by Jonas Saul
The gunman’s eyes doubled in size. He had to be on something. He probably wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow.
“What the fuck, man? You can’t kill Carlo.”
The gunman moved fast. He slipped in behind one of the girls in the white lab coats and used his free hand to pull her hair up. She cried out and protested, but got to her knees. He held her in front of him.
Sarah’s heart raced as she watched, helpless.
The man placed the tip of the weapon against the back of the girl’s head and pushed her head forward. The male pharmacist went to get up, but when the perp stepped toward him hard and fast, he eased back down.
“Everything okay back there?” the guy from the front yelled.
“All under control,” the perp yelled back. Then he faced the pharmacy’s back door. “Isn’t that right, asshole in the storeroom? You killed Carlo, now I kill a hostage. One for one. That work for you?”
The perp’s eyes were wild and crazy. Sarah saw in his face that he was going to pull the trigger. She had to do something. The woman cried under his grip, on the edge of hysterics. It was all happening too fast. Her feet moved around the floor like her legs were spasming.
“Take me,” Sarah said.
“Shut up,” the perp shouted. “I got my dead girl right here.”
She locked eyes with him. With no other ideas or options, Sarah stood up, conscious of how close the aisle was if he decided to shoot. It would be at least a five-foot dive for the cover of the aisle, but that held better odds than the woman getting shot for coming to work today.
“No. You. Don’t,” Sarah said. “I’m your walking dead girl.”
“Yo, what the fuck you be talking ’bout?”
Sarah took a step toward him, ever conscious of the gun. At any second he could just pull the trigger. Or spin to her and pull the trigger. An armed man is dangerous. An armed man buzzing on whatever drug was in this guy’s blood is danger incarnate.
She took another step. He stared at her like he’d never seen a woman before. She kept her shoulders bowed and her hands out to show supplication and weakness.
“We got people trying the door,” the other guy yelled from the front.
“Shoot them if they get inside,” the guy watching Sarah yelled back.
She was passing the base of aisle three. One more aisle and she would be in grabbing distance.
The perp didn’t wait. He let go of the female employee’s hair and kicked her away from him.
Then he aimed at Sarah.
“It’s all good. I’ll take you instead. If I don’t now, I’d have to later because you have big balls. Too big.”
A blur of motion caught her peripheral vision, but she didn’t turn to look. She locked eyes with the perp and waited for him to shoot, hoping whatever it was that came out of the back room was fast enough and swift enough to knock the perp down for the count.
“Bye bitch,” he said.
It was like watching football on TV. One second the perp was standing there, the next he was flying through the air in one of the most violent tackles Sarah had ever seen.
The gun fired, but the round took a large chunk out of the ceiling tiles.
Sarah took a deep breath, not realizing until that moment that she had been holding it.
I really am human sometimes. Fucking sucks.
She had seen a lot and been through a lot, and felt she had grown accustomed to certain levels of violence and danger. Sometimes she even faced it with wanton and reckless abandon. It was times like this, though, that reminded her how close she just came to being shot to death.
In a pharmacy in Vegas while looking for painkillers. Shit’s crazy.
The man who jumped the perp climbed off, holding a metal bar.
Russell Anderson.
“What the hell?” Sarah whispered.
Just like at the warehouse earlier, this was the second time he had shown up to save her.
She wondered if this was a reflection on her ability. Was she weakening and Vivian knew it? Who was this guy and how did he know where to be and when?
“More people trying the door,” the guy up front yelled back. “You want me to shoot them through the glass?”
The perp was out cold, blood trickling from a head wound. Russell bent over and retrieved the shotgun. He handed it to Sarah and dipped his head sideways.
She got the meaning and took the weapon.
Then she leaned in close and whispered, “Stick around this time. I want to talk to you.”
She met his eyes. He nodded.
“Tell them to call the cops,” she motioned toward the employees and then moved away.
The aisle was long and kept her exposed all the way to the front, but wherever the last perp was hiding, he wasn’t watching the aisles. At the end of the row, she stood beside ladies’ personal products. Without knowing where the last guy was, she would have to wait for him to come out into the open.
Ten seconds later, sirens wailed in the distance.
Boy, won’t they be surprised to see me again. This shit never gets old.
She waited, hunkered down by the female pads, as if she were hunting.
“Hey, guys, you hear that?” he yelled.
