Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [classic children's novels txt] 📗

doorway, holding a gun. I was outnumbered and unarmed. I did the only thing I could do. I roared and charged.

I collided with a body, knocking it off balance. Blindly I drove two powerful punches into it. I heard a grunt as it fell away from me. A foot on my chest hurled me against the far wall. I charged again, lashing out with my foot at where the darkness seemed blackest. I caught something, and a powerful blow glanced off my shoulder. Fingers clutched at me. I gripped back with my left hand, pile-driving punches with my right.

Then an intense light, like a laser, blinded me. I heard a phut! phut! and the body I was pounding sagged and slipped to the floor. I fervently thanked whatever gods provide ironic good fortune and leapt for the door. I wrenched it open and ran. My mind was running faster than I was.

I was unarmed. My piece was still on the bedside table. My car keys were in my pocket. Pro had just ordered a hit on me. That meant one thing and one thing only. He was ready to make his move on Maria. And if he wanted to eliminate me, it was for two reasons: I knew the truth, and he wanted me out of the way when he hit Maria Garcia. So my plan was get to Maria and stop Pro.

Simple.

I burst into the stairwell and took the steps a landing at a time. I crossed the lobby in Olympic gold-medal time, crashed through the doors, and vaulted into the Mustang. The tires squealed as I pulled away from the curb and hurtled along Market Street toward the bay. All the way along the Dwight Eisenhower Highway, I demonstrated the Doppler effect as horns faded in a descending note behind me. The sky was darkening to deep blue, and the first stars were appearing over the Berkeley Hills as I screamed, skidding off the Highway and onto the I-80. The traffic was heavy because of the time of day. But I blared my horn, cut people off, wove through the lanes, and never dropped below eighty.

I came off at Ashby Avenue, screamed onto Sacramento Street praying the cops would not notice me, and then burned rubber turning onto Dwight Way. I slammed on the brakes at the corner with Grant. Jumped out and ran.

I was too late. As I skidded to a halt at the corner of Grant and Blake, I saw the dark blue Audi sitting outside her house. There was a guy leaning his ass against the hood, smoking. Past him I could see into their living room. It looked like Maria and a man were sitting on the sofa, staring up at a tall gangly guy I was sure was Pro, and another whom I did not know. As I watched, the other guy pulled the drapes closed. I wondered where the kids were. I glanced at the top floor. There were no lights visible.

Next door there was an apartment block, and between her house and the block there was an alley. Two got you twenty that there was an access to the alley beyond the apartments. I put my hands in my pockets and walked past the guy sitting on the Audi like I was going somewhere. He ignored me. His fingernails were more interesting than I was.

At the end of the apartment block, there was a recess where all the trash cans were kept. Behind the cans was a wall. I hopped up and over, and I was in the alley at the back of Maria’s house. I moved quietly and covered the fifty yards to her back garden without being noticed. There was a six-foot wooden fence with a door in it. I tried the door, but it was locked. I tried the fence. It was sturdy. I pulled myself up and over and grazed my chest and stomach. It hurt.

I landed softly on a well-kept lawn and crouched in the shadow of some rosebushes. I could see what I assumed was the kitchen window. There was a faint light, like a light from another room, but the kitchen was in darkness. Next to the window there was a door. The way it is with kitchen doors that lead out to gardens, is when you are out, they are locked. When you’re home, they are unlocked. How long had the Brownes been home before Pro arrived?

I sprinted across the grass to the door and gently tried the handle. They had been home long enough to unlock the door. I pushed it open and stepped inside. There were voices, three of them. First I heard Maria’s, quiet, reasonable, but with an edge of obstinacy.

“I am afraid you have made a mistake. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

The same litany she had offered me. Probably the litany she had been rehearsing for the last ten years. Then I heard a man. His voice was educated, intelligent.

“Look, it must be obvious to you that you have made a mistake somewhere along the line. Whoever these people are you are searching for…”

Then there was a loud slap and a stifled scream from Maria. Then Pro’s unmistakable voice.

“Do I look stupid? I may look many things. I am not beautiful. Hey, Antonio, am I beautiful? I don’t think so. But I am not stupid either. So, please, don’t insult my intelligence. A man like me gets very upset when you insult his intelligence…”

I was going to have to do something fast, and I had absolutely no idea what. I slipped into the hallway and inched toward the open door of the living room, where soft light was spilling out onto the parquet floor. I had no weapon, and I was up against two armed killers. I turned and slipped back into the kitchen. I had seen a