Paying The Piper - 29. Chapter 29

Quent led the way down the stairs. Drew kept darting glances at the house but the angle of the sunlight prevented him from seeing inside.

"Hey Quent," Drew said, "Jim is pretty protective of his privacy. I caught him going in there last week and he nearly tripped over himself to shut the door in my face."

Cale piped in. "He’s right, Quent. With the exception of some wild rumors, I’ve never heard of anybody who actually knew why he built this garage."

"In that case, this will be more fun than I thought."

Drew pointed to Jim’s battered Toyota in the driveway. "Look, he’s home right now. At least – Jesus – at least wait until he goes shopping or something."

Quent shot him a withering look. Even Cale backed away. "Where’s that famous courage, Marcus?" he spat.

"Standing fast behind my common sense. This is reckless," Drew insisted.

"Excellent," Quent said. "It’s right up your alley then."

Quent tramped down the stairs and paused by the small side door. Cursing, Drew followed, Cale on his heels. Quent jiggled the handle. "Locked," he announced.

"Shocker," Drew mumbled from behind him.

"Marcus, get down here and pick this lock."

"Why me?" Drew asked. But he pushed forward anyway and examined the handle and lockset.

"You live here. Kind of," Quent amended when Drew shot him a dirty look.

Drew gave a rueful shake of his head. He pulled a small tool out of his pocket and bent to his task. "So that’ll keep me out of jail for breaking and entering?"

Quent looked thoughtful. "Maybe."

Drew paused. After a moment, he chuckled and began working the lock again. Thirty seconds later, the door clicked open. He stood, looking pleased. Quent pushed by and slipped into the garage. "It’s about time," he grumbled.

Drew ushered Cale in ahead of him. He closed the door and began fumbling for the light switch. "Wait," Quent hissed. A dim beam of light cut through the darkness. Quent turned to the wall and searched for the switch, panning his pocket flashlight from left to right. "There."

He flicked the switch and light flooded the space. Drew’s eyes were still adjusting when he heard Cale gasp. After another second the room came into focus. It contained, at first glance, two antique cars and one large bass boat. These were crammed into one double parking area. Along the far wall, taking up the rest of the space, was an entire finished living room.

Cale spoke, close to Drew’s ear. "Oh, very nice," he said, making no effort to hide his sarcasm. "Very Silence of the Lambs."

"Very fucking weird," Drew agreed.

Quent withheld judgment.

They meandered through the vehicles, making their way slowly toward the opposite side of the garage. Quent led the way. When they reached the "furnished" area, no one spoke. They all simply stared.

The back half of the garage was carpeted. It contained a massive flat screen television, two leather sofas, numerous tables and a small mini-bar. Quent pursed his lips at the mini-bar. Drew followed his gaze and his lips quirked into a wry smile. "Jim’s not a scotch drinker," he said as he brushed passed. "Sorry."

He didn’t sound sorry, Quent decided. Cale followed Drew. With another pointed look at the bar, Quent followed. Stacked against the back wall, away from the cozy seating arrangement, were dozens of canvases.

"Artwork," Drew said as Quent approached.

Quent rolled his eyes. "So glad we brought you along, Marcus." He shook his head in disgust. "I’ve seen enough. Let’s go arrest that twisted bastard."

The last thing Quent saw was the relieved looks on Drew and Cale’s faces. Then the lights winked out. Quent swore and dropped to the ground. A few feet away, he heard Marcus drop to the ground and take Cale with him.

"Shit!" Drew whispered. Quent thought it a bit of an understatement.

From the direction of the door, they heard a loud scraping. Quent froze as he struggled to identify the sound.

"Quent?"

Quent’s blood ran cold at Jim’s sing-song voice.

"Boys? You don’t mind if I call you that, do you, Cale? I still think of you as my boy." Cale gulped. Beside him, Drew stiffened. "And you too, Drew. Such a forlorn young man. All I wanted to do was help you."

Drew heard a deep sigh. It was close. For several moments, they all waited, unmoving.

