The door unlocked. “Who’s it for?” the guy asked as the door cracked open. “I think you’ve got—”
I turned and pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead. His eyes widened as I leaned closer.
“Open up,” I said.
He stumbled inside. I kicked the door open and followed.
The house was clean and barren. The entry hall opened into a living room. Couch on the right, TV on the left. A couple guys were playing video games and beer cans were piled up in front of them. The room stank like weed. I kept the gun on my young friend, a guy in his mid-twenties with tight jogger sweats and a white tank top. His arms were covered in cheap, shitty tribal tattoos, and he was emaciated, all bones and ligaments.
The guys playing games didn’t even look up at first. One was big, muscular, ripped to all hell, with tan skin and fuzzy dark hair. The other was older, probably in his thirties or forties, with the sallow look of a long-time addict, a pug nose, light eyes, scraggly beard, skinny build.
“Guys,” Tribal Tattoo said. “Guys, uh.”
“Who’s the package for?” Old Man said, then looked up. “Oh, fuck.”
He went for something. I didn’t hesitate. I wrapped my left arm around Tribal Tattoo’s neck and held the gun out over his shoulder. I popped off two rounds, the first hitting Old Man in the forehead, the other striking him in the chest. He coughed up blood and toppled to his right.
Big Guy screamed like a fucking scared goat. He scrambled away. Blood covered his skin and clothes as he fell off the side of the couch and landed hard on his elbow. I pressed the warm barrel against Tribal Tattoo’s head again and kept it there.
“Don’t move,” I said to Big Guy. “Or I’ll kill your friend here, then I’ll kill you.”
“Fuck,” he said, sitting on the floor, panting.
“Is anyone else in the house?” I asked.
“No,” Tribal Tattoo said.
“Yes,” Big Guy said, then grimaced and groaned.
Footsteps behind me. I kicked Tribal Tattoo in the knee then spun around, gun coming up, as a gun with an enormous revolver rounded the corner. He got off one wild shot that missed as I squeezed off another two rounds, both hitting him in the chest. He let out a sick wheeze as he collapsed backwards, the wall splattered with a spray of his blood.
I turned as Tribal Tattoo tried to get up and kicked him harder, then shot him in the calf. He screamed as he dropped to his side, clutching his injury.
“Anyone else?” I asked Big Guy.
He shook his head wildly. “No,” he said. “I swear.”
“Good.” I shot Tribal Tattoo in the leg again for good measure. He sobbed in pain and rocked from side to side. “Were you in the car that shot at a church three days ago?” I asked Big Man.
“What?” he asked, blinking rapidly, and shook his head. “Fuck, no, I wasn’t on that hit.”
“Who was?” I asked.
“Him,” he said, nodding at the dead guy on the couch. “And the other one.” He nodded at the body in the hallway.
Then his eyes fell on Tribal Tattoo before he looked up at me.
“You poor, dumb bastard,” I said softly.
“Please—” Tribal Tattoo said as I put a bullet in his brain.
A scream back near the door pulled me around. Mags stood in the hall, hands at her mouth, staring at the dead man, then at the man I just killed. Her face was white and her hands trembled rapidly.
“Shit,” I said.
Big Man leapt to his feet and ran. He sprinted to the other side of the room and barreled through the door. I fired at him and missed as he disappeared into the kitchen beyond. I wanted to chase him down and end this, but I had three dead bodies already, and Mags was freaking out.
I shoved the gun away and stalked over to her. I grabbed her arm and dragged her out of there, out into the sunlight. I looked around for neighbors, but nobody was watching. They probably knew better than to get involved when they heard gunshots in this area.
“What the hell?” Mags said, gasping for breath. Panic attack, most likely. “Dean? Dean? What the hell was that? What happened in there?”
I shoved her into the passenger side. Curt pulled up and Ronnie leaned out the window. “You good, boss?” he asked.
“I’m good,” I said. “Head back now. Get moving.”
They drove off as I got behind the wheel and started after them.
Mags shifted in her seat, moving from side to side like the chair was on fire. “What was that, Dean?” she asked. “You killed those guys. You murdered them.”
“Those men were the ones in the car,” I said. “Those were Healy soldiers.”
“What?” she said. “How did you know?”
“Gian found out,” I said. “The fucking bribe was massive, but it led us to that safe house. Gian wanted to do that strike himself, and Matteo was eager to get his hands dirty, but I needed that one for myself.”