The scene was shocking. There was a dude lying on the ground with most of his head blown off, and a giant, dark, gelatinous puddle of blood oozing outward in the center of the room. A man was kneeling in the blood with a handful of Karah’s hair held tight in his fist. She was covered in blood and Troy couldn’t be sure if any of it was hers or not. Her hands were bound behind her back and she was whimpering. Crazy dude had a small pistol pointed at her forehead and she was crying. Troy couldn’t see the man’s face, but he immediately recognized his voice and his… injuries. He was the guy from the hospital. This was the guy who’d kidnapped Karah, attacked Laura, shot Victor, and from the looks of it, his partner, all for the check in Troy’s hand. He had to play this just right, or this guy was just going to shoot them both.
He grasped the edges of the check, one side in each hand, and coughed.
The guy jerked his head around and raised his pistol at Troy.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, there pardner,” Troy said, calmly but quickly, “I know who you are and I know what you want. I got it right here.” He nodded his head up toward the check. Tears started to form in the guy’s eyes.
“Is that…” he croaked, “is that what ah think it is?”
“Yup.”
The guy raised the pistol like he was going to shoot Troy.
Troy pulled his hands apart slightly and a small rip started in the middle of the check.
“Hold on just a second now,” he said quickly. “If ya shoot me, I’m gonna tear it up.”
The guy froze. “No, please, no.”
“It’s alright, now.” Troy eased the check down so that it was in front of his chest. “I’m gonna give it to you, but it’s gotta be a fair trade.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the man shook his head, “anything ya want.”
“The girl,” —Troy motioned toward Karah— “let her go. When she’s out the door and gone, I’ll hand you the check. Then you can shoot me if you feel it’s necessary.”
“Please, Darren,” Karah whimpered.
He looked down at her. “Shut tha fook up, ya wenc—”
“Darren, look at me,” Troy interrupted him.
He made another small movement and the rip in the middle of the check got a tiny bit longer.
“Don’t be stupid.” Troy shrugged his shoulders. “You give me the girl, I give you seven… million… dollars.” He paused in between each word for emphasis.
Darren clearly struggled with his choice. Troy had seen this before; the man had been on a mission to kill them all, but now there was no way to accomplish that and still get the check. He finally grunted in agreement. His hand loosened on Karah’s hair. She scooted toward Troy, blood pooling up and around her legs.
Darren raised the pistol and pointed it at her as she inched away from him. “No funny business or I’ll put a bullet in her head.”
“Ain’t no funny business goin’ on here,” Troy reassured him.
He looked into Karah’s eyes and mouthed, RUN. She squirmed up to her knees, leaning against Troy, and was finally able to get to her feet. She stared into his eyes, and he winked at her. She backed out of the storage unit and Troy could hear her feet padding quickly away. He hoped she’d call the police… or at least an ambulance, because he was sure this Darren guy was going to shoot him.
“Help me up, mate,” —Darren wagged the gun at Troy, motioning him closer— “got a slight problem with me foot.”
Troy looked at the guy’s leg. The urge to vomit was strong as he realized his foot was almost completely separated from his leg, apparently just hanging by the skin and the disgusting bandages wrapped around it. He had a thought. He wondered if he could just run from the guy. No way he could catch him on that foot. As if he could read his mind, Darren shook his head.
“Nah, mate.” He held up a splintered cell phone. “Ya leave me here, ah’ll get this phone fixed. Ah got addresses and numbahs. Ah’ll find ‘em, and ah’ll kill ‘em all.”
Dangit. Troy put the check in his mouth, pressing lightly with his lips to hold it firmly, and leaned down to hook his hands under the man’s arms. God, the dude smelled rancid, like a trash can full of rotten meat. He propped the guy up and he hopped to the side wall of the storage unit. Darren seemed to see the hissing engine of the Toyota for the first time.
“Shit,” he said as his shoulders dropped, “me fookin’ car’s toast.”
He looked at Troy and pointed the gun at him. “Wheyah’s your car?”
Troy wagged his head back and forth.
“S’in the lot,” he said between his pursed lips, “outta gas.”
“Fook me.”
