Part 42 (1/2)
”h.e.l.lo, Colin.”
”Jerry?” For the first time in years, Canvas allowed panic to flash across his face. He instantly banished the expression and wildly signaled for a trace to begin.
”This has to end.”
”Save me the trouble, Jerry. Tell me where you are.”
”Close.”
Canvas walked to the door, shut the lights in the room, and opened it. ”We need to talk, he said as he looked out into the night woods.”
”No.”
”I promise my offer will more than make up for any inconvenience or hards.h.i.+ps you've had.”
”Will it bring my father back from the dead? Xenos asked in a subdued, committed tone.”
”s.h.i.+t,” Canvas whispered away from the phone. ”Jerry, it was never my intent-”
”This has to end.”
Canvas wildly motioned his men into action. Alarms were silently relayed, guards called on cell phones, locks thrown, and systems put into active mode. ”What do you have in mind?”
”Do you remember Romania?”
”Sure. Last time we worked together.”
”Remember those two Magyars?”
Canvas did remember. ”The pas de morts. Sure.”
”Two men,” bound together by a large silk scarf, fighting to the death over a matter of principle.
”Beautiful b.l.o.o.d.y moment,” Canvas said as he allowed the memory to come over him. The music, the pa.s.sion, the two men locked in the death dance that would decide all issues between them. ”You inviting me to dance, Jerry?”
”You made the invitation when you involved my family. Xenos sounded... tired, but resolved.”
Canvas was handed a note that read ”He's close!” Involuntarily he took a step out into the night. ”Where and when, old friend?”
His answer was a volley of shots from the dark that barely missed him, but tore the door off its hinges. The experienced soldier dropped to the ground, rolled, and rushed into the woods.
Three Corsicans rushed each of the four buildings, the other four remaining outside. The night exploded in automatic weapons fire-weird flashes in the dark momentarily lighting up the woods, then disappearing. Screams mixed with the gunshots, explosions filled the calm air.
Franco and two others had stormed the command center, instantly killing the three men inside. A door was kicked in, a quick look followed by a fusillade of 9mm fire from inside.
Franco never hesitated.
He threw himself into the room at floor level, firing his .45s with both hands. ”Amici! In bocca al lupo!”
”Crepi il lupo!” his sidemen screamed out as they followed him in. Two minutes later the room fell silent, the defenders dead or seriously wounded.
With the sounds of the firefight spreading around him, Franco wasted no time going up to the survivor among the defenders. He pulled out his knife, plunging it into the man's wounded shoulder.
”I bambini, the children, where are they?” He twisted the knife, and the man's screams drowned out the nearby shooting.
”Hall! Second and third doors!”
”Grazie,” Franco said as he pulled out the knife, cutting the man's throat in the same motion. He spit in the dead man's face as he kicked his body aside. ”Froccio!” He checked through the door's peephole, then opened it and hurried through.
Grimes heard the battle begin. Saw the first explosions from the shelter's mesh-covered windows. Heard the gunfire from the outer rooms and knew that disaster wore a robe and carried a scythe in a skeletal hand.
And was actively looking forhim!
He jumped as the door exploded inward and the men came for him.
”Another step and you'll see the girl's brains!” he screamed out as he pushed a .38 into Cathy Alvarez's seven-year-old ear.
Franco pushed down the barrel of his comrade's gun. A quick look behind to see that the third member of his team had Drake Alvarez safely in the hall, then he turned back to Grimes.
”Disgraziato,” he snarled at the man. ”Porco! I give you one chance to let her go and face me like a man.” He handed his gun to his comrade and pulled out his knife. ”Come on, Dolcezza,” he sneered, ”come and play.”
”I'm not f.u.c.king kidding! I'll kill her! I will!” His face was sour-milk white, his hand trembled, his sweat formed pools on the floor, but he managed to thumb back the hammer on the gun.
Franco kissed the air in Grimes's direction as he rhythmically moved the knife from side to side. Slowly-almost floating-one foot closer each moment.
”Come on, maschioni,” tough guy, another kiss, ”let's dance, he whispered seductively.”
Grimes couldn't take his eyes off the knife and the madman holding it. It wasn't supposed to be this way! He wasn't supposed to get dirty! None of them, it was just a game, money for nothing but a few favors. Just a game, dammit!
”Come and play.”
”Wha-”
His words were stopped by a flick of Franco's wrist and the blade flying into his left eye. At almost the same moment, the Corsican threw himself forward, grabbing the little girl less than a second before Grimes's gun went off.
”s.h.i.+t,” he muttered as he looked down at the hole that went through his shoulder. Then he turned to Cathy-keeping his body between her and Grimes-as the other Corsican fired three times into the man's head. ”Are you okay, little one?”
The girl seemed stunned, porcelain-like, a beautiful sculpture about to crack into a million pieces.
”Angelo mio,” he said with a softened smile, ”little angel, would you like to go see your mama?” He kept smiling as his hands searched her for broken bones or blood. He found none.
”Do you know my mommy?” she said in an impossibly weak voice.
Franco smiled as he lifted her into his arms. ”We go to her right now, okay?”
”Okay.” She buried her face in his uninjured shoulder as she caught a glimpse of the mutilated men around them.