Broken Justice

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Broken Justice Page 22

by Ralph Gibbs


  “And plenty of ammo too,” she said without hesitation.

  “Tell me where they are, and I’ll let you go . . . after I make sure you’re not lying.”

  She just smiled in answer.

  He jiggled the gun. “I could just shoot you and go find them.”

  “Good luck,” she countered. “You’re having a tough time finding food in a world where food is pretty much everywhere. I can’t imagine how long it will take you to find where the guns are hidden.” Despite her fear of Wade, she was getting her confidence back. She almost had the upper hand, if not situationally, at least mentally. However, she needed to tread lightly. He was a version of insane that made him unpredictable. Wade let out a heavy sigh and rested his forehead against the back of the chair, rolling his head from side to side. Danica tensed thinking she’d pushed him too far. He took in another deep breath, and when he lifted his head to face her, he smiled.

  “How about we work together?” he said, using the gun to point to her and then at himself. Danica flinched, though he didn’t seem to notice. “I think the two of us would make a good team. Working together, we could rule this city within a few years.” Danica was incredulous. Was he serious? Looking into his face, she realized he was. He actually expected her to forget everything he’d done and work with him. Then it hit her, and the sudden realization of what this man was caused her to nearly wet herself with a terror that tore chunks from her soul. Wade wasn’t insane; he was worse. He was a psychopath.

  Now she understood why Wade’s smiles never reached his eyes and why sex meant nothing to him. For Wade, and those like him, and God how she hoped there weren’t many more like him in this world, sex and manipulation went hand in hand. They were nothing more than tools, just as a hammer and saw were tools to a carpenter. In fact, her father once told her that psychopaths were like carpenters, in that they envisioned people as stacked lumber waiting to be built into something useful. Only they wouldn’t build it themselves; they would get others to do it for them. These people weren’t motivated by love, fear, or revenge, only self-interest, self-gratification, and self-preservation.

  Danica realized the funny part about all this was that Wade probably meant it. He would be more than willing to team up with her, and they might actually work together for a time. At least until she was injured beyond his willingness to treat, which for Wade might be a mere paper cut, or she was no longer useful, which might or might not be right after she handed over weapons.

  Wade removed the top from the water bottle and took another long drink, finally allowing her to study the rest of the room, which consisted of nothing more than a kitchenette. In the kitchen area, there looked to be enough empty food wrappers and cans to start a landfill. It was almost as if he had fled her house and come straight here and never left except to go out to find food. It explained why, in a world with enough guns to fill in the twenty-three hundred-mile Mississippi River, he was empty-handed except for the pistol and the shotgun he had pilfered from her. He was as terrified of the outside world as she was of him.

  “I’m not sure how this will work,” she said as he put the top back on the water bottle. “You’ve left a path of death and destruction at every turn, and as soon as I get you food and weapons, you are just as likely to cut my throat as cut me free.”

  “I don’t deny there are trust issues we’ll need to work out,” he said smiling—which, now that she knew what he was—looked as if he was about to leap up and jab a knife through her chin and into her brain. “Based on a mutually beneficial relationship, I think we could eventually come to trust each other.” He seemed to think something over. “What can I do to earn your trust?” She was about to say to let her go, but he cut her off. “Other than cut you free.”

  If her hands were free, she would have thrown up at least one in dismay. She had to settle for rolling her eyes. Hopefully, there was just enough exasperation in her manners to make the next part believable. She suddenly went rigid, trying to act as if she were hit with an inspiration. “Bring me, Matthew.”

  “The blind kid?” he said, sounding surprised, though he probably wasn’t. “Why the hell would you want to be saddled with a blind kid? It will be more of a kindness to let him die. This world will eat him alive. If he doesn’t die now, he’ll be dead within months.”

  “If you want to work together, and honestly, I’m not totally sold on the idea, then you’ll bring Matthew here. As you said, we need to build up trust. Right now, I’m thinking you’re just saying whatever you need to say to get me to trust you, tell you where my father’s guns are, and then you kill me.” He looked like he was thinking about it but still needed a little more push. “Look, here’s the thing. You and I aren’t going to totally trust each other if we don’t work together and together doesn’t mean me tied up. If you bring in Matthew, you can use him as leverage. Just keep him close until we build up a level of trust. Who knows, despite everything, in a few years I could grow to look at you without wanting to put a bullet through your skull.”

  Wade smiled, and despite everything she knew about psychopaths, the smile looked genuine. He must have spent decades practicing.

  “Deal,” he said. “However, when I bring Matthew back, you have to hold up your end of the bargain and start building trust by getting me a rifle and a few boxes of ammunition from your house. No need to tell me where the rest are. I will, of course, hold on to the kid while you're gone.”

  She acted as if she were thinking about it. “One rifle and one box of ammunition,” she said. Wade nodded. “I think we have a deal. I’d shake your hand, but . . .”