"You have a funny way of saying thank you," Jim said.

Cale gasped softly; Jim was right on top of them. Drew reacted without thinking. He grabbed Cale and rolled away. A gunshot, deafening in the cavernous building, kicked up wood and carpet a few feet away.

Drew shoved Cale away from him and scuttled away in the opposite direction. "Drew, no!" Cale whispered desperately.

"Why are you doing this, Jim?" Drew called as he ran, crouched between the two cars. He circled around one and plastered himself to the front bumper. "Why?" he called out. Silence answered him. Drew quieted his breathing and listened. After a moment, he glanced around the side of the car. He could see nothing in the dark.

He turned around and placed his hands on the car. Immediately, he jerked them away. The bumper was covered in something warm and sticky. Remembering that Braden was still technically missing and Quent’s suspicions about why that might be, Drew took a deep breath. He brought his hands to his nose and sniffed. Paint. Not blood. He breathed a near-silent sigh of relief.

Suddenly, the garage flooded with light.

"Surprise," a voice said from directly behind him. Drew choked off a cry of shock and lunged backward, plowing into Jim. He felt the other man lose his grip on the gun. Drew snarled and tried to jerk it away, but Jim held tight. As they struggled, the gun fired again, harmlessly up into the air, but the sound nearly deafened Drew. With a howl, he threw Jim off.

Drew squinted against the harsh glare of the lights and saw Jim on the floor a few feet away. His ears rang as he stumbled to his feet with a groan and looked up in time to see Cale charge at Jim from behind the adjacent vehicle. "No," Drew screamed. Jim spun and cracked the gun against Cale’s head. Drew watched in horror as Cale crashed limply to the floor.

Laughing, Jim turned back to Drew. He pointed the gun at him. "I deserve this, Drew. I’ve worked all my life and goddamn it, I. Deserve. This." He cocked his gun. "Those two bitches thought they could take it away, " he said softly. His finger tightened on the trigger.

"Jim," Drew croaked. He darted a glance at Cale and dread stole over him when he saw how still he was. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead. "Jim, please don’t make this any worse for yourself than it already is," Drew pleaded.

Jim shook the gun at him. "Don’t lecture me."

"But…Marci…how could you?" Drew’s eyes caught a movement behind Jim. Cale was stirring.

"How could I?" Jim sounded incredulous. Incredulous and utterly mad. Hair stood up on the back of Drew’s neck. This was not the kind man who had shaken his hand over a six-month lease and invited him fishing. Drew had rarely faced someone over the barrel of a gun. The few times he had, it hadn't been like this. It hadn’t been someone he liked. Someone he trusted.

"I’ll tell you how. That fucking whore saw my…" Jim brandished the gun around the room, "…my rewards. She decided I could afford more. More!"

Drew did his best to look non-threatening. "Your rewards?" he asked softly.

"Yes!" Jim yelled. "That’s what they are. Rewards for taking everyone’s shit for so long. Including," he swung the gun around again and pointed it down at Cale, "his. Do you know how thankless teaching is, Drew?"

Drew shook his head, trying to choke down his panic at seeing the gun trained on Cale. Jim shook the gun again. "Well, it is. I deserve this. I earned it. And I wasn’t going to let her siphon it off little by little. Absolutely not."

"So you killed her," Drew said. He kept his voice as calm as he could.

"Well, it wasn’t easy. She was careful, having that idiot Mullen do all her dirty work. But," Jim smiled evilly, "I got her in the end, didn’t I?"

"How?" Drew asked.

"Told her, point blank," Jim chuckled at his pun, "that I would agree to the increase. But only if she started accepting the drops. Told her I didn’t trust Mullen." Jim stopped and seemed to consider something. "I don’t, you know. Trust him. He’s very odd."

Unsure if Jim was expecting a response or not, Drew gave a brief nod. He stifled the inappropriate urge to laugh. Jim thought Steve was odd? He registered movement in his peripheral vision, but didn’t take his eyes off the gun pointed at him.

