Whiteout(108)

Desperate to keep the upper hand, Toni struggled to her feet. One ankle gave her a stab of pain, but she ignored it.

Where was the gun? He must have dropped it.

Elton was hurt, but perhaps not immobilized. She fumbled in her jeans for a billiard ball, but it slipped through her fingers as she tried to pull it out of her pocket. She suffered a moment of pure terror, a feeling that her body would not obey her brain and she was completely helpless. Then she used both hands, one to push from outside her pocket and the other to grasp the ball as it emerged.

But the momentary delay had allowed Elton to recover from the shock of the rats. As Toni raised her right hand above her head, he rolled away from her. Instead of bringing the heavy ball down on his head in the hope of knocking him senseless, she was forced to change her mind at the last instant and throw it at him.

It was not a forceful throw, and in some part of her brain she heard her ex, Frank, say scornfully, You couldn't throw a ball if your life depended on it. Now her life did depend on it, and Frank was right—the throw was too weak. She hit the target, and there was an audible thud as the billiard ball connected with Elton's skull, causing him to roar in pain; but he did not slump unconscious. Instead he got to his knees, holding his bruised head with one hand, then struggled to his feet.

Toni took out the second ball.

Elton looked at the floor all around him, searching in a dazed way for his gun.

Caroline had climbed halfway down the ladder, and now she leaped to the floor. She stooped and grabbed one of the rats that was hiding behind a leg of the billiard table. Turning to pick up another, she collided with Elton. He mistook her for his adversary, and punched her. It was a powerful blow that connected with the side of her head, and she fell to the floor. But it hurt him, too, for Toni saw him grimace in agony and wrap his arms around his chest, and she guessed she had broken some ribs when she jumped on him.

Something had caught Toni's eye as Caroline had reached under the billiard table for a rat. Toni looked again and saw the gun, dull gray against the dark wood of the floor.

Elton saw it at the same time. He dropped to his knees.

As Elton reached under the table, she raised her arm high above her head and brought the ball down with all her might, squarely on the back of his head. He slumped unconscious.

Toni fell to her knees, physically exhausted and emotionally drained. She closed her eyes for a moment, but there was too much to do for her to rest long. She picked up the gun. Steve had been right, it was a Browning automatic pistol of the kind issued by the British army to special forces for clandestine work. The safety catch was on the left side, behind the grip. She turned it to the locked position, then stuffed the gun in the waist of her jeans.

She unplugged the television and ripped the cable out of the back of the set, then used it to tie Elton's hands behind his back.

Then she searched him, looking for a phone; but, to her intense disappointment, he did not have one.





8:30 AM

IT took Craig a long time to work up the courage to look again at the motionless form of Daisy.

The sight of her mangled body, even viewed from a distance, had made him throw up. When there was nothing left in him to come out, he had tried to clean his mouth with handfuls of fresh snow. Then Sophie came to him and put her arms around his waist, and he hugged her, keeping his back to Daisy. They had stood like that until at last the nausea passed and he felt able to turn and see what he had done.

Sophie said, "What are we going to do now?"

Craig swallowed. It was not over yet. Daisy was only one of three thugs—and then there was Uncle Kit. "We'd better take her gun," he said.

Her expression told him she hated that idea. She said, "Do you know how to use it?"

"How hard can it be?"

She looked unhappy, but just said, "Whatever."

Craig hesitated a moment longer; then he took her hand and they walked toward the body.

Daisy was lying face down, her arms beneath her. Although she had tried to kill Craig, he still found it horrible to look at a human being so mangled. The legs were the worst. Her leather trousers had been ripped to shreds. One leg was twisted unnaturally and the other was gashed and bloody. The leather jacket seemed to have protected her arms and body, but her shaved head was covered with blood. Her face was hidden, buried in the snow.

They stopped six feet away. "I can't see the gun," Craig said. "It must be underneath her."

They stepped closer. Sophie said, "I've never seen a dead person."

"I saw Mamma Marta in the funeral parlor."

"I want to see her face." Letting go of Craig's hand, Sophie went down on one knee and reached out to the bloodstained body.

Quick as a snake, Daisy lifted her head, grabbed Sophie's wrist, and brought her right hand out from under her with the gun in it.

Sophie screamed in terror.

Craig felt as if he had been struck by lightning. He shouted: "Christ!" and jumped back.

Daisy jammed the snout of the little gray pistol into the soft skin of Sophie's throat. "Stand still, laddie!" she yelled.

Craig froze.

Daisy wore a cap of blood. One ear was almost completely ripped from her head and hung grotesquely by a narrow strip of skin. But her face was unmarked, and now showed an expression of pure hatred. "For what you've done to me, I should shoot her in the belly and let you watch her bleed to death, screaming in agony."