One Hundred Five

ONE HUNDRED FIVE

MORELLI, STARING STRAIGHT AHEAD, trying to keep his head still, reaches over and carefully puts his glass on the table after I tell him to be extremely careful.

Eric Jacobson, not nearly as cool as he was when he was the one with the gun, is staring wide-eyed at Morelli and me as he reaches over to put down his own glass.

"You be careful, too, junior," I say.

Now they know how it feels to get ambushed.

"You are making a huge mistake," Morelli says in a soft voice.

"Then I'm making progress, tough guy," I say. "I used to marry my mistakes."

"We both know you're not going to shoot me in the head," he says.

"Nope. I'm not. But if you make a single sudden move, or maybe if you even annoy me, it will be one of your kneecaps."

To Eric Jacobson I say, "Turn off the music."

"I have to go into the house to do that."

"The remote is sitting right there. And if you're considering making what would be a huge mistake of your own, you probably know by now what a good shot I am with an air rifle, and from a much greater distance than this. Was it you or Morelli or both of you at the trail the other night, by the way?"

"Keep your mouth shut, Eric," Morelli says.

Jacobson picks up the remote and hits a button and the music stops. Carefully puts it back on the table. We can all hear the ocean now.

Morelli suddenly tries to lean back in his chair and swipe at my gun at the same time, the dumb bastard. I move back just enough to swing the Glock and hit him with it on the side of his head above his ear.

Old habits.

Never let the other guy get the first swing.

"Tough is still the one with the gun, right, Eric?" I ask.

Morelli is bleeding over the ear as I step back from him.

"Where's your buddy McKenzie?" I ask.

Jacobson starts to say something. Morelli looks at him and gives a quick shake to his head.

"Away," Morelli says.

"Permanently, or just temporarily?"

"Away," Morelli repeats.

"Who sent you two after me?"

Again Morelli gives a quick look to Jacobson and shakes his head. The alpha dog. Maybe like Uncle Bobby was.

I raise the Glock and point it at the tip of his nose. Like that's the bullseye in the center of the target. It was my father who first taught me how to shoot in high school, not that I'd need to be much of a shot now if he tries anything else.

"If I tell you that, I'm as good as dead," Morelli says. "We both are."

"She's going to find out eventually," Jacobson says.

"I told you to shut up, Eric!"

The moon above us is as bright as it possibly could be, the sky full of stars. It really is quite beautiful back here, underneath the kind of sky that always seems to get bigger the closer you get to the water. I hear the waves, and the sound of night birds.

"I told you to back off, but you just don't listen," Morelli says.

"I'm actually a terrific listener once you get to know me."

"I left your sister's house assuming we had an understanding."

"Actually, we do," I tell him. "I am going to back off, just like you asked. But before I do, I just needed to take this one last big step forward."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've just got a few questions before we all go our separate ways. Starting with this one: What did you mean about my father?"

He puts his hand to his ear and sees the blood on it when he pulls it away. "I need to put something on this."

"When I'm gone. Now what did you mean about somebody owing my father a favor?"

"I don't know."

"Bullshit you don't know."

"Listen to me if you're such a good listener. All I knew was that I was supposed to deliver that message. Tell you that nothing more will happen as long as you backed the hell off. Only now you go and pull something like this."

I have no idea how much either one of them will tell me, even at the other end of my gun. And they both really do know I'm not here to shoot them dead.

What they don't know is whether I'm bluffing about making them walk with limps for the rest of their lives.

Eric Jacobson casually reaches for his glass. No good can possibly come of that.

I turn and fire and shatter the glass, the sound of the gun going off as loud as a thunderclap, not missing his hand by much. But missing it. From close range, I really am a great shot.

I hope I haven't scared the neighbors.

"You crazy bitch!" Jacobson yells.

"Boy," I tell them both, "I wish I had a dollar for every time I've heard that one."

I step back a little more, to make it seem as if the gun is now pointed at both of them.

"Our business is now concluded," I say, "just like Nick here wanted. But now it's the two of you who need to back off."

"That's what you came here to tell us?" Morelli says.

I nod. "And to tell you that if you choose not to back off, and if either one of you, or anybody you work with, or for, goes near my sister or Jimmy Cunniff or my boyfriend, I will find you both again. And the next time I will shoot you dead."

"If you live that long," Morelli says.

Some drops of blood have landed on the shoulder of his white T-shirt.

"I could have done it tonight and told the cops you both attacked me," I say. "So if you think about it, maybe you guys are the ones who owe me a favor now."

"My ass," Morelli says.

"Well put."

I keep the Glock pointed at them as I slowly back my way across the patio. When I get to the corner of the house, I stop.

"Boom," I say.