by Nicole Snow
Close to my age, I’d guess. A new recruit in the Pearls, maybe. Young and unseasoned.
I press the advantage. “Is this your full-time job? Or are you a cop, too? Cop by day, thug by night?”
He doesn’t answer.
Brent’s four-wheel drive truck climbs the terrain better than the cars, but we're still traveling faster than we should. I hear rocks scraping the undercarriage. We hit a rut so hard, the entire vehicle jumps.
“Should have buckled up!” I let out a false laugh. “Don’t want to die prematurely, do we?”
He flashes a glare my way.
I don’t mind irritating him. Not in the least. “I’m a preschool teacher. And an art teacher.” I kick the dash again, watching as the glovebox pops open, then kick it shut.
Yep, it’s a gun.
“This kind of shit doesn’t happen to preschool teachers, you know. I’d never even had a ticket until your lovely boss pulled me over. Perfect driving record, gone, just like that! You got any kids? Think this sort of thing ever happened to their teachers?”
“Shut. Up!”
“I bet it hasn’t. How old are they? They know what you do? What about your parents? Do they know you're making them oh-so-proud?”
“Shut the fuck up!” He's roaring.
“What's that saying they used to have on all those police ride along rescue shows?” I’m working at getting a fingernail inside the clip of the zip-tie. Self-defense classes showed us how to do that, how to snap off the little tab inside, at just the right angle. “Crime doesn’t pay, right? Remember?”
His jaw clenches as tight as his hands grip the wheel. We’re losing ground on the car ahead of us. That’s flustering him almost as much as my constant chatter.
“Better step on it, brah. Don’t want to piss off your boss, do you?”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up, you fucking evil bitch!”
“Evil? Yeah, fuck you.” The zip-tie loosens. “How long have you been working for him? Does he have Preston’s body stored in your freezer? Bet your wife loves that.”
We stop so fast we both fly forward. My leg on the dash stops me from hitting it, but he smacks the steering wheel hard.
“See what you did now, you whore?”
Pain explodes on the side of my face. It’s a hot moment before I realize he's slapped me.
I was pissed before. Pissed and scared.
Now, I’m livid, and know I don’t have much to lose.
Dawson isn’t going to let any of us out alive. “I wasn’t the one driving, you stupid SOB. It’s no wonder Dawson put you bringing up the rear. He knew you wouldn’t keep up.”
He's laying on the gas, but we’re hung up. Stuck. I hear the tires spinning, rocks flying everywhere.
Brent’s truck rounds a bend at the bottom of the hill, slipping out of sight, and the other car is about to enter the bend, too.
“You better see what we’re caught on.” I nod toward the disappearing car. “Or you'll never know where to go. Won’t have anyone to follow soon.”
He slaps the steering wheel. “Fuck!”
Throwing open his door, he leans out, looking beneath the car before hitting the gas again. He curses again and then slams the car in park before climbing out.
I wait until he’s at the back of the vehicle before I pull my hands out of the zip-tie and grab the gun.
The car rocks like a seesaw from the way he’s pushing it from behind.
“Poor bastard, should have put it in neutral. Not park,” I mumble, quickly sliding over into the driver’s seat. I pull the door shut and hit the lock button.
He sees that and comes running up to the side of the car. Praying for the biggest break of my life, I drop the car into drive, slam my foot down on the gas pedal, and close my eyes against the gun he's pulled out.
The explosion of his shot is deafening.
16
Fires Above and Below (Brent)
The sound of a gunshot has me slamming the brakes. I can see one car behind me, the one with Dawson in it, but the other hasn’t made it around the first switchback.
“Keep driving,” the motherfucker beside me says.
His gun never moves from the side of my head, and I want to break the bastard’s arm like a dry stick.
I hit the gas, shaking my head.
It's been poisoned. My mind.
The idea of Blue being shot. Hurt. Begging for help.
Makes it hard to breathe. My lungs blaze. So does my rage.
