Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1) (23 page)

When you’re wounded and left on Afghanistan’s plains,

And the women come out to cut up what remains,

Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains

And go to your gawd like a soldier.

–Rudyard Kipling

Bud watched as five grunting policemen dragged the waterlogged garbage bag crisscrossed with duct tape up the steep sides of the canal. Bud stared at it glumly. He didn’t feel his usual bloodhound reflexes kicking in and that depressed him. It took zero imagination to know it contained one unlucky son of a bitch who was in the wrong place at the wrong time – or one unlucky son of a bitch who got just what he deserved.

He had to give Chip credit  – he was hanging tough. Not only had they been up all night, but Chip had gamely spent three hours following Bud as he trudged through the neighborhood where Enid had been found as they questioned neighbor after neighbor with no results. He was beginning to think that Chip might actually be serious about the writing thing.

Now, under the treeless expanse of the Arizona Canal, Chip showed no signs of fatigue as he periodically took notes in a pocket-sized notebook.

Bud had caught Chip examining him with concerned eyes if he showed any signs of slowing his pace, which had forced Bud to pretend that he felt better than he actually did. His legs felt heavy and he was having trouble catching his breath with the tiniest of slopes – luckily Phoenix was as flat as Bunnie’s fallen arches.

Bud pulled his hat lower over his eyes and squinted as the garbage bag thunked to the ground. Dirty brown water squished out as it gave one heavy, sick-sounding roll forward. The garbage bag tore and a big toe, macerated and hairy, jabbed through.

Bud squatted to get a closer look.

Caucasian male – in the water for less than twenty-four hours.

“What do you think?” Chip said, peering over his shoulder, pen poised over his notebook.

“Ingrown,” Bud said as he waved over the photographer.

Jenson sauntered over. “Oh dear.”

“Can you take over?” Bud said. “I’ve got personal business.”

“Anything new turn up?” Jenson said. 

Bud shrugged. “Not much. Talked to the guy who called the police – story thin but reliable.”

“You think the kid strangled someone?” Jenson said.

Bud nodded at the big-toe bag. “If we’re lucky, this might just be our strangled psycho-clown perp.”

Jenson laughed, “If only it were that easy.”

Bud waved, trudged to the truck.

Chip caught up
to Bud, “You look tired.”

Bud ignored him as he got into the passenger seat.

Chip slid behind the wheel, “Where to now? Home?”             

“Drive.”

Within the hour, Bud sat shivering in a flimsy patient gown, his back exposed to a wicked air conditioning draft.

Dr. Alayon, his new cardiologist, was fifteen years past what looked to be his handsome youth and into a more subdued beaten-down work mode that
Bud labeled “married with kids.”

Bud watched his mouth move and tried to imagine him smiling – or laughing.

“Do you smoke?” Dr Alayon said.

“No.”

Dr. Alayon raised his eyebrows. “Well, if you do, you need to stop. I’d like to send you to our smoking cessation program.”

“I don’t smoke.”

Dr. Alayon tapped something into his tablet and stood, “Let me know if you change your mind. I can’t help you unless you want to help yourself. Statistics show – ”

Bud said,
“What’s the next step. What now?”

“Barbara will go over everything with you. Do you have any questions?”

“Yes – ”

There was a knock on the door.

Dr. Alayon spun on his heels, pulled the door open to reveal Barbara, a twenty-something girl with Cleopatra eyeliner that looked jarringly out of place with her blue scrubs.

“Four weeks,” Dr Alayon said, disappearing down the hall.

Barbara glanced over the tablet. “I see you’re signed up for smoking cessation classes.”

Bud sighed.

I can calculate the motion of heavenly bodies,

but not the madness of people.

–
Isaac Newton

Enid jolted awake.

The morning light slanted through the hospital blinds.

Her arms felt heavy, like they always did after a bad dream. She tried to push her hair out of her eyes but was startled to feel her bandaged hand against her forehead.

Her nightmare came flooding back to her in a nauseating wave. A man who wouldn’t die – no matter how many times she killed him. She had clung to his back, her arms going numb with the effort of pulling the rope tighter, knowing that she had to kill him but also knowing that he couldn’t be killed. All night, the rope cut deep into her hands, burning like fire.

