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Candy swallowed, took an uncharacteristically nervous half step back. “Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to holster your—”
A Southampton Village police officer appeared out of nowhere, approaching her from the side, screaming. “Hands! Hands!” He wore a proper uniform with a regulation cap and a tactical neck gaiter covering half his face. “Show me your fucking handsnow!”
“Shit,” Candy said, quietly through clenched teeth, seemingly to no one. “We have a problem.”
“Step back,” the cop said to Rath. “Close the door.”
As Rath narrowed the gap, the cop frisked Candy roughly and then slapped cuffs on her. He noticed she was wearing an earpieceand yanked it out. It was a match for his own comms setup, which he initiated now. “We’ve got an impostor. Repeat: We have an intrusion attempt at Tartarus. Get backup here. Four units.Now. I have her in custody, and I’m sending her to my partner.”
A tough feminine voice came back over the radio.“Copy that. Units en route.”
The cop took a few steps off the wide porch and then propelled her into the fog. Candy nearly tumbled on the quartz stone. “What the fuck?” she said. “I’m a stripper, okay? It was just a joke.”
“Got her?” the cop shouted to his partner through the mist. He spun back around, hustling to the front door. “Have you safed the property?”
Rath said, “We have cameras everywhere—”
The cop pushed past him into the foyer. “Secure this door. We’re gonna lock down the perimeter.”
Rath threw the weighty dead bolt, sealing Tartarus. He scurried back around the cop into the lobby. “Tenpenny, get on surveillance. Let’s safe the floors from the bottom up.Move.”
Tenpenny stumbled to the second-floor landing, hands spread, staring down. Santos was halfway down the stairs already, Gordo wheezing behind him. Dapper Dan stood in front of the waterfall feature, which had resumed its tireless downpour; with his 9-mil drawn, he peered up the corridor toward the back of the house.
Rath caught himself partway to the stairs, seemingly halted by an epiphany. He swung back around to face the cop.
Evan pulled down the regulation neck gaiter.
And smiled.
58
Old-Fashioned Duel
Five Adam’s apples clicked up and down in unison.
Rathsberger gaped at Evan.
They were about ten yards apart.
Evan skewered him with a glare. Rath’s hand hovered over his holster.
Evan’s hands were loose at his sides, the ARES 1911 snugged in an appendix holster beneath the uniform shirt. He’d replaced the original buttons with magnetic ones so when the time came, he could draw straight through the shirt.
The time had come.
As far as an old-fashioned duel went, Rath had the advantaged hand position by at least six inches. Evan preferred it that way.
No one could say it was unfair.
And he had something to prove after that missed shot at twenty feet. That losing a scrap of himself to age was nothing compared to what he still had to gain.
The other men stayed motionless in the background, turned to statues.
Rath’s fingers twitched.
“Forgive me,” Evan said. “But I don’t have time for the whole fire-ants thing.”
He watched Rath’s eyes. Kept his peripheral vision loose to note any movement of those hovering fingers.