I take the next switchback so fast the truck skids, back-steering it straight. Knowing I only have a few seconds before the other car’s headlights will round the corner, I have to act.
Right the fuck now.
The cliff is on the passenger side. Keeping one hand on the wheel, I grab hold of the hand he has wrapped around the butt of his gun and use it to smack him in the face.
The weapon goes off, blowing out the passenger’s window.
I smack him with it again.
Again.
Fucking again.
Warmth, his blood, splatters my hand. I ram metal into his face three more times, all the while keeping the truck hugging the hill side of the road.
When his grip loosens, I take the gun away. Drop it in my lap, then stretch across him and grab the door handle.
Fuck. It won’t open. Locked.
I use my knee to steer in order to hit the unlock button. The door opens, and I give his shoulder a push.
He screams, tries reaching for the door. I stomp the gas like a madman, swerving toward the cliff. My tires slide on the loose gravel. I swerve back at the very last second.
The door knocks him against the truck. I make the truck go jagged again, as close to the edge as possible, without throwing us open.
It's enough. The door flings wide open and this time, when it flies back, it slams shut.
Empty. Asshole, gone.
I check the the rear-view mirror, and side mirrors, but don’t see a body.
One down, three to go.
If that shot I heard hurt Blue – if it was even aimed at her – I won’t leave a single Pearl alive in the entire fucking state.
She’s not dead, though.
I know she’s not. My heart wouldn’t still be beating if she was.
I have to press on, get to the shack, eliminate the others before I can go back for her.
My eyes are scalding hot. My chest about to explode.
Blue’s smart. Real smart.
A survivor. Like me.
That’s why we're so good together. Two of a kind. In some ways.
In others, we’re complete opposites, which makes us good for each other.
The truck bounces and skids as I take the last corner. The hill's downward slope is smoother, and I lay on the gas for the short straightaway.
Look behind me before taking the next corner. One set of headlights. Has to be Dawson.
Natalie has to be terrified. I shouldn’t be thankful to have pulled Cleo into this, but I’m glad she’s with her. That has to help.
Dawson has so much to pay for, threatening my baby girl.
So fucking much.
Stay focused, I tell myself. Focus on what has to happen, what has to be done.
I take the last corner and then bounce over another pit in the road. Stomping on the gas, I make a beeline for the shack, thankful I’ve left one bomb under the lumber and boxes in the shed. It's a last ditch measure I'll have to use tonight.
Its detonator is hidden on the top of the door frame. The other triggers, the ones for the bombs I’d buried along the road in the valley, are in the backpack.
The road can’t be seen from the shack, so I go over the placement of each bomb in my head, knowing I’m on my own. The Grizzlies won’t be here yet, but the Pearls are already down there. Possibly dozens of them. A small army of cold blooded killers coming to save their friend, Officer Prick, and destroy the evidence that might flay them all alive.
Dawson wouldn’t be here if t
hey weren’t close behind. He counts on backup.
He's where my focus has to stay. On him. On elimination.
The trees that shelter the shack come into view and I hit my bright lights, scanning the area for vehicles or movement. Nothing.
I park on the north side of the shed, so Dawson will only see the tailgate, and then jump out.
Time to run. There's barely a minute left.
Snatching the detonator off the door frame, I circle back, grabbing the backpack. After pulling out my last gun, I stuff it in my holster, keeping the one from Dawson’s man in my pocket, and then I run out to the trees and hide the backpack.
When the time comes, I’ll have to make it to the top of the little knoll at the end of the tree grove to see the road. I'll know when to trigger the explosions. My jaw tightens.
Headlights wind closer as I run for the shed. I glance up the hill, searching for a second set.
Something's up there, glistening in the moonlight. But it’s not moving, and there aren’t any lights.
I don’t know what to make of that. What to think, except that Blue's still alive.
I refuse to think anything less.
Can’t think otherwise.
I camp just inside the door, where I can watch the car roll to a stop, but Dawson can’t see me.
Come on, you fucking demon shit. I'm waiting.