He won’t die.

Enid blew upward, trying to get the hair out of her eyes, desperate to shake off the sickening dream. Her eyes lit on a paper. She hooked her hand around the stand, pulled it closer. She craned her neck to read the message.

Didn’t want to wake you. Will be back in the morning. Sleep well and call if you need me. Jack.

She stared at the letter, a dark anger breaking open inside her. He’d been here and left. He didn’t bother to wake her. Somehow, it felt worse than anything else he’d done.

She shoved the table away. She wanted to rip the letter into a thousand pieces and shove it down his fat ugly face.

Furious, she bit down on one of the bandages and tried to rip it off. After several minutes of struggle, the bandages were mangled and her teeth hurt. She stared down at them in helpless rage, hot tears springing to her eyes.

She wanted to kill him.

Why didn’t he wake me?

“Hello there,” a woman’s voice said. 

Startled, Enid brushed away the tears but not quick enough for Cheryl and Ernie not to notice. 

“What’s wrong?” Ernie said, darting to her side. “What happened to your hands?”

“Hey, Honey,” Cheryl said, gently pushing the hair from Enid’s face.

“Why are you crying?” Ernie said.

Cheryl motioned for Ernie
to sit down and shut up.

Ernie sat in the visitor’s chair, frowning.

“Where’s your – where’s Jack?” Cheryl placed her purse on the bed and looked around like she expected Jack to materialize.

“Can I go to your house – until I go back to Florida?” Enid said.

“Aren’t you staying?” Cheryl said. 

“I want to come with you,” Enid said, trying to climb out of bed. 

Cheryl stopped her. “Not so fast. I need to talk to a doctor – and Jack.”

“You can talk to my mom – instead of Jack.”

“I need to talk to your dad first.”

Enid leaned back, struggling not to cry. She felt like an animal in a trap.

“Has the nurse been in?” Cheryl eyed Enid’s torn bandages.

Enid shrugged, miserable. 

“I’ll be back,” Cheryl said, heading out the door. 

Ernie said,
“I heard you killed a man. Did you?”

Enid stared at Ernie in horror.

Did I?

Enid leaned forward and said, “Ernie, I need your help.”

Five minutes later, Cheryl returned.

Ernie sat in the visitor’s chair, looking bored.

“Where’s Enid?” Cheryl said.

Ernie pointed to the bathroom. “Girl stuff.”

Cheryl knocked on the door, “Enid, the nurse said she’ll be in to change your bandages. Everything okay?”

Ernie was seized with a coughing fit.

“What’s wrong?” Cheryl said.

Ernie gripped his stomach, “I don’t feel good. Can we go?”

“We just got here.”

Ernie doubled over, coughing.

Cheryl grabbed a basin from Enid’s table and held it under him. “Are you going to throw up?”

“It’s the smell – it’s making me sick.”

“What smell?”

“Hospital smell,
” Ernie said.

“All right, all right.” Cheryl helped Ernie to t
he door. She called out to Enid, “Ernie’s not feeling good – we’re going to go, but I’ll be back.”

Cheryl supported Ernie as he coughed his way through the hospital and into the parking lot. When they reached the minivan, Ernie took a deep breath. “I feel better.”

Cheryl put her hand on his forehead, examined his face, “What is going on with you?”

“Dunno – but I feel better.”

Cheryl looked regretfully at the hospital, “I hate to leave her alone. Who knows when Jack is going to turn up.”

“Mom, you left the car unlocked.” Ernie said as he climbed into the passenger seat.

“I never forget to lock the car.”

Ernie held up her keys, “You left the keys on the floor.”

Cheryl got behind the wheel, “How…?”

“What’s for dinner?” Ernie said.

Cheryl looking through her purse, confused. “I never forget – what else…?” She turned to search the back seat.

“Vagina,” Ernie said.

Cheryl turned to Ernie, startled.

“What’s a vagina?” Ernie said.

“Where did you hear that word?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Try,” Cheryl said.

Ernie thought about it.

