One False Move (Myron Bolitar 5)

Tears were streaming down Arthur’s face now. He did nothing to stop it.

Myron went on. “Horace never knew, did he?”

Arthur shook his head. “Anita got pregnant early in our relationship. But Brenda still ended up dark enough to pass. Anita insisted we keep it a secret. She didn’t want our child stigmatized. She also—she also didn’t want our daughter raised in this house. I understood.”

“So what happened to Horace? Why did he call you after twenty years?”

“It was the Aches, trying to help Davison. Somehow they found out about the scholarship money. From one of the lawyers, I think. They wanted to cause mischief for me in the governor’s race. So they told Slaughter about it. They thought he’d be greedy and follow the money line.”

“But he didn’t care about the money,” Myron said. “He wanted to find Anita.”

“Yes. He called me repeatedly. He came to my campaign headquarters. He wouldn’t let go. So I had Sam discourage him.”

The blood in the locker. “He was beaten?”

Arthur nodded. “But not badly. I wanted to scare him off, not hurt him. A long time ago Anita made me promise never to harm him. I tried my best to keep that promise.”

“Sam was supposed to keep an eye on him?”

“Yes. To make sure he didn’t cause any trouble. And, I don’t know, maybe I had hopes he would find Anita.”

“But he ran.”

“Yes.”

It made sense, Myron thought. Horace had gotten a bloody nose. He had gone to nearby St. Barnabas after the beating. He cleaned himself up. Sam had scared him, yes, but only enough to convince Horace that he had to go into hiding. So he cleared out his bank account and disappeared. Sam and Mario searched. They followed Brenda. They visited Mabel Edwards and threatened her. They checked the tap on her phone. Eventually Horace called her.

And then?

“You killed Horace.”

“No. We never found him.”

A hole, Myron thought. There were still a few of them he hadn’t plugged. “But you did have your people make cryptic calls to Brenda.”

“Just to see if she knew where Anita was. The other calls—the threatening ones—came from the Aches. They wanted to find Horace and finalize the contract before the opener.”

Myron nodded. Again it made sense. He turned and stared down Chance. Chance met the gaze and held it. He had a small smile on his face.

“Are you going to tell him, Chance?”

Chance rose and went face-to-face with Myron. “You’re a dead man,” he said, almost leering. “All you’ve done here is dig your own grave.”

“Are you going to tell him, Chance?”

“No, Myron.” He gestured to the pruning shears and leaned closer. “I’m going to watch you suffer and then die.”

Myron reared back and head-butted Chance square on the nose. He held back at the last moment. If you head-butt at full strength, you could literally kill a person. The head is both heavy and hard; the face being hit is neither. Picture a wrecking ball heading for a bird’s nest.

Still, the blow was effective. Chance’s nose did the equivalent of a gymnastic split. Myron felt something warm and sticky on his hair. Chance fell back. His nose gushed. His eyes were wide and shocked. No one rushed to his aid. Sam in fact seemed to be smiling.

Myron turned to Arthur. “Chance knew about your affair, didn’t he?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And he knew about your plans to run away?”

This time the answer came slower. “Yes. But what of it?”

“Chance has been lying to you for twenty years. So has Sam.”

“What?”

“I just spoke to Detective Wickner. He was there that night too. I don’t know what happened exactly. Neither did he. But he saw Sam carry Anita out of the Holiday Inn. And he saw Chance in the car.”

Arthur glared at his brother. “Chance?”

“He’s lying.”

Arthur took out a gun and pointed it at his brother. “Tell me.”

Chance was still trying to stem the blood flow. “Who are you going to believe? Me or—”

Arthur pulled the trigger. The bullet smashed Chance’s knee, splintering the joint. Blood spurted. Chance howled in agony. Arthur aimed the gun at the other knee.

“Tell me,” he said.

“You were insane!” Chance shouted. Then he gritted his teeth. His eyes grew small yet strangely clear, as though the pain were sweeping the debris away. “Did you really think Father was going to let you just run off like that? You were going to destroy everything. I tried to make you see that. I talked to you. Like a brother. But you didn’t want to listen. So I went to see Anita. Just to talk. I wanted her to see how destructive this whole idea was. I meant her no harm. I was just trying to help.”

Chance’s face was a bloody mess, but Arthur’s was a far more horrid sight. The tears were still there, still flowing freely. But he was not crying. His skin was gray-white, his features contorted like a death mask. Something behind his eyes had been short-circuited by his rage. “What happened?”

“I found her room number. And when I got there, the door was ajar. I swear, Anita was like that when I arrived. I swear it, Arthur. I didn’t touch her. At first I thought maybe you had done it. That maybe you two had a fight. But either way, I knew it would be a mess if it leaked out. There were too many questions, too many loose ends. So I called Father. He arranged the rest. Sam came over. He cleaned the place up. We took the ring and forged that note. So you’d stop looking.”

“Where is she now?” Myron asked.

Chance looked at him, puzzled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Did you take her to a doctor? Give her money? Did you—”

“Anita was dead,” Chance said.

Silence.

Arthur let out a harrowing, primitive wail. He collapsed to the floor.

“She was dead when I got there, Arthur. I swear it.”

Myron felt his heart sink into deep mud. He tried to speak, but no words came out. He looked over at Sam. Sam nodded. Myron met his eye. “Her body?” he managed.

“I get rid of something,” Sam said, “it’s gone for good.”

Dead. Anita Slaughter was dead. Myron tried to take it in. All these years Brenda had felt unworthy for nothing.

“So where is Brenda?” Myron asked.

The adrenaline was starting to wear off, but Chance still managed to shake his head. “I don’t know.”