Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1) (34 page)

One does not get to know that one exists until one rediscovers oneself in others.

–Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Jack stuck his eye to the hole where the back brake light had been and saw only the blur of highway. He’d felt safer behind the wheel with a gun aimed at him than he did stuffed in the trunk of a car.

At the airport, Larry O’Donnell had shoved a gun into his side and told him to get in the car and drive. Within a couple of miles, Larry had forced Jack to pull over to a deserted parking lot and made him get in the trunk where the only witness was a mangy dog. 

Damn Petunia!

She either flapped her gums to get Larry jealous or Frank Ficus had reported back to Larry before he kicked the bucket. Either way, the cat was out of the bag and the bag was in the river
– and the bag was loaded down with one angry cat scratching at a heavy-ass brick.

Jack had tried to talk to Larry but he wasn’t having it. Larry’s eyes were bloodshot and his gun hand had the tremor of somebody who wanted a drink – and bad.

From inside the trunk, Jack kicked the back of the back seat, yelling, “Pull over, Larry – before this goes any further.”

Nothing.

Jack lay silent, thinking.

He sure as hell didn’t want to be buried in this asshole’s backyard under a slab of concrete. He
had just found Eve and he wasn’t about to check out now. He couldn’t stand the thought of letting Eve go – even in death. Another person would disappear from Eve’s life – and he’d be dead. Jack pictured Larry smoking ribs and dogs on the barbecue that Larry would build on top of the concrete slab that would hide
his
body until nobody cared – or remembered.

Enid.

The last memory she’d have of her father would be him dropping her off at the airport with a swift kick in the butt and a “so long and see you later.”

How will that be any different from what my dad did to me?

He failed Enid.

Disgust a
nd shame flooded through him. Jack felt a moment of panic and then – rage. He balled himself up and slammed his feet into the trunk wall.

He let out a primal scream that went on till his lungs were empty and his throat hurt.

The car swerved.

Jack dug into his pocket, pulled out his switchblade and hacked into the back seat.

Larry might shoot him but Larry was going to have to do it on Jack’s
terms. If Larry had a plan of how this was going to go – Jack was determined to fuck it up beyond all recognition. 

Jack
howled and screamed every obscenity he could think of as he hacked at the back seat. “I’m coming to get you, motherfucker!”

The car swerved – then steadied.

Why hadn’t his dad fought for him?

Jack stabbed repeatedly, feeling the fabric give way beneath his knife. Jack screamed threats until he was breathless and slathering.

The car hit what felt like a dirt road so violently that Jack was flung into the front of the trunk where he hit his head and saw stars. After what seemed like a long time, the car stopped and Jack lay still, clenching the switchblade.

The trunk popped open, revealing a slit of light. Jack blinked, trying to adjust his eyes.
After a few moments, Jack used his foot to nudge the trunk open. 

Blue skies.

Steeling himself, Jack gripped the switchblade so that it was hidden behind his leg. He began climbing out of the trunk.

“Stop!”

Jack froze, anticipating the gunshot that was going to rip through him.

“You got me wrong,” Larry said, voice quavering.

Larry stood twenty feet from the car, his gun aimed at Jack. 

They were on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere with desert stretching for miles.

Larry looked like he was on the verge of wetting his pants.

Jack stretched his face into his best psychopath smile –like he was having the fucking time of his life.

Larry gasped like he’d seen the devil.

They stared at each other. Larry’s eyes wide with fear and Jack’s – a killer.

With a jerky movement, Larry turned and ran.

Jack watched in astonishment as Larry ran pell-mell down the long stretch of empty road.

Jack shouted, “Throw me the keys, asshole!”

Without looking, Larry hurled the keys behind him.

Jack climbed out of the trunk, and headed for where Larry had thrown the keys. It took some searching but he found them and headed back to the car.

Jack kept an eye on
Larry till he was a speck disappearing into the desert.

Once in the car, Jack gripped the wheel and looked at the
broad expanse of desert. Arizona never looked more beautiful.

I’m alive.

And I want to stay that way.

Jack started the engine and headed up the road, thinking.

Two hours later, Jack stood behind the door in Larry and Petunia’s bedroom. He’d parked the car on an out-of-the-way street and gotten in using Larry’s garage door opener that was in the car.

