by A. J. Lape
I didn’t know what to do, but now wasn’t the time to shrink away. Plus, I didn’t know if they were going to start firing at will. I now directed my questions to the one holding Mr. Rafferty, assuming he was Justin. I knew nothing about Justin personally, only that he had a chip on his shoulders the size of a two-by-four. I could only hope my next statement rattled him.
“What’s your endgame, Justin? I don’t see anything here but some hostages you intend on doing something with. Frankly, that makes no sense to me. I know you’ve got an attitude, so what’s wrong? Copper business going south? Or did killing Alfonso not get you the notoriety you wanted? Is Northside 12 just a little too small time for you, and you wanted the rest of the world and city to know it?”
He stood in silence, ruminating the words I immediately hoped weren’t a mistake. Imagine my surprise when both he and Juan simultaneously ripped their masks from their heads exposing themselves to not one, but everyone else as the culprits.
Could this get any more bizarre?
In the creek, Justin was the one that finally opened his mouth. “I didn’t kill Alfonso. I was cleanup.”
I fought the urge to scratch my head in confusion. Did that mean it was Juan? When I looked at Juan he didn’t say, “Huh-uh, wasn’t me either.” He just stood there...almost like it was understood. Something instantly didn’t feel right. Once again, I looked at Justin still subduing Mr. Rafferty. He was wearing old jeans with a hole in the knee. Juan was wearing almost a duplicate outfit when the person that shot AP Unger was wearing white cotton pants. If I had two of the major psychos in front of me, then who did that leave? Jinx?
Mr. Rafferty slowly righted himself then gazed at me like we were all as good as dead. His shoulders sagged; he’d given up. I was then hit with the magnitude of the situation. I realized he was human, just like the rest of us. A man longing for retirement, fishing at dawn, sleeping ’til noon, long walks with his wife on a weeknight—things he feared he might never get.
When he opened his mouth, I would’ve sworn on a stack of Bibles it was going to be his Last Will and Testament. Instead, he threw his gaze behind me and gasped, “Numero nueve,” and started praying out loud.
Numero nueve, I thought. Numero nueve. Nah, it couldn’t be.
I didn’t even have time for panic to knock me down because right behind me I heard Darth Vader whispering, “Boo.”
I froze, my heart deliberating whether to pump again or send me to the Great Beyond. So, this was it. I was going to die. When most kids had the occasional question about death, I learned from an early age none of us were invincible. Superheroes weren’t real. No one stopped the bridge from breaking, or the bullet from hitting your chest, or even called on the phone to say, “Get your house in order.” If those people existed, death could be avoided...or, at the least, made easier. Things had happened in my life that made me try to grasp the hereafter, but I’d always assumed I’d live a long life and have more adventure-packed days to just keep grasping. But I swear to God himself if He would help me outrun this psychopathic rat killer named Eddie Lopez—dubbed Numero nueve in Spanish class—I’d do something worthwhile with the rest of my days.
I briefly wondered what kind of gun was at my back, and whether it was real. All I knew was there was a good chance it was the kind that went bang...AP Unger could attest to that. Call me stupid, but I’d rather have a bullet in the chest than my back. I inhaled then turned around, willing my voice not to shake. “How’s the rat business, Eddie?”
Eddie was unfazed, her black-eyed stare implacable and ready for more carnage. I should’ve known. She was wearing her karate pants and a facemask that had some sort of voice distortion unit underneath. In her right hand, she was was cupping a nickel-plated 9mm gun. Somewhere along the way she’d ditched the rifle but came prepared with an extra firearm.
She removed her mask and threw it to the ground then pulled a piece of paper to her eyes and read a few sentences.
Now would be a good time for a meteor to fall from the sky.
Eddie must’ve been at Sydney’s party and had somehow intercepted the note from Jaws during the brawl. Maybe a better description would’ve been a cranberry colored hoodie. I closed my eyes in my mind. Vinnie mumbled the word “red” when he relayed Jaws’ conversation, but it meant nothing at the time so I let it go. My God, why couldn’t Justice be here? Justice could take care of this with her eyes closed. I wasn’t even somebody that fought like a girl...I fought like a moron with a death wish.
