Apaches - Lorenzo Carcaterra [138]
“It won’t work,” Lavetti said. “I can tell from your face even you know it won’t work.”
“You’re a very negative guy.” Rev. Jim looked him over. “Maybe yoga would help.”
• • •
MRS. COLUMBO DROPPED the rocket into the launcher pad, her hands, face, and back drenched with sweat. She twisted the base shield to her right and pressed the red button, turning from the launcher. She waited with eyes shut for a blast that never arrived.
“Dammit, Mary,” she muttered to herself. “Don’t screw up. Not here. Not now.”
She peeked over the lid of the launcher and shook her head.
“What a dope,” she said, still mumbling, realizing she had put the rocket in backward.
She struggled to pull it out, turned it around, and then placed it back inside the cylinder.
“Please, God,” she whispered, her eyes closed. “Please make it work.”
• • •
A STREAM OF bullets rained down on Boomer and Dead-Eye, pelting the path at their feet.
It was the signal they wanted.
Boomer turned right, Dead-Eye left, each with a grenade in hand, tossing them out into the dark night. After six grenades had blown patches of grass and pieces of men into the air, they each unzipped their jackets and wrapped their hands around the handle of an M-16 machine gun. They stood back to back, pumping bullets in all directions, Boomer leading the way to the house.
They saw the Greek fire before they heard it.
A large ball of flame raced across the rear pond, up onto the back lawn, flush into the house, blowing out windows and walls. Three other blasts followed in quick succession, causing equal amounts of damage.
Mrs. Columbo’s missiles found their mark as well.
The first one overshot the main house and blew up the garage. The next two took out five men and half the second floor.
Boomer and Dead-Eye reloaded, kept firing as bullets whistled past. Only one found them, clipping Boomer on his right elbow.
Dead-Eye was running the M-16 like a concert baton, leaving in his wake the moans and thuds of the wounded and dying. Boomer cleared the front of the path, stopping his cascade of bullets long enough only to throw out a few more grenades.
Missiles and nitro blasts lit the sky.
“I guess they know we’re here,” Boomer shouted.
“Think they’re ready to surrender yet?” Dead-Eye asked, spraying two more face down into the grass.
“When we get inside, we’ll ask,” Boomer said, lighting a stick of dynamite and tossing it toward the front door.
• • •
REV. JIM UNCUFFED Lavetti, picked him up, and started to run with him toward the house. But Lavetti broke free and drew ahead.
“Wilber!” Lavetti began to shout. “Don’t shoot! It’s me! Mark Lavetti. Don’t shoot!”
Rev. Jim headed off in the opposite direction, around the left side of the pond, running toward the gaping hole in the first floor caused by one of his fireballs, using an Uzi submachine gun to further light the way. He turned to take a look at Lavetti, frantically waving his arms and calling out Wilber’s name.
“Hope he finds you,” Rev. Jim said.
• • •
MRS. COLUMBO, FREE of the weight of the rocket launchers and heavy packs, walked quickly down an unguarded rock road and soon found herself by the rear of the house. She smiled as she stepped inside. Wait till Boomer hears about this, she thought. He’ll never believe it.
• • •
THE DOOR BLEW open and Boomer and Dead-Eye jumped through a circle of fire, guns still spraying bullets in all directions.
“Here’s where we split,” Boomer said, standing and shooting in the main entry. “I’ll take the second floor.”
“That leaves the third for me.”
“Call if you need me,” Boomer shouted, running up the front hall steps.
“Other way around, friend,” Dead-Eye said, racing through the kitchen and taking the back staircase.
• • •
WILBER GRAVES MOVED through fire and smoke, stepping over dead bodies, looked out incredulously at Lavetti, standing near the golf pond, shouting his name.
Wilber lifted the machine pistol in his hand, aimed it at the corrupt cop, and waited until he was close enough for their eyes to meet.
“Wilber,” Lavetti yelled, blinded