“Well?” Cheryl said.

“The Food Channel…?”

Cheryl watched him warily as she pulled out of the parking space. “Ernie, I know you know what that word means.”

“I don’t.”

“What do you think that word means – or – is?”

“Pasta?” Ernie said.

Stretched out on the floor of the backseat, Enid gripped her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh.

“What was that?” Cheryl said, turning.

Enid froze, hoping the sunshade she was partially hidden under wouldn’t give her away.

“What?” Ernie said. 

“I heard something,” Cheryl said, slowing down and looking behind her.

“Penis!
” Ernie said. 

Enid flinched at the sound of Cheryl smacking Ernie.

Cheryl said, “Now I know
you know what that means.”

“I need to talk – I got questions,” Ernie said.

“Questions are fine. Stop shouting – things,” Cheryl said, gripping the wheel.

“Mom?”

“What?”

“Can you drive while we talk?”

“Why?”

Ernie said, “Look at the road and not look at me – or around – or anything – while I ask you – stuff.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have this talk with your father? Please.”

“One would think, but – no,” Ernie said.

Cheryl pulled behind a line of cars. “All right, but – no more shouting.”

I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else.

–
John Keats

Dressed in his flawless new suit, Jack stared up the steep rocky trailhead to Camelback Mountain.

Hikers passed him, giving him a wide berth like he was a madman. He was getting every possible reaction – from laughter to contempt to astonishment at his completely inappropriate – and ridiculous – attire.

Eve stood looking down at him from fifteen feet up the trail. She looked like a sexy advertisement for outdoor life in her casual hiking gear.

Jack said, “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Try to keep up.” She bounded up the trail and out of view.

Jack looked down at his perfectly polished shoes and mentally wrote them off. Setting his jaw, he started up the trail, his shoes slipping on the packed dirt. 

Jack struggled to keep up. Not only were his shoes pinching, but he was lugging her picnic basket – thirty pounds of sliding, bumping god-knows-what.

So much for the reservations at the romantic five-star restaurant.

Jack had climbed Camelback Mountain enough times to know the route and was surprised when, close to the top, Eve gestured for him to follow her and she disappeared into a group of thorny brambles.

He stopped, unsure.

Her hand came out, pulling him past the brambles and into an alcove of rocky outcropping that seemed tailor-made for them to slip past even as the thorns snagged at his suit. He followed her, the basket making it hard going.

A thorn stabbed the back of his hand and he stopped, cursing.

“Come on,” she said, calling from somewhere ahead of him.

Pissed, he pushed through the bramble, which was thicker and seemingly impassable. He was on the verge of stopping when it opened onto a narrow trail leading upward. Jack moved cautiously forward and was startled to find himself in a thirty-foot clearing with a sheer rock face at his back and a dangerous, jagged cliff spread out in front of them. Westward, the sky burned with the colors of a magnificent sunset.

Eve stood with her back to him, staring at the horizon.

He walked to within ten feet of her, staring uneasily at the toes of her boots, which were over the edge of the cliff.

Eve said, “Laura and I came here when we were kids. Nobody ever makes that last turn on the trail – not even dogs.”

“How’d you find it?”

Eve looked back at him, a smile touched with pity at what he supposed was his stupidity. She turned back to the sunset. 

He said, “Too embarrassed to be seen with me in public, huh?”

Eve laughed.

Jack pulled off his jacket, which was crumpled and marred with sweat. He opened the basket and felt a thrill of surprise to see two bottles of wine and two glasses.

She was at his side, reaching into the basket. She pulled out a corkscrew, handed it too him with a knowing smile. “For you.”

Jack took it, unable to take his eyes from hers. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time. The sunset cast a glow about her, giving the appearance of an angel’s halo.
             

“Hungry?” Her voice was velvet slipping down his spine.

Jack nodded, feeling the strange and not unpleasant sensation of being out of his depth – and the desire to plunge in deeper. 

She poured the wine. Holding up her glass, she looked at him expectantly. 

“Us,” Jack said.

“Hmmm.” Eve drank from her glass with a mysterious smile.

