“I care.” He said it absently. He got up and brought out another of those abominable dinners, poked around in it, pushed it aside. “Not very good atall.”
“But Jimmy! Sure and twas no fault of y’r own. Ye provided well, but the freezer was made too small.”
He brightened a little. “Aye, ye said it. May’ap I should have paid the money for an apartment with a cookstove.”
“Ye mean with groceries, that we might have proper meals. How I’d love that! And especially, a good Irish breakfast! And I guess y’rself might also enjoy eating well.”
“That I would. But we have aught but that microwave.” He stared sullenly at the soggy food.
“Ah, ye can make quite a satisfactory breakfast from scratch using the microwave. And tis faster. Ye cannae do steaks, of course, but pork chops come out good.”
“And lamb chops?”
“Aye, if ye can find them. Stores around here do not much carry lamb or mutton.”
“Then I suppose I should go to market. We need a list.”
I’ve nae pencil nor pen. Has y’rself?”
He scowled. “I s’pose we mought both go.”
She leaned across the table, took his cheeks in her hands, and kissed him as passionately as her revulsion allowed. “Ah, Jimmy me love! Real food! How fine it all sounds!”
He grasped her wrist and twisted, painfully. “If we were to go to the market, would ye solemnly promise y’ll not run away?”
She gazed into his eyes. “I most solemnly promise I shall not run off.” He released her wrist and she sat back in her chair. “Mostly for I know as a fact that ye’d kill me if I tried.”
“Get in the car.”
Her whole being sang! Quickly, before he had time to think otherwise, she slid into the seat and he slammed the door. There were her shoes on the floor. She slipped into them. How odd. No panties, no bra, just her housedress and shoes. He got in; the motor coughed and started. Her heart soared, buoyed on hope. When he backed out of the garage her eyes burned from the sudden sun.
“I be not accustomed to the sun. But me eyes will get used to it, I’m sure.”
She watched street signs without obviously doing so. They were apparently still in the city but in a place she’d never seen. He pulled into a Basha’s lot and parked near the entrance.
She sat and let him open her door. Do not look too eager. He was obviously unaccustomed to niceties; he waited impatiently, then caught on and opened the door.
They took a cart inside. He pushed it and she laid a hand beside his. “In the section with the paper plates, they have picnic supplies. Let us purchase a packet of plastic forks.” She giggled. “Which, as y’r own dear mum pointed out, were invented well after fingers.”
He grinned and led the way to the meat case.
“Bacon or sausage?” she asked. “Both do well in the microwave.”
“Sausage. This stuff, the pork sausage.” He picked up a tray package and dropped it in the cart.
She looked at it a moment, then at him. “Jimmy, thank ye so much for bringing us here. Good food, what a treasure.”
“Where are the eggs?”
“Dairy case, near the produce. Here is the bread. What sort of bread shall we have? You pick.”
He surveyed the selection. “Not that stuff. We had that in boarding school. Here we go. This.” He tossed a loaf into the cart.
She stayed close to him as she waxed enthusiastic about their menu. She touched him physically now and then, in part so that he would assume possession of her, and in part to make him think she was emotionally close. “Let us get potatoes and tomatoes and we’re done.”
They picked up a dozen eggs and continued to the produce aisle. Suddenly he grabbed her arm in a painful squeeze. “Garda!”
She glanced toward where he was looking . Two men had entered and were cheerfully choosing some items, no doubt supplies for the firehouse. She airily flicked her hand. “They be aught but firemen, Jimmy, nae Garda. The Garda in this country all carry pistols, every one of them. These two men have uniforms and arm patches, aye, but no guns.” And she turned her attention back to the tomatoes.
“All the same, we’re leaving.”
“Please, one moment; are these all right?” She held up two roma tomatoes.
“Fine. Come on.” He gripped her arm again, painfully.
“As ye wish.” She stopped cold. “Coffee! We were speaking earlier of coffee. Tis not morning without coffee. Just a jar of instant will do.”
And those two firefighters were coming out of the next aisle over.