  “I’ll cut you free when I get back,” he said. “Then you can shake my hand.” As he stood up, he pulled her handcuffs from his back pocket, and she struggled to keep from smiling. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but you said yourself we need to build trust.” Wade looked around the room for something to cuff her to, but nothing seemed sturdy enough. He looked in the small kitchen area and under the sink, but the pipes were made of PVC. He then explored the bathroom. Danica heard the clink of metal on metal; he found something. He dragged her into the bathroom and cuffed her leg to the stainless-steel water pipes behind the toilet. She let out a mental sigh of relief. She thought Wade would attach it to her wrist. What she had planned could still be done, but it would take longer. Maybe too long.

  “Even if you yank on the pipes the moment I leave, this should hold you until I get back,” he said. “It will only take me a couple minutes to fetch Matthew. We aren’t that far.” Without another word, he walked out the door.

  She heard him walking down the hall and then heard what sounded like a metal door being opened and slammed shut. As soon as she heard the door shut, she started to use one foot to remove her left shoe and then froze when she heard a noise. She lowered her head as the door opened. Wade peeked in.

  “Just checking,” Wade said.

  “Goddamnit!” she yelled. “Stop fucking around. Matthew will die if you don’t get to him. Take some fucking water with you.” Wade seemed to think about it and then went into the kitchen and pulled a water bottle from the case. A few moments later, she heard the door open and close.

  She waited a few more seconds and then used her right foot to remove her left shoe. Now came one of several tricky maneuvers. Lying on her side, she folded herself as much as she could into the fetal position, then contorted and danced her arms down over her butt. She was shaking her ass so much that if Wade were to walk in on her at that moment, he might think she was twerking the porcelain. She finally slipped her arms past her rear end, and the rest was easy, yet still awkward, as her arms were still under the cuffs and bound legs. Picking up her shoe, she pried out the key. Her hands were shaking so much that when she tried to unlock the cuffs, she dropped the key. It took her three tries to free herself.

  “Boom does the dynamite,” she said, trying to sound confident as the cuffs fell away. Wrists still bound by the heavy-duty flex cuffs, she twisted her wris
ts trying to break them, but Wade had fastened them correctly, though not as tight as was recommended. If they were tighter, she would still be twerking. Picking up her shoe again, she removed the lace. Awkwardly, she tied a slipknot on both ends and then flipped the lace backward over the top of the flex cuffs so that, when she lifted her arms, the shoelace dangled as if she were a magician showing the audience that the lace was solid. She attached a looped end over one shoe, put back on her other shoe, and then attached the second looped end to that shoe.

  Holding both feet down and lifting her arms, she increased the tension of the lace against the plastic cuffs. She started to move her feet up and down, stopped, readjusted, and started again. She increased the speed as if she were trying to start a fire with a stringed bow because, in effect, that’s exactly what she was doing. By quickly moving the shoelace back and forth over the flex cuff, she was converting kinetic energy into thermal energy that was melting the plastic, effectively cutting the restraint in half. However, because of the way the cuffs were designed, the first cut only broke the housing mechanism. The cuffs were still attached to both the wrists, but now it looked as if she were bound with a two-foot-long black strap.

  She heard a door slam. Was Wake back already?

  She pedaled her shoes as fast as she could, frantically trying to melt the straps before he opened the door. The plastic parted. She hopped into the kitchen, found a knife, and cut the plastic cuffs off her legs and what remained of the cuffs from her wrists. Her father had never taught her that. That was a technique she had learned from the Internet. It had taken her all of ten minutes to free herself. She did a quick search for her father’s shotgun but to no avail. She would have to use the knife against Wade and hoped she could take him by surprise.

  “Hello,” a male voice yelled out. “Is anyone here?” She heard the person running down the hall. “Hello. Is anyone on this floor? Make any sort of noise you can so I can help you.” Danica slowly opened the door.

  “Here,” she said, as she looked down the hall.

  The tall Latino man jumped at the sudden sound of her voice and turned to her with a pistol in his hand.

  “Shit,” she said, slamming the door shut.

  “Hey,” he said calmly. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to get you out. Look, I’m putting the pistol down and stepping back.” A moment later, he spoke again, and his voice sounded further away. “It’s okay. You can open the door.” She did. He pointed a short distance from her. “There’s the gun. Take it.” She ran to the pistol, dropped the magazine to check the load, re-inserted it, and then checked to make sure there was a round in the barrel, and the safety was off.

  “Who are you?” she said, holding the pistol at her side.

  “The name is Ruiz,” he said.

  “You look familiar,” Danica said. Ruiz wasn’t a tall man, about her height, with olive-brown skin and dark hair. He was wearing jeans and a dirty blue T-shirt. His arms and most of his neck were covered in tattoos. He was positively a gang member.

  “That’s because we’ve met,” Ruiz said. “It was a while ago. Just as the plague was spreading. You ran off two men that were trying to take my shit, and I gave you a few water bottles.”

  “I remember,” she said after a moment. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Funny thing. I saw you in your cruiser and started following you.”

  “Apparently that cruiser attracts a lot of attention.”

  “No shit,” he said sarcastically. “I saw that guy grab you, so I followed him.”

  “Why?” she asked. Gang members weren’t known for their acts of kindness.

