Thorn was asleep on the couch when he felt a hand shake his shoulder. He had taken the first shift on the computer, painstakingly sweeping the grounds for any new faces that might show, sending everything he found directly over to Ingram. By early evening the events of the last few days had begun to catch up with him, his eyes becoming bloodshot, his vision blurring. It was at that point Nio insisted on taking over, his entire being a coiled mass of nervous energy, his fingernails all chewed to the quick and rimmed with blood.
Handing over the controls, Thorn had gone to the couch at nine. Two minutes after that Abby had curled up by his feet. Three minutes later they were both asleep.
The next time his eyes opened he could see it was still dark outside. He rose with a start from the shaking of his shoulder, reaching out and grabbing the front of Nio’s shirt. He held it a moment, a fist coiled by his side, before releasing the fabric.
“Sorry. What time is it?”
“Eleven,” Nio said, leaving his shirt rumpled, seemingly not even noticing it. “I found someone new for you to send to Ingram.”
“Yeah?” Thorn said, swinging his feet to the floor and rubbing his face. His wounds from two nights before were still raw to the touch and he winced as he followed Nio into the kitchen. “Sorry I blacked out there.”
Nio ignored the comment. “Whoever this guy is, he’s not a street-walking thug like the rest of them.”
On screen already was the man’s image, the best angle captured and enlarged to full size. Halfway across the kitchen Thorn stopped, his mouth going dry. “I'll be a son of a bitch...”
“You recognize the guy?” Nio asked.
Thorn bobbed his head up and down, his gaze never wavering.
“So who is it?”
Another few seconds passed as Thorn stood in silence before snapping to attention. He grabbed up a long-sleeve pullover from the table and snatched his keys from the counter.
“My email password is Abigail1. Get this picture to Ingram right now. He’ll know who it is and send over everything we have.”
“And where the hell are you going?” Nio asked, his face a mask of incredulousness as he watched Thorn move. “That’s my sister out there, I’m going with you.”
“No!” Thorn said, his voice even. “Stay here, keep monitoring. Where I’m going you can’t come. I don’t know how this guy fits in, but I promise you he doesn’t have Iggy.”
A torrent of objections and obscenities followed Thorn as he sprinted through the front door before Nio could give chase. He crossed the yard in five long strides and was into his Explorer, headed for town. In quick order he worked his way through the light evening traffic, taking Route 2 into the heart of the city before catching 93 toward Dorchester.
Twenty minutes after leaving his condo, he pulled up in front of a solid brass gate. It was stretched between two brick columns, moonlight gleaming off of it, a public announce box mounted just outside Thorn’s driver’s side door.
Leaning out through his window, Thorn extended a hand to the call box, his movement stopped halfway by a heavy voice.
“Who the hell are you?”
“I need to see Billy Turner,” Thorn said, his fingers turning upward, raising his hand in a gesture of surrender.
The movement was responded to by the metallic click of a gun being cocked. “Out of the car, right now.”
Feeling his pulse race and his frustration rise, Thorn remained seated. “I’m unarmed and I’m not looking for trouble. I need to see Billy Turner. It’s urgent.”
A second gun cocked somewhere in the darkness. Another voice, just as deep, said, “Out of the car, slow.”
“Look...” Thorn started, but the barrel of a gun appeared through the window, pressing against the side of his head.
One on one, Thorn could have disabled the attempt and had the weapon in hand in fifteen seconds. Knowing that a second gunman was standing nearby - would cut him down the moment he tried anything - kept him from making any movement at all.
“Get out, asshole,” the man with the gun said.
Reaching down with his left hand, Thorn unlatched the door from the outside and pushed it open. He kept both his arms extended above his head and stepped out.
“Damn, big sumbitch, ain’t he?” said the second man said, this time his voice ringing more Appalachian than Irish.
“Sure is. What should we do with him?” the first guard said.
“I got a few ideas,” Appalachian replied, the two guards both sharing a husky laugh.
“Guys, I don’t want any trouble here. It is imperative that I speak to Mr. Turner. Now.”
The man in front of Thorn stepped forward and thrust his gun into the lump on Thorn’s cheek. “Do not talk again.”
Pain shot through Thorn’s face as he gritted his teeth and fought the urge to snatch the gun from the man and beat him with it. There was no doubt the entire incident was being watched by a closed-circuit camera.
At the moment, he could ill afford to have a hoard of angry Irishman swarming him.
The PA box emitted a low burst of static and a voice said, “What’s going on down there, fellas?”
The first guy turned to the box and said, “Nothing we can’t handle. Got some guy here that thinks he really needs to talk to Turner.”
“My name is Robert Myers, I work for Mr. Turner on the docks,” Thorn said to the box.
The guard again stepped forward and again jammed the barrel of his gun into Thorn’s face. “I thought I told you to shut up?”
The pain was so sharp that instinct took over and in one quick swipe, Thorn knocked the gun away from his face. He heard it clatter to the guard as he snapped a hard right into the guard’s nose, hearing the satisfying sound of bone crunching beneath his fist.
Grabbing the man by the scruff of the neck he drew back to fire another shot as a sharp blow landed on the back his skull.
Stars erupted in front of his eyes before giving way to total darkness.
Chapter Forty-Five