Shoot the Woman First (17 page)

“Is that right? Now I'm interested,” Blue said. “And you're right,
chica,
he's a fuckup, but so what?”

“I know he's been dealing for you. I know he owes you money. He can't pay it now, and probably won't be able to anytime soon. Squeeze him as much as you want, it won't make any difference.”

“That's his business, isn't it?”

“Yours, too, if you want to get paid. Here's the offer. I pay you what he owes, plus a little extra for your troubles. You cut your losses, walk away.”

“Where's the money?” Jackson said. “Let's see it.” She ignored him.

“Keep talking,” Blue said.

“There's nothing else to say. It's a one time only offer. Tomorrow I'm gone.”

“Man, what is all this shit?” Jackson said. “This is crazy talk.”

“Maybe not so crazy,” Blue said. Then to her, “You know how much he owes?”

“In the ballpark.”

“Ballpark, huh? Maybe it's a bigger ballpark than you think.”

She shook her head. “You wouldn't trust him with serious money. You're no fool. You've dealt with people like him before.”

“Yeah, I have.” He nodded at Roy. “How'd this guy get so lucky, get a fine lady like you looking after him, paying his debts?”

“It's not about him.”

“The woman, then. Or no, the little girl, right? You family or something?”

“No.”

“What, then? You're just doing a good deed?”

“I'm making you a deal. Question is, are you smart enough to take it?”

Jackson leaned forward. “This bitch needs to get slapped, Blue. Why we listening to this?”

Blue looked at Roy, then back at her, said, “Ten thousand.”

“No way it's that much,” she said. “Not for O-Bombs. I heard two, three at the most.”

“Yeah, where'd you hear that?”

“Fuck this,” Jackson said. He got up and went into the kitchenette. They heard him opening and closing cabinets.

“Five,” she said. “And we're all of us squared. How's that?”

“Five?” Blue said. “What about my time and trouble? You think I like having to come out to this shithole every week, track down our friend here to get my money? You don't think my time's valuable?”

“Six, then. For your trouble. That's probably twice what he owes you, enough to cover any vig.”

“Then let me guess, we don't take your deal, you go to the law, right? That what you gonna say next?”

“No.”

“Or maybe we take the deal, and you go to the law anyway.”

“I wouldn't do that. A deal is a deal.”

Jackson came out of the kitchen, shaking a box of graham crackers.

“Shit's stale, bro,” he said to Roy. “This the same box as last time?”

He leaned in the doorway, took out a cracker, bit off a piece, made a face, and dropped it back in the box.

“How do I know what you'd do or wouldn't do?” Blue said. “You say you're gonna give me six grand in cash. I could be setting myself up. You might be the G yourself, all I know.”

“I might be.”

“So make it seven.”

“Make it six.”

“You got a way about you, I'll say that. What are the chances we get to know each other a little better?”

“I don't trust this broad,” Jackson said. He dropped the box on the floor. “I don't trust her at all.”

“No, she's okay,” Blue said. “She just thinks she has to act tough to get by, right?” He looked at Crissa. “But maybe under all that, not so tough after all.”

“What's your answer?”

“Six it is. When can you get it?”

“Tonight. Like I said, after tomorrow I'm gone.”

“You're not gonna stick around, see if we hold up our part of the deal, lay off your friend here?”

“He's no friend of mine,” she said. “But yes, I trust you. I'll have to, won't I?” Lying.

“Then I guess we got a deal,” Blue said. He stood.

“Ten o'clock tonight,” she said. “Here.”

“I don't need to tell you, if there's cops around, or I see any shit at all I don't like, it'll be bad fucking news for these people. The little girl, too. Even if it's some vice cop busting a tranny hooker downstairs. I see law around, I walk, and you deal with the consequences.”

“Understood. One thing.” She tilted her head at Jackson. “Don't bring him.”

“Jacky? He's harmless. He just likes them a little young, is all. He'll find himself another girlfriend soon.”

She felt a flush of heat in her face, a tightness in her gut.

