The Reapers

He needed Louis’s gun. If he could get to it, then they might have a chance against Bliss.

“Shit,” said Angel. “Hell, hell, hell.” He was experiencing a rising anger at Louis’s selfishness. “Today, of all days, you had to get shot. Out here, in the middle of fucking nowhere, leaving me alone without a gun, without you.” He felt his body tensing, the adrenaline coursing. “I told you I wanted that gun, but oh no, you had to have it. Mr. Big Shot needed his weapon, and now where has it left us? Screwed, that’s where it’s left us. Screwed.”

And at the height of his self-induced rage, Angel ran.

Bliss’s advance had been made easier by the rise and fall of the land, making it harder for Louis’s partner to trace his progress than it would have been if he was crossing level ground. The disadvantage was that, while he was in the slight depressions, he was unable to see the lower part of the woods in which Angel was hidden. He was also aware that Louis might have recovered sufficiently from his wound to enable him to look for cover, but while Bliss had maintained his vigil there had been no sign of movement over the small patch of clear ground between the place where Louis had fallen and the woods in which his lover cowered. Bliss anticipated that the fear of being shot would keep Angel in the woods, but in case he overcame that fear Bliss had quickly covered the ground between his original position and his targets, despite squatting and crawling much of the way. Now he was within touching distance of the rise overlooking the forest. He calculated that Louis lay perhaps ten feet to his right behind it.

Bliss put the Surgeon to one side. He would retrieve it once his work was done. Instead, he removed the little Beretta Tomcat from its holster beneath his arm. It was the perfect coup de grâce weapon, a comparatively cheap yet reliable.32 that could be disposed of quickly and without regret. Slowly and quietly, Bliss worked his way along the slope of the incline. Ten feet. Eight. Five.

He stilled his breathing. There was saliva in his mouth, but he did not swallow. He heard only birdsong, and the gentle shifting of the branches.

In one graceful movement, Bliss raised the gun and prepared to shoot.

Angel was halfway between the woods and the body of Louis when Bliss appeared. He was caught in the open, unarmed. He froze for an instant, then continued his run, even as Bliss altered the angle of his weapon to deal with the approaching man, the muzzle now centered on Angel’s body.

Then two voices spoke. Both were familiar to Angel, and both said the same single word.

“Hey!”

The first voice came from behind Bliss. He swiveled to face the new threat, and saw a man kneeling in the grass, a gun leveled on him. Some distance behind him, and clearly struggling with the terrain, was an overweight man in his sixties, also carrying a gun.

The second voice came from below Bliss. He looked down, and saw Louis lying on his back, a gun aimed at Bliss’s chest.

Bliss almost smiled in admiration. Such patience, he thought, such guile. You clever, clever boy.

And then Bliss felt force and heat as the bullets entered his body, spi

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

ANGEL NEEDED A MOMENT to take in what had happened. Once he had done so, his rage was no longer self-induced, and found an appropriate target in Louis.

“You asshole!” he shouted, once it was clear that his partner, lover, and now object of his ire was not dead. “You piece of shit.” He kicked him hard in the ribs.

“I got shot!” said Louis. He pointed to a damp patch on his right arm where the bullet had grazed him, and the hole in his coat.

“Not shot enough. That’s a scratch.”

Angel’s boot was poised for another kick, but Louis was already scrambling awkwardly to his feet.

“Why didn’t you say something when I called to you?”

“Because I didn’t know where Bliss was. If he heard me speak, or saw you react to something I said, he’d go for the long shot. I needed him to get close.”

“You could have whispered! What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you were dead.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Well, you should be.”

“You could look pleased about the fact that I’m still alive. I. Got. Shot.”

“The hell with you.”

Angel looked over Louis’s shoulder and saw the Detective and Willie Brew standing on the top of the small hill, staring down at them. His brow furrowed. Louis turned. His brow did exactly the same.

“You two on vacation?” asked Angel.

“We came looking for you,” said the Detective.

“Why?”

“Willie thought you might be in trouble.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“You know, barns blowing up, that kind of thing.”

“I got shot,” said Louis.

“I heard.”

“Yeah, well nobody seems too bothered by it.”

“Except you.”

“With reason, man. You two come alone?”

The Detective shifted awkwardly on his feet as he answered. “Not entirely.”

“Aw no,” said Angel, realization dawning. “You didn’t bring them along.”

“There was nobody else. I couldn’t pick and choose.”

“Jesus. Where are they?”

The Detective gestured vaguely. “Somewhere out there. They took the road. We came on foot.”

“Maybe they’ll get lost,” said Angel. “Permanently.”

“They came here because of you two. They worship you.”

“They’re psychotic.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” The Detective gestured at Bliss. “By the way, who was he?”

“His name was Bliss,” said Louis. “He was a killer.”

“Hired to kill you?”

“Looks like it. Think he might have taken the job for free anyway.”

“Didn’t work out so good for him.”

“He was supposed to be the best, back in the day. Everybody thought he’d retired.”

“I guess he should have stayed in Florida.”

“Guess so.”

They heard the sound of a vehicle to the east. Seconds later, the Fulcis’ monster truck appeared over one of the rises, heading in their direction. Some of Angel’s anger had begun to dissipate, and he had deigned to examine Louis’s wound.

“You’ll live,” said Angel.

“You could sound pleased.”

“Asshole,” said Angel again.

The truck pulled up nearby, churning mud and grass as it did so, and the Fulcis emerged, followed closely by Jackie Garner. They looked at Bliss, then looked at Louis.

“Who was he?” asked Paulie.

“A killer,” said the Detective.

“Uh-huh. Wow,” said Paulie. He glanced shyly at Louis, but it was Tony who spoke first.

“You okay, sir?” he asked.

Willie saw the Detective trying to hide his amusement. There probably weren’t a whole lot of people that the Fulcis called “sir.” It made Tony sound like he was about nine years old.

“Yeah. I just got shot.”

“Wow,” he said, echoing his brother. Both of the Fulcis seemed awestruck.

“What now?” asked the Detective.

“We finish what we came here to do,” said Louis. “You don’t have to come if it doesn’t sit easy with you,” he added.

“I came this far. I’d hate to leave before the climax.”

“What about us?” asked Tony.

“The two roads converge about a half mile from Leehagen’s house,” said Louis. “You stay there with Jackie and hold them, in case company comes.”

The Detective walked over to where Willie was standing uncertainly. “You can stay with them or come with us, Willie,” he said, and Willie thought that he saw sympathy in the Detective’s eyes, but it was lost on him. Willie looked to the Fulcis and Jackie Garner. Jackie had taken some short cylinders from his rucksack and was trying to explain the difference between them to the Fulcis.