"She fell for it. Her greed outweighed her common sense eventually. It always does. Look at Angus. He never learned his lesson either."

Neither did you, Drew thought. He struggled to think of something to keep the conversation going. "Is that why you shot Cale? And tried to send him into the ravine? Is that why you killed Cynthia?"

For the first time, an emotion besides madness flickered in Jim’s eyes. He appeared surprised. "No!" he exclaimed. "No! I have nothing against Cale. He shouldn't have to pay for the sins of his father. But he figured it out, Drew. I heard him say so on your answering machine. And then…" Jim put his fists to his temples and squeezed his head. "I didn’t think. I didn’t think! I should have erased the tape. But, regardless, I couldn’t let him tell you. And as far as that slut Cynthia is concerned—"

A soft clatter somewhere in the room made them both jump. Jim darted his eyes to the side before raising the gun again. Drew was dismayed to see his employer’s hands were perfectly steady. He couldn’t say the same for his own. "I’m sorry, Drew," Jim said. "I really liked you."

"Everyone likes me," Drew replied before thinking.

Jim hesitated, then tipped his head back and laughed. As soon as he did, Drew charged. With lightning quick reflexes, Jim whipped the gun back at Drew and squeezed the trigger. Drew threw himself to the floor, but realized a moment later that the bullet had flown wild. He squinted through his hair and saw Cale, still lying on the floor, trying to wrestle Jim’s legs out from underneath him. Howling with rage, Jim pointed the gun at Cale.

"No!" Drew shouted.

Quent’s voice echoed through the garage. "Stahl!" Jim spun toward the sound and fired blindly toward the voice. From where he was laying on the floor, Drew heard a pained grunt, then another shot.

Quent’s bullet hit his mark. Jim spun from the force of the shot and careened into the car parked a few feet away. Drew was up and rushing to Cale before Jim slid completely to the floor. He registered Jim’s vacant eyes as he passed, but instinctively kicked the gun out of reach anyway.

Cale was lying on the cold cement, holding a hand to his forehead. Drew tenderly lifted his head onto his lap. Cale groaned and smacked him across the chest. "Everyone likes me?"

A choked laugh escaped Drew’s throat. "Well, most people do. Are you okay?"

"I think I’ll live."

Someone brushed against Drew’s back. He swiveled and stuck out, but his hand was caught in a large fist. "Marcus, you idiot. It’s me," Quent said.

Quent dropped to his knees beside Cale. "Are you all right?" he asked, addressing both of them.

"My head’s throbbing, but I’ll make it," Cale said.

Quent nodded and tipped forward slightly. Drew was at his side in an instant. "You’ve been shot," he accused. He pushed Quent’s jacket back, looking for the wound.

"It’s my thigh, Marcus. But don’t get any funny ideas about searching around down there."

Drew heard pain in his voice, despite the sarcastic words. "Give me the phone," he demanded. Quent batted his hand away when Drew tried to reach into his pocket.

"I’ve already called it in. Someone should be here shortly." He winced but offered no protest when Drew eased him into a more comfortable position on the floor

"When did you have the time to do that?"

"While you were experiencing yet another judgmental lapse. What possessed you to draw him to you like that? Does the role of dead hero appeal so much?"

"Fuck off," Drew said. "I needed to get him away from Cale."

Cale snorted quietly. "My hero." He reached up to stroke Drew’s back but pulled away with a grimace. "Are you hurt? What’s that all over you?"

Before Drew could answer, Quent did. "It looks like black paint," he said weakly.

Drew nodded. "From the front of that car," he confirmed. "Looks like Jim was doing a little touch-up work on the front bumper."

No more was said after that. Quent protested when Drew put pressure on his wound, but Drew ignored him. When the sirens began to wail in the distance, Drew struggled to his feet and stumbled out into the yard. Within minutes, the driveway was filled with police cars from the surrounding communities and Quent and Cale were on their way to the hospital.