Shot Girl

by Karen E. Olson

  Problem was, I didn’t much like that idea.

  "I thought it was just going to be him." Felicia indicated Jack Hammer, who let out a loud moan, his eyes wide.

  "Don’t worry," Ned said again. He looked around. "Where’s the kid?"

  Felicia shrugged. "Took off. Said you had something else for him to do."

  Kid? I thought again about Jamond’s role that afternoon. Sounded like he’d been asked back for an encore.

  "He was supposed to wait," Ned said, but he didn’t seem too worried. Jamond wasn’t innocent in this, either, so he’d have no incentive to tell the cops anything. I was screwed.

  "Okay, Ned," I said through my clenched jaw, trying to keep the pain at bay but having a fucking hard time of it. "You have the upper hand here"—nothing like saying the obvious—"but I just want to know why. Why the hell are you doing this? Is it really that you think I tried to ruin you professionally or that I tried to shoot Ralph? Christ, Ralph wouldn’t have stuck by you. He would’ve sold you up the river. I mean, he used you, knew how you felt about me, got you into this shit in the first place. What did he really want from me, Ned? What was the point of the stalking? What did you get out of it?"

  The candle flickered as the breeze changed direction. Now in addition to the piss, I smelled rain coming. That summer rain, the kind that we used to run around in when we were kids, the kind that took the heat away—even for a little while.

  When he didn’t say anything, I cocked my head at Felicia. "What about her? Where’d she get that .22? Someone shot at him with a .22. Ned, maybe her? Maybe she saw him kiss me—maybe she was jealous." I was grabbing at straws, but as I said it, it sort of made sense.

  Felicia shifted a little, but didn’t say anything. Ned’s face was unreadable; another breeze, a stronger one, had rolled through and the flame almost went out, clinging to life with a faint glow before gaining momentum after a second or two.

  Jack Hammer moaned again, like he was trying to say something.

  "What about him?" I asked. "Why is he dressed up for a clambake? What are you going to do with him?"

  Ned snorted. "He was in the way."

  "How?"I ignored Jack’s louder moan. If I let myself feel the fear that was creeping up my spine, I’d lose it. Asking questions was my job; it kept me grounded.

  "He saw me," Ned said, glaring at Jack.

  "Where?"

  "Watching you."

  "When?" Jack Hammer’s warnings to be careful now made a lot more sense. But if he knew Ned was watching me, why didn’t he just tell me?

  "Tie her up," Felicia said. Maybe I’d hit a nerve with the jealousy possibility. Maybe I wasn’t off base. And maybe because I was shooting off at the mouth, I might end up dead. With Jack Hammer by my side. Talk about indignity in death.

  Ned didn’t like taking an order. He frowned at her—I could see that clearly; my eyes had grown used to the dark, sort of like I was a cat, or maybe a panther—but he grabbed my arm. He fumbled a little with the rope, and I gauged the distance between Ned and me and Felicia and that gun.

  Maybe three feet. Jack Hammer on the ground between us. We were just outside the entrance to the "cave." Surveying the small space, I wondered how the hell those judges hung out here for so long.

  "What are you going to do with us?" I asked. "Take us somewhere, shoot us, leave us dead?"

  The words didn’t scare me, sort of like by saying them out loud I was exorcising the fear. Jack’s moan now sounded rather inhuman. I wanted to tell him to buck up—I couldn’t help him if he was going to lie there and cry. Jesus, it was like something Dick Whitfield would do.

  There was something seriously wrong with me. Because I just couldn’t see Ned killing me, even though he’d hit me, so I was in total denial about all this. It didn’t matter that he was making some sort of fancy knot in the rope, that the Glock was within his arm’s reach on the rock where he’d put it.

  A flash pierced the sky, and a second later, a crack of thunder rumbled across the ridge. The patter of rain followed.

  I had an idea.

  Ned had taken my wrist and was wrapping the rope around it, pulling on my other arm to get that wrist in line so he could string them together. I stared out over his shoulder, at the cave’s entrance. Just one more. I just needed one more.

  I’m not one to pray. I don’t promise God all sorts of shit so I can get shit in return. I don’t believe in that. But I do believe in fate, that everyone has his or her time, and if it’s not your time yet, you’re not going to die.

