Someone Else

Chapter 37 (Marcus)

The waitress' apartment was a bust. Her dipshit boyfriend didn't know anything, even after a thorough enhanced interrogation. The only useful information came from Key, who had called as Marcus had the boyfriend's tongue pressed between his thumb and index finger, a painful trick that rarely failed to get people to talk. Key had found Jeff Rydell's home address. So after making sure the boyfriend would never speak of word of his visit, he and Tommy zipped back up the canyon to Park City.

In the early morning hours, all the houses on Rangel Road sat dark and quiet, except for one. In the last house on the left, light from an upstairs window bled out behind the closed blinds. Marcus sat in Tommy's idling truck staring up at that window.

Tommy's feet tapped an annoying beat.

"Why you so nervous?" Marcus glared at the snitch with disdain. "This should be a piece of cake."

Both men saw the flicker of movement at the same time and Marcus pointed to the window. "I think we got this little bitch."

The house remained quiet as Marcus broke a small pane of glass and reached through the hole to unlock the backdoor. No footsteps in the hall. No scrambling down the stairs. No sound at all, so he decided against an all-out blitz. Stealth would be more effective than speed. "You guard the door," he told Tommy. "If that boy gets by you, I put a cap in yo' ass."

He moved slowly up the stairs, walking close to the wall to avoid squeaks, thinking of that Edgar Allan Poe story he'd read in high school—before he got kicked out—the one where that dude creeped into some guy's room a millimeter at a time. It was spooky as hell, something Tam'ra would probably dig. He'd have to ask her if she knew the story when he got back to L.A.

At the top of the stairs, he could see a shaft of light coming from under the door at the end of the hall. He took a step and the wood floor creaked, causing him to freeze, gun ready to blast anything that emerged from the bedroom. Creaky ass wood!

He studied the floor, as if he might find a creak-free trail down the hall, instead he noticed dark stains that appeared to be drips of blood. What the hell's that?

Knowing that each squeaky step would give Jeff the ability to prepare a counterattack, he launched himself toward the bedroom door, his footsteps thundering down the hallway. With a lowered shoulder, he burst through the door.

Light flooded his vision for a second, but then the house plunged into darkness. No, something was flung over my head! He pawed at the blanket and spun in the direction he thought the saboteur had gone, but his feet got tangled and he fell. Before he even hit the ground, he felt the first blow. An object that had probably been aiming for his head crashed down on his shoulder. The pain was immediate and caused him to drop the gun. He sank to his knees and searched for the pistol hiding somewhere in the folds of the blanket, when something cracked into his ribs causing him to crumple to the floor. He could make out the leg of a chair and a loose sock before another blow rained down on his skull.

The next thing he knew, the blanket was yanked off of him. He blinked in the light, expecting to see Jeff. Instead, he saw the big Hawaiian staring down at him. Moose wore blood-soaked sweatpants and held a baseball bat in one hand and the gun—the one he had just lost—in the other.

"How did...you..." Marcus started, fighting to make his brain focus.

Moose didn't say a word as he raised the 9mm and pointed it directly at his face. The realization hit Marcus like a thunderbolt. Motherfuckin' Tommy. That sneaky son-of-a-bitch.

Moose stared down at him without a trace of compassion and Marcus slumped even lower to the floor, feeling tired, cold, and alone. He desperately wished to be back in California. He didn't want to die in this frozen wasteland wearing this janky ass Freddy Krueger get-up.

He forced himself to smile, charm his only weapon now. "So what you gonna..." He hoped to buy time, to negotiate a way out, but he never finished his question.

His body jerked twice and then twitched for a solid ten seconds before settling into stillness. Blood leaked out of the bullet hole in his head and flowed over the edge of his cheek, pooling into a meandering stain on the striped sweater.