Blood List(64)

Paul smiled. "No, we're not."

MacUther raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"No, sir. I know that there's something you value, and I know where she is. Your granddaughter's a cutie, just like her mom."

"Mr. Renner, you're treading on dangerous ground. Even so, I think we can be reasonable."

"Excellent," Paul said, even as MacUther's knife cleared its sheath. MacUther was fast for his size, but Paul pulled the trigger before the knife left his hand. The .38 round hit MacUther in the stomach. Paul knew it wouldn't hurt more than a hard punch, not at first anyway, but it threw off the big man's aim. He charged off the couch, and Paul shot him four more times, center of mass.

The impact barreled Paul right off the loveseat, and the two men crashed to the floor. Paul's chest compressed, forcing the air out his lungs, and they both lay still for a moment. Paul's ribs burned.

Paul punched MacUther in the stomach, twice. He grunted, but didn't otherwise respond. Paul rolled the large man off him and struggled to draw breath. He coughed and gagged his way to his feet, then examined the body on the floor.

MacUther was breathing, but wouldn't be for long. All five shots had hit him in the abdomen and chest. It looked like two had scattered off his ribs, but the other three had punched through. A .38 won't kill much of anything right away, but he'd hit something important, and MacUther was in shock. His breath came in a mess of gurgling wheezes, and he had blood on his lips. Shit, Paul thought.

Paul knelt and patted the dying man's pockets. He found a variety of objects that he pulled out to inspect. One was a remote alarm, the red LED blinking. Who wants to bet that it works through the electric jammer? Paul dropped MacUther's keys on the floor and turned his attention to the cellular phone. Paul turned off the jammer, then flipped open the phone and scanned through the caller ID.

Two calls stood out. One was from Gabrielle's Fine Jewelry, in the San Francisco area code, at 2:28 PM on January 30th. Another was to the same place, at 1:17 AM on February 2nd. A few hours after the bait was set, and less than an hour after they sprang the trap. I don't know what kind of jewelry store takes calls at one in the morning. He cleared the memory on the phone and put it back in MacUther's pocket. He picked up the house phone from its cradle, dialed 911, and dropped it on the floor.

Bending down, he flipped MacUther onto his stomach. He spoke in a low voice as he picked up the pistol. "That should help your lungs drain until help arrives. Sorry." Speaking of help…. Paul heard gravel crunch in the driveway.

A peek out the front window revealed a white panel van next to his rented Lexus, SoFiaK emblazoned in bold red letters on the side. Great, thought Paul. He backed away from the door and stumbled up the stairs. Every step jarred his injured ribs. At the top he took a quick look outside, then popped open the window.

He swung out and grabbed the balcony railing. He tried to lower himself, but a chest spasm betrayed him. He dropped twelve feet to the ground, knees bent to absorb as much of the impact as possible. He stumbled to the wall and leaned against it, gasping.

He crept over to the dividing wall and clambered over the fence into the neighbor's yard. Within two minutes he was driving away, home-free.



* * *



February 2nd, 6:21 PM EST; Home of Emile Frank; Springfield, Virginia.



Doctor Emile Frank, his wife Nancy, and their four-year-old son Scott sat inside a 7,800-square-foot gated mansion, eating a delicious dinner of apple-glazed pork chops, Caesar salad, and fresh apple chutney. They chewed in silence while their son prattled on about preschool.

Emile's phone buzzed in his pocket, and his face flushed. This particular phone blocked all incoming calls except for a select few, and it had never rung before. He set down his silverware and wiped his hands on the napkin in his lap, then pulled out the phone. The caller ID said Dino's BBQ Ribs.

He stood, and placed his napkin beside his plate. "What is it, honey?" Nancy asked. She frowned at the phone. He knew she'd never quite come to fully trust him after his affair three years prior.

"Nothing," he replied. "Just work. Excuse me, I have to take this."

She pouted. "Honey, I thought we agreed no phone calls during dinner. This is family time."

He waved her off, flipped open the phone, and walked out of the room. Being in the dog house was the least of his worries. Behind him his son copied his mother's tone perfectly. "It's family time, Daddy!" Emile smiled at Scott's impersonation and put the phone to his ear. He kept walking and spoke quietly.

"This is Shelley."

The voice on the other end tried and failed to sound like a stereotypical Jersey goombah. "Hey, ah, this is Dino's calling. You got an order of steaks with us?"