“But there was a Jeep in the parking lot of that store up there.” Troy took the check from his lips, careful to hold it in between his hands. “She’s empty and running.”
“Right,” Darren said, waving the gun, “me and you, let’s go.”
“Hey, I’m done with my part of the trade.”
“Don’t look like ya in much of a position ta do any quittin’ now, mate. Now gimme my fookin’ check, and let’s go.”
Troy inhaled deeply. He handed the check to Darren and shouldered up under the man’s arm. Talk about flashbacks to Afghanistan. He’d carried what was left of Harry Nedman back to the chopper in a very similar way. Yeah, I’m gettin’ outta Pawleys if I make it outta this alive, he thought to himself again.
It was a long, slow walk, with Darren wincing all along the way. They had to stop a few times to let the man catch his wheezing breath, and Troy wondered what the hell was taking the cops so long to get there. Surely Karah had called them by now.
As they turned the corner from behind the Balls store, the sirens finally started to blare in the distance.
“Ha ha!” Darren cackled upon seeing that the huge red Jeep was still sitting there with its engine running. He untangled himself from Troy’s grasp and swung the pistol hard at his head. It didn’t have much force behind it, but it caught him by surprise. He lost his balance momentarily, and fell to the curb.
“Dangit, man!” He looked up to see Darren jumping on his one good foot toward the Jeep.
He got to the driver’s side and pulled the door open, then lurched into the seat slammed the car into reverse. Troy watched as he held up his hand in an upside-down fist. He realized the man was trying to flip him off… but his middle finger wasn’t there. The words fook you were on Darren’s lips as the Jeep squealed to the edge of the parking lot toward Ocean Drive. Troy stood up and looked around. No sign of Karah. He jogged to the front entrance of the store and jerked the door open.
The cool rush of air conditioning was the second thing to hit his face. The first was Ellie Mae Gallup.
36
Kid Napping
The Jeep’s engine roared in a satisfying low growl as Darren figured out how to work the gas pedal with his left foot. His right foot still ached, but the sharp pain of the initial break was dulling with shock. As the giant, knobby tires rumbled to the edge of the parking lot, Darren caught a glimpse of something moving in the back seat.
He craned his neck around to see a girl breastfeeding a baby.
“Howdy, Darren,” Daisy Mae Gallup said quietly.
Darren looked forward again at the cashier’s check sitting in the passenger seat. That wench was still trying to steal his money. He slammed on the brake and turned around, pointing his pistol at the blonde girl.
“Get the fook outta mah car,” he said and wagged the gun toward the door.
“It ain’t a car, it’s a Jeep,” she said, “and if you wake my nappin’ kid, I’m gon’ bust yer face.”
Darren saw red. His breath grew ragged.
“Ah’ll say it one more time.” He pulled the hammer back, cocking the gun. “Get… out.”
Daisy Mae sniffed. “Jus’ like a man ta run out on me and the baby.”
Darren said nothing, and just wagged the gun again.
Daisy Mae pulled the baby off her breast and buttoned up her shirt. The angry newborn
started to wail. She hopped down out of the Jeep slammed the door. Tears formed in her eyes as she stood by his window.
Well, fook. She was actually kind of pretty. And he had always wanted a baby. Hell, he had plenty of money now, and in his condition, he might like to have someone to take care of him.
He reached down for the window control… shit… manual. Of all the bells and whistles on this Jeep, it had a damn handle to roll the window down. He switched the gun to his right hand and started to roll it down with his left. With the missing fingers and the messy ooze coming from the bandages, it was slow going. He cursed and swore he’d run it off a cliff and buy a new one. When the window was finally down, he spoke, the red haze lifting from his eyes for a second.
“Ya don’t have ta leave,” he said, “if ya don’t wanna.”
Her lip was quivering, but he didn’t see sadness in her eyes. The baby screamed in her arms. No, she didn’t look sad… it was something completely different. Anger. Shit, he thought.
“I wouldn’t wanna be with a no-good, no ‘count, finger-missin’, leg-broken criminal like you,” she scowled, “and ah’m gon’ call the damn po-leese and tell ‘em zactly what you done to us.”
