Shadows Reel (Joe Pickett #22)(30)

Viktór shinnied up through the opening and sat on the edge of it with his legs dangling into the space until he could make sure he wasn’t breathing hard from the effort. Then he swung his boots up and used the edge of the sink to pull himself to full height.

He removed the hay hook from where he’d tucked it through his belt and fitted his fingers through the triangle. It felt substantial in his grip. He let it hang down as he bent forward to peer down the hall to where the librarian was watching television. He was careful not to let the hook clank against the doorframe.

He couldn’t see much of her except the top of her head over the back of the couch. There was a small table between her and the television with a bottle of clear liquid in it and a small paper cup. And, just as László had described, the bag with the library logo printed on the side of it was right there on the floor next to the couch. The bag bulged with its contents.

The librarian was still. Was she sleeping?

Could he pad down the hallway, grab the bag, and get clear without waking her? He envisioned himself scuttling back down the hallway, dropping through the opening, and rolling across the ground until he could fit himself under the trailer skirt and escape. He also envisioned a scenario where she heard him coming and screamed. Or grabbed a gun to protect herself. Or ran for the phone to call the police.

By far the simplest and easiest thing to do would be to sneak up on her and bury the hay hook into the top of her head, grab the photo album, and walk out the front door.

He wished he could consult with László, who was waiting for him outside.

But Viktór didn’t want to hurt her. He’d already had enough of that for the day, or maybe for the rest of his life. She was just a librarian, after all.

Just reach down and take the bag and back away. That was his plan.

He took in a deep long breath and moved out into the hallway. He pulled his balaclava down to obscure his face. The hay hook was still hanging along his thigh, just in case he needed to threaten her.



* * *



—

    Viktór was within six meters of the library bag when a cat appeared from nowhere and yowled and ran down the length of the hallway from behind him. It shot through his legs and leaped on the top of the couch behind the woman, arching its back and hissing at him.

The librarian was startled and woke up flailing. She said, “Cricket, damn you.”

Then she turned and looked over her shoulder and saw his face and screamed.

Viktór had never killed a woman before. Especially an old woman who looked like a bird. Especially the wrong woman.

But when she got to her feet and crossed the room and picked up a cowboy-type rifle from where it had been placed next to the front door, glaring at him with wild eyes as she worked the lever action, he had no choice.



* * *



—

They returned to the SUV the way they had come, from tree to tree. Viktór swung the bloody hay hook in one hand and the book bag in the other. László carried the .30-30 Winchester rifle and a shotgun they’d found in her closet. So it was true what they said about Americans and their guns after all.

They placed all of the items except the book bag into the back of the SUV and covered the guns with a blanket.

László settled in behind the wheel, breathing hard.

“It wasn’t her, you know that, right?” Viktór hissed. “You should have looked closer at her car.” He was incensed and horrified at the same time.

“What about that?” László said, gesturing toward the bag on Viktór’s lap.

Viktór twisted on his penlight, placed it in his mouth, and opened the bag. He pulled out a well-thumbed paperback featuring a long-haired blond man with bulging pectorals on its cover. Than another with a pirate and a buxom younger woman in an embrace.

A sticky note was attached to the novel with a list of all of the titles in the bag, as well as a header that read: For Lola.

“Who is Lola?” Viktór asked. “What have we done?”



* * *



—

Before László could respond, a set of headlights appeared on the road far in front of them. They belonged to a panel van with two figures inside that he couldn’t see clearly. The van slowed and turned off the county road onto the road that led to the trailer they’d just been at.

The side of the panel van had a graphic of a falcon on it and lettering that read:


YARAK, INC.

Bird Abatement Specialists

Saddlestring, Wyoming



The lights of the van coursed down the road through the trees until they went well past the trailer. There was another house farther down the road. The real librarian’s house.

A moment later, the back window of the SUV lit up with the beams of another vehicle coming from behind them.

László recoiled at the intensity of the headlights reflected directly into his eyes from the rearview mirror.

Green bangles pulsed across his vision when he realized the car that had come up from behind them had now stopped next to them on the road. It was right beside them, idling.

László lowered his window and looked out. It was a dark-colored pickup. The passenger window was down and a yellow Labrador peered at him with an open mouth. He could see very little of the driver beyond the dog except for the brim of a cowboy hat.