She raised an expertly groomed eyebrow and gave Shane a half-smile. “Hey, I remember you.”
“I remember you, too,” Shane nodded, stepping fully into the house. “So, what are you up to?”
“This is my new friend,” she said, gesturing toward Jack. “He won’t tell me his name. But he will soon enough. He’s not as strong as you.” Miriam grinned at Shane. “I can’t control you, but you’re welcome to stay. I kind of like the way you look, even though you don’t have any hair. You got a lot of scars. How come?”
“I’ve got a big mouth,” Shane replied.
She laughed. “What do you want here?”
“Probably the same thing he wants.” Shane motioned to Jack. “We want your sunglasses. Got to put them somewhere safe. You’ve been killing a lot of people.”
She frowned and shook her head. “Nope. Sure, I killed a couple of ’em, but they’ve been killing each other without me. This whole thing’s a mess. I’ve been doing this a while, and I’ve never had so many idiots to deal with. I swear every one of these guys would have had to get naked to count to twenty-one.”
Shane chuckled. “Well, you are in New Hampshire, Miriam.”
She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, and stared at him. “How in the hell do you know my name?”
Jack tried to get to his hands and knees, and she shoved him back to the floor.
“Tell me,” she snapped, “or I’ll kill him right now. All I have to do is step down and put my foot right through his heart. Guy like him, he won’t last more than a second or two.”
“I know your name because I made it my business to know,” Shane answered. He cracked his knuckles and smiled. “Your name is Miriam Shaw. They couldn’t confirm it, but the detectives who investigated your death think you convinced your neighbor, a teenage boy, to kill your husband. Boy came back, and you told him to get lost. Kid shot you in the guts to make sure you suffer, and then he blew his brains out.”
Her face became a mask of fury. “He ruined it all!” she snarled. “All he had to do was shoot Gregor and stop mooning over me!”
“Sounds tough,” Shane said.
“You got no idea, pal. You aren’t getting my sunglasses either. They’re mine. Nobody else’s.”
“Oh, I’ll get them,” Shane told her, taking a step closer.
She smirked. “What are you going to do, huh, pal?”
“First, I’ll tell you my name, which is Shane. Then, I’m going to give you a choice.” Shane’s voice was low. “You can either tell me where your sunglasses are so I can bring them home, or I can slap you back into them.”
Her eyes widened, and she let out a surprised laugh. “Oh, you’re a funny guy, huh, Shane? What are you, one of the Stooges?”
Shane grinned. “Telling the truth to you, Miriam. That’s all.”
“You don’t get my sunglasses,” she remarked, taking a step toward him. “Now, go ahead and try to slap me, you big dummy.”
Miriam leaned forward, presenting her jaw as though she was in a Looney Tunes cartoon.
Shane smiled. “Okay.”
He brought his right hand up and cocked it back as though he was about to throw a baseball.
“Come on, big boy,” she laughed. “Give it a shot.”
“Sure.”
Shane swung as hard as he could. His hand slammed, open palm, into the side of her face. For a heartbeat, her eyes widened, and then she was gone.
Without any hesitation, Shane turned, grabbed Jack Thompson by the arm, and dragged him toward the open door. The captain managed to get to his feet just as Miriam Shaw reappeared, a look of pure hatred on her face.
“What in the hell was that?!” she demanded, stalking toward them.
“Get to your car and meet me at my house,” Shane ordered, and Jack obeyed as Shane stood his ground.
“That was me slapping you,” Shane informed her. “Just like I said I would. Do you want me to try again, or is that enough for today?”
“I’m going to kill you.” Her words were filled with malice.
“You might,” Shane admitted. “You never know. I’m not too worried about it. We’ve all got to die. I’m hopeful that I won’t come back. That’s all.”
“I don’t like you.” She pointed a finger at him as she spoke. “I’m going to hurt you. Hurt you really bad. Got it?”
Shane smiled. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
She moved a fraction of an inch closer, and Shane clenched his hands into fists. All humor dropped from his voice. The playful banter was gone.
“If you come within arm’s reach,” he warned, “I’m not going to slap you. I’m going to punch you, and then, I’ll tear this damned house apart until I find the glasses.”
“If you stay here,” she said, “I will kill every person I can get my hands on while you try and find my sunglasses.”
Shane narrowed his eyes, sizing her up. Something about her told him she’d follow through on her threat. Go home, he thought. Come back with a plan.
“I’ll be back later,” he told her. “But if I hear so much as a whisper that more people are dying, I’ll make sure you suffer before I even start to look for those glasses. As for right now, I’ve got to take care of my friend. See you soon.”
Without another word, Shane walked away, turning his back on the dead woman. He walked, unmolested, to his car, turned around, and saw she was still in the doorway. Then, as he got into the vehicle, the door was slammed back into place.
Don’t worry, Miriam, I’ll dig those damned sunglasses out, whether you want me to or not.
Shane started his car, shifted into gear, and lit a fresh cigarette before heading home.
Chapter 28: The Next Job
Monday, 1:00 AM
Marty’s mood was foul, and even Killa seemed to acknowledge that it was best to keep a civil tongue.
The four men were gathered around Marty, all of them pointedly aware of the .44 caliber revolver on the table in front of him. Marty had no intention of shooting any of them, especially not in the Clubhouse, but he didn’t want them to know it.
“The van has been delivered,” he told them, looking each in the eye. “The job is simple. I will drive us down there in one vehicle, and I will let you off a short distance from the house. While the four of you go in and grab exactly what you’ve been told to, I will be dumping our ride and picking up the van.”
“Where are you going to dump the ride?” Owen asked.
“There’s a lot off of Arlington Street, here,” Marty answered, tapping the map. “I can leave the vehicle there after I wipe it down. Then, I’ll take Canal Street back up toward Cross, cut through Cross, and make my way to Laton and then to the target. Keep an eye on the windows. Once I’m back, it’s time to go.”
“Hey.”
Marty looked at the speaker and remembered his name was Lowe. “Yes?”
“Why are we all packing heat?” the man patted the pistol in his sweatshirt’s pocket.
“Because there’s supposed to be a large collection of haunted items in this place,” Marty informed them, “and we are not leaving without a significant portion of it.”