Page 111 of Witness 8

‘Send the name and address of the bank to Bloch. She’ll find out.’

‘What about Bale and Ellis?’ asked Lake.

‘We don’t have enough bodies to watch everyone. Right now, the game is all about Ruby Johnson. Stay on Ruby and keep me updated.’

As Lake ended the call, his passenger door opened. There were internal locks on the Pontiac, but either they didn’t work or Lake didn’t know how to switch them on.

A man dressed in an expensive black suit got into the passenger seat beside Lake and shut the door. As he got in, Lake’s nervous system went into overdrive. Adrenalin flooded his veins, the fight-or-flight instinct kicked in and Lake, instead of moving, was frozen in place for half a second from the shock of seeing this man. The incongruity.

It was like watching a five-hundred-pound alligator get into your car. Disbelief comes first. Then reaction.

Lake reached for his gun, but the man gave him a look. Wagged his forefinger in the air, like he was remonstrating with a child, and then tutted.

‘You’re not as fast as you used to be, Gabriel. Do you mind if I call you Gabriel? Mr. Lake seems too formal. Especially after all that we’ve been through together.’

‘Are you going to tell me your first name?’ asked Lake.

‘I think Mr. Christmas is just fine, for me. Oh, what the hell – let’s go crazy . . . You can call me Christmas. What do you think of that?’ he asked with a genuine smile.

‘I think I’m going to kill you the first chance I get,’ said Lake.

‘Now, Gabriel, thatisrude. Here we are, sharing a case together, getting to know one another, reconnecting after all this time . . . It’s disappointing. Almost as disappointing as this car. Did you steal it from a junk yard?’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘We’re talking,’ he said, completely focused on Lake. Such intensity. Eyes like a traction beam locked on Lake as he asked, ‘Why are you following Ruby Johnson?’

Lake didn’t miss a beat and fired back, ‘Why areyoufollowing Ruby Johnson?’

The questions were like two sharp blades clashing.

Neither of them spoke. Lake met the man’s iron gaze. Silence filled the car’s appalling interior. He could hear his own heartbeat like a timer ticking down to some horrific end.

Two killers. Inches from one another. In a car filled with boiling quiet.

Somehow, Mr. Christmas appeared to piece together Lake’s motives.

‘Your client’s babysitter is really quite something, isn’t she?’

‘I don’t know yet. She’s a player in a game that has cost a lot of lives. How much money is in that bag she’s carrying?’

It was an innocent question, and for a moment Mr. Christmas weighed whether he should answer. The exact amount didn’t make a difference. It was clear to both men she was carrying a lot of cash.

‘Quarter of a million,’ said Mr. Christmas.

The tension that had built between them seemed to evaporate. Although Lake couldn’t see it, he felt the man beside him take his state of readiness down a few notches. As if every muscle fiber that had been tensed now let go into easy company.

‘We’re two old hands at this game. You and I. Between the two of us, we have killed a lot of people . . .’ said Mr. Christmas, but Lake didn’t let him finish.

‘Don’t put me in the same coffin you crawled out of. We’re not the same. I don’t kill for money. I do what’s right.’

‘What’s right? Is that what happened in that stash house? Was it right that you went through that building killing everyone in it, whether they were armed or not?’

‘You seemed to think it was okay.’

‘You were bleeding out, Gabriel. It was a valiant effort, but that last man . . . You were on the floor, barely conscious . . .’

‘And you shot him in the face. I wouldn’t have gone near that house if I wasn’t chasing you down. It was your fault. All of it.’