Chapter 55

CHAPTER 55

I understood right away. Geoffrey had taken out the enforcer, Oz, first. But beyond that, the pain of that wound ripped open again for both Rose and Poppy was palpable.

There was no time for me to deal with this as my cellphone buzzed. I answered it, "Reddy."

It was Lionel. "The hearse just came out of the west woods, driving north toward the highway."

"Come on!" I yelled to Luke.

Geoffrey Nice had seen us coming and run away to the west. But the quickest way out of the mountains was east, so he was making a run for it.

I took the stairs two at a time, the submachine gun in one hand, the phone pressed to my ear with the other. We exited the funeral home and turned into the alley between it and the building next door. Luke was right behind me and Maggs was throttling back to keep pace with us.

Lionel updated me. "Turning west now."

Perfect. He was heading toward us and if we could make it to the double-lane road quickly, we could intercept. We ran into the narrow strip of forest that bordered the east-west highway and separated it from the town. I heard the rumble of a car engine coming from the right as I reached the road just a moment after Geoffrey's old hearse drove by, on the road to Bearton.

Geoffrey's large figure was a dark silhouette inside the tinted windows, hunched over the steering wheel, trying to make himself small since he had to have spotted us at the side of the road and armed. The hearse roared past as I tucked the folding stock of the submachine gun into my shoulder and aimed. I fired a controlled three-round burst. My bullets smashed into the rear window, fragmenting it.

Luke's first burst blasted away the remnants. The hearse did a couple of fast swerves, trying to throw off our aim. I aimed at the silhouette of the driver and fired, this time a long, sustained burst, emptying the magazine. Luke was doing the same, filling the interior of the vehicle, and the driver, with bullets.

The hearse kept going as I dropped the magazine, slamming another home, running down the road after it, Luke at my side doing the same. We had to have hit Geoffrey. As I brought the gun up to fire again, it suddenly swerved hard right, flew off the highway where the side of the road dropped off, and slammed into a tree.

I was breathing hard, running to get there. There was no sign of life, the hearse resting almost on its roof. I could smell gas, which wasn't good. I got to the road overlooking the ditch. All the doors were closed.

I climbed down about five feet, still about fifteen from the vehicle. Then I stopped as the gas reached the hot engine and flames roared forth. Unlike my helicopter autorotate experience, I had no desire to clamber farther down there and pry the door open. Besides, we'd put enough bullets in that thing; Geoffrey wasn't suffering, although the dark part of me wished he would for what he had done to Oz.

"Max!" Luke called.

I turned. He tossed me down his submachine gun, then walked out in the center of the road, arms raised to deal with any traffic. I put the guns down, out of sight of the road. I edged over to the side, trying to look in. Geoffrey was slumped over, his face in the steering wheel, his headphones still on, his body blackening in the flames that filled the passenger compartment. No air bags in something that old.

I heard Luke yelling at a driver to keep going, that the fire department had been called and no one was hurt.

Lies.

But this was Rocky Start.

We take care of our own.

The flames were intense, and I stood there silently, watching as the hearse and driver were consumed.

Geoffrey Nice was never going to kill again.