She reached up and smacked him hard across the cheek. His first reaction was shock, but then as that faded, the anger returned.
“Why, you fookin’ whore,” he said and raised the pistol up to point out the window, “ah’m gonna murdah ya ass. How ‘bout that?”
The gun squirmed in his grip. His right hand was missing the very digits that he needed to operate the gun as Man’ti had ripped them off when he grabbed it from his hand before. His ring finger was on the trigger, and he squeezed. The gun did not fire. In fact, like a bar of soap, it popped up out of his hand and clattered to the ground at Daisy Mae’s feet.
“Shit!” Darren screamed. “Gimme that fookin’ gun!”
Daisy Mae leaned down and picked up the pistol. She held it in her right hand and worked her finger into place on the trigger.
“Ah’m gon’ give it to ya, a’raight.”
Darren froze. His eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen. He reached down with his left hand and started working the window’s handle furiously. The glass slid up an inch.
Daisy Mae Gallup raised the pistol and pointed it at his head.
“Gimme ‘at check,” she said, her eyes flicking toward the passenger’s seat, “I seen you had it.”
Darren continued to work the window. It raised another inch. Fookin’ manual windows! “Ah’m not givin’ you shit, wench,” he growled.
She glared at him. The baby wailed again, and she looked down at him.
“It’s okay, baby T.C.,” she cooed.
The angry red haze filled Darren’s eyes again. She’d called him baby T.C., not baby Darren. He was furious. He jerked the Jeep into reverse, backing up twenty feet. He saw the girl and the baby standing in front of him and turned the wheel toward them.
“Eat mah bumpa, bitch!” he yelled, and slammed his left foot down on the accelerator.
37
I’m Your Ice Cream Man
Troy Clint Bodean and Ellie Mae Gallup were standing in the doorway to the Balls beach store when they heard a high-pitched voice yell something about a bumper. Ellie Mae had just slapped the crap out of Troy before she realized that he wasn’t a random dude rushing her at the door and trying to steal her stuff. She’d apologized and gathered up her shopping bounty when the shouting began.
From the back of the store, Karah ran toward them. She was wrapped in a towel she’d apparently grabbed from the store. It said, Dry Your Balls, and had a picture of the store’s garish logo on it.
“Called the cops,” she said, rushing toward Troy. “On the way.”
They turned in unison to see a red Jeep squeal toward Daisy Mae Gallup and her baby in a haze of burned tire rubber smoke.
“No!!!” screamed Ellie Mae as she started running toward the scene.
Unfortunately, Ellie Mae’s arms were now holding a flamingo shaped pool float, a folding beach chair that read: it’s five o’clock somewhere, two complete sets of snorkel gear, a collection of black and red shot glasses on a tic-tac-toe style tray, and two pairs of sunglasses.
The scene flickered in front of Troy. It was strange to see. It went from being the beach store parking lot to Afghanistan… and back again. One second it was Daisy Mae Gallup and the baby, the next it was Harry Nedman. In both scenes, Troy was about to watch someone die.
Too far away… he was too far away and Harry’s bottom half had been blown off by an I.E.D. just lying in the road. He’d tried desperately to drag him back to the chopper and get his friend to the hospital. No such luck, he was dead before Troy had gotten to him. He’d wanted to shoot somebody, to avenge Harry, but there wasn’t anyone to shoot… just the charred, black starburst on the ground where the bomb had gone off.
The scene flickered. Daisy Mae was paralyzed like a deer in the angry red Jeep’s headlights. The scenario was the same; Troy was too far away to help. Everything slowed down. He ran toward them, yelling and waving his arms, but she didn’t seem to notice. The Jeep leapt forward. The baby screamed.
From behind him, Ellie Mae yelled at her. “Daisy Mae, git on outta thar! We gotta git ‘at baby home!”
Daisy Mae’s head snapped toward her sister and then back toward the Jeep. She had woken up. The Jeep was too close.
Troy’s foot thunked against something laying in the parking lot. He looked down. A small .38 caliber revolver with dark smudges all over it lay at his feet. Without thinking, he crouched down on one knee, grabbed the pistol, and raised it up to aim at the Jeep. He rolled his head around once to crack the tight joints in his neck.