A scuffle broke out in the line of students Juan was holding hostage. Eddie glanced past me—hearing their cries and mewls—and if she was hungry, her mouth was dripping drool with the prospect of more victims. When she raised her gun to silence them, I pivoted toward them on instinct...but something told me to stop. The only hope they had was for Eddie to find me bigger game. With the force of fear and years of disappointment and scary-movie training, I threw my whole body into her, hoping to rattle her long enough so I could get a quick start. My nose bumped her chest, my teeth rattled, and all she did was stagger an inch then laugh in my face.
Yup, this was dying time.
I ran. I ran faster than I’d ever run before. Fearing she wasn’t behind me, I took a quick glance over my shoulder in a purposeful taunt—somehow mustering an even sicker smile than she was wearing.
She fired off two shots just to remind me that she was.
I tripped in a rabbit hole, split the bottom of my foot wide open, but staggered up and ran some more. When she expelled another bullet, I ducked down in the weeds trying to hide as I sprinted, but next thing I knew, I was flat on my back—hurtled through the air—with Eddie’s 9mm in my face, her laughing like a goon. Instinct barely had time to take over when someone came out of nowhere, diving on her, slamming her to the ground. Eddie let out a pained, “Ugh,” trying to gather herself.
Dylan, I gasped.
In the blink of an eye, he jerked me up, pulling me toward the school and away from Eddie whose head cracked so loud it sounded like a melon busting. We fell overtop one another, sprinting past the Ratmobile parked in the middle of the field. It looked like she’d gone four-wheeling in it. Brown streaks covered the sides and part of the windshield; the mud flaps were caked with clods of dirt that had hardened into clay. My guess was more ammunition was inside and hopefully something concrete that would tie her and the others to the murders of Alfonso, Annie, and the man who still was nameless. Eddie worked for Saxon Brothers’ Exterminators. Theoretically, it was reasonable to believe she would have access to firearms—especially if you had to take down an animal that wouldn't go willingly. But Eddie Lopez? I shook my head in my mind. How in the heck did I miss that?
Then my mind put that puzzle piece in its place. Eddie was the one at the construction site who I referred to as Mr. Hood, who pulled a bundle of copper pipes from the trunk of a car. She fit the physical build, and maybe the trench coat didn’t even have a hood. Perhaps, it was her normal hoodie with the coat over top. Thing was, when each of them gave her the hand signal, she didn’t return it. What did that mean? Was she some unknown variable that screwed up whatever today’s plans were? She’d already shot AP Unger, I could attest to that, and even though Juan and Justin were holding hostages, they hadn’t shot anyone. But all three were here with guns...that meant something was planned...but what?
We didn’t make it anywhere except in what felt like circles.
We were crouched low, breathing heavily. Dylan looked me in the face. The glint in his amber eyes was murderous, but underneath was a tender edge I’d come to expect from the best friend I’d ever had. “Tell me you’re okay, sweetheart.”
All I could manage was a nod, but when I opened my mouth—to unravel the tangled feelings his presence always gave me—Dylan suddenly engulfed my hands in his and simply promised, “You’re not going to die.”
Tears stung with the sting of a beehive.
I geared up to do some quality sobbing, but the instant I almost
laid my soul bare—to ask, What’s been going on between us?—I could feel Eddie closing in. She wasn’t quiet, she wanted us to know she was coming, and now I knew why some people only watched horror movies with the sound turned low. It was the noise...that crazy music of what was to come…that was worse than knowing it. Eddie was now singing. Singing some psychotic song that I thought she might’ve made up until I realized it was...
“Don’t fear the reaper.”
Loved that song…right now Eddie was taking it literally.
In half a second, Dylan forcibly yanked me up again, and we raced back toward the school. When Eddie fired off a round that nearly grazed our heads, he drove us to the ground, covering me with his body. We willed our breathing to still, but when I turned and gazed into his face, I saw it in his eyes. If we stayed still, we were sitting ducks; if we ran, we gave her a target to shoot at. He looked tired, worn out, and aged beyond his years—all because of me. When a single tear rolled down his cheek, it was like a fist to the stomach.
