He takes another step closer to me. I can almost feel the bitterness radiating off him. His chest heaving now. Shaking his head. “Why?” he asks. “Why did you do all this?”
“Do all what?” I ask as calmly as I can. “Try to catch a killer? Because it’s—”
“Stop it! Is that how you wanna play this? Even now, when there’s nobody else here to hear your lies? Do you want me to put a bullet through your head? Because I’ll do it. I swear I will.”
The gun bobbing slightly. Do I have a move here?
Dive to the ground and make him shoot wildly in the dark?
Then I see it, over Noah’s shoulder, at the far end of the bedroom, where the hallway meets the doorway.
The beam of a flashlight, searching along the floor.
Justin, limping forward down the hallway.
The swirling wind drowning out any noise he’s making, at least for me, and probably for Noah, too—at least I hope so.
Stall. Stall for time, Murphy.
“You’re the one who broke into the warehouse and stole those attorney files, aren’t you?” I ask.
“Damn straight I am,” he says. “Guess I beat you to them.”
Justin drawing closer. I’m willing myself not to look too closely at him, not to signal Noah.
Keep that flashlight beam down, Justin, or Noah will see it.
The flashlight turns off—Justin is at the threshold of the bedroom now, and the glow from the kerosene lamp is sufficient.
But the closer he gets, the more likely it is Noah will hear him, no matter how violently the wind swirls through this balcony and into the bedroom.
No matter how quietly Justin approaches, with long tiptoe strides.
Keep Noah talking.
“That was a nice move,” I say. “Getting those lawyer files before I could.”
Something in Justin’s hand, something long and thin—a golf club?
A golf club.
“Are those the last remaining copies?” I ask.
“You tell me, Murphy.”
Justin raising the golf club, holding it with two hands.
“How the hell should I know?” I ask.
“Shut up,” Noah spits. “Just stop with all your bullshit.”
Justin is only a few steps away now. It’s all I can do to pretend I don’t see him, not to tense up, not to give away his presence.
“What bullshit?” I ask.
“I said shut up! I’m done with this, Murphy. You know what’s in those lawyer files. You’ve known all along.”
Justin stops, the club poised like a baseball bat, ready for the most important swing of his life.
“I have no idea what’s in those files,” I say.
Noah does a double take, his head cocked, a hint of doubt crossing his face.
Then his eyes suddenly become alert, and he spins to his right just as Justin swings the golf club.
118
ALL AT ONCE—
Noah spins to his right and instinctively ducks—
The violent swing of the golf club, grazing the top of Noah’s head before continuing its momentum and splintering the wood on the balcony doorway— Noah’s gun, hitting the other side of the doorway during his spin, falling from his hand onto the balcony floor.
I lunge for the gun as Noah, stunned, falls against the opposite side of the doorway.
I scoop up the gun in my hands and fall forward into the bedroom.
“Don’t move, Noah,” I say, jumping to my feet.
Noah, dazed, has managed to remain upright. His woozy eyes drift over to me and his gun, his Glock, now in my hands, now pointed at him.
“Shit,” he says. He touches the top of his head and finds blood on his fingers.
“Hands where I can see them,” I say. “Show me your palms.”
“Or what? You’ll shoot me?”
“He has my gun,” Justin says, still clutching the golf club with two hands, like a weapon.
He doesn’t mean the revolver he lent me—that’s stuffed in the back of my pants.
“That old thirty-eight I showed you at my house,” Justin says. “Noah has it. He jumped me and took it off me.”
I look Noah over. In one jeans pocket, something—some papers rolled up and shoved inside, the edges protruding. The other front pocket, unclear, but a slight bulge, which could be the .38 special.
“What are those papers in your pocket?” I ask him.
“The lawyer papers,” he snarls. “In case you didn’t believe I had them.”
“And the other pocket?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. I threw Justin’s gun in the front yard.”
“Show me your palms,” I say. “The first second you don’t, I shoot.”
Noah, his brows curled in a frown, shakes his head, a bemused laugh escaping from him as his eyes bore into me. “You’re good, Murphy. You’re very good. I gotta give you that. But guess what?”
He takes a step toward me.
“Don’t, Noah.”
“Isaac’s preparing warrants for your arrest as we speak,” he goes on. “For all of the murders. All of them. Did you know that, Justin?” Noah nods in Justin’s direction. “Does he know everything?”
“Shut up, Noah. It’s not going to work. And you take one more step, I start shooting.”
He takes another step toward me, but slowly, still showing his palms.