He was never sure after that if he’d said it out loud, or in his mind, or if his imagination had just added it to the scene later.
“Check out time, Darren,” Troy said as he pulled the trigger.
The bullet pierced the front driver’s side tire and it blew out immediately. The brand new, fire engine red, jacked up, decked out Jeep Wrangler Unlimited jerked hard to the left and veered safely past Daisy Mae and her baby, narrowly missing them. The out of control Jeep jumped the parking lot curb and raced across the street perpendicular to the flow of traffic. Unbelievably, no other car happened to be in its path at that exact moment.
Troy could see Darren’s shocked face turn to stare back at him. His mouth was open and he was screaming something that he guessed was very angry.
Troy raised the pistol again and pulled the trigger. It clicked. He pulled it again. Click. He’d only had one shot left. Dangit.
He dropped the pistol and ran toward the fleeing Jeep. He wasn’t sure why, but it just seemed like the thing to do. As he ran, he looked out in front of the Jeep. It was headed straight into the next parking lot, a hardware and convenience store simply called, The Hardware Store. Troy stopped short.
Directly in the path of the runaway Jeep was a bank of gas pumps. There was only one vehicle sitting at the pumps, a beautiful, fully restored, nineteen-fifties, Merry Mobile ice cream truck. Oh God… it’s Willie.
He’d said something about his truck being wrecked and that he had a new one coming up from the Keys to replace it temporarily. And now it sat directly in the path of certain destruction.
It was only thirty feet away and Troy had no time and no way to stop the inevitable. Harry Nedman flashed into his mind again. Someone was about to die. Troy ran. He couldn’t stop it, but he would be there to drag someone away from the carnage.
There must’ve been a spark from the metal grinding against metal when the Jeep smashed t-bone style into the beautiful ice cream truck, because it went up like a small nuclear bomb going off. The fireball stopped Troy in his tracks, and the heat singed his beard. He skidded to a stop as the blaze raged higher. People began running out of The Hardware Store with their hands shielding their faces. No one seemed to be hurt, thank God. Troy watched the fire completely engulf the two veh
icles and took a deep breath. He’d let Harry down all those years ago and now he’d let Willie down.
A crowd of people was beginning to gather a safe distance away from the fire. Karah, Daisy Mae and Ellie Mae all rushed over from the store. Ellie Mae had the baby in her arms. Karah nuzzled up to Troy and wrapped her arm around his waist. He put his arm around her shoulder.
“You okay?” he asked her.
“Yeah,” she said, and smiled a little, but he could see the shock of all that had happened lingering in her eyes.
She’d be okay, but it would take a while.
He looked over at the Gallup girls and their baby. He was a cute little thing and had finally fallen asleep.
“How ‘bout y’all?” he asked them.
“Doin’ fine,” Ellie Mae nodded. “Thank’ee, Troy. Ya saved ma sister’s life… and the baiby…” Her voice choked.
“We cain’t never repay you,” Daisy Mae added.
He returned the nod and touched the brim of his Outback tea stained straw cowboy hat. “No need.”
The attendant from the store was nearby and Troy overheard him say that he’d pushed the emergency stop button and that the remaining gas in the pump would burn off soon.
Troy saw a man come trotting around the building, zipping up his pants and carrying a key attached to a tire iron. A black man, wearing a supremely white, freshly starched jumpsuit and a sailor’s cap that looked like the one the skipper had worn on Gilligan’s Island. The cap had a picture of an ice cream cone and an orange creamsicle on the front. The man had a patch over one eye that had been painted to look like the eye of a clown. Troy laughed the laugh of supreme relief when he heard Willie’s voice.
“Ya got ta be gall-dang kiddin’ me!” he said, still fussing with his zipper, “three times? Dat ain’t right!”
He dropped the key with its steal-proof tire iron and jogged toward the crowd.
“Ken you believe dat, Mista Troy?” he asked.
“Beats all I ever saw, Willie,” Troy said, and slapped the man on the back.
The Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Series Boxset Page 20