Chapter 9 - The Clearing of the Account
The heavy .45 caliber weapon exploded in her hands with a deafening, thunderous roar that shook the timber walls of the cabin. The massive recoil sent a sharp shockwave up Aubrey’s forearms, but her grip didn't slip.
The heavy bullet tore through the rainy air, striking Victor directly in the right shoulder joint. The force of the impact spun him around, breaking his hold on Marcus as his silver revolver flew into the wet pine needles. He hit the side of the sedan with a dull, wet crunch, his face twisting in an expression of pure, unadulterated shock as he looked up at the kitchen steps.
"The waitress," he gasped, his voice wet and choked. "You... you brought the waitress."
Leo was already on him. He rose from the concrete floor, crossed the gravel driveway in three strides, and pressed the barrel of his compact pistol against the bridge of Victor's nose.
"She's my niece now, Victor," Leo said, his voice as quiet and cold as the winter earth. "And her name is Clara."
Pop.
The scarred man went limp against the mud-splattered tire of the sedan.
The two younger shooters were still writhing in the gravel, clutching their shattered legs, their weapons gone. Leo didn't shoot them. He looked down at them with a cold, administrative detachment.
"Get in your car," Leo ordered them. "Drive back to the city. Tell Carmine that I’m coming for the rest of the bill tomorrow morning. If I see either of you on Route 9 again, I’ll let my niece handle the collection."
The two men scrambled into the front seats of the sedan on hands and knees, their faces green with pain, before the car shot backward down the gravel road, its tires throwing up clods of mud as it vanished into the dark pines.
Aubrey dropped the heavy gun onto the concrete floor. She ran down the steps, her thick wool socks soaking through as she reached Marcus, who was sitting in the gravel, his chest heaving as he sobbed with relief.
"Aubrey... Aubrey, girl," the old man wept, his arthritic fingers shaking as she sliced through the plastic bindings with Leo's pocket knife. "They took me from my house. They said you were dead. They said everyone was dead."
"I’m here, Marcus," she said, pulling the old cook into a tight, muddy hug, her tears mixing with the cold rain on his cheek. "We're both here. It's over."
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Leo stood over them, his midnight blue overcoat dark with rain, his compact weapon already tucked back into his suit jacket. He looked down at Aubrey, his hard face showing something that looked remarkably like pride.
"Get him inside," Leo said, turning toward the cabin entrance. "He looks like he needs a cup of coffee. And leave the pot."