  It wasn’t my time yet. I felt that so strongly, so when the next flash of lightning momentarily stopped Ned’s hands from moving over mine, I shoved him back with every bit of strength I had and ran into the summer rain, the thunder crashing into my ears as I went around the boulder to my right and stumbled down the hill as fast as I could.

  A shot rang out as I ran, and I felt a searing pain not only in my jaw now but in the back of my thigh, the adrenaline pushing me past it, like I was outside my body, watching myself run in the dark through the woods. My feet pounded against boulders embedded in the ground, slipping slightly as I left the hard surface onto a softer, more pliable one.

  He was following me. But unlike before, I knew it now. I heard the crunching on the dried leaves behind me—the rain might make the leaves slick, good in that it might slow Ned down, bad in that it might slow me down—Ned yelling, "Annie, for fuck’s sake, you can’t get away."

  Something was dribbling down my leg. Somehow I knew it wasn’t rain, but I didn’t stop. The rope was still dangling from the one wrist, and as I glanced down to try to pull it off, I fell, rolling across something prickly and hard, fast enough so that when I hit the tree, it knocked the wind out of me.

  This was all Ralph’s fault. I pulled the anger up from inside my gut and dragged myself to my feet. I had to get out of the woods and get some help for Jack Hammer and sic the cops on Ned and Felicia.

  The sky lit up like the fucking Fourth of July, and Ned’s silhouette was coming toward me, his arm raised, the gun pointed—not at me. I don’t know what he saw, but he thought I was about a hundred yards away. I scrambled behind the tree I’d hit, my footsteps covered by the clap of thunder that rolled across the ridge and down into my chest.

  So many questions cluttered my head, but I couldn’t think about them now. My eyes hadn’t moved from Ned’s figure, which was standing still as he surveyed the landscape, looking for me. I hoped he couldn’t hear my heartbeat, which was louder than a goddamn drum.

  The lightning cracked static across the sky, breaking the darkness into sections. I waited for the rumble that followed and ran farther down the hill. I felt like I’d been running for hours until my feet finally touched pavement. The road. It wound farther down. I glanced behind me but didn’t see Ned, didn’t hear anything except the rain, which was coming down even harder now. My hair was dripping down my back; my clothes felt as if they’d been plastered on. Yeah, I was one big fucking papier-mâché project.

  Even though I couldn’t spot Ned, I didn’t want to take any chances and crossed the road into the woods on the other side, hoping the brush and trees would help shield me. It was as if my feet couldn’t stop moving even if I wanted them to; I just ran.

  Until one of the trees in front of me reached out and grabbed me.

  Chapter 45

  A tall black man standing in the woods at night could be mistaken for a tree. Really, he could. That’s just what I’d done. Mistaken him for a tree. And as I stared into the face of the Reverend Reginald Shaw, I wondered if I shouldn’t have just let Ned shoot me. I didn’t like the look on Shaw’s face.

  "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his face close to mine, his grip on my arm even tighter than Ned’s had been.

  I jerked back and shook my head, breathing so hard I was unable to speak.

  I’m not used to any sort of exercise. I figured this was my quota for the next five years.

  To my surprise, Shaw le
t go of me, and I fell back, not realizing he’d been holding me up. I sat on my ass in the wet leaves, staring up at him, wishing I could have a time machine and go back and start over. From Thursday night, when I’d seen Ralph for the first time. I would’ve handled everything so differently if I’d known.

  Yeah, right. Probably not. In retrospect, everything seemed easy.

  "It’s not safe out here," Shaw scolded, his voice loud.

  I caught my breath and struggled to get up. He held out his hand and pulled me so I was standing. "Shush," I said, a finger at my lips. "They’ll hear you."

  Shaw glanced around. "Who?" he asked, and to his credit, he did lower his voice, but it still rumbled like the thunder that seemed to be over. Even the rain had let up a bit, and the heat had started to squeeze its way back, penetrating the chill that had temporarily air-conditioned the ridge.

  "Do you have a phone?" I whispered. I had no idea what he was doing out here, skulking in the woods, but I didn’t have time to stop and interrogate him about that now. If he was in on any of it, he’d probably deny having a phone.

