She gave a rebellious shake of her head.
Cavagnolo cocked a thumb to the Blazer. “Now, darling.”
Phaedra looked at me over her shoulder. What should I do?
I gave her a gentle push toward the Blazer.
Cavagnolo said, “Cleto, help her out.”
The psycho clasped her arm with his bony, paw-like hand. For a second, the hatred in Cleto’s eyes morphed to pleasure. She jerked her arm loose and continued between him and her uncle.
Cavagnolo whispered as she passed. Phaedra turned subdued and humbled. He gave her a tender pat on the shoulder.
The kid with the ponytail came forward and helped her get in the front passenger’s seat of the Blazer.
Cavagnolo closed within arm’s distance to me.
Behind him, the Blazer pulled away and headed north.
“You and me”-he held up two fingers and pressed them together-“let’s go back into town and talk.”
“We can talk here.”
Cavagnolo didn’t reply. He walked to the black pickup and climbed in. Cleto drove. A guy in a light green jacket got into the backseat of the cab.
I remained standing.
Cleto gunned the engine of the black pickup. Cavagnolo lowered his window, hooked a thick arm out, and thumped the door. “You got tampons in your ears, pussy face? That wasn’t an invitation, it was an order.”
Our parade convoyed back into Morada, the black pickup leading, me next, the red pickup close behind.
Up ahead, Cavagnolo started yakking on a cell phone. A quick look in my mirror and I could see Vinny in the truck behind me get his phone. He and Cavagnolo weren’t exchanging recipes. I reached under my seat for the spare pistol magazines and slid them into my pocket.
I was certain of Cavagnolo’s agenda. Break my legs. Ask me questions. Kill me. Dump my body into a deep hole.
I liked my agenda better. Whack all of his men if I had to. Ask him questions. Find out what I could about the zombies. Maybe I’d let Cavagnolo live if he behaved himself.
Cavagnolo turned left off Abundance Boulevard into the northern half of Morada. A block down the street the pavement ended and we drove over a dirt road.
The black pickup pulled into the setback of a large wooden shed painted white. Elkhorn Tools and Machinery was printed in crude letters above a bay door, partly open. Cleto parked in front of an office door to the left of the bay. A deer rack hung over the office entrance. I halted next to the black pickup.
The red pickup pulled ahead and stopped on the shoulder of the road. Vinny dismounted and went to the office.
Cavagnolo and Cleto got out of the black pickup. I followed.
Vinny held the office door open. Heated air gushed from inside. I wiped my feet on the jute doormat. The dingy room looked like every garage office I’d ever stepped into. Last year’s tool calendar hung from the wall. Piles of forms, receipts, and open binders surrounded a CRT monitor on a battered shop desk. Rusted transmission gears served as paperweights.
Cavagnolo continued through another door in the back of the office.
My sixth sense ticked the alarm. Out the corner of my eye, I saw the guy in the green jacket dart through the bay door. He bootlegged a baseball bat against his thigh.
Vinny stayed in the office.
The back door opened into a darkened storage room. A space heater with orange coils was fixed to a floor-to-ceiling post. The room smelled of oil, gasoline, and musty blankets.
Cavagnolo and Cleto stood beside the heater, their expressions calm and fixed on me.
I paused at the door, only long enough for my senses to sweep the room. Clothes rustled to the right on the inside of the door. If I had my contacts out, I could zap them all in turn and take my time culling their thoughts.
But not yet. They waited in ambush and I would turn the tables in less than a second.
I brought my reflexes to vampire speed. My senses magnified every detail. Dust motes floated like tiny gemstones in the glow of the space heater. The thick smells separated into layers that I could now taste. The metallic notes in the used grease. The difference in the tang between unleaded gasoline and two-stroke fuel. Horse sweat and dog musk on the blankets. The slick aroma of fresh gun oil. Human perspiration carrying the spicy scents of adrenaline, prosciutto, oregano, and garlic.
Cavagnolo and Cleto kept their eyes on me, betraying nothing.
The drumming heartbeats from those hoodlums told me what their faces weren’t saying.
Murder.
To my immediate right, around the corner of the doorway, human smells wafted strong. Lots of sweat and garlic. The goon with the baseball bat must be waiting there.
Nylon fabric rustled. Calloused fingers adjusted their grip. Nostril hairs trembled as breath rushed past them. A tongue rasped across dry lips.
I stepped over the threshold and snapped my arms to the right. A baseball bat swatted toward me.
I seized the goon’s hands where they held the bat and swung him around, using his momentum to yank him off his feet. I put my hips into it, jerked him around in a circle, and flung him into the shelves next to Cavagnolo.
The goon landed on his back, smashing through the wooden shelves. Dust, machine parts, and tools exploded though the air.
I brought my hand to my waist and snagged the.45 from its holster. Cleto tilted to his left and started to bring a sawed-off shotgun from behind his leg. By the time his shoulders turned square to me, I had already aligned the sights and aimed the pistol at his chest.
Cleto froze. The sawed-off shotgun remained close to his leg. His eyes registered that I was an instant from drilling him with a volley of.45 slugs. One twitch of my finger and his sternum would be hamburger.
Cavagnolo blinked. His mouth gave no expression but astonishment showed in his eyes. Cavagnolo put his hand on Cleto’s arm and gave a quick pat.
Cleto bent his knees and let the shotgun settle on the floor. He stood straight and the hate in his eyes was hot enough to light a match.
“Wise decision.” I stepped to the side. “Tell Vinny to get in here. I don’t like anyone watching my back who’s not on my team.”
Cavagnolo called to Vinny. He hustled to the door, pockets jingling, pistol in hand. His blanched expression said: holy shit.
I motioned with my H&K for Vinny to get inside. He looked at Cavagnolo, who gave a quick nod and waved him in.
“Tell your man outside to stay cool,” I ordered. “We had a little accident, that’s all. A workplace injury.”
Cavagnolo told Vinny to use his phone.
I stared at Cavagnolo. “You do it.”
With an angry huff, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and in a brief exchange told whoever was outside to sit tight. “It’s all okay.” Cavagnolo lifted the cell phone in my direction. “Anyone else you want me to call? Maybe send for pizza?”
“You can call the local morgue and make reservations if you’d like,” I said. “Might save some time later.”
Cavagnolo’s eyes could’ve spit poison darts. He dropped the phone into his pocket.
I pointed to a spot by the space heater. “Grab a chair and sit there.” I motioned to the guy I’d thrown into the shelves. He moaned softly, and as he moved his legs, the broken shelves rained more parts on him. “The rest of you, help him.”
Cavagnolo dragged a folding chair from the wall. He opened the chair and swiped a hand across the seat to clean the dust.
I pushed a plastic chair into a corner opposite him. I picked up a clean shop towel and draped it across my chair. I sat and rested the.45 on my lap.