Wicked Prey

into one of the pews, and Cruz said, “If you make a sound, we will kill you. Do you understand that?”
    They both nodded, and Cruz said, “I want you to say, ‘Yes,’ that you understand. We can’t have any mistakes here.”
    “Yes,” they both said.
    “Okay. Now, I’m going to tell you what we’re going to do . . .”
    As she was talking, Cohn pulled the mask over his own face and walked over to the restaurant, where the two drunks were still talking. “Gentlemen, I have to ask you to come with me.”
    “Who’re you?”
    “I’m the robber who’s sticking up the hotel,” Cohn said. “If either one of you makes a single fucking noise, I’ll kill you.”
    * * *
    HE TOOK the two men into the chapel and made them stand in the aisle, facing the two desk clerks, as though they were about to be married.
    He pointed the gun at the younger man, a chubby, apple-cheeked blond who’d started to sweat: “What’s your name, and what do you do for a living?” Cohn asked.
    “My name is Rob Benedict, and I’m a consultant at Schumer and White.”
    “What’s Schumer and White?” Cohn asked.
    “We’re a law firm . . . in Washington.”
    Cohn pointed at the older man, a heavyset, weather-beaten farmer-looking guy. “What about you?”
    “I’m a farmer, from Nebraska.”
    “What’re you doing here?” Cohn asked.
    “I’m a delegate.”
    “How’d you two get together?” Cohn asked. “You queer?”
    The farmer seemed about to object, but then said, “We were the last ones in the bar. They kicked us out. We were too cranked up to go to sleep.”
    “Okay,” Cohn said. He considered for a moment, then shot the consultant in the forehead. As the consultant went down, the farmer jumped back, then half-turned away, waiting for the bullet, and the two women made soft screeching sounds in their throats until Cruz put a finger to her lips.
    “Sit in the pew,” Cohn said to the farmer.
    The farmer sat in the pew. The dead man was stretched down the middle of the aisle, on his back.
    “I don’t actually like killing people, but I won’t hesitate to do it,” Cohn told the three of them. “I needed to make that point, and the consultant seemed like a more worthless piece of shit than a farmer. But, I got nothing against killing farmers or desk clerks or anyone else. That clear?”
    They all nodded.
    Cohn said, “Now, one of you girls is going with my friend. The other one will sit here with me. With me and the farmer. Which one of you two handles the safe-deposit boxes?”
    One of the women glanced at the other, and Cruz picked it up. “Okay, Ann. You handle the boxes? You stay here. Karen, you come with me, like I told you.”

    CRUZ AND Karen walked out to the front door, and Cruz waved at Lane, who shut down the van and got the tool and weapons bag from the back.
    He followed them inside, and Cruz put Karen back behind the desk, and took up a station in the hallway, behind her.
    “Remember, dear, if you try to run, or if somebody comes in here and you give us away, I’ll kill both you and them. Do you understand, Karen?”
    “Don’t hurt me; I have a daughter,” Karen whimpered.
    “We won’t hurt you if you do what we tell you,” Cruz said. “We shot that other man to make the point—we don’t want a massacre here, but we want you to believe us. We’ll kill you if we have to.”
    * * *
     
    WHILE SHE was giving the little lecture, Lane went back to the chapel, looked at Cohn, who nodded to Ann. Lane squatted in the aisle, his masked face a few inches from Ann’s, and said, “Which are the biggest money boxes? Just judging what you think, from what people put in them.”
    “Oh, God,” she said, her chin trembling. She glanced at the dead man. “Honest, I don’t know many of them. I think—wait—sixty-six. And maybe, uh, forty-two. And one. I think one.”
    “Okay. I’m going to go open those,” Lane said. “If they’re empty, something bad might happen to you. If they’re not empty, if they’re good—well, you should try to think of more numbers before I get back.”
    “There might be something in two. An old man keeps stuff there, he keeps it in his hand in his pocket, so it’s something, but I don’t know what.”
    “Keep thinking,” Lane said, and he touched her face with his gloved left hand, which made her flinch.
    “Time’s a-wastin’,” Cohn said cheerfully. Lane picked up his bag, got the strong-room key from Cruz, who’d gotten it from Karen, and