Shot Girl (34 page)

"Does it matter now?" He poked the gun into my left breast. "Get out," he said. "Don’t try to run. There’s nowhere to go up here."

No shit.

I opened the Jeep door and got out, sorry that my questions hadn’t elicited an answer. That’s the way it is with reporters: Sometimes you get answers; sometimes you don’t. Not that Ned would know that, being in a classroom all day.

He grabbed my arm with one hand while still holding the gun on me and pulled me back around the Jeep and toward the cave.

The large boulders that made up the Judges Cave looked like they had been precariously placed against one another, as if they would at any moment go tumbling down the hill on the other side. The slices of space between the rocks were black holes, and the "cave" was more of a lean-to. I’d read somewhere that the judges, Goffe and Whalley, had been sleeping in the cave when they saw a panther staring at them from outside. It frightened them so much they took off and didn’t return to their hiding place.

I heard something in the crevice, but it wasn’t a panther. It was moaning. Oh, shit. I’d rather have a panther. Some drug-addict hooker probably had a john up here and they were going at it. I stopped, and when I did, Ned jerked forward, but not enough to lose control of either the gun or me.

"Maybe we should leave them alone until he can pay her and they can leave," I suggested.

Ned chuckled. "But we’re going to join them," he said.

Chapter 44

I wasn’t too far off on the "John" part. It was John Decker, aka Jack Hammer, but he wasn’t exactly enjoying himself. He was on the ground, on his side, a dirty bandanna stuffed in his mouth, and he was tied up like a pig at a roast, with a rope around his wrists that led to his ankles.

Ned used to throw parties at the beach out in the little suburb he grew up in on Long Island Sound and he could tie a pig like no one I knew. But how he managed to overcome Jack was questionable, until I saw her step out from the shadows, from behind one of the boulders.

It had to be Felicia Kowalski. Vinny’s description of her hair fit. He was wrong, though, that she wasn’t hot anymore. She was hot like Uma Thurman in
Kill Bill
, the gun completing the picture. It wasn’t a Glock—her hands were small—this looked like a .22, like mine. And then a memory kicked in. Ned standing on the corner while I had my dinner at Bangkok Gardens, a woman meeting him. It was Felicia, but I hadn’t recognized her because of the hair.

The moaning was coming from Jack Hammer. I stood corrected: This was not the kind of moaning Vinny’s neighbors had heard last night. This was an uncomfortable cry for help.

"He won’t shut up." Felicia kicked him in the back, and he grunted louder. She waved her gun at me. "What the fuck do you think you’re doing with
her
?"

Guess I wasn’t part of Felicia’s plan. But from the nudge in my side with the Glock, I could tell I was most definitely part of Ned’s.

I surveyed the environs: Jack strung up like a pig—I could make a snide comment, but it didn’t seem fair to kick him again while he was down—the entrance to the black hole in the center of the boulders lit only by a candle perched precariously on what looked like a sort of natural shelf, protected by a "ceiling" so its flame stood still as a soldier at attention despite a breeze that touched my face. A spiderweb tickled my ear and neck as Ned pushed me forward. I wanted to brush at it, but wasn’t sure how that’d go over, so I just took a deep breath.

Bad idea, as the strong scent of urine filled my nostrils. Someone had pissed here recently.

Ned chuckled. "Don’t worry." While I’d been concentrating on Felicia’s gun, Ned had somehow gotten hold of another rope. I saw the makings of a small fire then, wood stacked together, ready for lighting. Ned snapped the rope, and I snapped my head back at him. I could only guess that I’d be the next one trussed for the roast.

Problem was, I didn’t much like that idea.

"I thought it was just going to be him." Felicia indicated Jack Hammer, who let out a loud moan, his eyes wide.

"Don’t worry," Ned said again. He looked around. "Where’s the kid?"

Felicia shrugged. "Took off. Said you had something else for him to do."

Kid? I thought again about Jamond’s role that afternoon. Sounded like he’d been asked back for an encore.

"He was supposed to wait," Ned said, but he didn’t seem too worried. Jamond wasn’t innocent in this, either, so he’d have no incentive to tell the cops anything. I was screwed.

