by E B Corbin
The man grumbled a response, slamming the screen door behind him.
Roxanne dropped her hand away from her pocket. Not such a good idea. She’d wait to make her move until those guys outside left— assuming they’d leave soon.
“This should work,” Luke told Roxanne. “Get in.” The door opened with a loud creak. He pushed Roxanne into a musty room containing a lopsided bed covered with a bare, filthy mattress. She regained her balance, trying hard not to touch anything. At least the foul smell was not as bad in here, or else her olfactory senses shut down in self-defense.
She heard the bolt slide into place, and Luke’s footsteps retreated. Two night stands flanked the vile bed, one with a stack of hunting magazines, the other with a bare bulb in a rusty lamp base. A peeling oak-veneer dresser sat against a wall with a tiny window above it. It might be her escape route. If she could bring herself to put her hands on the sticky, dusty top of the dresser. Even if she overcame her revulsion, no way would she fit through the opening. Besides where would she go?
With a groan, she leaned her back against the nicotine-stained wall, closed her eyes, and took several minutes to pull herself together. She still had the gun. It gave her some reassurance, although a slim possibility existed of being able to shoot her way free with four men to subdue. Not with her little .32. Even if she tried, she wasn’t Annie Oakley. She might hit nothing but the side of the cabin.
What were they doing out there? She needed to know what brought them to this gross, two-room cabin in the woods. As the voices outside continued arguing, she strained to make out the words. Putting her ear to the grimy door didn’t help. Desperate, she dragged a nightstand over to the dresser, then swiped her parka-clad arm across the top, sending the magazines to the floor before stepping up. When she crouched on the revolting top, the voices were more coherent. But she still couldn’t hear well enough to follow the conversation.
A rusty clasp held the window closed. After wiggling it several times, it popped allowing her to slide up the sticky lower sash inch by inch so as not to alert her captors with the scrunch it made every time it moved. The voices finally became discernible.
A deep, gravelly voice said, “He should be here by now.”
“He’ll be along. Let’s wait in the car.” This from a higher-pitched voice.
A timid voice added, “We gotta check on the cash. Make sure it’s still there.”
The deep voice snarled, “No way, it stinks in there.”
“Hell, no. I’m not going in that place. It smells worse ’n Don’s farts.” The owner of the high-pitched voice laughed.
Somebody let out a deep snigger. “I don’t care what you’re planning on doing with that broad in there, but she’s gonna be ripe by the time you git her out. Whoooeee.”
“Not your concern, Danny-boy,” Luke answered. “If Doyle and Dolan did the job right the first time, she wouldn’t be around to cause problems now.”
“Whadda ya mean? We done like you told us. We ran her damn fancy car off the road.” Deep voice sounded pleased.
Luke said, “You did a half-ass job. Now I’ve got to finish it. Probably did a half-ass job searchin’ her place in the city too.”
“Wasn’t nothin’ there. We told you before. ’Sides, we weren’t gonna stick around and get caught. Good thing Taggart waited for us. Otherwise, John Callahan would have grabbed us for sure.”
“I don’t like it,” a new timid voice said. “What the hell are we gonna do when this here Taggart fella finds out some of the money’s missin’?”
Luke asked, “How’s he gonna know? Long as we stick to the story…”
Deep voice agreed. “Yeah, the dumb bastard’s not gonna sit in there countin’ it. Probably doesn’t even care how much there’s s’pposed to be.”
“You’d better hope that’s so. But my da knows how much was here. He’ll tan my hide if he finds out we helped ourselves to it.” So the high-pitched voice belonged to the owner of the cabin.
“Shoulda thought of that before you acted the big shot buyin’ drinks all around every time Betty Jane worked Sleepy Holler.” The guy with the deep voice sounded threatening.
“What about you? Drivin’ that tricked out F-250, like you was king of the road.”
Roxanne lost track of who said what. The only voices she singled out consistently were Luke’s and the deep, gravelly voice. The other two sounded similar to each other—sometimes timid, sometimes frightened.
The timid voice asked, “How much do you figure we took?”
“Fifty big ones, tops.” The other timid voice answered.