  But Shaw produced a BlackBerry—of course—from his pocket and handed it to me without question. If this was a trick, he was good.

  I punched in Tom’s cell number, heard it ring, then, "Hello?"

  That’s right, he wouldn’t know it was me; it was Shaw’s phone.

  "Tom?"

  "Annie? Where are you?"

  "West Rock." I quickly told him about Ned and Felicia and Jack Hammer, the whole time more than aware of Shaw’s eyes watching me.

  When I was done, Tom said, "Shaw’s with you?"

  "Yeah."

  "Can I talk to him?"

  I handed Shaw the phone. "He wants to talk to you."

  Shaw nodded, taking the phone, and turned slightly away from me as he listened to Tom. After a few seconds, he punched END and stuck the phone back in his pocket. "He said—" But he was interrupted by an explosion that slammed against our ears.

  Ned was coming down the hill and had spotted us. Shaw took my hand and pulled me behind him as we went deeper into the woods. Ned obviously didn’t give a shit anymore; we heard more shots ring out, then tires screeching against wet pavement.

  "Get in," we heard a female voice shout—Felicia—and then she gunned it, the Jeep skidding down the winding road until the sound faded and finally disappeared.

  We stopped; Shaw dropped my hand.

  "They got away," I said softly.

  "John’s up there?" Shaw asked, cocking his head up the ridge.

  I nodded. "Ned was chasing me. I don’t think Felicia could’ve gotten him in the Jeep. He must still be on the ground up there." I knew we were going back up there, but I also knew I had to call Tom again.

  Shaw was one step ahead of me. The phone was in my hand before I could ask for it, and I thanked him as I punched in the number again.

  "Annie?" Tom asked.

  "Ned and Felicia, they’re in a red Jeep, Ned’s red Jeep—you can probably get his license plate. They’re on their way down the ridge. We’re going up to get Jack," I said.

  "I told Shaw—" But I hung up before he could continue.

  I nodded at Shaw. "Let’s go."

  We’d stood still long enough so that my legs felt a little wobbly. I reached down to my right thigh and felt something sticky, something that wasn’t rainwater. I lifted my hand close to my face and saw a darkish hue. Shit.

  The pain came back like a hot poker against my skin now that I had a few seconds to remember it. "I think I got shot," I said disbelievingly, and with those words, my jaw clicked and sent another rush of stabbing pain into my face.

  Shaw studied my face, then stooped down and looked closely at my thigh. I had no pride left.

  "How bad is it?" I asked, unable to twist around far enough to see.

  He stood. "Flesh wound. It looks like it just nicked you on its way somewhere else."

  "But it’s bad enough so it’s bleeding."

  "It’s not bleeding anymore; it’s clotting nicely."

  "I thought you were a preacher, not a doctor."

  Shaw smiled, and I could see those straight teeth even in the dark. "You haven’t done your homework. I’m disappointed."

  I didn’t have time to respond. He started off without me, and I followed, wondering what the fuck he was talking about. He had to know Google didn’t recognize him. LexisNexis showed nothing. He was a goddamn ghost, or, if the city fathers were to be believed, a guardian angel for the downtrodden.

  Speaking of which . . .

  "Jamond," I said as I limped up next to him. Now that I knew I’d been shot, or at least grazed by a bullet, it was affecting my brain and, by extension, my ability to walk properly. Just minutes ago I was flying through these woods like there was no tomorrow.

  Of course I had thought there might not be a tomorrow, so the incentive was there.

  "What about Jamond?" Shaw asked, not stopping.

  "He was up here. Ned played him. I think he might be in danger, too." I told him about Jamond luring me to Southern and his change of heart, which seemed to anger Ned. And then how Ned had asked Felicia about "the kid." "Was Jamond involved with the guns, too? Did Ned know that? How much did Ralph tell Ned?"

  "Why do you think I know anything about any of this?" Shaw asked softly. We were walking at a healthy clip, and the humidity was clinging to us, but he wasn’t even breathing hard. He was a cool operator, that was for sure.

  "Because you’re here." As I said it, the butterflies flew up into my chest. He was involved somehow, maybe not with Ned but with something else. "Why are you here?" I asked.

