his hands, aiming, about to shoot.
I beat the bastard to it.
I fire, my arm kicking back, and Jericho slams into the bannister, crying out.
It’s as though reality snaps back into place, time racing to catch up with itself, then. Everyone is turned to Jericho, who is sagging in a heap on the floor, releasing strained, agonized gasp after gasp as he clutches at his chest.
Two of his men are dead on the floor. The other two are staring down at their boss like they can’t comprehend what just happened, or what they should do next. And Jake…
Jake has been shot, too…
He holds one hand to his stomach, and blood is pouring out from beneath his fingers, thick rivulets of crimson fluid trickling from his body. My arm is still held out, gun in hand. Jake holds his out in his other hand, too, a look of cold fury in his eyes.
“Get the fuck out,” he hisses.
“You’re going to fucking pay for this,cabron,” one of Jericho’s guys spits. Alfonse. I think his name is Alfonse. His sister brings him his lunch at the garage every day. He stoops, reaching for Jericho, but I block him.
“Don’t think so, asshole.” If Jericho makes it out of here, Jake and I are fucking dead. Alfonse and the other guy will shoot us both in the head as soon as they make it out of the door. If we have their boss and he’s still alive, there’s a chance they’ll back off and wait to see what happens.
Alfonse spits blood at Jake. “Better leave the state, fucker.” He points his gun at Jake, then at me. “We got you pegged.”
“Go,” Jericho gasps. “Go. He won’t kill me.”
He’s mighty sure of himself right now. I don’t really see that I have much of an option. Hardly going to contradict him right now, though. Alfonse and his friend step over the bodies of their dead friends, and they leave.
So fucking surreal. Once the door closes behind them, the three of us just exchange looks.How did we get here? That was really fucking unexpected. Where do we go from here?
Common sense returns pretty damn quickly, though. I stride over the dead men in my hallway, and I grab hold of Jericho by the throat. He grimaces up at me, baring his teeth, his gold grill spackled and stained with blood. I don’t try and hide my fist as I pull it back. “Guess it’s time foryouto arrepiente, motherfucker.”
My right hook knocks him clean out.
******
Blood in the snow.
God knows how there aren’t cops lining the street yet, but the place is deserted. A woman walking her dog watches me carry Jericho down the steps from the house and doesn’t bat an eyelid. Jake’s bleeding out all over the place; he needs a doctor and fast. The Skyline’s right where I left it, parked directly in front of the house. Jake opens up the rear passenger door, and I bundle Jericho into the back. I almost drop his unconscious body when I see what’s already taking up space on the other side of the console.
A head.
A severed fucking head.
