Now I just had to hope Bitsy didn't have a gun. Who brings a tire spoon to a gunfight? This gal.
I approached the door carefully, crouching down off to the right. Very slowly, I turned the knob and let the door swing open. When I wasn't met with hostile gunfire, I went in. My eyes had to adjust from the sunny summer day outside to the dark, musty warehouse.
Boxes were stacked all around me in no apparent order. It was kind of ridiculous. Finding Bitsy was going to be tough. She could evade me all day in here. Still, I needed to start somewhere, so I worked my way through the building.
It was slow going. I listened for even the slightest sound, the scrape of a shoe on concrete, the breathing of another human being, but heard nothing.
Cha-chunk!
That was the sound of the slide being racked on a pistol. Bitsy had a gun. And all I had was a tire spoon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
"Bitsy!" I shouted. "I know you're in here. I just want to talk." Actually, I wanted to knock her out and drop her off at the county jail. I just left that part out.
I quickly slipped behind some boxes so that I wouldn't give away my exact location.
There was no reply.
The sound had come from several yards in front of me, so I started to make my way around all the boxes that blocked my path. It was starting to annoy me that Bitsy had armed herself and didn't want to talk. She sure had a lot to say last night.
My cell buzzed in my pocket. Damn. Why hadn't I turned it off? Would Bitsy be able to hear it?
The sound of soft footsteps was heading right toward me. I took my phone and set it on the floor, hoping to use it as bait. Then I dodged to the left, hiding behind a tall, flat box.
Bitsy appeared. When she saw my phone, she literally growled with anger. Then she stomped it into oblivion.
Hey! I liked that phone!
Slipping around, I tried to come at her, waving my tire spoon, but she turned at the last second and fired a shot.
It tore a hole on the side of my T-shirt, and I felt a sharp pain. No time to assess the damage as I knocked the gun from her hand with the tire spoon. Bitsy grabbed the tool and twisted it out of my grip, tossing it aside. She went into a defensive stance, her face a blank slate.
"So this is how it's going to be, eh?" I asked as I stepped back and brought my hands up.
"Pretty much," she replied.
If I couldn't brain her with a tire iron, at least I could show her I was better than she was at hand-to-hand combat.
She screamed and lunged for me, her fists flying. I stepped aside, taking a glancing blow to my shoulder. Reaching out, I grabbed a handful of her hair and twisted her head toward myself, landing an uppercut to her chin with my other hand.
Bitsy jerked away, leaving me with a fistful of hair. Huh? Bitsy was bald, and there I was holding a wig. I tossed it aside. Probably one more thing she was angry about—and Not My Fault.
She came at me again. I went to shatter her knee, but she feinted out of the way, grabbed my ankle, and tugged upward. As I fell, I grabbed her right arm and twisted it hard to the right. If I was going down, she was too. We fell in a heap on the floor and began to wrestle.
Bitsy was on top of me, her fists swinging away at my face. I managed to deflect most of the blows, but one landed on my left cheek. That was going to leave a mark. Bitsy reached down to my bleeding side and pinched where I'd been hit.
I cried out in pain but managed to throw her off me. Rolling to the left, I got my feet underneath me and stood up. Bitsy did the same. This time I launched myself at her, managing to grab her by the wrists, yank her arms down, and smash my knee into her nose.
She screamed, bringing her arms between us and straight up, breaking my hold. Then she swung around me, her arm looping under my chin in a chokehold. I gagged as she firmly began to choke me.
Stars flooded my vision as I lost the ability to breathe. I brought my right arm up and landed several short elbow blows to her ribs. Her grip never loosened. I was out of air and unable to get more. I dropped like a dead weight, hoping to make her think she'd rendered me unconscious and would then let go.
Strangling someone is a funny thing. Well, not funny like humorous. Funny like odd. In the movies, you could strangle someone completely to death in mere seconds. In reality, it took longer than that. More than you'd think. I had a little wiggle room, and I could only hope Bitsy wasn't really planning to kill me.
