"But that wasn't about revenge . . . See, the biker thought he was some kind of neighborhood godfather. He tried to blackmail Daniel, threatened to go to the police about someth
ing that never even happened. Daniel went to see him and started playing these mind games with him. But the biker just laughed at him and told Daniel he had one day to come up with the money.
"Next thing there's an ambulance in front of the biker's house. His wrists and ankles were broken. But that wasn't revenge. It was because he was immune to Daniel. If you're immune, then Daniel can't control you, and that makes you a threat. And he said all the time, 'Threats have to be eliminated.' "
"Control," Dance said. "That pretty much sums up Daniel Pell, doesn't it?"
This, it seemed, was one premise from their past that all three members of the Family could agree on.
Chapter 34
From the patrol car, the MCSO deputy kept his vigilant eye on his turf: the grounds, the trees, the gardens, the road.
Guard duty--it had to be the most boring part of being a police officer, hands down. Stakeouts came in a close second, but at least then you had a pretty good idea that the surveillee was a bad guy. And that meant you might get a chance to draw your weapon and go knock heads.
You'd get to do something.
But baby-sitting witnesses and good guys--especially when the bad guys don't even know where the good ones are--was borrrrring.
All that happened was you got a sore back and sore feet and had to balance the issue of coffee with bathroom breaks and--
Oh, hell, the deputy muttered to himself. Wished he hadn't thought that. Now he realized he had to pee.
Could he risk the bushes? Not a good idea, considering how nice this place was. He'd ask to use one inside. First he'd make a fast circuit just to be sure everything was secure, then go knock on the door.
He climbed out of the car and walked down the main road, looking around at the trees, the bushes. Still nothing odd. Typical of what you'd see around here: a limo driving past slowly, the driver actually wearing one of those caps like they did in the movies. A housewife across the street was having her gardener arrange flowers beneath her mailbox before he planted them, the poor guy frustrated at her indecision.
The woman looked up and saw the deputy, nodded his way.
He nodded back, flashing on a wispy fantasy of her coming over and saying how much she liked a man in a uniform. The deputy had heard stories of cops making a traffic stop and the women "paying the fine" behind a row of trees near the highway or in the backs of squad cars (the seats of Harley-Davidsons figured in some versions, as well). But those were always I-know-somebody-who-knows-somebody stories. It'd never happened to any of his friends. He suspected too that if anybody--even this desperate housewife--proposed a romp, he couldn't even get it up.
Which put him in mind of the geography below the belt again and how much he needed to relieve himself.
Then he noticed the housewife was waving to him and approaching. He stopped.
"Is everything okay around here, Officer?"
"Yes, ma'am." Ever noncommittal.
"Are you here about that car?" she asked.
"Car?"
She gestured. "Up there. About ten minutes ago I saw it park, but the driver, he sort of pulled up in between some trees, I thought it was a little funny, parking that way. You know, we've had a few break-ins around here lately."
Alarmed now, the deputy stepped closer to where she was indicating. Through the bushes he saw a glint of chrome or glass. The only reason to drive a car that far off the road was to hide it.
Pell, he thought.
Reaching for his gun, he took a step up the street.
Wsssssh.
He glanced back at the odd sound just as the shovel, swung by the housewife's gardener, slammed into his shoulder and neck, connecting with a dull ring.
A grunt. The deputy dropped to his knees, his vision filled with a dull yellow light, black explosions going off in front of him. "Please, no!" he begged.
But the response was simply another blow of the shovel, this one better aimed.