It was a long time till Larry came home. Jack listened to Larry climbing the stairs.

Jack stayed behind the door as Larry staggered in and collapsed on the king-sized bed covered with a floral comforter.

Jack shut the door.

Larry sprang from the bed. “Oh Jesus – !”

Jack hurled Larry against the wall, pinning him there with his hand pressed over his mouth. “Shut up, fuckhead.”

Larry’s terrified eyes darted around the room.

Jack pressed his arm into his throat, not enough to cut off his oxygen but enough to get his attention.

“Petunia – ” Larry said, voice hoarse.

Jack eased the pressure on his throat. “Did you hire Frank Ficus to follow me?”

“What kind of man tries to break up a marriage? What kind of animal are you?”

“Frank Ficus – !”

“I don’t care if you do kill me. Make a lousy joke out of me – I deserve what I get for letting a pig like you – ”

Jack shoved him against the wall so hard that he felt his own teeth rattle.

“You’re nothing!” Larry screamed.

Larry shoved forward, throwing Jack off balance and threw a punch that Jack easily dodged.

As the punch landed harmlessly in the air, Jack felt a stab of guilt.

I deserve it.

Breathing hard, Jack backed up, surprised at the guilt he felt.

Larry slipped to the floor, racked with sobs.

Jack stood a moment, unsure. “Petunia got with me – to get your attention.”

Larry looked up with wet, questioning eyes.

Jack said, “I said something once – she got mad – said you were more of a man than anyone she knew – more than me.”

“You wrecked my marriage.”

“Frank Ficus – did you hire him?”

With a violent motion, Larry spit in Jack’s face.

Jack dragged Larry off the floor and slugged him in the gut.

Larry doubled over, sunk to the floor, gasping for air. 

Jack rubbed his aching fist, hating himself. 

“Pig,” Larry said.

Jack stood for a moment, then turned to leave.

Jack drove aimlessly until he passed Warren H
ibbitt’s bar. It was a dive on Seventh Street called ‘Do Drop Inn’ – except it wasn’t an Inn. It was barely a shack.

The down-on-their-luck clientele hung over various drinks. A sixty-year-old woman dressed like she was twenty stared at Jack from the end of the bar.

Jack sat at the bar and nodded to Warren Hibbitt, who was the sole bartender. “Bourbon.”

“Ran short,” Warren said. “I’ll send you a check – next week…?” It was more a question than a statement of fact.

Jack shrugged, figuring that “one week” meant maybe never. 

Warren set up a beer for a construction worker three stools down.

“How’re things going?” Jack said, eyeing Warren.

Warren frowned. “Good. Things going good.”

“You got things straight?” Jack said, desperately wanting to hear that everything was good with Warren and his cheating wife. 

Warren shrugged, a wary look in his eyes.

Jack leaned forward, so only Warren could hear him. “You and your wife – are you back together?”

Warren’s face twisted, a dead giveaway. Warren abruptly turned, busying himself with other customers.

Jack finished his drink. Somehow, he was equating Warren and his cheating wife with Larry and Petunia. Maybe if Warren had managed to get things straight with his wife – maybe what Jack had done – could be undone…?

Fairy tales.

Jack thought about Larry and Petunia. Funny, he had never really thought about them together as a couple. Jack had never visualized Petunia with anyone but him, which was nuts because the first time he had seen her – she was with another man.

Petunia had told Jack that she and her husband ha
d an understanding. She had saidthat Larry understood that he was a wet rag in bed.

No excuse for what I did.

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers – trying to rid himself of the terrible sensation of feeling alone and –

Ashamed.

A woman’s guess is much more accurate than a man’s certainty.

–Rudyard Kipling

Bud spotted Enid sitting in the open door of the backseat of a police car on the side of the I-10. A police officer was sitting in the squad car writing his report, the wrecked taxi was in the ditch and the ambulance was pulling out as Bud pulled up.

Enid jumped up and ran toward his car. “What took you so long?” 

“What happened?” Bud said. “Why’d you tell them to call me – instead of your dad?”

Enid frowned, pushed back her hair.

Bud walked to the squad car with Enid following him. He hooked his thumb at the wrecked taxi and said to Enid, “You were in that? Are you all right?”

