Page 37 of Killjoy (Buchanan-Renard 3)

  Another car pulled in and parked three rows behind them. There was a revival going on inside the church, and it was also dollar night at the movie theater. The lot was nearly full now.

  Jilly offered him the binoculars, but he didn’t need to look. He had already spent one full night and day doing reconnaissance. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do. Normally, he would have spent at least two weeks following his subject, learning his routine, but this wasn’t a normal situation. Time was running out, and Jilly was too impatient to wait much longer. Like a child, she wanted instant gratification.

  “How many policemen are inside with them?” she asked.

  “Agents,” he corrected. “Not policemen. There are four.”

  “And you’ll get them all?”

  “Yes.”

  They were sitting ducks. His for the taking.

  The night before, Monk had watched Renard sneak out the back door, get into his car, and drive away. Monk hadn’t had a clear shot at him, but he wouldn’t have taken it even if he had because he didn’t want his primary targets moved once again. He had something special planned for them. Pity, they wouldn’t know what hit them.

  Renard had returned to the motel thirty minutes later carrying four big pizzas and a plastic bag Monk guessed was filled with beer or soft drinks.

  He was disgusted with Renard’s carelessness. He was certain the man didn’t have any idea he was being observed. Smug complacency. That’s what it was. He was disappointed in Renard. He’d expected better from his adversary and had made the mistake of believing that Renard was a professional. An equal. He realized now how foolish that hope had been. No one could ever equal or measure up to his standards. Jilly had been right all along. He was a legend.

  “I think it might be a good idea to do it tonight,” Jilly said.

  “You’re eager.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tomorrow,” he promised.

  “I don’t want to wait too much longer.”

  “I know.”

  “I wonder if Carrie is feeling safe again. Can you imagine how claustrophobic she and Avery must be feeling now? Being cooped up in that flea-infested room night and day? They must be going crazy.”

  “I’ve deliberately waited,” he explained, “so that the agents would be bored and . . . lethargic. Yes, that’s the word. Lethargic.”

  “Hour upon hour of sitting in that tiny room, waiting and worrying. They haven’t let them out at all, have they?”

  “Not while I was watching.”

  “I’m glad she didn’t die in that hospital,” she said. “This will be better because I’ll get to watch.”

  Monk nodded. “Carrie demanded to come to Florida.”

  “She wants to die with Avery.”

  “She doesn’t know she’s going to die tomorrow,” he said. “She thinks she’s going to sit in that courtroom with Avery when the trial starts.”

  Jilly picked up the binoculars once again. Smiling, she said, “Third time’s a charm.”

  Monk suppressed a yawn. He was exhausted, but he didn’t dare complain. Jilly thought he was invincible, superhuman, and he was determined to maintain his knight-in-shining-armor image.

  He knew he was taking risks he never would have considered before, but it was difficult to be cautious with Jilly constantly pushing him to his limits. She believed he could do anything, made him believe in himself.

  Every once in a while a nagging doubt would surface in his mind. He had never walked away from a contract before. His word meant everything. If he wasn’t reliable, his future would be in jeopardy, his reputation in tatters. The thought didn’t repulse him, though. He had more than enough money to keep Jilly in the style she deserved. Maybe he could let this one go and walk away.

  “You know, darling, we don’t need the money,” he said hesitantly.

  Jilly knew where he was leading. “Do you know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “When we’re finished here, let’s sneak away to Mexico and get married. The trial will go for at least a week. Dale isn’t going anywhere. Shall we?”

  She knew how much he wanted a wedding. His fatigue vanished, and he was suddenly smiling in anticipation. “Yes, yes,” he said. He was embarrassed because he’d sounded so eager, but he added, “I know a perfect place . . . you’ll love it, I promise.”

  “As long as I’m marrying you, nothing else matters.”

  She put her hand on his thigh, leaned across the console, and kissed him. Her hand moved upward to fondle him intimately.

  He became aroused quickly. Satisfied with his reaction, she pulled away. “Why not put them out of their misery tonight?” she asked again, pouting now.

  It took several seconds for Monk to understand what she was asking. He cleared his head and said, “You’ll see it all tomorrow. Daylight’s better. Besides, I have a few alterations to make, a few details before I’ll be ready. You want it to be perfect, don’t you, love?”

  “Yes, of course. But why is daylight better?”

  “No one expects to be hit with the sun shining, and in the past I’ve always tried to go in and get out during the night. Those agents believe they know my pattern.”

  “You think they’ve studied you?”

  “Yes. When it’s dark, their guard will be up.”

  She sighed then. “All right, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Remember, you promised I could watch. You won’t change your mind, will you?”

  “No, I won’t,” he assured her. “You’ll be safe, but in a wonderful spot where you can see everything. And I have a surprise for you. I was going to wait until tomorrow, but . . .”

  “Tell me now,” she pleaded. “Please.”

  “All right. I know how disappointed you were when you saw the house in Colorado blow. But this time will be different. I’m going to let you push the button.”

  She laughed with delight. “Are you going to dazzle me?”

  He nodded. “Oh, yes. I’m a legend, remember? I’m going to dazzle everyone.”