She gauged distances, paused, then walked swiftly to the nearest one. True to her pledge, she was not running anywhere. She was walking. “I am Bridgid Rodriguez and that man kidnapped me.”
The fellow’s eyes went wide. For a long fearful moment she was afraid he would not help her. But then he seized her and dragged her, ushering her swiftly toward the doors.
Behind her, Stover was screaming, “You bitch! You promised! I’ll kill you, I swear I’ll kill you!” She heard the other firefighter’s boots running, no doubt chasing Stover.
There was their fire truck right next to the door in the do-not-park-fire-lane; they were out exercising their pumper today. Her rescuer unlocked the door and she scrambled up onto the seat before he had it open all the way.
She slammed and locked it as he ran for the driver side. She leaned way over and unlocked his door. He leapt into the driver’s seat and twisted the key. “Where is he parked?”
“That next aisle, that white rental with the blue Alamo sticker. Ye see it?”
“I see it. Now I guess he’ll just have to call a taxi.” He pulled into the next aisle, blocking the rental in even as he was calling dispatch. “I have that Rodriguez woman who was abducted! Basha’s Southgate.” He sounded excited, happy, even jubilant.
Dispatch responded and promised police. Moments later a very distant siren growled up the scale.
She could hardly wait for them to stop talking. Finally, “Please! Joe Rodriguez. Me husband, Joe. Is he alive?”
“Yes, ma’am, the last I heard.”
“Thank…” but she was too choked up to speak. She buried her face in her hands and started sobbing.
And exactly as Joe would have done, her rescuer gathered her to himself and held her as she wept.
Chapter 11 Bridgid Flaherty Rodriguez
Tommy watched the proceedings with a mix of fascination and pride. The pride was in how well Bridgid was handling this questioning session in Jerry’s office. The office door stood open to the world, but it was only Jerry, Tommy, a team from Legal, and the chief. One of Legal’s minions was recording the session on tape as well as with one of those big, unwieldy video cameras, for this was an official inquiry, one of many to come.
And the fascination came of the detailed narrative of the crime she was providing, from the odor of chloroform through being brought to the department in the fire truck. She described the scenes clearly and in cold, abstract, clinical terms, right down to the perp’s problem with premature ejaculation, which he didn’t even seem to notice, let alone consider it to be a problem. Now she was answering questions in her usual calm, deliberate manner, her voice monotone, almost singsong. She appeared intensely weary, with circles under her red-rimmed eyes.
Suddenly Bridgid yelped a wordless cry, leapt up, and bolted out the open office door. Tommy could tell without turning around to see. Joe was here. The men looked at each other and as one stood up.
Jerry said, “Gentlemen, I believe we’re done for the moment.”
The legal beagle responded, “I have just a few more questions.”
“So do I. They can wait.” He leveled a stern gaze on the fellow. They took the hint and filed out.
Joe and Bridgid had not embraced, they had fused, wrapped around each other and pressed as tightly together as two souls can press. You could not have forced a butter knife between them. She was sobbing lustily again, her head pressed to his
chest. Behind them, Meghan at her desk was dabbing her eyes and blowing her nose.
“She should be checked out medically,” the lawyer reminded no one in particular.
Jerry nodded. “We’ll take care of it.”
The lawyer shook hands all around and left with the chief.
Hugh Bartoli had just come in. He looked at the welded unit that was JoeandBridgid and smiled. “I got statements from the two firefighters who rescued her. The perp swore he would kill her. I think we ought to take him seriously.”
Eventually Joe came up for air. Still holding Bridgid close, he looked at Jerry, Hugh, and Tommy.
Jerry offered, “Since he knows where you live, I suggest you two stay at the house in Tempe until this is settled.”
“No.” Joe shook his head. “It could put the children in danger. We’ll have to think of something else.”
Hugh studied the floor. “If we set someone up with Joe and Bridgid in the apartment, the perp will know. He’s probably watching the place right now. He’ll probably even notice if we post someone outside.”
Bridgid was pulling herself back together by degrees. A stalwart lass, that.