At least two aisles over. He was in the painkillers aisle that led down behind the main counter. Still, there wasn’t much she could do until he stepped out.
She waited.
“Guys?” he yelled. “What you want me to do? Aren’t you all done back there? We gotta go, man.”
Her breathing had calmed. She held a weapon. She was in charge again. This would defuse in seconds.
“Hey guys,” the perp shouted, his voice hoarse. “What are we going to do here?”
“Too late to be asking that question, isn’t it?” Sarah shouted back. “Toss the weapon into the open and then walk out with your hands behind your head, fingers laced.”
“Who’s that?”
“The only thing you should be focusing on is whether you toss out the gun or get shot. There is nothing else to decide here.”
“Shut the fuck up. Who are you?”
“The grim reaper.”
“Oh man, oh man, oh man …”
He mumbled to himself, his voice dropping to below a whisper. She lifted the shotgun, aimed it in the direction of the perp’s voice and waited.
The female pads beside her gave her an idea. The perp continued to whisper something. She couldn’t have him run down his aisle to the back where everyone sat unarmed. The police sounded like they were still a full minute away.
With a small green package in her hand, she lobbed it overhand to the front of the counter where it bounced within ten feet from where she thought the perp was hiding.
She guessed right.
He jumped up into view and blasted a shot at the box of pads. Once he realized his mistake and swung toward her, she fired, keeping it low.
His jeans billowed around the ankles like a gust of wind hit him. The force of the blast knocked his feet back, and he fell forward. With his hands locked on the weapon, he couldn’t get them in front fast enough. The weapon hit first, then elbows, and finally his face bounced off the floor hard.
He grunted and moaned as he came to rest curled up in a ball.
She sprang from cover, her weapon aimed at his head. If he went for his gun, she would have no choice but to put him down.
Before she could reach him, Russell jumped out of the aisle and kicked the perp’s weapon out from under him. It spun in circles along the floor and smacked into the base of the front door.
“Why did you do that?” Sarah asked, lowering her weapon.
He looked at her, confused.
“I could’ve shot you,” she said. “Jumping out like that. I was seconds away from kicking the gun.”
“But you didn’t and I didn’t want him,” he pointed at the man writhing on the floor, blood seeping from his lower legs, “to get shot again. I don’t want him to die.”
“I’m sure he’s glad
you care so much.”
Russell turned and walked toward the back of the pharmacy.
“Hey, where are you going?” Sarah asked.
“The police are coming. We shouldn’t be here when they arrive. You have questions for me. The situation has been resolved. Now we leave.”
“Really? Questions? Let’s start right now. Who the fuck are you?”
Halfway down the aisle, he shouted back, “We need to talk. Just not now and not here.”
“You’re damn right we need to talk.”
She followed Russell down the aisle, intent on knocking him unconscious if he tried to run.
There would be no more following her and showing up at the right time when she could use a hand. It was time to find out his story, even if she had to beat it out of him.
Chapter 17
Russell took Sarah to a quiet steak house that served breakfast. She hadn’t eaten since the trail mix under the bridge while waiting out the rain. She avoided the donuts at the police station, too. The smell of the restaurant almost overwhelmed her. By the time they took their seats, her hands were shaking.
He wouldn’t talk on the way over in the cab. They left the pharmacy through the back door, against the wishes of the pharmacist. He had wanted them to stay behind and receive some kind of award for stepping in and saving all of them.
Russell had said he was a nobody. The pharmacist could tell the police what he wanted, but it was nobody who stepped in and helped.
Sarah told him she was Mrs. Nobody and smiled, wishing him a good day as she slammed the back door behind them.
She examined the scar on Russell’s face while they waited for their food. The waitress had brought coffee and orange juice, but Sarah’s orange juice was already gone.
With her coffee cup in hand, she studied the line down Russell’s face and wondered at the pain of the original wound. She had wounds from being shot, beaten and whipped over the last five years, but none that noticeable.
“I think you should start,” Sarah said.
Her coffee was already half done. She motioned for the waitress to bring her more. Then she looked back at Russell, who met her gaze.
“I don’t like this,” he said, his eyes watering.
Sarah set her cup down, sat back in her chair and regarded him with a dead stare, arms crossed.
“You don’t like this? Then why are you involved? Why did you willingly walk into my life, follow me and then save us all from drugged-up crazies? Huh? Tell me, what’s your angle?”
“I had to.”
