THE SIXTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD MAN led the two boys through the vestibule and living room, into his private library. He switched on some lights: the stained-glass Tiffany lamp on the desk he’d used in the governor’s mansion, the down-lighting above the floor-to-ceiling bookcases of law books.
Is your wife at home?” the one called Hawk asked him.
She’s had a very stressful day,” Campion said. “She couldn’t wait up. Can I get you boys something to drink
Actually, we brought you this,” Pidge said, handing over the bottle of Cointreau. Connor thanked the boy, slid down the foil bag, and looked at the label.
Thanks for this. I’ll open this for you if you like, or maybe you’d like something else. I’m having scotch.
We’re good, sir,” said Pidge.
Campion put the bottle next to Michael’s picture on the ornately carved mantelpiece, then bent to open the bowed glass doors of the vitrine he used as a liquor cabinet. He took out a bottle of Chivas and a glass. When he turned, he saw the gun in Hawk’s hand.
Campion’s muscles clenched as he stared at the revolver; then he looked up at the smirk on Pidge’s face.
Are you crazy? You’re holding me up
Behind Pidge, Hawk’s eyes were bright, smiling with anticipation, as he took a reel of fishing line out of his back pocket. Horror came over Campion as suspicion bloomed in his mind. He turned his back to the boys, said neutrally, “I guess I won’t be having this.” He made a show of putting the Chivas back inside the cabinet, while feeling around the shelf with the flat of his hand.
We have to tie you up, sir, make it look like a robbery. It’s for our own protection,” Pidge said.
And you need to get Mrs. Campion down here,” Hawk added firmly. “She’ll want to hear what we have to say.
Campion whipped around, pointed his SIG at Hawk’s chest, and squeezed the trigger. Bang.
Hawk’s face registered surprise as he looked down at his pink shirt, saw the blood.
Hey,” said Hawk.
Didn’t these punks know that a man like him would have guns stashed everywhere? Campion fired at Hawk again, and the boy dropped to his knees. He stared up at the older man and returned fire, his shot shattering the mirror over the fireplace. Then Hawk collapsed onto the rug facedown.
Pidge had frozen at the sound of the shooting. Now he screamed, “You shit! You crazy old shit! Look what you did
Pidge backed out of the room, and when he cleared the library’s doorway, he turned and raced for the front door. Campion walked over to Hawk, kicked the gun out of his outstretched hand, lost his footing, and fell, hitting his chin against the edge of the desk. He pulled himself up using the desk leg, then stumbled out to the vestibule and pressed the intercom that connected to the caretaker’s cottage.
Glen,” he yelled. “Call 911. I shot someone
By the time Campion reached the front walk, Pidge was gone. The caretaker came running across the yard with a rifle, and Valentina stood in the front doorway, her eyes huge, asking him what in God’s name had happened.
Lights winked on in neighboring houses, and the wolfhound next door barked.
But there was no sign of Pidge.
Campion clamped his fist around the grip of his gun and shouted into the dark, “You killed my son, you son of a bitch, didn’t you? You killed my son