"Okay, Ned," I said through my clenched jaw, trying to keep the pain at bay but having a fucking hard time of it. "You have the upper hand here"—nothing like saying the obvious—"but I just want to know why. Why the hell are you doing this? Is it really that you think I tried to ruin you professionally or that I tried to shoot Ralph? Christ, Ralph wouldn’t have stuck by
you
. He would’ve sold you up the river. I mean, he
used
you, knew how you felt about me, got you into this shit in the first place. What did he really want from me, Ned? What was the point of the stalking? What did you get out of it?"

The candle flickered as the breeze changed direction. Now in addition to the piss, I smelled rain coming. That summer rain, the kind that we used to run around in when we were kids, the kind that took the heat away—even for a little while.

When he didn’t say anything, I cocked my head at Felicia. "What about her? Where’d she get that .22? Someone shot at him with a .22. Ned, maybe her? Maybe she saw him kiss me—maybe she was jealous." I was grabbing at straws, but as I said it, it sort of made sense.

Felicia shifted a little, but didn’t say anything. Ned’s face was unreadable; another breeze, a stronger one, had rolled through and the flame almost went out, clinging to life with a faint glow before gaining momentum after a second or two.

Jack Hammer moaned again, like he was trying to say something.

"What about him?" I asked. "Why is he dressed up for a clambake? What are you going to do with him?"

Ned snorted. "He was in the way."

"How?"I ignored Jack’s louder moan. If I let myself feel the fear that was creeping up my spine, I’d lose it. Asking questions was my job; it kept me grounded.

"He saw me," Ned said, glaring at Jack.

"Where?"

"Watching you."

"When?" Jack Hammer’s warnings to be careful now made a lot more sense. But if he knew Ned was watching me, why didn’t he just tell me?

"Tie her up," Felicia said. Maybe I’d hit a nerve with the jealousy possibility. Maybe I wasn’t off base. And maybe because I was shooting off at the mouth, I might end up dead. With Jack Hammer by my side. Talk about indignity in death.

Ned didn’t like taking an order. He frowned at her—I could see that clearly; my eyes had grown used to the dark, sort of like I was a cat, or maybe a panther—but he grabbed my arm. He fumbled a little with the rope, and I gauged the distance between Ned and me and Felicia and that gun.

Maybe three feet. Jack Hammer on the ground between us. We were just outside the entrance to the "cave." Surveying the small space, I wondered how the hell those judges hung out here for so long.

"What are you going to do with us?" I asked. "Take us somewhere, shoot us, leave us dead?"

The words didn’t scare me, sort of like by saying them out loud I was exorcising the fear. Jack’s moan now sounded rather inhuman. I wanted to tell him to buck up—I couldn’t help him if he was going to lie there and cry. Jesus, it was like something Dick Whitfield would do.

There was something seriously wrong with me. Because I just couldn’t see Ned killing me, even though he’d hit me, so I was in total denial about all this. It didn’t matter that he was making some sort of fancy knot in the rope, that the Glock was within his arm’s reach on the rock where he’d put it.

A flash pierced the sky, and a second later, a crack of thunder rumbled across the ridge. The patter of rain followed.

I had an idea.

Ned had taken my wrist and was wrapping the rope around it, pulling on my other arm to get that wrist in line so he could string them together. I stared out over his shoulder, at the cave’s entrance. Just one more. I just needed one more.

I’m not one to pray. I don’t promise God all sorts of shit so I can get shit in return. I don’t believe in that. But I do believe in fate, that everyone has his or her time, and if it’s not your time yet, you’re not going to die.

It wasn’t my time yet. I felt that so strongly, so when the next flash of lightning momentarily stopped Ned’s hands from moving over mine, I shoved him back with every bit of strength I had and ran into the summer rain, the thunder crashing into my ears as I went around the boulder to my right and stumbled down the hill as fast as I could.

A shot rang out as I ran, and I felt a searing pain not only in my jaw now but in the back of my thigh, the adrenaline pushing me past it, like I was outside my body, watching myself run in the dark through the woods. My feet pounded against boulders embedded in the ground, slipping slightly as I left the hard surface onto a softer, more pliable one.

