Fuzzy Navel

11:31 P.M.

KORK

I DON’T TRUST PHIN any more than he trusts me. And I’m sure that if he gets his hands on one of those Desert Eagles, the first thing he’s going to do is blow my head off.

Which, of course, is the first thing I’m going to do. I just have to make sure I get one before he does.

I turn up my palms and say, “Okay, we’re on the same side. Now what?”

Phin shrugs. “You were in the marines. I was hoping you’d tell me.”

“Any good marine knows when to fight and when to retreat. We should retreat.”

“You go ahead. Run east. I don’t think I saw them there.”

Which probably means he saw them in the east. Or maybe not.

This is going to be an interesting alliance.

“Okay,” I say. “Tell me what you saw.”

“Two men. They’re wearing vests, and each has a Desert Eagle. They took them out of the back of a Ford Bronco parked down the street.”

“Any more weapons in the Bronco?”

“I couldn’t see.”

“Keys?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

“Did they put their rifles in the Bronco?”

“I heard rifle fire, but didn’t see any guns.”

Which means the rifles might be abandoned on Jack’s property somewhere. Why did the shooters ditch their rifles? Out of ammo? Or do they figure they’ll finish the job with the handguns, then pick them up later?

I can remember where the shots came from. If I did a perimeter check, I might be able to find a rifle. And unlike those knucklehead snipers, I hit what I aim at.

I stare at Phin. Of course, he may be lying. Maybe he knows where the rifles are, and plans on getting one for himself.

Detente is a bitch.

“How about a third shooter?” I ask.

“I only saw two.”

Phin lowers his eyes to the floor. He’s looking for something.

I bet it’s a gun. He must have had one, and dropped it during our scuffle.

“We need a plan,” I say, moving a bit closer to him. If he finds the gun and makes a move for it, I’ll punch him in the throat, break his windpipe.

“I’m all ears.”

“They have two choices for entry. Front door, and the patio door. Patio door is thick glass, might be tough to break through. Front door is smarter. Two shots at the lock and a swift kick, and they’re in.”

“Maybe they’ll split up,” Phin says. “Each take an entrance.”

“The house is dark. They might shoot each other. Did they have night-vision scopes or goggles?”

Phin shakes his head. “Not when they were chasing me.”

“Then they’ll probably stick together. We need to get inside, set up an ambush.”

Phin points his light to the left, moving the beam across the workbench. He rushes to it, grabbing Jack’s.45 that I threw there, pointing it at my head.

“It’s empty,” I say.

He pulls the trigger. Nothing happens.

“Sorry,” he says. “Had to make sure. No offense.”

“None taken. Check around for a crowbar, or something to pry the door open.”

He searches the workbench. I come up beside him and also search. We keep an eye on each other, in case one of us finds a potential weapon. I see Phin’s eyes linger on a hammer.

“The door is steel,” I say. “Hammer won’t help. If you pick it up I’ll grab the shovel again, which is longer and heavier and can do more damage.”

“I’ll attest to that,” he says, rubbing the bump on his head.

We both leave the hammer alone. In the dust under the workbench is a rusty old car jack. The handle is a removable lug wrench, steel, two feet long. It’s not a crowbar, but one end tapers, like a screwdriver. I put a hand on it the same time that Phin does. Together, we bring it over to the front door.

“It isn’t big enough for both of us,” Phin says, indicating the bar.

“You’re the big, strong man,” I say, releasing my grip. “Be my guest.”

I hold the flashlight, and Phin sticks the flat end into the doorjamb, under the still-protruding chain saw. He gets a solid, two-handed grip on the bar, and leans back.

The muscles in his arms and back bulge, twitch. Phin’s a good-looking guy, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a man without a shirt. On impulse, I trace my finger across his lats.

He flinches, spins around.

“Easy, tough guy. Just admiring the view.”

His eyes are hard. “Don’t touch me again.”

“I’m too ugly for you, huh, Phin? Can’t handle a few scars?”

“You were ugly long before you had the scars, Alex.”

Asshole. When I get my hands on a gun, my first shot is going to remove his sanctimonious balls.

Phin goes back to it. The door frame creaks… bends… then the door pops inward, and I’m highly amused to see Jack Daniels burst through the doorway and descend on Phin with a knife clutched in her hand.

11:36 P.M.

JACK

I SEE AN ARM RAISE UP, moving to block my knife, and I adjust the arc, getting in under it, aiming for the neck-

It’s Phin.

I try to put on the brakes, but momentum drives my strike onward. Phin’s eyes get wide and he jerks his body sideways. The knife tip nicks his chin, and then I bump into him and he catches me before I fall onto my face.

We both stumble backward, and then I tense up and lift up the knife again when I see Alex standing directly behind him. She’s smiling her half smile.

My energy is nearly gone, but I struggle with what little I have left, fighting Phin to get at the murderer over his shoulder.

“Easy, Jack!” Phin says, holding me back. “We called a truce.”

A truce? Is he out of his mind?

Alex steps closer, pinches my wrist and twists, making me release the knife.

“We can kill each other later, Jack,” Alex says. “Those idiots outside, they’re getting ready to come in. They’re armed. We aren’t. We need to come up with a plan, and quick.”

I can’t believe this. And maybe if I wasn’t so damn tired and banged up, I’d stage a protest. But it makes a warped kind of sense. If the snipers break in, we have no way to defend ourselves. Alex is actually the lesser threat. For the moment, at least.

“Don’t trust her,” I say to Phin, keeping my eyes on Alex.

“I won’t.”

My chest feels damp. I glance down and notice Phin is bleeding on my shirt. I touch his cheek.

“Sorry,” I say. “Does it hurt?”

He smiles. “I’m tough.”

“I know. Thanks for coming.”

“We’re friends. You call, I come.”

I’m strangely moved by that, but being a hard-edged homicide cop I respond with a strong, curt nod. Phin, however, holds me closer, actually hugging me. I give him a perfunctory pat on the back, wondering what the hell he’s doing, but not minding it terribly much. His skin is cool to the touch, and he’s got the barest hint of aftershave, something that smells like pine. No, it actually is pine. I brush a pine needle out of his hair.

His breath is on my ear, soft and warm. He whispers, “I dropped a.38 somewhere in the garage.”

I nod, slightly so Alex doesn’t notice. Then we mutually disengage.

“Hey, sis! You kill the bitch yet?”

Harry, from the living room.

“There’s been some, uh, complications, Harry,” I say over my shoulder.

“What complications?”

Harry’s not going to be pleased. I’m not either. Phin and I lead the way back into the house.

“Hey, Phin,” Harry says. “Welcome to the rave. You bring the Chex Mix?”

“Hi, Harry. What’s with the refrigerator door?”

“I’m neurotic. My shrink says I have a hard time letting go.” Then Harry notices Alex, and his eyes narrow. “What the fuck? You make a deal with Satan?”

“The snipers are coming,” I say, and the words taste lousy on my tongue. “We need her help.”

“What we need,” Harry says, “is to pound a stake through her heart, cut off her head, and bury the body on hallowed ground.”