I was wrong. Bitsy followed me to the floor, never taking the pressure off my throat. And even worse, she was behind me. There wasn't any way to get to her. Black spots replaced the stars and began multiplying like ink blots. It wouldn't be long now before I passed out, and she could finish me off.
My thoughts were muddled, and I couldn't focus. I didn't have much of a chance to break free. Opening my eyes wide, my vision was almost gone. But out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something like a box cutter. It was just out of reach.
With my last burst of energy, I surged to my right, and my fingers curled around the tool. I thumbed the trigger, hoping I was letting out more of the blade and, with the last few seconds of consciousness, stabbed up under Bitsy's arm.
She dropped me, and I lay there gasping, holding the box cutter in front of me. Realizing she might go for the gun or, even worse, my tire spoon, I reached up and grabbed her ankle. With a strength I didn't know I still had, I shoved with all of my weight and brought the woman down on top of me. My arm snaked around her throat, and I began to squeeze.
I didn't kill her. I wanted to. But I didn't. Once she went unconscious, I shoved her off me and got to my knees, panting heavily. I was really out of shape. I needed to take a Krav Maga or Zumba class to get back to my fighting shape.
Who was I kidding? I wasn't going to take an exercise class.
Bitsy remained motionless on the floor.
"Dammit," I wheezed. I barely recognized the hoarse voice that came from my throat. "Why did you have to try to kill me?" I croaked.
Bitsy lay there in a crumpled mess. She was bleeding from both her broken nose and from underneath her upper arm. I tore off part of my T-shirt and made a quick tourniquet below the injury. What the…? There was blood on the T-shirt!
Oh. Right. She'd shot me. After cutting some twine off a box, I tied her wrists and feet together before inspecting my own wound. She'd just grazed me. Which was a relief. But now I needed to get us both some medical help.
My phone was nothing but broken plastic. Did she have a phone? I searched her but didn't find one. Somewhere in this maze, there had to be a phone, but did I have time to find it before I passed out?
Using the box cutter, I cut a huge rectangle of cardboard off a box containing a refrigerator. Rolling Bitsy onto it, I then stood up. Spots once again flooded my line of vision. I was not okay.
Gripping one end of the box, I started to drag Bitsy on her cardboard sled in the direction of the light. Good thing I'd left the door open. It was slow going. My own body demanded that I quit and lie down for a rest.
There wasn't any time for that. It was entirely possible that I'd severed a major artery in Bitsy's arm. And I wanted answers. She wasn't allowed to die just yet.
The cardboard was tough to hold on to. Curling it in at the corners gave me a couple of weak handles. I kept dragging. Failure was no option. Bitsy needed medical care, or she might die. Hell, I needed medical care. The adrenaline was gone, and I was almost done for.
"Come on!" I shouted weakly as I dug deep and pulled.
I was moving in starts and stops. More stops than starts. It seemed to take forever to reach the doorway, and I was relieved when I finally pulled Bitsy into the parking lot alongside the van.
Exhaustion swept over me in a tidal wave. And I still had to get Bitsy into the van. I needed a miracle. I needed a guy. I had neither.
I managed to get the back seat door open, and with one big push, I lifted Bitsy up and into the van. I had to admit, I was less than gentle as I shoved her farther i
nto the car. When I went to slide the door shut, it hit something.
Her foot was sticking out. The ankle was probably broken from my slamming the door on it. Grasping her calf, I tucked the foot up under her butt and pulled the door shut.
I'd driven under some unbelievable circumstances in my career as a spy. I'd driven a car filled with loose spider monkeys who had no respect for my driving or the rules of the road. I'd driven a stolen limo through Lima under the influence of LSD. And I'd once driven across Budapest using only my thighs to steer.
This was kind of like that, except for the fact that every inch of my body hurt and one part was bleeding. It felt like I was slipping into shock. Fortunately, I laughed hysterically, everything in Who's There was five minutes from everywhere else.
I barreled through town and got us to the hospital in four. Driving up to the emergency room, I got out of the van, staggered around to the side, opened the door, and as Bitsy's foot popped back out, I blacked out.
