Blood streamed down the side of Souther's face as he checked the upstairs of the apartment. In the master bath he found a clean towel and used it to wipe his face. Then he pressed it against his scalp to control the bleeding. He saw a utility bill lying on the dresser: It was addressed to an Ashley Quinn. He noted the name and left the room.
He crossed the hall and tried Aaron's door, but it was bolted. He slammed his shoulder into it, but the door held.
Again.
The door held.
He fired a bullet into the lock, but the lock held.
"Shit!" he said, enraged. Then he headed back downstairs.
– Aaron peered over the edge of the roof and down into the dark alley. The gunman was still only a few yards away. Aaron knew that the last section of the rickety fire ladder was missing, leaving an eight-foot drop to the pavement. This wasn't going to be easy.
He steeled himself then climbed over the edge and down the ladder where he hung from the last corroded rung for a moment before dropping to the street. He crouched low against the wall, watching the gunman, then looked up and gestured to his mother to follow him.
Ashley edged herself out over the parapet and onto the iron ladder, her hands trembling uncontrollably as her body tried to ward off hypothermia.
"Hey!" a voice boomed, sending a cold thrill of terror lancing up Aaron's back. Ashley leaped back onto the roof, stifling a cry as the sharp stones cut into her feet.
Aaron turned to run, but as he did an immense, powerful hand landed heavily on his shoulder and in an instant the hard black asphalt rushed up and smashed into him like a bus. He gasped for breath, crying out silently to his mother, Run when you can, Mom! Run to the Nova! But all he could do was grit his teeth in pain and prepare to meet his fate.
Ashley peeked over the edge and watched helplessly as Beeks dragged Aaron down the alley and around the corner of the building. She was nearly hysterical, her face awash with tears, her mind spinning out wild imaginings of what they would do to him. But she knew what she had to do if she was ever going to see him again. So she calmed herself, said a short prayer, and set her mind on escaping.
– Though still fit and agile at thirty-four, she had difficulty with the final drop to the street, hitting the pavement hard, twisting her bare ankle sharply. She grimaced in pain, then braced one hand against the rough stucco wall, with the other under her torn ankle, and hopped over to the small door into the garage.
– Johnny Souther caught up with Needles in the side alley. "I think they went out the back," he said, looking up at the roof over the garage. "Where's Beeks?"
"He was guarding the rear," Needles said. He noticed the fresh blood on Souther's face. "I heard shots. Are you okay?"
Souther started toward the back alley. "Let's just say I stood too close during batting practice, and the batter had to be taken out of the game."
Just then Beeks showed up dragging his prize along side him. Souther saw Aaron and seized him violently from behind and thrust his knife up under his chin, nearly breaking Aaron's arm with his powerful hold.
"You cost me a lot of time and trouble tonight, punk," Souther said, teeth clenched. He tightened his grip with a grunt. "Now it's payback time."
Aaron was consumed by fear, unable to think or move as the cold sharp blade quivered beneath his jaw. But just as Souther went to slit Aaron's throat he stopped and looked at Beeks.
"Where's the woman?" he said.
Beeks was still patting himself on the back for rounding up the boy. "Woman?" he said, surprised by the question.
" The kid's mother, damn it!" Souther said. "The lady whose husband I just killed. She can ID me, for Christ's sake." He glanced up toward the roof again.
Behind the wheel of the Nova, now, Ashley fumbled desperately with the keys.
Beeks was sure that the boy had been alone. "I never seen any — "
"Shut up…" Souther said, cutting Beeks off at the sound of a car starting. He tossed Aaron to Needles and ran toward the garage, yelling over his shoulder: "Take care of the kid… we may need him."
– Ashley gripped the wheel and mashed the Nova's accelerator through the floorboards. The small-block V-8 coughed twice, then responded with a throaty glass-pack roar, sending all 300 screaming horses to wide rear tires that billowed thick white smoke like a coal-fired locomotive.
The little Chevy smashed through the wooden garage door in a shower of splinters, narrowly missing Johnny Souther before swerving off down the alley and out of sight.
Neighborhood dogs barked hysterically as Souther slowly picked himself up off the pavement.