what a lousy place it was to make a stand. Feeling cornered, Patty tried to think of something, anything…
Her eyes fell on the brick chimney above the fireplace on the near wall. What she saw there determined her next series of moves.
“Dad’s gun,” she said to David.
“I can go find it.”
She grabbed his shoulder. “Can you fire it?”
“He took me to the range. Twice.”
“Find it and come back here to your brother. Anyone comes up the stairs besides me, shoot them.”
David swallowed air, “What about you ?”
“They gotta get in to hurt us, pal,” she said as her eyes returned to the crossed Civil War swords hanging over the mantle. “I’m gonna be waiting when they do.”
The sword was heavier than it looked. Patty tested its tip with a finger; a tiny drop of blood proved its sharpness. Moving back into the corridor with it, she felt quite absurd. The closest she had ever come to wielding a sword had been an underwater knife, and that wasn’t very close at all. She crept down the circular stairway with her body tensed to spring, the sword gripped too tightly in her right hand.
She felt certain the house had not yet been penetrated. The outside doors showed wood veneer exteriors, but boasted a heavy steel core. The windows were triple-paned, easily penetrable by a bullet, but not at all easily by a man. There would be noise when penetration was attempted, and when she heard it, her best hope was that she and her sword would be close enough by to act.
At the foot of the stairs, she crawled toward the main entrance. Barely two minutes had passed since the gunmen had shot out the upstairs window. Time was on their side. Patty and her brothers weren’t going anywhere, and no help was in the offing. A waiting game, then.
For all of them.
She had almost reached the front door when the faint scent of cigar smoke reached her nostrils. She passed it off initially to a stale odor from her father’s most unfortunate habit. But the scent was nothing like his Havanas. Patty took a deep breath, grasped the sword in both hands, and raised it over her head. Then she leaped into the doorway of the library.
A man was sitting there in one of the burgundy leather chairs, a cigar stub smoldering in his mouth.
“There were three of them,” he said. “There aren’t anymore.”
Patty stood rigid, sword still held high. The man was wearing a black suit and his nose looked mashed.
“Name’s Sal Belamo,” the man said. “Blaine McCracken sent me.”
“You can put the sword down now,” Sal said.
“I think I’ll just keep it like this for a while.”
“You’ll end up with a pair of sore shoulders, lady.” The ashes from Belamo’s cigar stub fluttered to the hardwood floor. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have an ashtray anywhere around? Not much holdin’ these damn Parodies together.”
“How do I know you’re not one of them?”
“I told you, lady. They’re gone, finito. I tried not to make a mess. McCracken wouldn’t’ve had to kill the fucks, but that’s why he’s McCracken.”
The sword came down a little. “What’d you say your name was?”
“Sal Belamo.”
“How’d you get in?”
“I’m good with locks.”
“And he sent you? Blaine sent you?”
“Well, not exactly. See, lady, one of your messages reached my desk, and when I couldn’t reach McCracken, I figured I’d better come out here and check up on ya. Been outside since sunset.”
Patty remembered the car parked precariously on the canyon road. At last the sword came down all the way.
“Saw the fucks lurking about just before your lights went bye-bye. Sorry ’bout your upstairs windows. Guess I don’t move as fast as I used to. I was a boxer, you know. Fought Carlos Monzon twice, and he busted my nose both times. Can’t tell shit from lilacs out of the right nostril, and the left’s not much better.”
“You came here just to guard me?”
“Your message sounded like you were pretty
Her eyes fell on the brick chimney above the fireplace on the near wall. What she saw there determined her next series of moves.
“Dad’s gun,” she said to David.
“I can go find it.”
She grabbed his shoulder. “Can you fire it?”
“He took me to the range. Twice.”
“Find it and come back here to your brother. Anyone comes up the stairs besides me, shoot them.”
David swallowed air, “What about you ?”
“They gotta get in to hurt us, pal,” she said as her eyes returned to the crossed Civil War swords hanging over the mantle. “I’m gonna be waiting when they do.”
The sword was heavier than it looked. Patty tested its tip with a finger; a tiny drop of blood proved its sharpness. Moving back into the corridor with it, she felt quite absurd. The closest she had ever come to wielding a sword had been an underwater knife, and that wasn’t very close at all. She crept down the circular stairway with her body tensed to spring, the sword gripped too tightly in her right hand.
She felt certain the house had not yet been penetrated. The outside doors showed wood veneer exteriors, but boasted a heavy steel core. The windows were triple-paned, easily penetrable by a bullet, but not at all easily by a man. There would be noise when penetration was attempted, and when she heard it, her best hope was that she and her sword would be close enough by to act.
At the foot of the stairs, she crawled toward the main entrance. Barely two minutes had passed since the gunmen had shot out the upstairs window. Time was on their side. Patty and her brothers weren’t going anywhere, and no help was in the offing. A waiting game, then.
For all of them.
She had almost reached the front door when the faint scent of cigar smoke reached her nostrils. She passed it off initially to a stale odor from her father’s most unfortunate habit. But the scent was nothing like his Havanas. Patty took a deep breath, grasped the sword in both hands, and raised it over her head. Then she leaped into the doorway of the library.
A man was sitting there in one of the burgundy leather chairs, a cigar stub smoldering in his mouth.
“There were three of them,” he said. “There aren’t anymore.”
Patty stood rigid, sword still held high. The man was wearing a black suit and his nose looked mashed.
“Name’s Sal Belamo,” the man said. “Blaine McCracken sent me.”
“You can put the sword down now,” Sal said.
“I think I’ll just keep it like this for a while.”
“You’ll end up with a pair of sore shoulders, lady.” The ashes from Belamo’s cigar stub fluttered to the hardwood floor. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have an ashtray anywhere around? Not much holdin’ these damn Parodies together.”
“How do I know you’re not one of them?”
“I told you, lady. They’re gone, finito. I tried not to make a mess. McCracken wouldn’t’ve had to kill the fucks, but that’s why he’s McCracken.”
The sword came down a little. “What’d you say your name was?”
“Sal Belamo.”
“How’d you get in?”
“I’m good with locks.”
“And he sent you? Blaine sent you?”
“Well, not exactly. See, lady, one of your messages reached my desk, and when I couldn’t reach McCracken, I figured I’d better come out here and check up on ya. Been outside since sunset.”
Patty remembered the car parked precariously on the canyon road. At last the sword came down all the way.
“Saw the fucks lurking about just before your lights went bye-bye. Sorry ’bout your upstairs windows. Guess I don’t move as fast as I used to. I was a boxer, you know. Fought Carlos Monzon twice, and he busted my nose both times. Can’t tell shit from lilacs out of the right nostril, and the left’s not much better.”
“You came here just to guard me?”
“Your message sounded like you were pretty
Similar Books