Enid said, “The ambulance people checked me out. They said it was a miracle I wasn’t dead.”

“They should have taken you to the hospital,” Bud said.

Officer Roundhouse looked up and nodded toward Enid, “They cleared her.”

Enid said, “They said I’m not in shock.”

Bud nodded to the wrecked car, “What about the other guy?”

“Fell on his machete,” Officer Roundhouse said.

Enid said, “I didn’t push him. He fell on it.”

“Machete?” Bud said, catching Enid’s overly innocent face. “The driver just happened to drive off the road and fall on his machete?”

“It wasn’t my machete,” Enid said.

Officer Roundhouse said, “He’ll live. He’s missing an ear though. The EMT’s weren’t quite sure how he got his ear torn off during the crash. The taxi driver claims – she bit him.”

Enid said, “I found his ear and gave it to the ambulance people so they can try to sew it back on.”

“Lovely,” Bud said.

“She’s all yours,” Officer Roundhouse nodded at Enid.

“Thanks,” Bud said, stepping away as he drove off. Bud turned to Enid, “You bit the taxi driver’s ear off?”

“I didn’t bite it. I accidently
hurt
his ear and it tore off. There is a difference.”

Bud sighed.

Enid said, “You have to help Jack. I was standing there and saw some guy kidnap him.” 

“Did you tell the police?”

“You’re the police and I’m telling you,” Enid said.

Bud said, “Tell me what happened. Be honest and don’t leave anything out.”

As Enid told what happened, Bud’s dream flashed through his mind. Enid in the red dress pointing to the volcano behind him that was going to destroy the world.

Enid said, “Didn’t you hear me? He’s been kidnapped. I got the first three letters of the license – JEX. Can’t you run a check or something?”

“Why did the taxi driver pull out a machete? And why was he chasing the other car?”

Enid shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Bud gave her a look.

Enid made a disparaging sound. “I may have led him to believe that Jack was trying to not pay him.”

“Did you stab the taxi driver with the machete?”

“I wouldn’t call it stab. More like – accidently poked.”

“You accidently poked him – with a machete? What about his ear?”

Enid hesitated and pulled out Chip’s golden boy statue from her pocket. “It was the only weapon I had so I poked it in his ear and then grabbed his ear and when the car went off the road – I held on and his head went – ” Enid waved her hand in the air. “That way.”

Bud stared at the golden boy. “That looks familiar.”

Enid pocketed it. “JEX – aren’t you going to look it up?”

Bud handed her his phone, “Call your dad.”

Enid called and left a message.

Bud led her back to his car. “I’m sure Jack is fine. What time was your flight?”

“It’s gone.”

“Is your mother expecting you?”

“Probably. Jack arranged everything – to get rid of me.”

“Call your mom – tell her you missed your flight. I’ll take you to your uncle’s house. You and your dad can work everything out later.”

“I’m done with that scumbag. And I’m not going back to Florida. I’m going to stay here and get a job.”

“You’re not old enough.”

“I’ll run away.”

“You already ran away. Now you’re running away from running away? Isn’t it time to face your problems? You’re not a kid anymore.”

Enid glanced at him in surprise. “That’s right – I’m not a kid.”

“You hungry?”

“Big-time.” Enid sighed. “I think I stink.”

“You’re not a bad kid – you don’t stink.”

“No, I mean I need a shower. I stink.”

Bud took her to ‘America’s Taco’ on Seventh Avenue where they found a place in the shade and ate carne asada tacos.

Enid said, “You gonna catch whoever killed Jeni?”

“Gonna try,” Bud said, mouth full.

“I think Eve did it,” Enid said.

“You don’t like her?”

“You
think she did it, don’t you?”

Bud smiled. “Guilty.”

Enid said, “Can’t we do a sting or something? Like in the movies?”

Bud’s cell rang. He answered it and listened with widening eyes. He stood up, alarmed. “Don’t do anything. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes – hang on.” He hung up. 

“What’s going on?” Enid said.

“I’ll have someone pick you up and take you back to your uncle’s.”

Enid started to protest but Bud interrupted. “Wait here. You run away, I’ll ship you back to Florida myself.”

Bud bounded to his car, Larry’s voice ringing in his ears as he threatened to blow his brains out.