Tears blinded me as I mouthed out the words, “Always,” then did the unspeakable...
I stood up and ran.
“Darcy, no!” he screamed, his arms lunging for me. But I took off in Eddie’s line of vision anyway. I hightailed it across the field like a gazelle outrunning a lion, dipping low into the wild grass that had only begun to bloom. I dropped down and crawled for a while, ignoring Dylan’s cries and his rising desperation that he couldn’t locate me. Finally, I made it to some storage units at the property’s edge, the right side of my body behind an air conditioning unit, the left side hanging out for target practice.
“Don’t fear the reaper…”
My mouth went slack, and I began to tremble all over. My grip on my sanity was slipping. I couldn’t continue to do this. I was only a human, a girl to boot, and I wasn’t even sure Heaven was on my side. I listened for that little angel on my shoulder and got nothing.
I fell to the earth on all fours, wrenching the grass between my hands, speaking into the ground. “I just wanted to help,” I whimpered, “but I’m tired.”
Then I heard that voice again. It was too close. I felt her heat, all trigger-friendly happy, and knew for sure when she kicked me in the ribs. I winced; swallowing down a yell, then met her eyes. As I shakily stood, I zeroed in on her right hand, holding the silver 9mm. It was stamped with the initials AVO.
Aw, c’mon, surely not.
Eddie gave me a carnivorous gaze, her empty black eyes locking on mine as if she’d read my mind. “I wanted in AVO. They told me what I had to do to get in. Alfonso was a snitch, they don’t like snitches.”
“Annie?”
She frowned as if she’d forgotten about Annie altogether. “The girl always with Oscar?” she said, cocking her head to the side. I only stared. “I saw them fighting,” she explained. “I was getting tires put on the Ratmobile. After he left, I made fun of him and she went loco. It really wasn’t a big deal.”
She added a sociopathic shrug.
Oh, wow, I marveled at the cold-bloodedness. I’m not sure how she killed Annie without being caught on camera, but my guess was there was evidence of her in that parking lot somewhere. My thoughts went back to two weeks ago when I saw Eddie kicking the tires on the Ratmobile in the school parking lot, the day Oscar was arrested. Was she trying them out then? If so, she’d just killed Annie the night before.
Well, hallelujah. Can I get an amen?? I got a confession. Two confessions that would free Oscar. A part of me was ecstatic; another wanted to keep a bullet from hitting its mark. As much as I tried, I didn’t seem to have the sense to shut up. “Well, murder’s easy for you, isn’t it, Eddie? Did you get the man downtown, too?”
She gave me another shrug as though it meant nothing to her. “I didn’t want him in the gym.” Now, it all made sense. He was discovered in a dumpster behind Pump & Grind Gym, and Oscar was found on videotape at Tire Town.
So, that other man wasn’t AVO, I thought?
“Was he AVO?” I asked.
“No, I was bored...and mad.”
“Maybe you should talk to your shrink about that.”
Another head cock. “And why would I do that?”
“My guess is you’re under-medicated.”
Taunting Eddie made a bad situation even worse. She spouted off a foul litany of words, and instead of buying me time, I’d just signed my death certificate. But I felt like I needed to make a deposit in the karma bank, and what better way to do that than guarantee that Dylan, at least, walked away unharmed. Eddie wanted me, especially after what came out of my mouth next.
“You probably screwed that up somehow, too, didn’t you? Just like you did with Alfonso. You cut off his hand, Eddie. That was dumb. It was supposed to be his tongue. You’re just as dumb as Justice said you were.”
Eddie looked like she’d swallowed a bowling ball.
Her Adam’s apple almost tripled.
I waited for her to shoot, charge me like a bull, take bites out of me, or go for my neck like everyone else, but two earsplitting shots rang through the air, sending us both to our knees. The first sounded like it struck something metal; the second? I wasn’t sure. It missed me—at least I thought it missed me. I was so deaf from the blast I didn’t know if it hit me and I didn’t feel it, or if the shooter truly was a bad shot. Was that Juan or Justin? Or had the cavalry finally arrived? Eddie didn’t care that shots were being fired—she just kept smiling like a loony person—but I sure as heck did. I had the answers, but what good did it do if I wasn’t alive to tell?