Having a hard time keeping the voices straight, Roxanne placed her ear closer to the small opening in the window.
The deep voice snarled, “You countin’ what we give Luke, here, every month to keep his mouth shut?”
“The way I figure, that was money well spent.” Luke seemed awfully damn sure of himself. The bastard!
She wanted to see him brought down a couple of pegs, but she more than likely wouldn’t see anything if Patti had her way. The thought sent a chill through her body. She grabbed at the bottom of the windowsill as she sank to her knees.
There had to be a way to get out of this situation. She ordered herself to think of a solution instead of cowering in fearful anticipation. Before an answer popped into her muddled brain, the voices outside broke into her wandering thoughts.
A high-pitched voice stated, “Hell, I don’t know, mebbe we used closer to a hunnert.”
“How much is left?” A timid voice asked.
“Didn’t count it. There’s still two big bags in there. That’s gotta be enough.”
“Be better if we had three.”
Luke asked, “Who knew how many bags was here?”
“Just the four of us—an’ my da, since my uncle told him.”
“Does he know Taggart’s come for it?”
“Yeah, he knows. One of my uncle’s ol’ mates sent my da some kind of coded message about it last month.”
Luke complained, “Last month? Fuck, ya knew about it that long. Why din’t ya mention it sooner?”
A timid voice whined, “Din’t see how it would make any difference. The money’s gone. We spent it. I wish we knew what happened to that other bag— what makes you so sure Roxy O'Hara had it, anyway?”
“You dumb shit, I told you before, you left the bag in my squad car the last time you paid me. You ran off like a scared little weasel before I saw it on the floor. I left it at the diner, ’cause I didn’t have time to go lookin’ for ya when I got called to some stupid accident in town. The moneybag was gone when I went back for it later. Roxy took it—the only thing makes sense. When I took care of her, old man Callahan showed up before I had time to search her or her place for it.”
“Sounds too damn convenient to me,” the voice whined. “How do we know ya didn’t stash it somewheres after you shot her?”
“Because I’m tellin’ you, that’s how,” Luke barked. “We don’t have time to argue ’bout it. It’s gone. Now we have to git our stories straight.”
The deep voice asked, “You ever think they’d come back for it?”
“Nah, that fight’s been over for years.” The timed voice sounded mighty certain. “Don’t know what they want it for now… don’t care. I just wanna give him what we got and get out of this mess. We can find the missin’ bag later.”
Luke announced, “Well, you got your wish. Here he comes.”
Roxanne heard the roar of an engine growing closer. When the motor shut off, a door clicked open. Her heart jumped at the slamming of the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Ha boys, how’s the form.” The newcomer had a definite Irish lilt.
“Good.” “Okay.” “How about you?” A chorus of voices rang out.
“Where’s the quid? I’ll be gettin’ it and head on,” the Irishman said.
“It’s inside,” the man with the high-pitched voice answered. “Under the floor.”
; “Yee lads knew I was comin’, right? Why ain’t it ready? Ya better hope this isn’t another gob-smacked trip for me like the other day.”
“No, no, the money’s here. We were waitin’ for you before we got it out.” The guy with the high-pitched voice sounded nervous. Roxanne assumed his father owned the cabin.
“Shite! Do yee lads think I’m an eejit? Let’s get movin’ here. ’N ya better hope it’s all there, or yee arses are goosed. Do ya get me?”
Luke replied, “Yeah, yeah, we get you.”
The front door banged open, footsteps tromped inside.
Roxanne got down from her perch quickly in case someone checked on her. She stepped onto the side table then hopped to the floor as silently as possible. By the time she made it over to put her ear to the door, the raised voices came through loud and clear.
“Where’s the rest of it?” Taggart shouted.
“Wha… What do you mean? That’s all of it. We don’t have no more.”
“C’mon, Danny-boy, there’s suppos’ to be four bags.”
“I… I don’t think so. This here’s what we got.”
“Then maybe I should ask your da. He’s the one brought it over here, ain’t he?”