  “I owe you for helping me. I pay my debts. Besides, I was looking for two missing girls. If he grabbed you, he might have taken them too. Is there anyone else in there with you?”

  “No one.”

  “We should leave then.”

  Danica took two steps and stopped, remembering Matthew. “No,” she said firmly.

  “No, what?” Ruiz said, coming up beside her.

  “I need to take care of Wade.”

  “The guy that kidnapped you?”

  “He’s done a lot more than that. He used to be my neighbor, and he’s responsible for at least three deaths. I will not let him hurt anyone else.” She heard a door slam shut below them. “He’s back.” She looked at Ruiz. “Do you want to help?” He shrugged. “Follow me.” Ruiz followed her back into the room. “Do you have another gun?”

  “Just the one.”

  “Hide around the corner in the kitchen. Here.” She handed him the knife.

  He looked at the small knife in disbelief. “This won’t do much against a gun.”

  “He has no idea you’re here. You’ll be able to take him by surprise. Hopefully, though, it won’t come to that.” She stuffed the pistol into her waist and ran into the bathroom as the metal door down the hall slammed shut. She quickly picked up whatever pieces she could find of the flex cuffs. Not knowing what to do with them, she tossed them in the toilet. She grabbed up one large piece and laid it over her feet and put the metal cuff over the top of her toes and then used her other foot to partially hide them, so it looked as if she were still cuffed to the pipe. She would need to wait until Matthew was clear and then, hopefully, take Wade by surprise.

  Wade cautiously opened the door and then threw it open, weapon at the ready as if expecting Danica to be waiting for him in ambush. In the bathroom and out of sight, Danica pulled the pistol and then flung both arms behind her back and rested herself against the toilet.

  “See, I told you that wouldn’t take too long,” Wade said peeking into the bathroom. Seeing her still bound, he relaxed.

  “Where’s Matthew?” she demanded, hoping Matthew was behind him.

  “I have some good news and bad news.” He leaned up against the door frame as he tapped the barrel against his leg.

  “What the hell does that mean? Where is he?”

  “The good news is he wasn’t in the car when I got there. Someone let him out, so he may not be safe, but he isn’t going to die from heatstroke, either.”

  “What’s the bad news?”

  “The bad news is I don’t know where he is,” Wade said smoothly.

  “That doesn’t sound like bad news.”

  “Not for him,” he said, pushing himself off the door. “For you. Since I can’t use Matthew against you, and you won’t tell me where your guns are without him, I have little use for you. I can’t stay awake forever. I’m still weak from this hole you put in my shoulder.” He looked at his weapon.

  “Since I don’t want to waste bullets, I guess I’ll just slit your throat and see if I can find your weapons on my own. On the other hand, if you tell me where they are . . .” He let the rest hang in the air. “No? Pity.” He pushed the gun into his waist. “I’ll be right back with the knife.” He took a step into the hall and heard a crunch. Looking under his feet, he spotted what looked like a wide piece of black plastic.

  “What the hell is . . . Oh, shit.” He looked over at Danica with shock and then went for his weapon.

  Danica tried to swing her arm around and bring her weapon up before he could draw his gun. As both brought their guns around at the same time, Danica pushed off from the toilet and let gravity take effect.

  Wade fired off two shots, with the first fired before his pistol was pointed in her direction. The bullet ricocheted off the bathroom tub and then passed through the wall behind the toilet, finding a home in the room next door. The second went through the holding tank of the toilet, splitting it in half and spilling the contents onto the floor and over her. Danica fired back, but because she was falling, her aim was off. The bullet whizzed past Wade’s right knee and lodged in the wall behind him. She fired her second shot as she hit the bathroom floor, jerking her arm up. The bullet nicked Wade’s ear before shattering the light fixture behind him spraying glass and bulb dust into the room. Wade flinched, sending his next projectile into the toilet ri
m, scattering porcelain shards into her face. She raised her arm to cover her eyes, and as a result, her next bullet didn’t make it out of the bathroom, but instead, embedded in the door frame. When she looked up, Wade was pointing the gun directly at her. It was about to be over.

  “Hey, asshole!” Ruiz yelled.

  Shocked and surprised, Wade jerked his head around. As he did, Danica relaxed, raised her weapon, and took aim. Realizing his mistake, Wade turned his attention back to Danica and blindly fired his weapon. The bullet tore through the outer portion of her shoulder, but with the adrenaline rush, she barely felt it. She turned her weapon and gently squeezed the trigger three times. The first bullet passed through Wade’s throat. As his body flew backward, the second shot entered the upper portion of his chest and angled up and out the center of his shoulder severing his spinal cord, but not before he reflexively fired off a wild shot that shattered the bathroom mirror. Her final shot hit him in the hip and lodged itself in the bone. Wade bounced off the wall and fell out of sight.

  Danica took a deep breath and then picked herself up from the wet bathroom floor and sprinted into the hallway, gun at the ready. Wade lay unmoving. Ruiz picked up Wade’s gun.

  “You okay?” she asked Ruiz.

  “You can’t shoot worth shit.”

  “I was panicked,” she said defensively. “Thanks for your help.”

 

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