The two men from the Explorer were out now, waiting near the door of the RV for Chester to hop out.
The Scarface guys tried a little too hard to look tough, but they were always well dressed. Nice suits, shined shoes, hair combed back all in place, a few too many gold rings, the high-end sunglasses that were a total cliché. But they looked like guys who worked for someone who cared about appearances. Who didn’t want his employees going out looking anything less than professional.
But these guys, from the Explorer, they looked to Nicole liked they’d just come in from milking the cows. Jeans, plaid shirts, boots. Weren’t those cowboy hats she’d seen on the dash of their car? One had dirty blond hair; the other one didn’t have any hair at all. But he was too young to have gone bald. Had to have shaved it to look like that. Some kind of skinhead who held his Nazi meetings in a barn.
“Hey, fellas,” Chester said, getting to within a couple feet of them. “Don’t believe we’ve met before.”
The blond one reached behind his back with his right hand, pulled out a gun that had been tucked into his jeans, and shot Chester through the head.
Made a hell of a noise in that big empty warehouse.
The second he started reaching for the gun, Nicole knew what was coming. And she knew she’d have to go for him first. The bald one hadn’t gone for a weapon. It didn’t mean he didn’t have one, but the fact was, he didn’t have one in his hand, so she had to go for the one who did.
Nicole had been standing behind and to the side of Chester when the gun went off. Just as well she wasn’t standing directly behind him, given that the bullet went clear through his head and out the other side.
Chester hadn’t even hit the ground before she had the knife out of her back pocket. The one she used to cut Chester’s apples. A four-inch blade, solid handle. Very sharp. All she’d been able to tuck into her jean pocket was the blade. The handle was sticking up, easy to grab.
Something happened in that moment. It was like she was back in Sydney. Suddenly, her body knew instinctively how to move, how to spring, how to measure distances.
And there wasn’t that much distance to cover.
Clearly, Blondie wasn’t expecting Nicole to attack. Who knew what he was expecting. Maybe he was thinking, because she was a girl, she’d just stand there and scream like some dumb chick in a fucking movie. Maybe he thought she’d try to run. Maybe he thought she’d just stand there while he shot her in the head, too.
But he clearly never considered that she’d come at him. Or that she’d have a knife. Or that she’d have it buried in his neck before he had a chance to train the gun on her.
The knife went in fast and hard. Blondie made a noise that sounded like he was choking on a pigeon. He didn’t even try to turn the gun on her. He dropped it almost immediately, and then he went down to the cement, too.
The bald guy jumped back when the blood spurted. Nicole figured it wouldn’t be long before he pulled a gun, if he had one. When he turned and started running for the Explorer, she guessed he didn’t.
But maybe there was one in the car.
She could have reached down and grabbed Blondie’s gun, but she knew, almost instinctively, that it was not her weapon of choice.
She bolted after him, caught up just as he had the door to the car open and was half inside. She threw all her weight against the door, slamming it against him, smashing his head up against the pillar.
He was seeing stars when she ran the knife into his side. She opened the door, allowing him to slide to the cement.
She dropped on top of him, plunged the knife into him a second time to let him know she was serious.
“Who do you work for?” she asked.
“Jesus,” he said. “I’m fucking dying.”
“Tell me who you work for and I’ll get you an ambulance.”
“Higgins,” he gasped.
Then she slit his throat.
THEY found the Scarface boys’ Escalade in the middle of the desert. They’d all been shot in the head, the SUV set ablaze.
Their boss, a man named Victor Trent, offered Nicole a job. He was impressed, and grateful, not only that she had killed the two men who’d murdered his employees, but that she’d had the presence of mind to get the name “Higgins” out of them before finishing them off.
If he’d known her a little longer, and she’d had a bit more experience, he’d have had her take care of Higgins herself. But he had one of his longtime employees do that. Higgins met his maker in the desert, too, but no one ever found him. Nor did anyone ever find the two men Nicole had killed in the warehouse.
Victor took Nicole into his inner circle. She had, he quickly determined, abilities that far exceeded other girls—and most boys—her age. She had control. She had discipline. She had a willingness to learn.
And he was happy to teach her.