“No, no, he’s… not the one. My uncle brought it. He died a couple of years ago and left the cabin to my da. They told me about the cash, to keep an eye on it.”
“Then ya are goosed. Maybe yee spent it on your family. Yee do have a wife and kids. Maybe they’ll give out where the rest of it is.”
“NO! They don’t know anything. I’m telling you the truth. This is all of it…” Although Danny-boy started strong, the last words came out in a squeak.
“Shite, I don’t believe yee. The boss is always bang on about the cash. He told me four bags, so I’m not gonna head on without them.”
“Let’s calm down here,” Luke said. “What if Dan’s dad split up the bags so the cash wouldn’t all be in one place. Ya ever think of that?”
“Feck off, fella. This is between me and the lad here. I don’t know what yee other fellas are doing here anyway. Jaysus, this has gone arseways. First I had to save yee arses back in the city, now ye’re lettin’ on yee don’t have all the cash. No more guff! I’ve had enough.”
The guy with the gruff voice piped up. “Why you son-of—”
A loud crack cut him off, a gunshot. On instinct, Roxanne ducked to the grimy floor.
The voices in the other room grew frantic: “What the hell!” “Shit, what’d you do that for?”
“Feck off! I’m tired of all the shite from yee lads. Get me the other bags, or this lad here will only be the first.”
“Check his pulse,” Luke said calmly.
After a moment, Dan’s whiny voice screeched, “Goddamn! He’s dead! You killed Doyle!”
“Shut your gob. I’ll do worse to each of yee and yee families until I get all the money.”
“Listen, asshole, we told you—”
Behind the door, a second gunshot rang out. The sound reverberated through the flimsy cabin. Loud, agitated voices continued arguing. Things were getting out of hand in the other room. If the lunatic from Ireland found her, she had better prepare to defend herself.
She peered around the room for a hiding place. The tiny bedroom had no closets, no other exit besides the too small window— nowhere to hide. She considered pushing the dresser over to block the door, except the noise would draw attention to her hideaway before she got it halfway there assuming she managed to budge it. It probably weighed a ton. The mattress might block some bullets, but as she looked at the stained, odorous rectangle, she knew she’d never be able to touch it.
Only the nightstands remained as a shelter. Made of heavy oak, they were small enough she had no trouble stacking one on top of the other. She huddled between the legs with the tops acting as a flimsy barrier. As she struggled to get the stands to stay in place in a horizontal position, they wobbled a bit but didn’t fall over— not ideal still better than nothing.
While Roxanne built her flimsy shelter, the commotion in the other room quieted. She tip-toed back to her perch by the door.
“Okay, you’ve made your point,” Luke said. “What can we do to make you believe us?”
“For starters, yee can open that door back there. The one with the bolt on it.”
Roxanne sucked in her breath. No, no, this was not be happening!
“That’s just a bedroom. Nothin’ there of interest to you.”
“Let me decide that.”
“Do it, do it!” Dan whined.
She heard a loud sigh. “All right, I’ll tell you. I’ve got a woman in there. Was gonna have me a little fun after you guys left.”
“A bitta fluff? Now, that’s good to hear. Yee shagging her?”
“Not yet,” Luke said. “But I plan to. After we get this mess settled.”
“Oh, I don’t like it. Get rid of her! The lass might tell what’s going on here. If yee don’t want to do it, I will.”
“I don’t have a problem with getting rid of her,” Luke stated. “I just wanna bang her first.”
“No, lad. This is getting as thick as manure and only half as useful. Do it now. We don’t have time to waste.”
Roxanne had heard enough. Back in her makeshift shelter, she pulled the Beretta. Her hands shook, so she rested them on the uppermost table. The tables shifted slightly, making the gun wobble, as she tried to keep it aimed directly at the door. She squeezed the grip, lining up the red dot for center mass. The dot jumped up, down, sideways as if she were trying to tease a cat. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. The dot still wiggled but within a smaller circumference.
The bolt on the door squealed as it slid. Roxanne ducked her head as low as possible while keeping the red dot in sight. The door banged open. Roxanne pulled the trigger. Luke stumbled in the doorway with an incredulous look on his face, then grabbed his chest as he slid to the floor.
