Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [61]
When the three of them reached the road where they’d left Stephens on watch, Morse was not there. Stephens stared at them guilelessly. “You can go back and get your gear ready,” said Muldaur. “We’ll keep watch.”
“Where is Morse?” Zak asked Stephens.
“He’s just going down to negotiate. Don’t worry. It’s what he does best.”
“He negotiates business deals,” said Giancarlo.
“All deals are basically the same.”
“We better go stop him,” said Zak.
“It’s too late,” said Muldaur. “He’s already talking to them.”
“What’s in the back of his waistband?” Giancarlo turned to Stephens, who stared at him blankly, then stepped into the road for a better view. “Is that my gun?”
“It’s a gesture of goodwill.”
“He’s got my gun.” Giancarlo stepped close to the smaller Stephens in a threatening manner.
“I don’t know anything…Okay. Yeah. Uh. I guess…he was thinking about it…I mean…we were thinking about it, and we, uh, we realized we were right and you were wrong.” Giancarlo grasped Stephens by the jersey and pulled him close. “I know you guys think it’s not necessary, but he thought it was, so he took the gun. Okay! He’s going to hand it over. He knows what he’s doing. It’s perfectly safe. It’s not loaded.” Stephens held his hand out, revealing half a dozen bullets.
“We have to stop this,” said Giancarlo.
“How are you planning to do that?” asked Muldaur.
“We leave him alone, he might calm Scooter down on his own,” said Zak. “I don’t think so, but he might. We go down there, and for sure all hell will break loose.”
“You guys just don’t get it,” Stephens insisted. “Morse is a professional negotiator. All this worry is for nothing.”
Five seconds later they heard the first gunshot.
26
Kasey and Scooter were the first ones to the road, followed by Jennifer and Bloomquist. Lagging behind was Perry, who was becoming more useless with each passing moment.
The cyclist in front of them was one of the two businessmen, dressed in sandals, an old dress shirt, and Lycra cycling shorts that Kasey noticed creepily revealed the outline of his pecker. Kasey was glad he wasn’t one of the firefighters, because he hadn’t liked any of them. They all seemed too cocky for their own good. Kasey hated cockiness, even though he’d been accused of it himself. But he wasn’t cocky. What he had was an innate self-confidence. “What do you want?” Kasey asked.
“I’ve come to talk. That’s all. Just me. Morse, remember? I’m alone. I know some things have happened, and what we all need to do is try to get our bearings and figure out exactly where we are.”
“Some things have happened?” Scooter burst forward. “Your fucking buddies killed my friend, that’s what happened. Some things?”
Kasey couldn’t help thinking the muscles in Morse’s quads were impressive under the light of the morning sky. All five of those guys had incredibly well-defined legs that rippled every time they moved, even the retard, and it made Kasey a little envious, made him think maybe he should work out more at the gym.
“So, okay. Okay,” Morse backed away from Scooter, his hands in an ameliorating position. “I hear you saying you believe my friends caused the death of your friend?”
“They fuckin’ murdered him. Polanski and that retard.”
“His name was Chuck, right?”
“Charles,” said Jennifer Moore, quietly. “Charles Hilton Finnigan Junior.”
“I’m not trying to be contentious. I only want to be sure what your side of it is. Then, if you folks don’t mind, I’d like to give our side. I mean…that’s fair, isn’t it? Don’t you want to hear what Polanski and Muldaur told us?”
“Why the hell aren’t they down here propagating their own lies?” said Scooter. “Coupla chickenshit motherfuckers.”
“Settle down,” said Kasey. “Tell him our side of the story. What’s wrong with that?”
“We already know our side.”
“This guy doesn’t.”
“I don’t see why I have to stand here and dignify this fucker by telling it again. I’ve been through a lot this morning. I’ve seen one of my best friends murdered right before my eyes.”