Free The Immortal Game by Mike Miner Page B

engaged as Vincent on his prey. Eyes locked on his target.
    It was almost comical, this chain of armed men, and the unsuspecting commuters surrounding them, walking home half asleep, on auto pilot. They were in for a rude awakening .
    Lonny had his gun in his hand and was considered firing into the air when Vincent aimed his pistol at Whitey. No more thinking, just action. Lonny’s bullet found the center of Vincent’s back. He crumpled.
    The commuter zombies woke up, turned into a panicked mob, running, screaming.
    Whitey had Lonny in his sights, then lowered his weapon. He briefly looked at Vincent, then back at Lonny.
    Lonny was frozen. His joints had locked and his eyes did not blink, could not stop staring at the first man he had ever killed.
    The serene evening commute turned into a riot. One woman looked down at the blood that had spilled from Vincent onto her pretty, blue overcoat, howling as if she had been shot.
    Lonny’s eyes took it all in.
    Vincent’s trembling hands.
    His body twisting, head angling to see his executioner.
    His eyes found Lonny’s, a recognition, before they turned into hazel marbles.
    Whitey’s hand on Lonny’s shoulder. His voice, calm, clear, in Lonny’s ear.
    “We need to get Kelly.”

    She heard the gunshot. She had never heard a gun shot in real life before, but the report was unmistakable. Who was dead?
    The boy?
    Dylan?
    Or had Dylan turned the tables on the German?
    Should she go back? Should she still go to the steps? Frightened people ran past her, shoved, tripped. She held onto the railing of the stairs, leaned on it as more tears welled in her eyes.
    She fought with herself, but after a moment she turned and rushed, against the current, back up the stairs.
    Her skin tingled. She imagined the German watching her through the scope on his rifle, thought about his finger on the trigger. She shivered.
    At the top of the steps, she saw Dylan rushing toward her.
    And she heard screaming. A woman was screaming. A beautiful woman with red hair was screaming, it seemed, right at Kelly.

    The German was long gone. But Linda Scarlotti was watching Kelly with her finger on a trigger.
    This was not how it was supposed to go. Nothing had happened the way it was supposed to.
    Whitey was supposed to be dead. A gift for the Denatales. A show of good faith.
    And Vincent was supposed to be the one to find the boy. Her husband’s trusted general. But no, Red had to go outside the family and find this drunk shamus, like a dog with a bone, who just wouldn’t stop sniffing. Kat had called an audible up in Vermont. At least she’d got what she deserved.
    Mrs. Scarlotti pictured the tangled web she had constructed, now torn apart.
    The only one caught in it was her.
    And now her Vincent, her man, was dead.
    All because of that goddamned Lonagan.
    That’s what she was shouting, “Lonagan!” As she pulled her dainty .22 out of her pocket and pointed it (like it’s your finger, Vincent told her) at Lonagan’s ex-wife.
    “Lonagan!”
    She was close enough to smell the bitch’s scent. Estee Lauder and fear.

    Lonny could not understand what he was seeing. His wife and Red’s wife and a gun. Still shaking with adrenaline, Lonny thought of Red’s son; this had the feel of a dream. It was nothing like real life.
    “Lonagan!” Mrs. Scarlotti shouted, her face a twisted, ugly sneer.
    Then Whitey dropped her with a bullet to the head.
    More chaos as the crowd screamed and scattered, unsure where to go now.
    “Where is Christopher?” Whitey asked Lonny.
    Kelly threw up all over the steps. The vomit steamed in the frigid air.
    Lonny knelt next to her. “Northeastern. Just before the museum. With Vilma .”

21
     

    She knew.
    Before the door opened. Before she saw the blond man’s face. She often claimed a supernatural awareness, a sixth sense if you like.
    She knew when bad things were going to happen, even as a child.
    In Guatemala, in her youth, she had known when the dark mood was about to