"Merry?" Kelly's voice was somewhere, hovering over me. That was nice.
"Hey, bestie!" My tongue rolled around in my mouth.
I wasn't feeling any pain, and my eyes were refusing to open. I was okay with that.
"She's out of it," Kelly's voice said. "We gave her some painkillers."
"She'll be alright?" It sounded like Rex.
"Hey, baby!" I giggled.
"Yeah, she'll be okay," Kelly said.
I fell back asleep.
There was a party going on around me. At least that's what it sounded like. I opened my eyes to see ten little girls chatting loudly.
"She's awake!" Betty pointed at me, and the girls turned en masse, squealing.
They all started talking at once until Hilly held up the Girl Scout quiet sign. I didn't even know she knew about that. All ten girls went silent at once.
"Girls," Kelly said. "You have to stop crowding her. She needs a little space."
"Why don't I take them into the lounge?" Hilly suggested as she started herding the girls.
I slowly pushed myself into a sitting position as Kelly used the remote to bring the bed up with me.
"How long have I been out? Is Bitsy okay? Why do I sound like I gargled with gravel?" Questions tumbled from my mouth.
"Here." Kelly handed me a cup of water, and I gulped it down.
"You have anything else?" I asked hopefully. My voice sounded a little better after the water.
She shook her head with a smile. "Just water. For now."
"What's the damage?" I asked before slumping back against the mattress.
"You lost some blood, but you'll be okay. You only needed a few stitches."
"And Bitsy?"
Kelly said nothing for a moment.
"Oh no! I killed her! I didn't find out what I needed to know first!"
"Merry!" Kelly pretended to be shocked. "No, she's not dead. She's going to pull through. You almost killed her but not quite."
I settled back against the pillows. "How long have I been out?"
"Ten hours," my best friend said. "They gave you some painkillers. The girls arrived a few hours ago." She looked toward the door. "Betty wanted to give you morphine."
I closed my eyes. "Betty always has my back."
"I have to know before Rex comes in. What happened?"
"What happened when I got here?" I asked in order to stall. I never could lie around Kelly. She'd see through me every time.
Kelly straightened my blankets and tucked them around me to the point that I looked like a burrito.
"The emergency room nurse said you pulled up. Hit the horn a few times, opened the door to reveal a body in your back seat, and then passed out."
I nodded. "That's what I remember too."
"Bitsy had a broken nose, her arm was slashed, and her ankle was crushed."
I feigned innocence. "Oh? Her ankle was crushed? That's too bad."
"What happened?" my friend repeated.
"I don't know." I threw my arms up. "I just followed her into the empty warehouse to talk to her."
"You just wanted to talk to her…" Kelly commented drily.
"Yeah. Is that so hard to believe?"
Kelly stifled a grin. "In the years since you've been back, you've never intentionally tried to kill anyone. So I guess it isn't that hard to believe."
"Exactly. So I went in with a tire spoon…"
"A tire spoon?" In spite of my damaged appearance, Kelly laughed.
"Well, it's all I had on me. I don't carry a gun anymore."
"Oh right," she recalled. "Ever since Betty dismantled it.
"I thought of the tire iron. Instead, I had a tire spoon. I really need to get a tire iron."
My best friend giggled. When she saw the look on my face, she apologized. "Go on. Sorry about that."
"I shouted for Bitsy, saying I wanted to talk, but she stayed hidden. And then she shot me. And she crushed my phone. Or maybe it's the other way around. Somehow my phone got stomped."
"So that's why you couldn't call."
I nodded. "Anyway, she shot me and tried to choke me. And then I stabbed her and choked her. But not to death like she'd tried to do to me."
Kelly sighed. "That explains the bruises on your neck."
I took another sip of water. "You sure I didn't kill her?"
"No, you didn't kill her. Not for lack of trying though."
I relaxed a little. "Why are the girls here?"
"Hilly called them. She knew you'd want to see them when you woke up."
