Fun and Games - Duane Swierczynski [86]
Finally, Hardie had a police car, and he’d disabled the two-way, the MDT, the vehicle tracking systems, the CCTV, as well as the supposedly secret LoJack device mounted in every department vehicle. Turned out to be the same gear as in Philly. Nate had shown him how to turn off all this shit years ago. Sometimes, Nate had said, you want to go ghost.
28
An act of God; a natural and unavoidable catastrophe
that interrupts the expected course of events.
—Definition of force majeure
A HAND-SCRIBBLED sign was taped to the wooden door leading to the path along the side of the Hunter home: PLEASE KEEP THIS DOOR CLOSED WE DON’T WANT TO LOSE OUR DOG. The man playing Philip Kindred knew this was a simple anti-burglary ruse; the Hunters didn’t own a dog.
He quietly scaled the wooden fence and dropped down loosely, sneakers slapping on concrete. Inside the house the TV was already on, the THX sound from the start of the DVD blaring superloud.
He quickly made his way down the cement path, past tidy trash cans and recycling bins, a perfectly coiled hose, a well-manicured berry tree, and then finally to the backyard. Right about now the actress playing Jane should be approaching the front door, ringing the bell…
Jonathan Hunter answered the door; he always answered the door. He had the exact total plus tip ($38) ready in his pocket, because each week they ordered the same items (one large Sicilian red, one round medium white, boneless wings with mild Cajun spices) from the same pizza parlor over on Ventura Boulevard. They always played the DVD past the FBI warning and the THX sound and the previews and paused it right on the company credits so they’d be ready to watch once the food arrived.
This was Family Movie Night; this night was sacred. Nothing could trump it. No business meetings, no travel plans, no matter how allegedly “important.” The network knew that, his staff knew it, and no one would dare suggest otherwise to Jonathan. His precious boy, Kevin Hunter, had been killed by some coward on a Saturday afternoon. Saturdays the family gathered to be with one another.
And while this ritual didn’t make the night terrors go away, it was a steady reminder of what mattered most.
Now the food was here, and Jonathan opened the door, already reaching into his jeans pocket for the cash. He never worried about who might be on the other side. Harry and Marvin vetted everyone who approached the Hunter home. Sometimes they even placed their own orders with the same pizza parlor.
Which was why Jonathan was stunned to see a girl, a plain-looking girl with a tiny face and stark eyes who pulled a .38 out of the insulated bag and shoved it into his throat, then pushed him back, stumbling, into his own vestibule.
The surprise was fleeting, however. Jonathan processed what was happening within a second and knew he was able to respond accordingly.
He pretended to flail a bit, his right hand brushing against the wall—where a big fat rubber button marked clear would summon the police instantly. There would be no alarm, no sounds, no warning of any kind. But the LAPD would know.
The girl pushed the gun into his throat just as he tapped the button, then allowed himself to be guided back into the living room, backward, the girl’s creepy eyes never leaving his. It was a matter of waiting for the cops to arrive.
There was no recognition in these early moments; Jonathan’s mind was honestly on Harry and Marvin outside, because if this girl made it to the front door without an ID check (and Harry and Marvin knew every deliveryman who worked at Perelli’s Italian Kitchen), that meant they were incapacitated or dead.
But she did look familiar. Something about the eyes. Her small, angry little face…
When Jonathan was finally allowed to turn around in his own living room, and he saw his wife, along with little Peter and Kate, arranged on the living room floor, and a sneering punk with a gun standing over them… everything clicked.
“Hey, Mr. Hunter,” Philip Kindred said. “Are you ready for some fun and games?