“I have an idea.” Joe loosened up from Bridgid enough to reach Janet James’s desk phone. “The apartment on the ground floor east of ours is vacant. Let’s set someone up in there. Someone who looks harmless. Then that someone can come up to our apartment by the fire escape later. The fire escapes are in the back of the apartments, the greenbelt side, and the back yard is fenced in.”
Everyone nodded.
Joe thumbed in numbers and stared at the ceiling. He talked to the phone a few minutes and clicked it closed. “Mrs. Sturdivant the landlady says we’re welcome to use the apartment. Fully cooperative.”
“Good.” Jerry looked at Hugh. “Can you set up housekeeping there, Hugh?”
“Sure. If he’s watching and we want to look absolutely, totally innocuous, I suggest it be a man and wife. The perp knows Tommy and Gretchen from the wedding, but he’s never seen Meghan. How about Meghan and I set up in the spare apartment. Meghan can watch the front and I’ll go upstairs in the back and stay inside Joe’s place. Sorry, Joe, this is gonna put a serious damper on your honeymoon.”
Joe smiled. “No it won’t. It’s a two-bedroom apartment.”
Tommy hugged Bridgid as best he could when she was pasted so tightly to her bridegroom. “I shall call Gilbert and deliver the good news.”
Bridgid lifted her head away from Joe’s breast. “They know I was kidnapped?”
“Aye, I called Gilbert that night, but twas also on the telly over there. Ye be an international sensation, Bridgid.”
She breathed, “Begorra.”
Tommy really disliked the use of so stale an Irish expletive, but this was Bridgid and she had just driven through hell with the windows rolled down. She could use whatever words she wished. He headed out the door to home and to his own brand new wife.
“Harmless necking,” Joe called it. Bridgid loved it by any name. There was no feeling up or groping at the moment, just casual, easy-going kissing and hugging and a bit of tongue. She reveled in the closeness, true closeness, not just physical closeness. She could see why the sisters at school railed so against it; it certainly put one in the mood for more.
Joe’s mobile phone rang. With a sigh, he thumbed it open and listened. “We just had dinner at the Extraburger drive-through; I’m trying to keep us from being seen; staying out of sight. And now we’re in their parking lot making out, since you ask.” Pause. “No, Muckmind, we are not giving impressionable children any wrong ideas. The top is up.”
Bridgid giggled.
Silence for a moment.
“Yes I’m feeding the love of my life fast food. Why not? She was so hungry she could have eaten a boiled shoe.”
Bridgid nodded vigorously.
Silence.
“Good. Thanks, Hugh.”
Silence. “I agree. Probably tomorrow night at the earliest before he can get his shit together and mount an attack. But we should be prepared now.” Silence. “Uh huh.” He closed the line and slipped the phone back into its holster.
“So that was Hugh. They’re in place now, aye?”
“Yes. He says they are about set up, so it’s safe to come on in.” He straightened up behind the wheel and snapped in his seatbelt. “Meghan and he knocked on Mrs. Sturdivant’s door, talked in the doorway, shook hands, all that. She even showed them the apartment. He handed her a check; he says it’s blank but what would an observer know? They hauled a couple suitcases and duffles into their apartment. They now have some serious firepower available, and breakfast for Meghan.”
“Ah, so Hugh will be taking breakfast in our apartment. Good. Tommy called to tell ye I be found, aye?”
“No, Jerry. I remember the exact words. I think that was one of the greatest phone calls he ever made. It was certainly the greatest I’ve ever received. He says, ‘Where are you?’ ‘The zoo.’ ‘Come in immediately. We need you here at the shop. And hey; this is an order: do not exceed the speed limit, you hear?’ He paused, then, ‘She’s in my office.’”
She could not stop smiling. “The zoo.”
“Communing with the Great Indian Hornbill. Remember? It’s housed in a separate cage of its own out along the trail, and there’s a park bench right there. Trees and bushes. Quiet. I go there sometimes and just sit when I’m thinking about stuff or I need to get my act together. I would have been here a lot sooner, but there was a traffic tie-up on the bridge.”