Blue looked at Roy, said, “Look like
chica
here saved your ass.”

Roy didn't respond. Blue looked at Jackson, said, “Come on, hoss. We got other stops to make.”

She moved away from the door. Jackson eyed her as he went past

“Tonight,” Blue said. “I'm looking forward to it.” They went out.

After a moment, she followed them onto the balcony, watched as they went down to the motorcycles, climbed on and kickstarted the engines. Their exhaust blew leaves and grit off the blacktop.

They wheeled the bikes around, headed for the exit. Neither wore a helmet. As they waited for a break in the traffic, Jackson looked back. He made a pistol with his right hand, pointed it up at her.

Blue pulled out onto the street, sped away, Jackson following. She listened to the roar of their engines as it faded.

Roy came out behind her.

She turned to him and said, “Pack.”

*   *   *

She took them to another motel a mile away, got them checked into a second-floor room, paid cash in advance. Everything they had was in two suitcases and a black garbage bag with a red twist-tie.

Haley sat on one of the beds. She'd taken the Barbie out of its box, was combing its hair with a pink plastic comb. Claudette sat beside her. Roy paced.

Crissa nodded at the suitcases. “That's it, huh?”

Claudette rubbed a bare arm. “We had to leave a lot behind when we left the house. Traveling light, I guess.”

“She didn't have any more dolls? Toys?”

“Things get lost along the way. You know the way kids are.”

Roy said, “We need to talk about all this. Now.”

“Right,” Crissa said. “Let's take a ride. We'll pick up some food, bring it back.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant. We'll talk in the car.”

To Claudette, she said, “Don't leave the room. If something comes up, call me on the cell. We won't be long.”

Haley didn't look up. She was combing the doll's hair with careful concentration, as if no one else were there.

On the stairs, Crissa let Roy get ahead of her. When they reached the bottom, she said, “Hey.”

He turned. He was standing in front of an alcove with vending machines and an icemaker.

“Yeah?” he said, and she straight-armed him in the chest, drove him back against the soda machine, rocked it.

“What the fuck?” he said.

“I ought to let them kill you.”

He came forward, and she shoved him back again. She set herself, wondering if he'd come at her. Instead, he took another step back, rubbed his shoulder. Behind him, the ice machine clattered and hummed.

“Answer me now and answer me straight,” she said. “Did either of those two ever touch Haley?”

“No.”

“Look at me. You never handed her over, some week you were short on what you owed?”

“I'd never do that.”

She moved toward him, fighting the instinct to close the distance quick, hit him as hard as she could. He retreated until his back was against the ice machine.

“You ever leave them alone with her?” she said.

“No, I swear.”

“But you thought about it, right? Using her to get you out of trouble, save you from a beating? Because she's not your daughter anyway, right?”

“I screwed up, I know. But I wouldn't do that.”

“I hope you're telling the truth. Because if I find out you're not—”

“Ask Claudette. You think she'd let me do something like that?”

“You two, I don't know what to think.”

When she turned away, he said, “What are we going to do?”

She looked back at him. “About what?”

“About the money. About tonight.”

“I'll worry about that,” she said. “Get in the car.”

 

SIXTEEN

At nine o'clock, she was parked at the Sunoco station, headlights and engine off. The lights in 216 were on, the curtain drawn. A chill in the air, and no one out in the parking lot. She could hear muffled music behind one of the second-floor doors, knew it had to be loud inside. That was good.

She clenched and unclenched her fingers inside the gloves, the adrenaline working in her already. There was a sourness in her stomach, the acid taste of bile in her throat.

At nine thirty, a beat-up Dodge with a dented passenger door rolled into the lot, Jackson driving, Blue beside him. They'd left the motorcycles behind. Too recognizable, too noisy, for what they'd come to do.

They circled the lot slowly, then drove back into the service alley, parked beside the Dumpster, killed the lights and engine.

They'll sit there for a while, she thought, keep an eye out in case it's a setup, see if there's anyone around who doesn't belong. She saw the flare of a match inside the car, the glow of a cigarette.

