The Boss was silent for a minute, obviously weighing options.
"No, that's all right," said the Boss at last. "It's your birthday and you've got a long drive ahead of you. You go on and take the day off. We'll deal with all of this on Tuesday."
"You sure?" said the Dodger. The Beretta with its silencer was on his lap as he drove. It felt like a blue-steel erection. "Cheektowaga's on my way out of town," he added.
The Boss was silent another few seconds. "No, you go on," said the calm voice. "It might work out better all around if we wait a day."
"All right," said the Dodger, realizing how tired he was. And he did have a long drive ahead of him. And much to do when he arrived. "I'll call you Tuesday morning. Want me to go straight to Cheektowaga then?"
"Yes, that would be good," said the Boss. "Phone me when you get near the airport. No later than seven A.M., all right? We want to meet these ladies before Mrs. DeMarco goes in to work."
"Okay," said the Dodger. "Anything else?"
"Just have a good birthday, Sean," said the Boss.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Kurtz nodded and they split up.
Kurtz was still carrying his ditty bag, but there was no need for night-vision goggles now. The house was fully engaged, the second floor pouring flames out of its high windows, the roof cedar-shake shingles smoking and more smoke billowing out the first-floor windows on the east and west sides. The flickering light from the flames illuminated everything out to the Bell Long Ranger.
Kurtz paused at the corner of the house and then swung around onto the terrace overlooking the cliff.
Gonzaga's guy, Bobby, swung a shotgun his way.
"Hey!" said Kurtz, holding his hands and the Browning high. "It's me."
Bobby lowered the shotgun. He was watching the open doors to the library and the Major's room, which lay behind two closed, heavy, windowless doors.
"What's the situation?" asked Kurtz. He popped one cartridge out of the Browning's chamber and dropped it in his pocket. Then he racked the next cartridge in, dropped the empty magazine to the terrace, and slapped in another ten-round clip.
"The boss is still in there, gathering up papers and shit and keeping the Major in his room. The whole fucking place is beginning to burn in there, so the boss won't be staying much longer."
This last information was redundant The flames were pouring out of the second floor windows above the terrace and the heat was significant.
"I think the Major's room connects to Trinh's next to it," said Kurtz over the crackling of the flames. "The old man could get out that way."
Bobby shook his head. "The boss had me shove what was left of that library table up against Trinh's bedroom door and pile up a bunch of shit on it The Major ain't getting out that way. Not in a wheelchair."
"Anyone else in there with the Major?"
"We don't know. The boss don't think so. We got some handgun fire from the bedroom door right when you left. Then the Major closed and bolted it. The boss thinks he's in there alone."
"C-4?" said Kurtz.
Bobby shrugged. "I guess. Me, I'd let the old fuck burn." He said it loud enough to carry through the outside doors.
"Go help Gonzaga," said Kurtz. "I'll watch out here."
When Bobby had run into the smoking library, Kurtz backed away, then peered over the edge of the cliff to the valley floor far below. There were emergency vehicles down therehe could see a fire truck and at least
three sheriff's cars, as well as a gaggle of big SUVsbut no one was coming up the winding drive or climbing the ziggurat staircase.
Kurtz walked off the terrace and stepped around the south corner of the burning house. Inside, something heavy collapsed. There was movement at the opposite end of the house, and Kurtz turned with the Browning before he saw that it was Angelina, Gonzaga, and Bobby, carrying bags of stuff and heading for the helicopter.
"Kurtz!" called the female don. "Come on. We're leaving ."
Kurtz nodded and waved. And waited where he was.
It was about three minutes later when the barred doors were flung open and the Major came wheeling his chair out onto the terrace. The old man was in pajamas and a robe, a huge service.45 on his lap, both hands busy pushing the manually powered wheelchair away from the smoking doors and the burning house.
The Major got to the edge of the terrace and stopped, coughing heavily and spitting.
"Freeze," said Kurtz, stepping out onto the terrace, Browning aimed and braced with both hands. He walked toward the wheelchair, taking time to glance into the Major's bedroom. It was roiling with heavy smoke. If anyone was left in there, they were out of the game unless they were wearing a respirator. "Keep your hands on the wheels," Kurtz said, stepping to within six feet of the old man.
The Major turned his head and shoulders, keeping his hands on the metal grab-ring of the chair's wheels as instructed. The military man who'd looked so powerful here on this terrace eleven hours earlier looked old and haggard and worn out now. His white crewcut was sweaty and matted, showing an old man's pink scalp. The pajama tops were open, showing the muscled chest but also gray hairs and old scars. Major O'Toole's eyes looked tired and watery. A line of soot under each nostril showed that even old military men couldn't breathe pure smoke for long.