Hostage

Marion felt sad about that; he had always liked Glen Howell even though Mr. Howell hadn't liked him.

Marion had his orders.

Marion lifted his gun.

The man in the door whom Howell had called Marion raised his gun and aimed it squarely at Talley's face. Marion was a small man, ordinary in appearance, the type of anonymous man who would be invisible in a mall and impossible for witnesses to describe. An Everyman; average height, average weight, brown, brown.

Talley stared into the black hole of the muzzle and braced for the bullet.

'I'm sorry, Jane.'

Marion shifted his gun hard to the side and fired. He adjusted his aim, and fired again, then again. The first bullet took Howell above the right eye, the second the Mustang man dead-center in the left eye, and the third caught the man with the big head in the temple.

Marion lowered his gun.

Talley stood motionless against the wall, watching Marion the way a bird watches a snake.

Marion shrugged.

'Life is unforgiving.'

Marion crossed the room to retrieve the one good disk, pocketed it, then went to the car. He helped Jane out, then opened the back door and helped Amanda. He walked around the car, climbed in behind the wheel, and drove away without another word. Talley saw him using his cell phone even before he was out of the parking lot.

The motel was quiet.

A dark wind had blown through Bristo Camino, something beyond Talley's control, beyond his pain and his loss, and now it was gone. Now, only the three of them were left.

'Jane?'

Talley stumbled out of the room and ran to his wife. He hugged her with frantic desperation, then pulled his daughter close, squeezing them to him as the tears spilled down his face. He held them and knew then that he would never let them go, that he had lost them once and now had almost lost them this second time, lost them forever, and that he could and would never allow that to happen again.

It was over.

CHAPTER 28

Saturday, 4:36 A.M.

Palm Springs

So

The first time the phone rang, he damn near jumped off the couch.

Tuzee looked at him, asking if So

Tuzee answered.

'It's the airport. They wa

'Tell them Rio. We'll change it in the air.'

As Tuzee hung up, Salvetti said, 'They're still go

'Don't worry about it, Sally. We'll take care of it.'

'I'm just saying.'

'Don't worry about it.'

The second time the phone rang, Tuzee answered without asking. Benza could tell from Tuzee's expression that this was the word.

Salvetti said, 'Shit.'

Tuzee punched on the speaker, saying, 'It's Ken Seymore. Ken, So

'It's gone to shit. All of it's gone to shit. I'm still here at the development, but-'

Benza shouted over him. The fear in Seymore's voice infuriated him.

'I don't give a shit where you are. Do we have the goddamned disks or not?'

'No! They got the disks. Glen Howell and two more of our guys are dead. They got Manelli and Ruiz and I don't know who else. It's a goddamned clusterfuck down here. I don't know what happened.'

'Who killed Howell? Talley?'

'I don't know! Yeah, I think it was Talley. I don't know. Man, I'm hearing all kinds of things.'

So

Tuzee said, 'You sure they got the disks?'

'Talley gave the disks to the Sheriffs. That much I know for sure. Then I don't know what happened. Glen got jammed up at the motel, they had a big fuckin' firefight or somethin', and now the FBI just rolled up, the real FBI. What do you want me to do?'

Benza shook his head; there wasn't anything Ken Seymore or anyone else could do.

Tuzee said, 'Vanish. Anyone who isn't in custody, take off. You're done.'

The line went dead without another word. Ken Seymore was gone.

Benza stood without a word and went to the great glass windows overlooking Palm Springs. He was going to miss the view.

Salvetti came up behind him.

'What do you want us to do, Boss?'

'How long do you figure we have before the Feds get here?'

He had a pretty good idea, but he wanted to hear it.

Salvetti and Tuzee traded a shrug.

Tuzee said, 'Talley will tell them what's on the disks, then they'll probably talk to Smith. I don't know if he'll corroborate or not.'

'He'll talk.'

'Okay, they'll want to detain you as a flight risk to give themselves time to write the true counts, so they'll get a warrant based on our alleged involvement with the killings and kidnaps in Bristo. Say they get a telephonic warrant and coordinate with the state cops out here through the substation… I'd say two hours.'

'Two hours.'

'Yeah, I don't think they can get here before that.'

Benza sighed.

'Okay, guys. I want to be in the air in an hour.'

'You got it, So

Salvetti said, 'You go

Benza wouldn't tell New York. He was more frightened of their reaction than he was of battling the Feds.

'Fuck'm. Go get your families. Don't bother packing, we'll buy new when we get there. Meet me at the airport as soon as you can. Forty-five minutes tops.'

The three of them stood mute for a time. They were in deep shit, and all three of them knew it. Benza shook each man's hand. They were good and dear friends. So

'We had a good thing here, guys.'

Charlie Salvetti started to cry. He turned away and hurried from the office without another word.

Tuzee stared at the floor until Salvetti was gone, then offered his hand again. Benza took it.

'All this will blow over, So

Benza knew that was bullshit, but he appreciated Tuzee trying to cheer him. He even found it within himself to smile.

'Philly, we're go

Tuzee smiled tiredly.

'Yeah, I guess so. See you at the airport.'

'You bet.'

Tuzee hurried away.

So

Frank Sinatra had been dead for years.

Benza went to wake his wife.

Saturday, 7:49 A.M., Eastern time

New York City

Vic Castellano sat on his terrace overlooking the Upper West Side of Manhattan. It was a beautiful morning, clear and pleasant, though it would be hotter than a sonofabitch before noon. He still wore the white terry-cloth bathrobe with Don't Bug Me on the back. He liked that sonofabitch so much he'd probably wear it until it was threads. He put down his coffee.