  Chapter 37

  AFTER MONK DROVE JILLY BACK TO THEIR HOTEL ON THE opposite side of Walden Point, he got back into the car and drove to a residential area a mile away from Milt’s Motel.

  He jogged a mile back to his hiding place and quietly climbed the stairs. He still had to put the finishing touches on the wiring. The job took much longer than he had anticipated, no doubt because he was weary, but when he was finally finished, he was content with his handiwork. Nothing was going to go wrong this time.

  It was after three in the morning by the time he got ready for bed. Careful not to disturb Jilly, he eased down on the bed and sat next to her, watching her sleep. Oh, how he loved her. She was so beautiful, so exquisite . . . so perfect. He lay beside her thinking once again that he was the luckiest man in the world. He fell asleep with his arms around her, the scent of her perfume surrounding him, and dreamed of their honeymoon.

  Fairy tales could come true. He and Jilly would live happily ever after.

  Jilly dressed with care the following morning. She was going to church, after all, and so she wore a white skirt, white eyelet blouse, and strappy high-heel sandals. While she brushed her hair and curled it, Monk put their luggage in the car.

  “Don’t forget my tape,” she reminded him.

  “I would never forget that,” he assured her, though, in fact, he had forgotten. She would have been beside herself if she’d lost it. She was so obsessed with what she called the evidence, that she insisted on always carrying it with her. A peculiarity he put up with just as she put up with his odd little traits. That’s what a solid relationship was all about, wasn’t it? Give and take.

  He removed the tape from the VCR, slipped it into the carrying case, and put it on the bed next to her straw purse.

  She was primping in front of the mirror. He watched her put on her red lipstick and smiled because he knew she only wore that color to please him. She’d told him so.

  Jilly put the lipstick

in her purse with the tape, picked up her straw hat with the white ribbon, and then walked into the center of the room. Whirling around in a circle, she asked, “Do I look ready for church?”

  Her face flushed with excitement. “You look beautiful,” he whispered. “You always look beautiful.”

  She went to him, adjusted the knot in his tie just like an adoring wife would, and said, “You look wonderful in a suit. You should wear them more often.”

  “If it pleases you, I will.”

  She took hold of his hand and walked by his side to the car. He liked little things like that, he thought. Taking his hand. It was a sign of trust, wasn’t it? The way she looked up at him with such admiration. He liked that too.

  “I’ve already parked the other car down the street from the church,” he said. “Just as a precaution. The key’s behind the visor.”

  “We won’t need to use it,” she said. “You’ve covered every possibility.”

  He was certain that he had, and so he agreed, yet there was still that nagging little worry about the wires. He’d been so tired, he hadn’t done more than one test, but that was enough.

  The wind had picked up as they drove. Monk glanced up at the tower above the theater as he turned the corner. He pulled into the lot, parked on the end in front so Jilly could see everything. No one could block the front of his car, and if he had to drive over the curb to get to the street, he could do so without getting trapped.

  He turned the motor off. “Are you ready?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “The remote’s in the glove compartment.”

  She carefully lifted it out. “It looks like a garage door opener.”

  “That’s what it is,” he said. “Modified, of course.”

  “When do I push the button?”

  “I thought it would be nice to wait until the church bells start.”

  Jilly turned in her seat to watch the men and women and children hurry toward the church. They didn’t want to be late, she thought.

  The show’s outside. Too bad they wouldn’t see it. “What time is it now?”

  “Five more minutes.”

  “I don’t want to wait. I want to do it now.”

  Monk reached under the seat and handed her the binoculars. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Jilly wet her lips as she lifted the binoculars. She adjusted the lens until she was looking at the room that had had the light on the night before.

  “I’m taking my dream back,” she whispered.

  She pushed the button. Nothing happened, and so she pushed it again. Then again, harder, holding it down.

  “Damn,” Monk muttered. “The wind must have knocked loose one of the wires. Stop pushing that button, darling. I’ll have to go up there and fix it. You sit tight. All right?”

  He gently removed the remote from her hand. “If anything goes wrong . . .”

  “You worry too much. Fix the wire,” she said, a bit more sharply than she’d intended. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so anxious. I can wait another few minutes.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said. “Just in case, you remember what to do?”

  “I go into the church, then out the side door, and get in the other car.”

  “And drive away on the side street I showed you. Don’t drive in front of the motel.”

  “I won’t leave without you.”

  Her loyalty was heartwarming. He patted her hand, put the remote on the floor by his seat, and then got out of the car. Slipping one hand into his pocket, he casually strolled across the parking lot and up the stairs to the church.

  The bells rang as he walked inside. Thirty seconds later, he came out the side door, crossed the street, and walked three blocks to the north before he was convinced he wasn’t being followed. He crossed the street and headed toward the movie theater.

  The back door was locked, of course. He used his tools to undo the dead bolt, went inside, and quickly locked the door behind him.

  He was in the back hallway. The door leading upstairs to the tower and the marquee was across the lobby. He stayed low and quiet.