“The children say it’s their favourite place and tis yours as well. I work tomorrow, but I’m off on Friday. Do ye suppose we might go there again?”
“Let’s do that. I’ll take the day off.”
“Aye, I’d quite like that.”
He looked at his watch and pulled out onto the street. “I’m just heartsick that we couldn’t reach you before he violated you. Was it bad?”
“He makes Billy Morrow look good.”
“Now I’m even sorrier.”
She looked forward to someday telling Billy Morrow, the wretch in Clifden who stole her virginity and then so proudly boasted of his “expertise,” that he was a laughingstock, a symbol of total sexual ineptness on two continents.
They pulled into their usual parking spot. She wasn’t worried that they would be surprised again; a police officer was watching from the ground-floor apartment. Still she could not help but keep a close eye out all around.
She unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside, fearful, hesitant. Damn that scoundrel Stover; he made her afraid of her own home. Joe pushed past her and hurried down the hall, checking the laundry closet, the bathroom, the bedrooms. She knew that officers called it “securing the premises.”
Home again, at last. And the thought stabbed her that but for God’s mercy she would not ever have seen home again. She dropped her dress to the floor and put it not in the laundry basket but in the rubbish. It was wasteful to discard a perfectly good garment, and she was not a wasteful person. But the memories that could not be washed out of it were just too devastating.
She brushed her teeth a long while. She basked an extra minute or two in the cleansing, engulfing shower. Oh, what a luxury, a simple shower. She stepped out and dried off with a huge, gloriously fluffy towel. So many things that had seemed mundane or she had not readily noticed now felt rich, even opulent.
And so much that she enjoyed Stover would never know. True love? He had no concept. Sympathy for another, concern for another, simple joys like the shower. Was he incapable of true joy? Most texts suggested that was the case.
Should she wash her hair? No. She was too weary, too spent. She hung up the towel and continued to the bedroom. Her own bed again, a soft bed, a real bed and not a smelly, broken mattress on a cement floor. Joy.
And Joe. He too was stark naked in the near darkness, stretched out on the bed. Her weariness remained but her sleepiness had fled.
She flopped down beside h
im. He turned onto his side and drew her in against him. What marvelous closeness, real closeness; body, mind, and spirit. “Ah, Joe, I was so afraid he killed you.”
“They kept me overnight for observation and sent me home. I was terrified that you would be killed. So many abductions end in murder.”
“Tis past now, aye?” She hoped!
“You’ve been through too much for a body to handle. If you don’t want to do anything tonight but sleep, I certainly understand. It’s your choice.”
She had noticed when she lay down that he was quite ready for a romp. What a thoughtful, loving thing to say, giving her the decision. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
“Then I choose to make love with you. I will never lose the horrid memories, but let us bury them beneath a huge pile of beautiful, thrilling memories.”
How interesting and delightful; these same two persons were kissing and being kissed, but those “harmless necking” kisses in the parking lot were sweet and affectionate, even peaceful, not wildly passionate like this one was. Stover had not bothered with kissing at all. And Joe’s electric touch….
When would she stop thinking of Stover?!
The night was too warm yet for bedclothes, so they
Crashblamblam! Glass shattered in the kitchen and guns fired!
Joe leapt up and already had his sidearm in hand. “Arm yourself!” he barked and ran toward the kitchen shouting “Cheesecake!”, their password that said “I am a good guy; don’t shoot at me.”
Bridged snatched her little Airweight out of the nightstand drawer as the window here in the bedroom burst! A hammer rapidly pounded out the glass shards remaining and Jimmy Stover came climbing in! He almost lost his balance as he reached the floor. He recovered and laughed the totally evil laugh that you hear in horror movies.
“You betrayed me, you bitch!” Still gripping the hammer, he started toward her, his knife up and ready to slash her.
She squeezed the trigger. Again. He slammed back and sank to sitting, propped against the wall. The knife and hammer dropped.
Pony Up Page 12