She took a deep breath, held it, tightening her hips and stomach, gripped the wheel to steady her hands.

Just before ten, they got out of the car, stood there talking. A cat raced out from behind the Dumpster, crossed their path, and disappeared into high weeds.

When they moved into the light at the base of the stairwell, she saw Blue had a short-barreled revolver in his hand. He opened the cylinder to check the loads, closed it again, said something to Jackson. They started up the stairs.

She let out her breath. You should drive away, she thought. Go back to the hotel, get the rest of the money and your things, buy a train ticket, head north, head home. The smart thing. What Wayne would do. No percentage in staying here. But then there was the girl …

They came out of the stairwell onto the second-floor walkway, taking their time, being quiet about it. She'd wedged a folded matchbook into the strike plate of 216, so the door would open with a push. She wanted them inside the room. It would give her more time.

On the seat beside her was a manila envelope thick with cash—six thousand dollars in banded bills. She'd sealed it with rubber bands. The envelope went into the inside pocket of her dark zippered jacket. Then she reached behind for the aluminum baseball bat on the floor. She'd bought the bat and jacket at a sporting goods store on the way here.

She'd turned off the courtesy light, so the car stayed dark as she got out. She let the door close without latching, started across the lot.

There was a shadowed area between the motel wall and the Dumpster, and she waited there, picturing Blue and Jackson up in the room, angry, going through closets and dressers, realizing they were gone for good.

She heard the door open again, boot heels on the walkway above her. Fast, not caring about noise now. They came down the stairwell, Jackson in front. She saw the dull glint of the gun in his left hand, another revolver.

When he reached the bottom step, she moved away from the wall. Jackson said, “Hey, Blue, here she is—” and then he saw the bat.

He got his left hand up as she swung. The bat cracked into his elbow, sent the revolver flying across the blacktop. He doubled with pain, and then Blue was coming down behind him, pushing him out of the way, gun up.

She swung, aimed for the outside of his left knee, felt the impact all the way to her shoulders. The leg flew out from under him, and he went down hard. She swung at the gun, missed, and got his wrist on the backswing. The gun hit the wall, landed at her feet. She kicked it toward the Dumpster, turned to meet Jackson coming at her.

She feinted at his head. When he raised his right arm to block it, she checked her movement, dropped her shoulder and swung hard into his ribs on the left side, felt them crack. He bent, and she sidestepped and swung low, laid the bat across his shins. He cried out, went down.

Blue was on his knees now, crabbing toward the stairs to pull himself up. She brought the bat down on his right shoulder like an ax. He grunted, tried to roll away and cover up. Behind her, Jackson was moaning, “You bitch. You fucking bitch.”

She went back to stand over him. She was breathing hard.

“You touch that little girl?” she said.

“What?”

“I said, did you touch her?”

“Fuck you.”

“Wrong answer,” she said, and swung the bat across his left knee. He screamed, gripped his leg, rolled onto his side, rocking slowly back and forth.

Blue had worked himself into a sitting position, his back against the stairs. His right arm hung useless. He grinned, his teeth outlined in blood. He'd cut something inside his mouth when he'd fallen.

She turned to him, had to catch her breath before she could speak. “I'd tell you to stay away from those people, but it wouldn't make any difference, would it?”

He shook his head, spit blood at her. She stepped back to avoid it.

“Didn't think so,” she said, and swung the bat into his left ankle. He rolled, tried to cover his head, and she used the bat on his body twice more, then backed away, dizzy and reeling.

She looked back at Jackson. He was still on the ground, whimpering, tears on his face. She tossed the bat away. It clanged and rolled on the blacktop. She pulled the envelope of cash from her pocket, dropped it near Blue's head.

“My part of the deal,” she said. “You're paid off. No need to come around here anymore.”

She found the revolvers, unloaded them, dropped the shells into a storm drain. The guns went into another drain twenty feet away. Still breathing hard, she walked back to the gas station, Jackson crying softly on the ground behind her.