After the sun disappeared and a full moon was rising, they sat on the blanket, the remains of a gourmet meal between them.

Jack had enjoyed letting her lead the conversation around the shallow end, but she had fallen silent. She was staring at the moon and, as he reached out to brush a lock of hair from her face, she sprang to her feet and walked to the cliff.

Jack’s stomach flipped with queasiness.

Her foot slipped, sending pebbles careening over the edge.

Jack lunged forward, but she had already righted herself and stood laughing at Jack, who found himself foolishly off-balance.

She reached out, steadied him.

“Jesus,” he said. “I thought you were a goner.”

“Don’t be a pussy.”

He gave her a startled look, recalling Jeni’s words. It didn’t seem in character with how he envisioned her but, somehow, he was even more intrigued.

Eve grinned, as if reading his thoughts. She picked up a rock and threw it over the cliff. She moved closer to the edge, watching intently as it fell.

They listened to the clatter of the rock on its journey downward until it fell silent at the bottom of the steep descent.

“I like edges,” Eve said. 

Jack remained silent, admiring the outline of her body in the moonlight. 

Eve glanced back at him, her eyes daring him to join her on the edge.

Jack hesitated, not wanting her to know he didn’t like heights. After a moment, he said, “Were you close with your father?”

“Stepfather,” Eve said. “I thought you were off the clock.”

“Detective Orlean invited me over – to warn me about you.”

“Detective Orlean is a fool,” Eve said. “His theory is that I’m guilty and he’s not going to rest until he sees me behind bars.” 

“What’s your theory?” Jack said, wishing she’d come away from the ledge. 

“Jeni did it.”

Jack glanced at her, surprised. He felt a stab of guilt and tried to imagine how Eve would react to finding out that he’d had sex with her sister.  

Eve said, “Why do stepdaughters kill stepfathers?”

Jack flinched, knowing the answer. 

“He never touched me. Never,
”
Eve said. “He was always watching Jeni. Following her.” She shook her head, “You never met anybody with worse luck.” Eve faced him, “Is Jeni writing a book?”

“Ask her.”

Eve walked over, held out her empty wine glass.

Jack filled it.

Eve sipped the wine, thoughtful. “She’ll embarrass herself.”

“You afraid of her embarrassing you?”

Eve smiled, amused. “She didn’t tell you? I’m perfect.”

“Nice work if you can get it.”

Eve smiled as if to say “it is.”

Jack said, “The newspapers had a field day with you – all the rumors – that you’re the killer.”

“I got the money. That made me the primary suspect – doesn’t mean I did it. People get jealous – they get ugly.”

Jack raised his eyebrows.

Eve said, “I’m not the murdering type. I prefer not to get my hands dirty.”

“Jeni likes to get her hands dirty?”

Eve shrugged. “I’m not my sister’s keeper.”

Two bottles later, they cautiously made their way down the deserted trail. He’d stopped drinking, acutely aware that Arizona was not a state where you wanted to get pulled over for a DUI.

The basket bumping against his leg, Eve clung to his arm as they made their way to his car. He opened her door and was startled when she pressed him against the car, moving her hips into him.

Eve said, “You’re going to seduce me.” It was more a statement than a question.

Jack leaned in to kiss her just as he spotted Frank’s car at on the edge of the lot. Cursing, he pushed away from her. “We got company.”

“Bullshit,” she said, gently biting his lower lip.

Jack saw the burning tip of Frank’s cigarette. He pushed her back. “I got a tail. He ain’t getting a show.”

She pulled a Queen Elizabeth, gave him a cold smile and got in the car.
             

They remained silent as Jack drove her home. He was ready to invite himself in when he pulled up to her security gate, but her door slammed and she was gone. She signaled for Horace to shut the gate on him and Jack watched as she walked up the long driveway – away from him.

Jack asked Horace, “You always here?”

“Feels like it,” he said. 

Jack pulled out, scanning the street for Frank, determined to have it out. He was gone.

Why the hell is he still following me?

Driving home, he ran a string of curses that took care of Frank’s offspring into the next century.

He’d lost Eve – for tonight – but there was always tomorrow.