  He didn’t stop, looked straight ahead. "Jamond called me. He said I should come up here. I didn’t know any more than that until you ran into me. I make it a point not to ask questions of the young people. I don’t judge them. They learn how to trust that way."

  I turned his words over in my head. "So Jamond’s okay?"

  "He’s laying low. His words."

  Jamond had called for help. Not the cops, I’d been right about that, but the one person he felt he could trust. Maybe he really would be okay after all.

  We could see the outline of the Judges Cave now against the sky, which had brightened as the moon began to emerge from behind the storm clouds. The muscles in my legs felt like they were stretched too tight, the wound in my thigh just another place I hurt.

  "What was between you and Ralph?" I asked. "What did you owe him?"

  Shaw stopped then; a smile filled his face. "You thought the worst of him."

  No shit.

  "He wanted to win you back. He knew once you found out about the charity money that you would never return to him."

  Again, no shit. I waited as Shaw sighed deeply.

  "He gave the money to me."

  I let his words sit for a second. "When? Why?"

  "We met that night he was arrested. I was there, too. That’s when we met Mr. Decker."

  "The three of you? In lockup together? What were you there for? I know about Ralph and Jack." I couldn’t wrap my head around "Mr. Decker."

  Shaw had resumed hiking up toward the cave, but at a slower pace as he contemplated what he was going to tell me. Finally, "Drugs. Worse than Ralph. A lot worse. But we shared something there—I knew he’d lost his dream."

  I snorted. I couldn’t help myself. Shaw gave me a nasty look. Even in the dark I could see it.

  "He lost his dream, his wife. He wanted to purge himself."

  He fucking purged it all right.

  "So he gave me the money. But on one condition. That I use it to educate myself." Shaw paused. "So I did."

  "Give me a break," I said. "That’s all it took to turn you around? You didn’t take the money and go out and buy more drugs? Were you a dealer?"

  "He didn’t give it to me right away. We’d become friends."

  "You can’t tell me he hadn’t spent that money before that."

  Shaw stopped, studying my face. "He had it
in a separate account. He knew he had no right to it."

  No shit.

  "Did you know what he was up to? I mean, with the guns?" I asked.

  "I was trying to help him, but he got in over his head. Once he was in, he couldn’t get out." He stole a glance at me. "He wanted to see you."

  He saw me all right—through a camera lens. "Did he even think he could justify stalking me?"

  Shaw sighed. "He didn’t know how to approach you. I told him he should just call you."

  While I could see Shaw might have been trying to talk sense into Ralph, it obviously hadn’t worked.

  He was talking again. "But he knew it was too late once those kids got shot in Hartford. Someone went to the authorities, gave them Ralph’s name."

  "Who? You?"

  "It was Mr. Decker."

  Jack? Really?

  "I thought Jack was involved," I said. "He had that duffel bag at the nature center the other day, the one that looked like the others the feds took out of the apartment."

  Shaw chuckled. "He went hiking. He was no more involved than I was. We both wanted to help Ralph. He didn’t know Mr. Decker was the one who’d turned him in. But Mr. Decker and I talked to him, and he finally agreed to cooperate. He was repentant."

  I didn’t have a lot of sympathy for Ralph. He’d never been sorry for what he’d done to start this roller coaster; how could I believe he’d be sorry for anything after that?

  Shaw was nodding. He knew what I was thinking.

  "I know. He’d spent his entire life pretending to be a victim. He saved me, but I could do nothing to save him. The least I could do was to get him a good lawyer." Shaw’s tone was full of regret.

  The story didn’t explain how Felicia and Ashley got so mixed up in this, why Shaw had given them a place to live, and I was about to ask about that, but we’d reached the cave. I pushed the questions aside as we circled the smaller boulders around to the entrance, which was dark, the candle no longer flickering. But even in the dark, we could see.

  Jack Hammer wasn’t there.

  Chapter 46

  I stared at the empty spot where Jack Hammer had been moaning not too much earlier. Did Felicia untie him, set him free? Or did she just untie his feet and make him get into the Jeep, and now he was being held captive somewhere else? We’d passed no one, heard no one else in the woods, as we came back up the hill.