The passenger door opens. Finally, he steps out. “Albright!”
Silence echoes. He's calling the dead man's name.
“Albright!” A moment later, Dawson says, “Shit. Get them out of the back!”
I watch as the driver gets out and opens the back door. Cleo climbs out first and then helps Natalie out. Wrapping her arms around Nat, Cleo keeps her tight against her as she sidesteps away from the car.
“Eden!” Dawson shouts.
I step into the doorway. “Here.”
“Where’s Albright, you fuck?”
I shrug. “No lights in here. Got lost, maybe.”
“Get in the car,” he tells the driver, Bastard Phil. “Pull it up to the doorway.”
I don’t dare move, but I glance at Cleo.
She whispers to Natalie, who nods.
There's really no place for them to run. The trees aren’t that thick, mostly overgrown brush. Rocks everywhere. Plus there could be snakes inside. Spiders, scorpions, stinging ants.
But I need them as far away from the shed as possible when I hit the detonator.
As the driver pulls the car forward, Dawson swings around, pointing his gun at Cleo and Nat. “You two stay right where you’re at.”
Cleo’s head snaps up, and in that moment, I see where Blue gets her grit.
“And just exactly where do you expect us to go, Captain Dawson?” Cleo says. “Take a little jaunt up here in the hills? And please, stop waving that thing at us! You should be ashamed of yourself. Pointing a gun at a defenseless child.” She steps in front of Nat. “Have you no pride? None whatsoever? You call yourself a man?”
Dawson sneers at her before turning back to me. “Now, where’s Albright? Where?!”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe he’s taking a leak.”
“For a man who's about to die, you’re awfully calm.”
No, I’m not, but I’m playing the part well.
I used to have to play it often. Zen-like calm masking an urge to hurt. That’s how I got the nickname Monk, and that's who takes over now. “I could say the same about you, Dawson.”
“Bullshit,” he says, stepping closer. “I'm not the one dying tonight.”
I nod. “Yeah. Dying would be too good for a fucking limpdick prick like you. You’ll get what you deserve. Prison time. Sleeping next to convicts you put there. Some who used to be on your payroll.” I hold up a hand. “I know you killed anyone who saw your face. Slit their throats.”
Dawson’s eyes widen.
“I’ve seen the pictures, Dawson. Grisly shit. All the men you promised to pay for hauling those young girls out of Mexico. Instead of money, they got their throat’s cut. Bled to death right there at your feet.” I shake my head, mainly to keep his attention on me as Natalie and Cleo inch their way backwards. “Did you think I’d just turn them over to you, idiot?” I let out a sarcastic laugh.
Now, his eyes are huge.
“There’d be no fun in that. No chess match. No kings. No queens. No pawns. No fun.”
The gun in his hand shakes like a rattle.
I smile. “It’s been five long years since Davey died. Pictures can be copied a lot of times. Sent many places.”
Dawson shakes his head. “Enough! Don’t fucking try me, Eden. You're a dead man. And if anyone but you has copies, I’d have caught wind of it by now. Just like I’d have heard about you snooping around to see if I’d filed the OFP, or if Graves' body was really found. There’s nothing that happens in Phoenix I don’t know about.”
“Whatever. Just wanted you to know I've been snooping around.” Movement catches the corner of my eye. At first, I think it’s Bastard Phil, but he’s still behind the wheel.
I keep my eyes on Dawson while trying to make out what’s moving. “Wanted you to wonder where Davey put those pictures he took.” My heart slams into my throat as I realize it’s Blue. Sneaking up the road. She’s crouched low, apparently unhurt. Thank God almighty.
“Other than the one on the front page of the paper, I mean. Where you declined to talk about the cameras you had installed on the border. Why was that? Afraid you might be recognized? That’s when you had to move your crossing points. Found a new place to cross where there were no cameras not under your control.”
I pretend to glance over my shoulder while I’m really getting a better look at Blue, just to make sure it's her. Cleo must notice, too, because she and Natalie are slowly inching backward.