  He stood in the shadow behind the snack bar for several minutes, listening for any sounds, and when he was convinced he was all alone, he crept to the door. That, too, was locked, just as he had left it. He quickly unlocked it, opened the door, and looked up. The brown string he’d left on the third step hadn’t been disturbed. No one had found his little hiding place. He stepped over the string and slowly, cautiously went up, aware that there was a squeak on the fifth step. He knew he was alone—the theater wouldn’t open until the matinee at two—but he still avoided the step.

  There was a trip wire at the top, much thinner than dental floss and all but invisible to the naked eye. Monk released the lever so that when he opened the door, he wouldn’t be blown to kingdom come.

  Good thing the owner didn’t want to change the marquee today, he thought with a smile. He only changed the movies on Wednesdays, but Monk had set a trap anyway. Can’t be too cautious, no matter what his darling Jilly believed.

  He opened the door a crack and looked in. The rifle with the scope attached was still there in the corner, propped against the pillar.

  His gaze went to the trigger mechanism below his homemade missile. Just as he had suspected, one of the wires had slipped down. It wasn’t dangling free. The wind had loosened it just enough to break the connection.

  He’d have it fixed in two seconds. He pushed the door open, stepped forward, and bent down on one knee. Then he froze. The voice came from his left on the other side of the bell. “Nice Roman candle you’ve got there.”

  Monk was too stunned to move. His mind was screaming, No, no, no. The wire . . . the string . . . nothing had been disturbed. How did . . .

  Another voice came from his right. “I think he’s having trouble getting it to work.”

  Monk lunged for his rifle. Neither man tried to stop him. He rolled, firing as he moved.

  Nothing happened. The rifle was empty. Noah stepped into the sunlight. Monk saw him and coiled back. “You,” he whispered. “I know you.”

  John Paul moved forward from the shadows.

  “How did you know?” Monk’s face twisted with fury, and his voice shook.

  “Easy. I’m smarter than you.”

  Noah’s gun was pointed at Monk’s forehead. John Paul saw the look in Noah’s eyes and knew exactly what he was thinking.

  “Cuff him,” he said. “Then read him his rights.”

  Noah shook his head. “I’m gonna kill him first. Then I’ll cuff him and read him his rights.”

  “Yeah, well, you can’t.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Noah released the trigger and put the gun back into his holster. He had the cuffs out and was moving toward Monk when they heard an agent shouting.

  Monk lashed out with his foot, knocking Noah off balance. He stumbled in front of the killer, making it impossible for John Paul to get a clear shot.

  Agents were racing up the stairs as Monk tried to get his gun from his ankle holster, but John Paul anticipated that response. He slammed his foot down on Monk’s leg, pinning him to the floor.

  “Quit messing around,” he shouted. “Get the hell off him so I can shoot him.”

  “I’m gonna shoot him,” Noah shouted back. He hit Monk in the face, grunting from the sheer pleasure of hearing cartilage snap. He punched him again, trying to strike the exact spot so that it would hurt him more.

  The door slammed into the pillar when the first agent came flying across the threshold. Monk seized the opportunity. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he shoved Noah off him and dove headfirst off the tower.

  The killer landed on the slanted tin roof. He rolled to his hands and knees and crawled like a gorilla down to the marquee. When his right foot hit a bracket, he braced himself and went for his gun. He was swinging it up when John Paul and Noah, dropping down to the roof, fired simultaneously. Their bullets riddled Monk’s body, sending him dancing backwar

d like a marionette they were manipulating. He swung around and fell forward, his body draped across the marquee.

  Panting, Noah put his gun away and then said, “You have the right to remain silent . . .”

  “Damn right,” John Paul muttered.

  An agent leaning from the bell tower window called down to them. “Subject is on the move.”

  Noah pulled his walkie-talkie from his belt. He repeated what the agent had just told him.

  “Roger.”

  “Was that Avery’s voice? That was, wasn’t it?” John Paul asked.

  Noah spoke into the handset. “Avery? Is that you, sweetheart?”

  He used the endearment just to piss off John Paul, and he grinned when he saw his reaction. If looks could kill, he’d be hanging over the marquee with Monk now.

  John Paul snatched the handset. “What the hell are you doing, Avery? You were supposed to—”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, we’re both fine. Where are you?”

  “Roger. Over and out.”

  “Son of a bitch. She’s in one of the tail cars.”

  They were both sprawled out on the roof. Noah laughed. “You could tell that from ‘Roger, over and out’?”

  John Paul ignored him and hit the button again. “Kelly?”

  The agent in charge of the operation was quick to respond.

  “Kelly here.”

  “Is Avery in one of the tail cars?” John Paul demanded. “Son of a bitch, I know she is. I told her to stay on that damn boat.”

  “Roger. Over and out.”

  Noah laughed. “Guess Avery’s got a mind of her own.” He leaned over the side of the building to judge the distance to the ground. “How the hell are we gonna get—”

  John Paul shoved him off the roof. He followed him down and landed in a clump of dead shrubs beside the agent.

  Kelly was on the handset again. “Do you have Monk in custody?”

  “No, sir,” John Paul answered.

  “Where is he?”

  He looked up at the marquee. “He’s at the movies.”

  Chapter 38