Shadow Prey

and slipped onto the bed. Lawrence Duberville Clay peeled off his underwear and slipped in beside her, and she put her arm over her chest.
    “Smell so good,” she said. He looked over her shoulderat the video camera and the monitor screen. The light was just right. It would be an evening to remember.
     
    Leo held the cut-down shotgun by his side as they pulled the railroad tie out of the car and held it by the handles. A battering ram. Nearly a hundred pounds, swung hard, focused on a point no bigger than a hammerhead. Better than any sledgehammer made.
    Swinging the tie, they moved swiftly through the dark into Drake’s yard.
    “Go through it one more time,” Leo said.
    Sam recited in a monotone. “Aaron and I swing it. When the door goes down, we drop it and you run right over it, freeze anyone inside. Aaron takes the ground floor, blocking anyone out, and you and I go up the stairs. There are four bedrooms up the stairs, and they’ll be in one of them.”
    “Drop the tie, go in, freeze anyone, then Aaron takes over and we go up the stairs.”
    “Clay carries a gun; you’ve seen the pictures,” Aaron said. He looked up at the moon. “So be careful.”
    They stayed in a screen of trees as they came up the drive, then broke across an open space to a lilac bush, paused to adjust their holds on the railroad tie.
    “You got it?” Aaron asked.
    “Let’s go,” said Sam.
    Running awkwardly, they rushed at the door, then stopped at the last second and swung the tie as hard as they could. It hit the door two inches from the knob and blew it open as effectively as a stick of dynamite. They let go as the door flew open; the tie fell half inside, and Leo was in the living room. Drake was there, coming off the couch, a pearl-gray suit and pink open-necked shirt, his mouth open. Leo, his face twisted into a mask of hate, shoved the shotgun at him and said in a coarse whisper:
    “Where is he?”
    Integrity had never been one of Drake’s burdens. “Up the stairs,” he blurted. “First door on the left.”
    “If he’s not there, motherfucker, you gonna be sucking on this shotgun,” Leo snarled.
    “He’s there . . . .”
    Aaron held Drake as Leo and Sam took the stairs, struggling with the railroad tie as they went, their footfalls muffled by the thick carpet. At the top, they looked at each other, and Leo held the shotgun over his head. They went at the bedroom door with the tie. The bedroom door was no more match for the ram than the front door had been. It blew open and Leo went through.
    Music was playing from a stereo; the lights were low enough for comfort, bright enough for spectating. A video camera was mounted on a steel tripod, with a television flickering beside it. Clay was there, his flesh obscenely white, sluglike, on the red satin sheet. The girl was beside him, nearly as pale as he was, except for a streak of scarlet lipstick.
    “Get away,” Leo said to the girl, gesturing with the shotgun.
    “Wait,” said Clay. The girl rolled away from him and off the bed.
    “Wait, for Christ’s sakes,” Clay said.
    “On your feet,” Leo said. “This is a citizen’s arrest.”
    “What?”
    “On your feet and turn around, Mr. Clay,” Leo said. “If you don’t, I swear to God I’ll blow you to pieces.”
    Clay, frightened, crawled off the bed and turned. Sam slipped his pistol into his pocket, took out his obsidian knife and stepped behind him.
    “We’re going to handcuff you, Mr. Clay,” Sam said. “Put your hands behind your back . . . .”
    “You’re the Crows . . . .”
    “Yeah. We’re the Crows.”
    “Do I know you? I’ve seen you? Your faces . . .”
    Clay was facing curtains that covered windows overlooking the driveway. A set of headlights swept into the drive, then a set of red flashers.
    “Cops,” said Leo.
    “We met a long time ago,” Sam said. “In Phoenix.”
    Clay started to turn his head, recognition lighting his eyes, and Sam reached up from the other side, grabbed his hair and dragged the knife across his throat. Clay twisted away screaming, and the girl broke for the door. Bloodpumped through Clay’s hands and he fell faceup on the bed, trying to hold himself together. Sam shouted, “Let’s go.”
    Leo shouted, “Run,” and as Sam went, he stepped close to the supine Clay and fired the shotgun into his chest.
     
    Lucas turned into the loop road fifty yards in front of the first cruiser. He had to slow to find the address, then saw