single-car garage out back. The Chrysler was parked outside, as was the van—the one he’d last seen barreling down the snow-lined avenue after he’d jumped out of it.
His nerve endings bristled with impatience and anticipation. The answers he so wanted were probably inside that house, but he couldn’t exactly waltz in there and get them. He needed to bide his time. Watch. Study. And come up with a plan. One that had half a chance of working. One that wouldn’t end up with him dead.
He’d come up with one earlier, back at the motel, before driving over. A grand plan, one that had him excited—for a short spell, anyway.
He’d call the cops. Do the “anonymous-tip” thing and tell them Bellinger’s real killers were in the house. They’d send a car to check it out. The cops—maybe the ones who showed up at Bellinger’s apartment that night—would come up to the door and knock. One of the goons—not bob-girl, presumably, since she was one of the “witnesses” who’d “seen” Matt chase down Bellinger—would answer. They’d have a little Q&A. Dance around some questions.
And then Matt would ramp things up a notch.
He’d pick up a couple of empty bottles from a Dumpster on the drive over, along with any old rag he could find. He’d buy a jerrican of fuel and a lighter at a gas station. He’d fill the bottles with fuel. He’d shred the rag into strips and stuff them into the necks of the bottles and use them as wicks. And then he’d firebomb the house.
Maybe from the back. Or from the side. Just sneak up to a spot where he wouldn’t be seen and chuck a flaming bottle or two through a window. And watch. It would take them all by surprise. The cops would want to go in to help put out the fire. The goons would probably resist, not wanting them in the house where their gear might be on show. Their behavior would certainly be less than ingenuous, and they would probably behave suspiciously. The cops would get curious, especially given the reason they were there in the first place. They’d probably call for backup. A standoff would ensue. The goons would have a lot of explaining to do. In looking into the unexplained arson attack, the cops would find some forensic evidence in the van, linking it to Bellinger’s murder. The goons would get mired in a procedural swamp. They’d be off Matt’s back, and, with a bit of luck, Matt would be off the hook for the stabbing.
Maybe.
On the other hand, it could all go wrong and he could get shot by the cops and the case would be closed. And either way, he wouldn’t get the thing he most wanted: to find out what they had done to his brother.
So he dropped that plan. Decided to play it more cautiously. Take things one step at a time. Maybe try and get some one-on-one time with one of the goons. In which case a weapon would be good. The van—and the car—could yield one. Something he could use to even out the odds a little. And maybe, with a bit of luck, he could then grab one of the killers and get the answers he wanted.
Maybe.
No one had gone in or out of the house since he’d been there, but the cars and the lights in the front ground-floor room suggested the goons were in. He tried to think back at how many were in the van—four, he thought. Which was bad enough. He didn’t know if the two in the Chrysler were part of that crew, or if they were additional, in which case there’d be six of them in there. Which would be even worse.
The house next door looked dark and empty by comparison, with no sign of life apart from a Christmas tree that blinked on and off mind- numbingly in its front window. A five-foot-tall hedge ran between the houses, alongside the target’s driveway. Matt thought of waiting till it got dark, to give him more cover, but he didn’t feel like loitering around that long and wasn’t sure how long they’d be staying in there.
He decided to chance it.
He scuttled alongside the hedge and made his way to the back of the house. He skulked behind the Chrysler and peeked out. He couldn’t make out any movement at the back of the house. It was just dark and still. He looked through the 300C’s window. Couldn’t see anything