Blood Men: A Thriller

“Okay, okay, fine. Where’s the man who did this?”


I lead him into the living room. A pool of blood has formed around the guy’s head. He’s ended up lying on top of the bag of pencils and crayons.

Nat and Diana stand in the doorway. “That’s one of them,” Nat says.

“And the other?” Schroder asks.

“The other one took Sam,” Nat says. “Not much more I can tell you. I mean, he looked kind of like this one. Shaved head, tattoos—we can try to describe him. I’m pretty sure, if things had gone differently, he was going to kill us. I don’t know why he hadn’t already.”

“We’ll get some mug shots for you to go through,” Schroder says. He steps closer to the body and I roll it so he can see it better. For a moment I wonder how many dead bodies this man has seen. Plenty, I guess. Certainly many more than my father ever saw.

“Oh my God,” Diana says, when she sees the stub of the pencil. “Eddie . . . I didn’t think you could, that you were . . . capable . . . ,” her voice tails off.

“These bastards took my daughter!” I say, glaring at her. “You’d rather I let him shoot me? You’d rather have let him drown Schroder, then come down and shoot you and Nat? Let Sam die too?”

Nobody answers. Nat nods once, understanding, maybe for the first time seeing I’m doing what I can to get us through this alive. All of us.

“You recognize him?” I ask Schroder.

“No, I . . . wait.” He crouches down over the body, then reaches for my hand when he wobbles. He coughs again, trace amounts of bathwater spattering on the dead guy. “He doesn’t look familiar,” he says when he’s composed himself.

“He has to.”

“He doesn’t. I’ll call it in. The fingerprints, we’ll have a hit on them by now.”

“Then what? You compile a list of names and spend a week making a case? We need to act tonight.”

“I know, I know,” he says. “Look, let me think, just give me a minute.”

“We don’t have time.”

“Who phoned you?” he asks, “when we were outside?”

“They did.”

“And they told you to take my phone off me.”

“They said they’d hurt Sam if I didn’t.”

He looks down at the dead man.

“Call them back. Tell them you’ll give it to them in exchange for Sam.”

“What?”

“He was asking you for money you don’t have. The rest of the crew are waiting for him to show up with it. But he’s not going to. What value does your daughter have then?”

“And tell them what?”

“Tell them you have it.”

It doesn’t seem the best of ideas, but it’s the only one. I go through the cell phone menu and find the recent calls. My fingers are shaking as I select the number then press CALL. It rings a couple of times, and then someone picks up.





chapter forty


“I have the money,” I say, my grip tight on the phone.

“Where’s my man?”

“He had an accident.”

“So you think now you can buy your daughter back by dealing directly with me?”

“Yes.”

“It’s too late,” he says. “Your daughter is about to have an accident too.”

He hangs up. Nat is standing with his arm around Diana. They’re both looking lost, like they don’t recognize me, don’t recognize the house. Schroder is changing his shirt. “What happened?” he asks.

I don’t answer him. I stare at the phone as the rage inside me builds. I don’t even know what I just heard.

“Eddie? What the hell did he say?” Nat asks.

“He . . . he said it was, was too late,” I say.

Diana gasps and Nat tightens his grip on her. Without even being aware I’m about to do it, I kick the dead guy on the floor, over and over.

“Edward, calm down, just calm down a moment,” Schroder says, putting his arms out in a consoling gesture, one arm threaded through a sleeve, the other one bare. “These men are professionals. They know what they’re doing. They know if they kill her there’s no money in it for them. Give them a minute. They’ll call back.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Give it a minute,” he says.

“A minute, maybe two,” Nat says. “They’ll call back. They always call back,” he says, but Nat has no point of reference other than what he’s seen on TV; he’s trying to convince himself as much as the rest of us.

I kick the dead guy once more. His head rolls left and right, the pencil wedged in so tight it doesn’t even wobble.

“I’m going to be sick,” Diana says and rushes off to the bathroom. Nat stays in the living room for about five seconds before following her.

A minute goes by. Then another.

“You were wrong,” I say.

“Give it time.”

“I’m going to kill these people,” I say, and that’s true too. Schroder doesn’t respond. He’s probably thinking it’s time to try and get some handcuffs on me. But he’s also thinking that these guys tried to kill him, and he knows he owes me one.

“Look, Edward, you have to stop kidding yourself here. This isn’t something you can deal with.”