The Evolution of Fear (Claymore Straker #2) - Paul E. Hardisty Page 0,112
‘You really want to know?’
Clay breathed in the whisky vapour that hung like a cloud around their heads. ‘Go ahead,’ said Clay. ‘Tell me, bru. What are you so afraid of?’
Crowbar tensed, clenched his fists at his sides. He was looking up, his lips almost brushing Clay’s chin. ‘Here’s the thing, seun. It’s simple.’ He smiled, stared into Clay’s eyes. ‘I like killing people. That’s all. And I’m good at it.’
Clay stepped back, Hope’s words coming to him like certainty. After a while he said: ‘I’m not like you, Koevoet.’
‘Yes, Straker. You are. You just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.’ Crowbar reached into the car, grabbed the whisky bottle, drank then thrust it into Clay’s hand. ‘Go. I won’t stop you. But it won’t bring those people back. You’ve got to live with it, seun. Nothing else you can do.’
Clay emptied the bottle, flung it against the wall.
42
Playing House
They left Hope’s car in a side road outside the village and continued on in Crowbar’s Pajero. It was well past midnight when they rolled past Dimitriou’s place.
‘That’s it,’ said Clay. ‘Number five.’
The house was set back from the street within a lush, floodlit garden, surrounded by a ten-foot perimeter fence lipped with razor-wire. Lights were still burning in the upstairs rooms. Crowbar did a circuit of the neighbourhood then pulled the vehicle up at the end of the street, just beyond a small bridge, and killed the lights.
‘No guards that I can see,’ said Crowbar. ‘CCTV at the front gate, over there at the corner. Probably motion sensors around the place. Pretty basic.’
‘I only need a few minutes,’ said Clay.
‘Don’t do anything stupid, broer.’
Clay nodded.
Crowbar pointed back towards the bridge. ‘Go in along the riverbed, around back. Plenty of cover. If the boy’s there, get him and get out fast. Exfil the same way. I’ll be waiting here.’
Clay nodded.
Crowbar handed Clay a balaclava hood, a pair of leather gloves and a pair of wire cutters. ‘I’ll look after the security system,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘Go in ten.’
It didn’t take Clay long to find the back wall of the property. Using wire cutters one-handed was more difficult than he had anticipated. Luckily the wire here was sparse, poorly anchored. At the appointed time, he dropped into the back garden and made his way to the house. The rear patio door was unlocked. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him. A thin moonlight frosted the walls, the kitchen countertops. Clay moved towards the front of the house, aware now of the smell of the place, detergent and tonight’s dinner, cigar smoke, cat. He emerged into a marble-floored entranceway, the main staircase on his left, lights burning upstairs. He stopped, inhaled deep and listened. The sound of a toilet flushing upstairs, water running, the squeak and clunk of a door closing.
He started up the stairs.
That feeling deep in his stomach. Being somewhere you don’t belong. Crossing a border into another’s territory.
The main landing. A hallway. A kid’s nightlight glowing. A door, closed, papered with cartoons – flowers, rainbows, smiling cartoon people, unicorns. Hushed voices from the end of the hallway, a half-open door, a wedge of yellow light.
Clay breathed in, out, started walking.
Dimitriou was sitting up in bed, a book in his hand, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. His wife lay next to him, also reading, her hair in some kind of net. They looked up as Clay entered the room.
Before they had a chance to react, Clay grabbed Dimitriou by the shirt front and hauled him out of bed. Books and a bedside lamp clattered to the floor. The wife screamed, pulled the covers up over herself. Clay slammed Dimitriou up hard against the wall.
‘What do you want?’ spluttered Dimitriou.
‘Where is the boy?’
‘Who?’ Recovering now.
His wife screamed in Greek, reached for the phone on her bedside table.
Clay tightened down on Dimitriou’s throat. ‘Tell her to shut up and put down the phone.’
Instant compliance. The wife sobbed quietly.
‘Where is he?’
‘I know who you are.’
Clay let go of Dimitriou’s neck and jammed his stump up under the man’s chin. He pulled out his switchblade and popped the blade so Dimitriou could see. ‘Where is he?’
‘I … I…’ Definitely scared now. The wife, too.
Clay placed the sharp point of the blade against Dimitriou’s cheek so he could feel the coldness of it. ‘I can start here, show you how this thing works.’
Dimitriou was shaking. ‘He’s … not here. Oh God, please don’t.’