He was following me. But unlike before, I knew it now. I heard the crunching on the dried leaves behind me—the rain might make the leaves slick, good in that it might slow Ned down, bad in that it might slow me down—Ned yelling, "Annie, for fuck’s sake, you can’t get away."

Something was dribbling down my leg. Somehow I knew it wasn’t rain, but I didn’t stop. The rope was still dangling from the one wrist, and as I glanced down to try to pull it off, I fell, rolling across something prickly and hard, fast enough so that when I hit the tree, it knocked the wind out of me.

This was all Ralph’s fault. I pulled the anger up from inside my gut and dragged myself to my feet. I had to get out of the woods and get some help for Jack Hammer and sic the cops on Ned and Felicia.

The sky lit up like the fucking Fourth of July, and Ned’s silhouette was coming toward me, his arm raised, the gun pointed—not at me. I don’t know what he saw, but he thought I was about a hundred yards away. I scrambled behind the tree I’d hit, my footsteps covered by the clap of thunder that rolled across the ridge and down into my chest.

So many questions cluttered my head, but I couldn’t think about them now. My eyes hadn’t moved from Ned’s figure, which was standing still as he surveyed the landscape, looking for me. I hoped he couldn’t hear my heartbeat, which was louder than a goddamn drum.

The lightning cracked static across the sky, breaking the darkness into sections. I waited for the rumble that followed and ran farther down the hill. I felt like I’d been running for hours until my feet finally touched pavement. The road. It wound farther down. I glanced behind me but didn’t see Ned, didn’t hear anything except the rain, which was coming down even harder now. My hair was dripping down my back; my clothes felt as if they’d been plastered on. Yeah, I was one big fucking papier-mâché project.

Even though I couldn’t spot Ned, I didn’t want to take any chances and crossed the road into the woods on the other side, hoping the brush and trees would help shield me. It was as if my feet couldn’t stop moving even if I wanted them to; I just ran.

Until one of the trees in front of me reached out and grabbed me.

Chapter 45

A tall black man standing in the woods at night could be mistaken for a tree. Really, he could. That’s just what I’d done. Mistaken him for a tree. And as I stared into the face of the Reverend Reginald Shaw, I wondered if I shouldn’t have just let Ned shoot me. I didn’t like the look on Shaw’s face.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his face close to mine, his grip on my arm even tighter than Ned’s had been.

I jerked back and shook my head, breathing so hard I was unable to speak.

I’m not used to any sort of exercise. I figured this was my quota for the next five years.

To my surprise, Shaw let go of me, and I fell back, not realizing he’d been holding me up. I sat on my ass in the wet leaves, staring up at him, wishing I could have a time machine and go back and start over. From Thursday night, when I’d seen Ralph for the first time. I would’ve handled everything so differently if I’d known.

Yeah, right. Probably not. In retrospect, everything seemed easy.

"It’s not safe out here," Shaw scolded, his voice loud.

I caught my breath and struggled to get up. He held out his hand and pulled me so I was standing. "Shush," I said, a finger at my lips. "They’ll hear you."

Shaw glanced around. "Who?" he asked, and to his credit, he did lower his voice, but it still rumbled like the thunder that seemed to be over. Even the rain had let up a bit, and the heat had started to squeeze its way back, penetrating the chill that had temporarily air-conditioned the ridge.

"Do you have a phone?" I whispered. I had no idea what he was doing out here, skulking in the woods, but I didn’t have time to stop and interrogate him about that now. If he was in on any of it, he’d probably deny having a phone.

But Shaw produced a BlackBerry—of course—from his pocket and handed it to me without question. If this was a trick, he was good.

I punched in Tom’s cell number, heard it ring, then, "Hello?"

That’s right, he wouldn’t know it was me; it was Shaw’s phone.

"Tom?"

"Annie? Where are you?"

"West Rock." I quickly told him about Ned and Felicia and Jack Hammer, the whole time more than aware of Shaw’s eyes watching me.

When I was done, Tom said, "Shaw’s with you?"

"Yeah."

"Can I talk to him?"

I handed Shaw the phone. "He wants to talk to you."

Shaw nodded, taking the phone, and turned slightly away from me as he listened to Tom. After a few seconds, he punched END and stuck the phone back in his pocket. "He said—" But he was interrupted by an explosion that slammed against our ears.