The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10)

The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10) Page 64

“Okay,” I said.

By then Roy had returned from the restroom. We finished the fresh beers and headed out.

“It’s getting late,” I said. “Jill will probably be upset.”

“It’s okay as long as I’m with you and not with … Well, you know.”

“Claire. What does Jimmy see in her, anyway?”

“Tits, ass, and legs, not necessarily in that order, what do you think? Weren’t you ever twenty-two years old, Dyson?”

“Yeah, I was—just never that dumb.” I stopped on the passenger side of the car and waited for Roy to unlock the driver’s-side door. While he did, I surfed my memory of that heady year after I graduated from college and all the women I was fortunate—and unfortunate—enough to hook up with. “Actually, I guess I was that dumb.”

“Me, too,” Roy said. “Not now, though.”

“Oh no,” I agreed. “We’re way smart, now.”

Roy took me back to Lake Carl. He had intended to drop me off and drive away, but all the lights were on inside the cabin and the yard was littered with cars, so he decided to stop to see what was going on. He went through the cabin door first and was hit by a big man who used the butt of a handgun to put Roy on his knees. A woman screamed. It was Jill, and she crossed the living room to Roy’s side. Roy covered the back of his head with his hand. I could see blood seeping between his fingers. The man quickly turned his full attention on me, pivoting so that the gun was pointed at my throat. He was shorter by a half-dozen inches yet didn’t seem to have a complex about it. My eyes traveled from the muzzle of the gun to his face. I did not recognize him. He was smiling, so I smiled back, although I sure as hell wasn’t getting any pleasure out of the experience.

“Be careful with that,” I said. “You might hurt someone.”

He snorted his contempt at my bravado. At the same time, Roy pushed Jill away and managed to regain his feet. He spun toward the gunman, fully intent on charging him, gun or no gun. I stepped between them and wrapped Roy in my arms.

“No, no, no, no, no,” I chanted. “That’s just his way of saying hello.”

I pushed Roy backward three steps, not an easy feat, believe me. He glared at the big man while I surveyed our surroundings. Everyone was huddled in the living room—Josie, the old man, Dave, Liz, Jimmy, and Claire; Jill was on her knees. They were all frightened. Only Jill was looking at us. The rest were staring at something past us in the kitchen. I followed their eyes. Fenelon was standing near the refrigerator, his hands behind his back, and leaning against the counter. A second man was sitting at the rickety table. He had the vaguely bored expression of someone that had ordered a beer in a bar and was waiting for the waitress to deliver it.

“What’s this?” I asked. “A party? You should have told me. I would have worn a nicer sweatshirt.”

“Thank God you’re here,” said Josie.

“Bastard’s kept us prisoner for hours,” Jimmy said.

“Tell your friends to shut up,” the man said. He spoke loudly, like he was giving a lecture on self-improvement to a full auditorium.

“You tell ’em,” I said. “You’re the one with the guns.”

“Sit down, Dyson.”

“Everyone seems to know my name, and yet I’ve tried so hard to remain incognito.”

He spread his hands wide as if he were as baffled by the phenomenon as I was. His hair was short, brown, and curly, except for a bald patch the size of a tennis ball at the back. He was wearing a charcoal suit jacket over a wine-colored shirt that was open at the collar and slacks that matched the jacket—easily the best-dressed man I’d seen since I arrived in the northland. There was a small-caliber wheel gun shoved under his belt just above his left hip, ideally positioned for a right-handed man to cross-draw while sitting down.

“Kinda late, though, isn’t it, John?” I asked. “After all, tomorrow’s a school day.”

“You know who I am?” He continued to speak loudly, even though I was less than ten feet away. At the same time, his voice was as smooth as a combination lock.

“Of course I know who you are. I’ve been expecting you.”

I was still holding on to Roy and whispered in his ear. “Sit next to Jill. When I call your name, stand up—slowly.” He nodded imperceptibly. I released him, and he bent to Jill. He helped her up by the shoulders and eased her onto the corner of the sofa farthest from the door. He sat next to her, and although he took hold of Jill’s hand, his eyes never left the big man standing at the door.

I moved into the kitchen. Brand shifted in his seat.

“So, John, how’s it going?” I said. “You don’t mind that I call you John, do you?”