Further and further. A little bit more and they’ll be in the clear of debris.
Thank God again.
“Everything Davey left behind is in this shed,” I say. “I boxed it up real neat. Put it out here. Of course, at the time, I didn’t recognize you. Didn’t know you till you hired me to start cleaning up your messes.” I lower my voice. “Bloody, filthy, evil fucking messes. But your signature was on every one of them.”
“Phil!” Dawson shouts. “What the fuck are you still doing in that car? Get inside that shed! Tell me what’s in there.”
The driver jumps out and storms past me. I regret not running Bastard Phil through the throat with his knife the day I decided to tell him to fuck off. Maybe we wouldn't be standing here.
“Watch for snakes,” I tell him. “Nasty way to go.”
“Fuck you,” he snarls. “You're not so tough when you're outgunned, Monk.”
Just wait, asshole, I think to myself.
I step out of the doorway and around the opposite side of the car from Dawson.
“Hold it right there, Eden,” he says, swinging his gun at me.
I hold up my hands. “I was just giving him more light.”
“What’s in there, Phil?” Dawson asks.
“Can’t tell for sure, but it looks like...a stack of boxes? Lots of 'em.”
“Check them. Now!”
I glance through the doorway, see how close to the pile Phil is while sticking my hand into my coat pocket. I wrap my hand around the detonator and then count to three before I yell towards Cleo and Nat.
“Get down! For God's sake, keep your heads covered!”
Four lives.
Three seconds.
Two screams.
One chance.
Punching the button, I hit the ground. Barely start crawling under the car trunk before there's a noise like the end of the world.
The explosion rocks the mountain. From where I’m at, I can see where Cleo and Nat took cover behind a boulder, and how Cleo’s body has completely covered Nat. Blue's on the ground too, closer now.
While the debris falls, I roll out from under the car. Though I’d love nothing more than to kill
the bastard with my bare hands, I take aim at Dawson running for the trees, and shoot him in the knee.
Down he goes. Now.
I jump up and run. Getting to him before he has a chance to roll over, I kick the gun out of his hands.
Jerking both his arms, I twist them behind his back. “Shut the fuck up,” I tell him.
“Yeah, you fucking cry-baby!”
The sound of her voice has me looking over my shoulder, where I see the most beautiful sight of my life. Blue.
She’s smiling. “Hold him! I’m sure there's a few spare zip-ties in his car. I’ll get them.”
“Sure are!” Cleo shouts. “Right in the back seat. They thought they'd put one on me, but let me tell you, I told them Cleo Derby doesn't chafe her wrists for anything.”
Blue returns within seconds. It just seems like hours. So does the time it takes her to zip-tie him. She not only binds his wrists, she ties his fingers, too. Making sure there's zero chance the evil fuck ever slips out.
“Are you about done?” I finally have to ask.
“Almost. He won’t have a chance in hell of getting loose when I’m through.”
Cleo and Nat arrive while Blue stays busy – she’s moved on to using a zip-tie to hold a rag in Dawson’s mouth.
“Daddy!” her little voice sets me off all over again.
I lift Natalie into my arms and hug her so tight.
So. So tight.
“You okay, baby girl? Did they hurt you? Tell me!”
“Yes, Daddy, I’m fine. Cleo didn’t let them touch me.” She kisses my cheek and then points to Dawson. “That man told us you were hurt and that we had to come with him to see you. I thought he was a cop. He showed us his badge.”
“He is, baby girl. Unfortunately, sometimes bad people hide behind good things.”
“That’s what I told her, too.”
I put Nat down and hug Cleo. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for tonight.” I kiss her cheek before taking a step back and asking, “How do you manage to look like you just stepped out of a magazine even after hours of being held hostage?”
It's true. Her clothes don't have a wrinkle, and there isn't a single hair out of place on her head.
“A woman never tells all her secrets, Eden.” She winks and then puts a hand on Natalie's shoulder as they both step back. They're clearing a path.