"I need to speak to her." The room was starting to spin, and I couldn't remember why I wanted to speak to Hilly.
"Not today," Kelly said. "They want to keep you overnight for observation."
"And Bitsy?"
She shook her head. "She'll be here a little longer. Really, Merry. Why do you have to go looking for trouble?"
"I don't look for it exactly," I grumbled. "It always seems to find me."
"Okay, Beetle Dork."
I froze. "You know about that?"
Kelly held up the bent comic. "Found it in your bag. No one else has seen it. But I must say, I didn't realize you were once saved by an Arab in Honduras."
"Harold did not save me! It's the other way around. I just can't figure out why I have to be Beetle Dork," I grumbled. "I mean, come on! Beetle? Dork?"
Rex walked in and kissed my forehead. "You look better."
I started to sit up. "You're not going to yell at me? I tried calling and texting Hilly and Riley!"
"Shhhh. I'll yell at you later," Rex said. "They said you can go home tomorrow. Get some sleep."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Rex picked me up from the hospital the very next day. It felt so good to get out of there, and with the pain meds, I felt wonderful. My husband even got me a replacement cell phone, setting it all up himself. Yay!
"We have to stop by your old house first," my husband said as we pulled out of the parking lot. "My sisters have a little party planned."
"That's nice," I said. "Ronni agreed?"
"I've got no idea." Rex smiled. "I'm hoping that with her newfound fiancé she'll soften up a bit."
"Why doesn't she like me?" I asked for maybe the one-thousandth time since we had been married.
"She doesn't like anyone," Rex said. "Except for Juliette Dowd."
Juliette Dowd, my nemesis and administrator for the Girl Scouts, always believed she and Rex should have been together. I'd been through a lot with that woman. But since she'd moved away, there had been one less enemy to deal with.
"I supposed it's okay." I fiddled with my purse. "Ron likes me. So three out of the four of them like me. I guess that's all I'm going to get."
"Oh, I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if she's happy with you for helping out Ron and Ivan. She's probably appreciative of what you've done."
As we pulled onto our street, we noticed several neighbors out in their yards staring at my house. A sign was stretched across the garage door that read Welcome Ho
me From Getting Shot.
"Okay, maybe she does like me," I said as we pulled into the driveway. "She didn't end it with You Idiot."
We got out of the car and walked over to the sign. Rex pointed at tiny print that we couldn't see from the road. It read You Idiot.
I tore it down and dumped it. Between the last sign and this one, Rex and I would be avoided like the plague.
"I wasn't really shot," I shouted at the neighbors, who looked startled that they could actually be seen. "Just grazed!"
They flew back into their houses.
Inside, Ronni, Randi, Ron, and Ivan had decorated the house and brought a cake. They were fairly gentle as three of them hugged me. Ronni just nodded at me. I considered that a plus.
"Where'd you get the balloons?" I asked as I studied them.
"Those aren't balloons." Rex started laughing.
He was right. They were XXL-sized condoms.
"Some lady threw them in trash outside of Taxidermy House," Ron said. "Why would you throw out balloons?"
"What goes around," I mumbled, "comes around."
Ronni admonished, "She bought something from us!" Her tone was still bitchy but less than usual. "Don't bad-mouth the customers!"
"What did she buy?" I couldn't help but ask.
Randi patted my arm. "She bought a Biblical diorama where Abraham sacrifices his son. She said it was to teach her boy a lesson."
"It was brilliant!" Ivan beamed. "Old man was made from squirrel and son made from mouse!"
"Abraham," I corrected, "didn't sacrifice his son. He almost did."
Ronni shook her head. "Not in this one!"
I decided I didn't want to know any more.
"There's cake!" Ron pointed to the kitchen.
Sure enough, there was a huge sheet cake that said Welcome Home, We Love You! Underneath, someone had added No We Don't!
Randi started cutting the cake, and Rex helped.
"Can we speak with you for moment?" Ivan pulled me aside.
"Sure, what's up?" Here's where they thanked me for saving them, introducing them to the twins, and whatever other miracles I had pulled off.
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