She's probably right, Joe thought. What's another day?
But something inside wouldn't allow him to agree. He was primed and ready for a little payback. More than ready—aching.
"Let's see how things look," he said. "If we can't do it the way we planned, we'll call it off."
He looked at Carole and wanted to take her hand. He couldn't believe it. All these years she'd been as attracted to him as he'd been to her, and neither of them had had a clue. How sad, he thought. And how wonderful to be past that now.
They reached Lakewood just as the sun was rising. They parked two blocks from the business district and lugged their milk crate full of bottles, balloons, and guns between the buildings until they wound up in an alley across the street and half a block up from the Post Office. The three-man Vichy day shift was on the job, so to speak, smoking and lounging on the steps. One of them sat near a shotgun that leaned against a wall; the other two had holstered pistols.
Carole was looking at her watch. "We'll have to call it off. By the time we carry all this stuff up to the roof and start the attack"—she looked up at Joe— "it will be too late for you."
Joe looked at the brightening sky. Damn. She was right.
"All right. Let's head back to the car and—"
"Wait," Lacey said. "Give me a minute here."
"For what?" Joe said.
Her jaw was set and her eyes had gone flat and cold. She worked the slide on one of her pistols and stuck it into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back.
"Lacey?"
Before Joe could stop her she stepped out onto the sidewalk and began walking toward the Vichy. He wanted to call her back but didn't dare reveal himself. With the sun lighting her back, she moved briskly, hips swaying, arms swinging at her sides. Joe could only peek around the corner and pray.
She was halfway to the Post Office before they noticed her.
"Hey, girl," one of them said, shading his eyes as he squinted into the glare. "Where you goin?"
"Just passing through," she told him.
The two who'd been stretched out on the steps were now on their feet, hands on hips, looking toward her and grinning.
"What's your hurry?" said a big-bellied one.
"No hurry," she said. "Just got places to go."
Joe watched them move out into the street to intercept her. What is she doing? he wondered. Has she gone crazy?
"Oh, I don't think so," said the first one. "I think you're gonna stop and visit."
Lacey was within half a dozen feet of them now. "Been there, done that. Hey, boys . . . don't you remember me?"
With that she reached behind her, ripped her pistol free, and began firing wildly, pulling the trigger as fast as it would allow. Joe saw the one with the shotgun take a round in the chest. His arms flew outward as the bullet punched him back. Lacey's second shot went wild but the third caught the fat one in the gut. The last Vichy was drawing his pistol when Lacey's fourth shot caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around.
Four shots, three hits, but she didn't stop there. She kept firing.
Joe leaped out from the alley and dashed toward her as she stood over the three downed men and pumped round after round into their twitching bodies. He reached her as the slide on her pistol locked back on empty.
He grabbed her shoulders and spun her to face him. "Lacey! What—?" Then he saw the tears streaming down her cheeks.
"It was them, Uncle Joe," she sobbed. "I recognized them. They're the ones who—" She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath.
Joe glanced at their blood-splattered remains. "Lacey ... Jesus. . . are you—?
"I'm okay. That was for Enrico ... and me. Let's just get this done and get out of here, okay?"
Joe opened his mouth to speak—he figured he should say something—but his mind was blank. He settled for a curt nod. They could talk later.
Carole arrived then with her book bag full of stakes and hammers. She took one look at the bodies, then put her arm around Lacey's shoulders.
"It's all right, Lacey. You did the Lord's work."
Lacey irritably shrugged off her arm. "That wasn't any lord's work—that was mine."
Joe caught the flash of hurt in Carole's eyes and felt bad for her. Lacey's rough edges weren't getting any smoother. No time now to explain his niece to Carole.
He took the book bag from her and turned toward the Post Office. "Let's go-
He led the way up the steps. Once inside he looked around. Empty. Sunlight began to stream through the east windows.
"If there's a cellar, that's where they'll be."
Lacey pointed to a door to the left of the clerk windows. "I saw the woman and her entourage go through there."
The door was locked. No problem. Joe kicked it open. Another door, unlocked, opened onto a flight of stairs leading down into a darker space.
"We'll do as many as we can in the time we have," he said, reaching into the bag and handing out the flashlights. "But we do the woman first. From what I've seen, she seems to be in charge."
He didn't need a light of his own. The stairwell appeared well lit to him.
He hurried down to where the steps made a sharp right turn at the bottom into a dank, dusty space—
—and there they were. He could see all eight of them in the cool darkness, stretched out on an assortment of beds and cots. Like a dormitory in hell. If their daysleep was anything like his the past two nights, it was like death.
Joe looked around. Concrete walls, no windows, junk piled in the near-right corner. He spotted the woman's bed on the far side of the room next to the wall and immediately moved toward her. Even if they managed to stake only one this morning, he wanted it to be her—to send a message back to Franco that nobody he sent here was safe. Eventually he wanted Franco to know that not even he was safe.
"Hey," Lacey called from behind him. "This guy's awake."
"This one too," Carole said.
Joe had been so fixed on the woman that he'd paid no attention to her six guards, arrayed around her like spokes on a wheel. He looked down at the nearest and nearly jumped when he saw wide dark eyes staring back at him, sharp teeth bared in a snarl.
Joe didn't understand. How could they be awake?
"Forget them for now. The woman first."