Fun and Games - Duane Swierczynski [90]
And she sent them in with guns.
She hated guns on jobs, but now the narrative absolutely demanded it, accepted no substitutes.
The instructions were simple: kill Hardie—especially HARDIE
—and wipe out the entire family, kids, too, everybody, and then get the actors the fuck out of there to the black van and get out of Studio City as quickly as possible. O’Neal would provide some backup from the Moorpark side of the block. Mann would then place an anonymous 911 call—though when the gunshots rang out, it was very possible one of the neighbors would save her the trouble.
And then she would have to come up with a new narrative, but things were evolving too quickly to worry about that now. Action first; explanations later.
She repeated the instructions as A.D.2 and Grip ran toward the house, pistols tucked in their waistbands, looking like two rookies from the academy.
“Kill everyone. Especially Hardie. If Hardie does not die, I will find you both and kill you myself.”
30
Did I ask you to be his psychiatrist?
No. I asked you to fucking kill him.
—Ralph Fiennes, In Bruges
PSYCHO PHIL handed over the keys with a trembling hand. He said they would open a black van parked out back, over a fence and between houses, right on Moorpark. Tank full of gas. Please God don’t kill me. The two of them were supposed to leave the Hunters dead and go out there and fade into the Los Angeles night and please God don’t kill me.
“I’m not gonna kill you,” Hardie said. “I want you alive so you can talk to a friend of mine.”
Deke, right this very moment (hopefully) was flying across the whole country just to be here. Deke was still their only chance, their light at the end of the tunnel.
“I can’t, you don’t understand… they’ll…”
“Yeah, yeah, they’ll kill you and make it look like an accident. Really horrible. I feel for you, brother. I really do.”
Hardie dragged Psycho Phil into the middle of the room and told Jonathan to do the same with Psycho Sis. Dark blood smeared across the buff-colored carpet. The last thing he wanted to do was find himself trapped in yet another house, with faceless killers swarming about everywhere. They needed to get out of here. Like right fucking now. Hardie kept Psycho Phil’s gun and handed the Glocks to Jonathan, told him to give his wife one of them.
“They’re still loaded with plenty of bullets. You or your wife see somebody you don’t know, squeeze until they drop.”
Jonathan nodded quickly and handed his wife a Glock. She looked down at it with not so much fear as grim determination, as if steeling herself. You know what, her face seemed to say, if it comes down to it, I could point this fucking thing at somebody and shoot.
Still holding the .38 in his right hand, Hardie fished the stolen handcuffs from the back waistband of his jeans with his left. His plan was to run the handcuffs through a support pole in the middle of the Hunters’ entertainment center and then click them around the right wrist of Psycho Bro and the left wrist of Sis. What a sight he must be. Dirty pants and stolen shirt and no shoes, pretending to do real actual police work. Hey kids, meet Hobo Cop. He rides the rails! He carries a bindle! He solves crimes!
Jonathan Hunter, meanwhile, was holding his smartphone up in the air like he was offering a sacrifice to God. “My cell,” he said. “I can’t get a signal.”
“They can jam the signal. And don’t bother trying the landline. They’ve probably cut it.”
“They?”
Hardie almost smiled. Just this morning he’d been thinking the same thing. They? Who the fuck is They? But there was no time to convert Jonathan Hunter to the Church of the All-Powerful and Immortal THEY. He needed the Hunter family to survive, and to know the truth.
Hardie slid open one of the glass doors leading to the back yard. This being California, of course there was a pool. Modest, but still. Plastic Adirondack chairs were scattered on the grass, along with an assortment of inflatable pool toys. He had to make it across the yard, to the fence, and out to the other side of the block. But did They have anything