31
Peter
One-handed and with no apparent effort, Lewis picked Nickels up by the front of his coat. “Who else is here? They don’t have to die like your brother.”
Nickels looked over at the crumpled form on the ground by the shed. “You killed Craig?”
“All you had to do was sell me some damn guns. I had the money. But you had to get greedy.” Lewis shook Nickels like a rag doll. “Who else is here?”
“Nobody, man, just me and Craig. Take what you want and go.”
Peter pointed toward the vehicles by the house. “Who drives that third truck?”
“I’m telling you, nobody.” Nickels’s voice cracked slightly. His eyes slid up and away. He was lying.
They were running out of time. If someone was in the house or shed, it was quite possible that they hadn’t heard the suppressed AK fire. But the .357 was very loud. Like an announcement, or a starter’spistol. Nickels and his brother being what they were, Peter was certain they’d have weapons stashed within easy reach throughout the compound.
“We start in the shed,” Peter said. He press-checked the slide on Nickels’s pistol, the Beretta civilian version of the Army M9, and found a round in the chamber. He reversed it and held it out to Lewis. “You keep hold of Nickels. I’ll take the rifle.”
At the closed shed door, he bent to check the dead man’s pulse. Nothing. Peter left him in the mud. First things first. His heart was racketing in his chest, adrenaline burning in his veins like gasoline.
He moved to the knob side with Lewis behind him, holding Nickels with the pistol at his back and a fist bunched in his coat collar. Softly, Lewis said, “You make a sound, you die first.”
Peter cracked the door and took a quick peek. Heavy steel workbenches and big floor-mounted machines lined both walls. Some of it a century old, some looking brand-new. He didn’t see any people, but he also couldn’t see the whole space. He took a breath and flowed through the opening and into the long, dim room, rifle up and ready in his hands.
He’d done this countless times in the sandbox. Except he’d always had a stack of heavily armed Marines at his back. Still, Lewis was as good as any three-man fire team. Even with Nickels to deal with.
He eased forward, knees bent, weapon up, eye at the iron sights, sweeping the space as he advanced. Cement floor with rubber mats at the workstations. A milling machine, two drill presses, a shaper, a stamping press, all of them a hundred years old and greasy with cutting oil. A pair of newer computer-controlled lathes. Racks of raw metal. Three tall fireproof cabinets with flammable stickers on them. Toward the back, a half dozen pieces of advanced equipment he didn’t recognize. Pistols on bench tops and long guns leaning everywhere he looked. But no people. In the far corner, a door stood open. The restof the back was taken up by what looked like a gas forge, with a draft hood and a crucible. Whatever these guys were doing, they were serious about it.
“Clear,” he said. “Going out the back and over to the house.”
“Right behind you. Move, Nickels.”
“Wait.” Nickels was pale and wet and breathing hard. Behind them, they’d left a trail of muddy bootprints. “There’s someone in the house.”
“Who,” Lewis said.
“Mama. You go in there, she’ll fire on you. Especially if she knows Craig’s dead. He always was her favorite. You’ll have to kill her. I don’t want that.”
“Will she come out if you call her?”
“She’s not stupid,” Nickels said. “Are you gonna kill us?”
Lewis growled, “You and Craig started this shit, remember? All I want is what I came for in the first place. Three long guns and three pistols with extra mags. Looking around your shop, I see you got plenty to spare.”
“Swear you won’t kill us, Lewis. Give me your word.”
Lewis sighed. “I won’t kill you ’less you make me. You have my word.”
Peter said, “Nickels, do you have your phone on you?”
“In my pocket.”
Peter put the AK on him. “Nice and slow.”
Carefully, Nickels found his phone, pulled it out, and cursed softly. “She already called twice. What should I say?”
“Tell her to stay in the house. Put it on speaker.”