“Jaysus Christ!” Taggart shouted from the other room.
Through the ringing in her ears, Roxanne heard footsteps running away, pounding across the porch. A thud, a grunt, then the footsteps picked up faster before fading in the distance. Despite her hopes otherwise, only one set of footsteps fled. That meant one man waited in the other room.
Taggart yelled, “Missy, you’re goosed now.”
A bullet flew over her head, lodging in the wall, sending splinters into her cheek. She kept her eyes peeled on the doorway, her finger on the trigger, waiting. A hand shot out from the right side of the doorway, holding a .357.
Another bullet dug into the disgusting mattress, sending feathers flying.
Roxanne used every bit of self-control she could muster to keep from shooting blindly into the other room. With seven bullets left, she had none to waste on a wild shot.
As Luke groaned on the floor, he inched his right hand toward the gun in his holster. Roxanne lined up the red dot with care before firing. He jerked his hand as the bullet tore through it, moaned, and glared at her with venomous hatred. But at least he stopped moving.
She trained her eyes on the doorway, waiting. The gun appeared again from behind the wall. A bullet whizzed by, close enough to cause her to flinch. Still she held her fire.
“C’mon now, missy. Give it up. Yee won’t be doin’ to me what yee did to that dumb lad in there. Don’t be an eejit.”
Roxanne bit her tongue to keep from replying as two bullets tore into the room. She eased her grip on the gun handle so the laser wouldn’t give away her position. Slouched close to the stacked tables, she felt a wet trickle run down her cheek. Since she didn’t dare loosen her grasp on the Beretta, she wiped the wetness away by lifting her shoulder, rubbing her cheek with the sleeve of her parka. Even though it stung, she kept her eyes glued to the opening in the doorway. Her breathing sounded so loud in her ears she was sure Taggart heard it.
She glanced at Luke, saw no movement, then returned her gaze to the doorway. The barrel of the .357 crept around the corner.
Dammit, if only he stuck his head, or even his hand, out from the protection of the thick log wall, she could end this fray. Yeah, like that would happen. She smiled at the irony of the thought. She was the one trapped like a bird in an aviary. She waited for another bullet, biding her time for a chance to fire back.
“Lassie, yee can’t get outta there. Yee might as well come on out.”
Roxanne didn’t answer.
“Lassie? Can yee hear me? Give it up now.”
“No way!” Roxanne shouted, hoping to hide the quiver in her voice.
A barrage of bullets filled the bedroom as she rolled into a ball behind the tables. When quiet fell, she still heard the roar in her ears.
“Lassie? Yee still there?” The voice sounded muffled, a thousand miles away.
Rather than answer with trembling words, she lined up the laser sight on the doorframe at a point where she estimated his head should be. She pulled the trigger, immediately sorry. Only five bullets left. He was right; she was an idiot. Still, he would not get to her without a fight.
She grabbed the lamp with the bare bulb throwing it across the room, as far away from her hiding place as possible. It landed with a thud accompanied by the tinkle of breaking glass. Since he stood in the wrong position to aim at the sound, she hoped he would try to move to the other side of the doorway. It might give her a chance to fire at something more than a thick wall.
Instead, he stuck his arm around the corner, unleashing a second volley of bullets toward the broken lamp. Roxanne tried to train the laser on his exposed arm, however the red dot wobbled too much. Afraid she’d never get a clear shot, she fired twice in hopes of a lucky shot.
Taggart’s arm withdrew unscathed.
While she cursed her lost opportunity, the front door slammed open. “Drop it. Now!”
One more shot sounded from the .357, then a loud click. “Feck-All!” Taggart mumbled, as the empty gun flew across the doorway and out of sight.
From her vantage point behind the improvised cover, she saw Taggart’s shadow move rapidly toward the front door. One shot echoed into the room. The shadow stumbled for a second, caught his balance, keeping the forward momentum. It looked to Roxanne as if the shadow dragged his left leg. She heard a grunt, then scuffling, the sound of flesh against flesh, more grunts, something breaking, a dull thump as a body fell to the floor.