A Stone's Throw by James Ziskin (best story books to read .txt) 📗

still they ruined me. I had to work as a goddamn rodeo clown! Because of them. Because of her.”

His voice boomed through the house, practically rattling the windows. He paced faster now, waving the knife in the air as if cutting a path for himself. Where was Fadge?

The telephone rang. Johnny stopped and looked to me. Did he think I knew who was on the other end of the line?

“Don’t answer it,” he said. “It’s a little late for people to be telephoning.”

I sat on my hands, and we waited ten rings before whoever was calling gave up. But fifteen seconds later the phone rang again. And again we waited nearly a minute for the caller to hang up.

Johnny seemed annoyed by the interruption, and clearly he blamed me. The calls stopped after the second try, and he returned to his pacing, this time less frantically.

“So Vivian contacted you,” I said. “Then what?”

“I was on the road to getting my life and career back. I had a good meet going this year. Fourth most wins among the jockeys at Saratoga. I was making money again, and Lou was happy.”

“What did Vivian offer you?”

He stopped in his heavy boots again and gazed off into space. “She said she loved me. That it wasn’t her fault what happened. I told her to get lost. Then Ledoux came into the picture. He showed up at the boarding house where I was staying in Ballston Spa and made me a proposition. Acted like it was just business. Like him and his whore hadn’t ruined my life and trampled my heart.”

“What was the proposition?”

“I was supposed to throw a race for them, only this time Lou wouldn’t be in on the fix.”

“So you decided to get them out of the way once and for all?”

“No. I had to plan things first. Like where to do it, when, and how to make sure no one suspected me. I let them think I was considering it.”

“What was in it for you this time?”

“Ten thousand dollars. At least that’s what I asked for. They said they could get me five, and we set up the Friday midnight meeting.”

“Why Tempesta?” I asked.

He chuckled. “That was their idea. They thought it was safe. And it turned out to be the perfect spot for me to hide out afterward.”

“You didn’t think it was a little risky? Staying so close to the place where the bodies were found?”

“To tell you the truth, I didn’t think anyone would ever find anything. I figured someone would come and snoop around, see a burned-down old barn, and move on. You ruined that for me.”

I doubted an apology would satisfy him at that point.

“But after the first couple of days, the sheriff left the place alone anyway,” he said. “I stashed my car a couple of miles away and moved into the caretaker’s house.”

This was news to me. I was under the impression that Johnny had no car. But I figured this wasn’t the moment to interrupt and ask him.

As he recounted the details of his revenge, he relaxed. He must have been at peace with his decision to murder the people who’d ruined his career. And his own voice must have distracted him because he didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs. I’d become quite expert at detecting visitors climbing up to my landing, even when they were trying to be quiet, as was the case now. Johnny was still unawares, but my pulse quickened. I had no doubts that Fadge could dispatch the diminutive jockey without breaking a sweat, but I worried about Johnny’s knife. How could I warn my friend in time?

If Johnny had missed the noise coming up the stairs, the knock at the kitchen door attracted his attention straightaway. He reeled around and assumed a defensive posture, his weapon poised to strike at whoever came through the door. I didn’t move. Neither did Johnny. He stood there, his breath short and tense, ready to attack. There was another knock, and then Mrs. Giannetti’s falsetto voice called through the door.

“Are you in there, Eleonora?” she asked.

Johnny turned to me. He repeated the gesture ordering me to maintain silence. I mouthed the word “landlady,” and he turned back to watch the door. Mrs. Giannetti knocked a third time. There was nothing for almost a minute until we heard a faint rustling noise from the landing. Johnny’s stance slackened somewhat, as if he thought the worst had passed and Mrs. Giannetti had given up. Then we heard the key in the door.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

What happened next took all of three seconds. Mrs. Giannetti opened the door, Johnny took a step toward her, and I bashed him on the back of the head with the bottle of Dewar’s. He fell to the floor, dropped the knife, and I threw myself on top of him. We struggled for control of the knife as Mrs. Giannetti screamed bloody murder. Actually. She was already halfway down the stairs, shrieking, “Murder! Murder! Murder!”

Johnny was stunned and sluggish, but still conscious. And strong. We weighed about the same, were the same height more or less, but he was a trained athlete, after all. The only advantage I had over him was his dazed state, the result of the blow from my trusty bottle of Dewar’s, which lay intact and unharmed on the floor next to our wrestling bodies. Still, I managed to push the knife away, through the open door onto the landing. Johnny grabbed my right arm and twisted, turning the tables on me as his wits returned. Like a wrestler, he wriggled out from his position beneath me and, though woozy, took control. Not quite up to punching or throttling me, he squeezed me in a suffocating bear hug. Now I could see him shaking the cobwebs from his head, swearing a blue streak as he did, and I bit him. Hard. On the shoulder. Then he flipped off of me