Clouds rolled in, and the sky darkened almost on cue—like the heavens were upset at what it was seeing. A big branch was right by my feet. When Eddie looked back toward the shooter, I picked it up and swung like I was going for a grand slam, cracking her square in the neck. Her feet went out from underneath her, and she crashed to the ground with a startled “umpf.”
As I ran, all I kept thinking was, Someone will come, someone will come. I should’ve known it would be my best friend. Dylan charged through the field, not one ounce of hesitation in his gait, yelling my name at the top of his lungs. “Darcy, run!” he roared, frantically demanding I go faster. “Run!”
Pushing my legs until they burned, I met his eyes. They held a volatile combination of fury, revenge, and fear. He didn’t like to be afraid and usually annihilated the thing he felt made him weak. But mere feet from me, he abruptly stopped...going immediately still like the blood had completely drained from his body.
It was too late.
Here we were within arm’s reach, and the only thing separating us was Eddie’s gun I now felt at my back. Dylan and I had one of those moments—a moment that was just the two of us—and I saw dread seep into his eyes. He was promising that I would live, and he would go down making sure that happened. But there was a glimmer of, I may not make it in the process...but remember I love you. “I love you,” he then murmured out loud. “I love you more than anything in my life, and I always will.”
My tongue twisted, and I wanted to speak. I wanted to tell him he was my world, but right then, Eddie fisted a handful of my hair, twisting it to my scalp. Dylan went white as a ghost as the hairs painfully popped one by one, but as excruciating as it was, I tilted my head toward her and calmly said, “Eddie.”
A thwack broke the silence as Dylan attacked like a pit bull tasting blood.
With his left elbow, he knocked me out of the way then circled both hands around the gun, the rest of his body going straight for Eddie’s knees. Somehow I wound up underneath, coughing and crawling out to the side like I was on my last breath. Dylan’s movements were a blur of violence and animal wildness, kneeing her in the stomach, headbutting her in the nose, all with the intended outcome of Eddie never speaking again. Eddie pulled every trick she had in the book, returning the headbutt, doing something to his ribs then swiping Dylan at the ankles, laughing sadistically in the process. Dylan went down hard on his back but dragged Eddie along with him in the grass
. A few slugs were squeezed off in the process as Eddie’s hands still wrapped around his, trying to jar the gun free.
This shouldn’t be happening. Dylan should’ve already overpowered her, and I was struck with the realization of the strength psychotic people must possess. I grabbed Eddie by the hair yanking her neck so far back it almost gave her a permanent flip-top head. When another round was released, I got so afraid she’d shoot Dylan I dropped my hands and froze.
When Dylan got one knee back off the ground, he attacked with the force of a charging bull, thrusting his hands and the gun upward cracking Eddie’s jaw. She staggered backwards and spit out blood, cursing, then dropped both hands as she cradled her throbbing head. The gun launched upwards, and while Dylan lunged for it, Eddie hurled her entire body into the air, caging him to the ground.
Dylan’s face was a ball of fury, ripped and contorted with anger, literally dodging Eddie’s teeth. Seconds count here. I needed to do something. I needed to go for the gun. The moment I took one step toward it, Frank Small dove into the pile like some dimwitted caveman, and if he was looking to pass the baton, he “franked it up” on the last lap.
The sound of knuckles popping filled the air. No one knew who to grab, who was on what team, who had the gun, nothing. Desperately, I tried to find the gun to no avail.
Somehow making my body function, I jumped up and down in desperation, screaming and waving my arms, trying to alert anyone in the field the real fight was over here. The feeling of despair and defeat was eclipsed only when I saw a sea of black charge toward us, guns pointed and aimed at Eddie.
In a perfect world Eddie would’ve surrendered. Instead, she located the gun, pivoted toward the police, raised her right hand, and opened fire. They had no choice, I told myself.
I closed my eyes as the three officers squeezed off a shot.