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Killing them would be such a waste. But Chaz is a soldier. And orders are orders.
A call comes in. The original plan was to take the accountant and his daughter to the woods on the other side of the river, a spot Chaz scouted ahead of time. O’Leary remained adamant that Gina needed to be there. But the accountant wisely smelled a rat, changed the plan.
Another tragedy of all this is Shane and Gina. He remembers them as teenagers. They had this deep connection no one really understood. Probably because both had abusive parents. For all of his brutality, Shane is so gentle with his wife. But she’s not the same Gina anymore. And that’s what’s eating at Shane. Nothing he’s done, nothing he can do, will bring her back. He keeps trying and trying, but look how that’s turned out.
Chaz presses the phone to his ear, listens.
It’s the kooky FBI lady who was fucking Chaz’s son. Patrick sure could pick ’em. She sounds distraught.
“I’m on the bridge,” she says, her voice panicked. “I was following them to the spot. He… They went over…”
“Slow down.”
“The car, it plunged into the river.”
When she collects herself, she tells him. Shane and Gina. The accountant. There’s no way they survived. The bridge is shut down by the police. She’ll get there when she can. Right now, he needs to clean up the loose ends.
Chaz kills the line, looks at his three prisoners.
He pulls the handgun from his shoulder holster. So much for making up for everything he’s done.
His phone chimes. His regular phone, not the burner. Davie’s picture appears on the screen.
“Hey, kiddo. How’s it going?”
“Granddad, guess what?”
“What?” He smiles. Davie’s tone is pure joy.
“I got the lead in the play. At my summer camp.”
“Oh my gosh, kiddo. That’s amazing.”
“I’m Peter in Peter Pan.”
Chaz feels a wave of pride.
“Will you come?”
“Are you kidding me? I’ll be there, front row.”
“Okay. I wanted you to be the first to know.”
“I’m proud of you, kid.”
The line disconnects.
Chaz stands there, thinking. He pulls out the knife sheathed on his ankle and walks toward his roped captives.
He looks at the accountant’s daughter. She’s a beauty, this one. And he admires that she stares right into his eyes, not letting him off the hook by looking away.
Chaz slides the blade under the zip tie securing her wrist, cuts it free. He hands her the knife. Directs her with his chin to free the others.
After they’re untied, the three stand there, looking at him. Waiting for instructions. He still has the gun, after all.
“This is over,” Chaz says. “Go live your lives. You have my word, it’s over.”
“What about my father?” the accountant’s daughter asks, her tone desperate.