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“Hey, hey, come on, now.” The man’s voice was gentle. He dropped his gun to his side. Took another two steps closer. He looked over at the car. “Did you hit something? Is your wife okay? Johnson’ll take care of her. He’s—”
But Zbirak never found out what Johnson would do. He exploded from the ground and drove his knife into someone’s body for the third time that night. The driver grunted and brought up his gun, but before he could even think to squeeze the trigger, the light left his eyes, and he slumped into Zbirak’s arms.
The man weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds, but Zbirak only needed to drag him a few feet over to the car. There, he placed the body on the ground, face down, and arranged his limbs so the man’s right hand was stretched out before him. Then walked back toward the truck, picking up the driver’s gun where it had fallen to the ground.
There was only one thing left to do. Zbirak took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood and tears from his face. He rearranged his features into a neutral expression before grabbing the keys from the ignition and fitting the right one into the lock on the back door. A confused Tony Stoll stared back at him.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Joseph Zbirak.” He gave a little bow. “Aguilar sent me.”
“To break me out?” The man’s eyes lit up. “I thought for sure he’d leave me to rot.”
“You’ve proven useful.” The lie was easy. “And he doesn’t like to waste his assets.”
Stoll needed no further prompting. He shuffled from the back of the truck and jumped down to the road, breathing deep like a man who hadn’t known freedom for twenty years. He held up his hands. “Get me outta these things.”
“Ah, yes.” Z
birak led the man to the other side of the truck, positioning him along the side of the road. “Wait here. I just need to grab the keys.”
“Hurry up about it, will you? I gotta piss.”
“Of course.” Zbirak gritted his teeth. He hated impropriety. If he had his way, he’d draw out Stoll’s death. But it wasn’t up to him. “One moment.”
Zbirak strode back toward the driver. Kneeling next to the dead body, Zbirak raised the man’s gun to the right angle and aimed it at Stoll. Before Stoll understood what was happening, Zbirak squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit the other man between the eyes, and he slumped to the ground.
Four dead bodies in less than five minutes. It wasn’t Zbirak’s record, but he was proud of the results. He may not revel in murder, but there was no point in denying the love he had for his work.
As Zbirak made his way around the crime scene, adjusting this detail and that, wiping his prints free from the car and the truck, he found himself singing “Lovely Day” by Bill Withers under his breath. It never ceased to put a smile on his face.
With one more loose end tied up, he was closer to closing out this job and earning his paycheck. He had one more stop to make in Savannah, but it would be a fun little jaunt. Even he liked making a mess sometimes. Having an excuse to tear up someone else’s home felt like the perfect way to end this lovely day.
11
The sun had already set by the time Harris pulled up to the curb. Cassie piled into the car. The heat was blasting, but there was still a chill in the air. That meant Harris hadn’t sat inside to make her phone calls. Where had she gone? One look at Harris’s face told Cassie that was a question Harris would answer in her own time.
“I recognize the irony of this phrase,” Harris started, “but you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Well, you’re not far off.” Cassie smoothed the worry from her face. “Another shadow person.”
“David?” The detective didn’t bother keeping the hope out of her voice or off her face.
“I don’t think so.” Cassie waited until Harris put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb before continuing. “I’m not sure the figure at the jewelry shop was David, either. Who knows if that was him in the cemetery back in New Orleans?”
“You must’ve had a reason to think it was him.”
Cassie shrugged. “Hope? My head is spinning.” She wet her lips before she continued. “The figure in the museum led me over to a map of the Great Chicago Fire. Did you know the area surrounding the jewelry store was destroyed by the fire?”
“I didn’t.” Harris took a moment to put on her blinker and change lanes. “But what does that have to do with David?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Cassie looked out the passenger window, watching as they passed a handful of cars, not really seeing them. She was back at the store. “When I entered the shop, I felt this intense heat. Like the room was on fire, but I couldn’t see any flames. Then the shadow person showed up in that picture.” She turned back to Harris. “And at the museum, I could smell smoke. And another figure, or maybe the same one, showed up to point me to the map.”
“But that was a hundred and fifty years ago.”
“I know.” Cassie shook her head and returned to the window. “And why did the first one disappear when the filing cabinet was taken?”
“We’re about to find out.” Harris pulled down a side street, keeping the car at the speed limit. “The van belongs to a family-owned business called Carrera Moving Company.”