“You had to,” she repeated. “What compels you, what drives you to offer your help? Why did you have to?”
“For it is written …”
“Oh man of many words, please don’t get religious on me.”
“Why not?” he asked, his hands wrapping the coffee cup on the table. “What’s wrong with God?”
“Nothing is wrong with God. After all that I’ve gone through, I know he exists. There just seems to be too many dark corners where he doesn’t exist. But Aristotle said it best.”
Russell jerked his head up. “What did he say?”
“A painting needs the shadows to make it just right. Without the shadows, it would lack depth, character. The shadows represent evil on earth. It works for me in a morbid way. But I think I’ll stop there. It’s your turn to talk.”
The waitress brought two plates of eggs and bacon. She set them down and asked if they needed anything else. Sarah reminded her about the coffee. The waitress apologized and stepped away. Before they could begin talking again, she was back, filling both of their cups.
After she was out of earshot, Sarah said, “You were about to explain how you’re involved in my life.”
She cut the whites off the egg, placed the whole yolk on a big spoon, put it in her mouth where she burst it with her tongue, and savored the flavor as it covered the inside of her mouth.
“I hear things,” Russell said as he fidgeted with the bacon.
“You hear things? I’m not sure I understand.”
“Like they’re whispered to me.”
“Who whispers to you?” Sarah asked, wondering if Russell was talking about schizophrenia.
“My daughter.”
“How old is she?”
Russell shot her a glance and then lowered his head and covered his eyes. He seemed to be overcome with emotion.
What’s this guy’s deal?
After a moment, he composed himself.
“My daughter, Penny, is dead.”
“What? She’s …” Sarah left it hanging as she continued chewing.
Russell nodded and bit into a strip of bacon.
“How?” Sarah asked.
For the next five minutes, Russell explained how Penny was stolen from the hospital and how Russell had given chase. That was how his face came to be scarred and how Penny was taken from him. Just when he thought his world was over and death was an exciting alternative, Penny began talking to him.
“Can you hear her now?” Sarah asked.
Russell shook his head.
Sarah realized how similar their stories were.
“I know about Vivian,” Russell said.
That answers that question.
“How?”
“Penny told me.”
“How does Penny know about my sister? Why would she know?”
Russell ate his eggs in silence. Sarah waited for his response. After a few moments, she continued eating too.
“You eat your eggs weird,” Russell said.
“I don’t eat the whites. They have nothing nutritious in them. I only eat the yolks and when I do, I love the feeling of the whole thing bursting in my mouth. Nothing like it.”
“You’re an intense person,” Russell said. “You live your life that way. You eat your food in a gratifying and intense way. I bet you listen to music that way, too.”
Sarah nodded. “Why not? If you enjoy music, crank it up, soak it in, and shout with the passion of the music you’re involved with. That’s the way life should be lived. At least for me. Others can do what they want. If you get bored easily, you’re probably a boring person. I don’t get bored.” She broke her toast in half and bit into it. “You’re deflecting, avoiding something here. Why did you follow me? Why were you at the pharmacy? How are you involved in my life and how do you know about my sister?”
He set his fork down and wiped his mouth with the napkin. Then he set that down, placed both hands on the table and stared at her.
“I was told you would be in town last night and that the text you were asked to send would have dire consequences.”
“Oh yeah? For who?”
“You and me.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
She set her toast down. “So that’s why you tried to stop me?”
He nodded.
“And showed up at the warehouse to save me, and at the pharmacy, because if I didn’t send the text, I wouldn’t have had to stop a torture and I wouldn’t have had that headache?”
He nodded again.
“But if I didn’t send that text, a good man would’ve been swindled out of lots of money. A marriage would’ve broken down for no good reason. How does that fit in to your plan?”
“It doesn’t.”
“You’re not making sense. Change that.”
“Change what?”
“Start making sense, you fuck. Don’t piss me off.”
“All I care about is you and your safety.”
She frowned. “What? Why? I don’t need another daddy.”
“Penny is my daughter. She’s family. I hear things about family and act on them.”
“Tell me about the other times you acted on what Penny has told you.”
Sarah pushed her plate away as she listened to Russell explain the pictures, how he sends them to Detective Collins and how it was all related to family members, even distant family.
“Then how come you’re helping me out?
You’re still not making sense.”
The waitress interrupted to take their plates. Sarah asked for one bill.
“Do you know your family well?” Russell asked.