Stiffed

by Kitchin, Rob

  Hopefully.

  She finally relents and dashes off. I sprint for the far end and a door marked fire exit. I bump it open and wait for Juan to enter the shop. As he turns the corner, I hold his eye for a moment then disappear into a service passage.

  I hope to heck that he thinks that I let Sally exit before me. I start to sprint towards the east atrium. Behind me I hear the fire door burst open and then Juan’s footsteps as he sets off in pursuit. After a few paces he slows to a stop.

  I glance back, but he’s already turned and is jogging back towards the shop. He’s after Sally, not me.

  Double fuck with bells on!

  I skid to a stop and turn around, sprinting back. Welcome to amateur hour - how to rescue a damsel and then put her immediately back in distress.

  All the doors into the stores look the same. I get back to where I think I exited and open the door. It’s the wrong store, full of kitchenware. I decide to go through the shop back into the main part of the mall to get my bearings. It’s probably not a bad idea - if I went through the right back door, I’d probably be a sitting target for Juan’s waiting gun.

  When I get back to the mall thoroughfare it’s practically deserted. Cowboy is making his way slowly down the middle, an enormous pistol gripped in his two hands.

  There’s a scream from the store next door. Juan must have found Sally’s hiding place.

  I’m just going to have to chance it. I duck out of the store, dash the couple of meters to its neighbor.

  There’s a loud bang and the other plate glass window shatters, showering me with glass crystals.

  I fall into the shop and speed crawl off to one side into a display of dresses muttering curses.

  I’m now trapped between Juan, who almost certainly has Sally, and Cowboy who has a great big pistol. All I’m armed with is a baseball bat. Somehow I don’t think it’s going to be swatting bullets away to left field.

  I crawl further into the store.

  Cowboy shouts in from the entrance. ‘I know you’re in here, Tad.’

  There’s a shot and a grunt, followed by Cowboy moaning, ‘Fuck!’

  That about sums it up.

  ‘Stay where you are, Brett,’ Juan says, from somewhere in front of me and to the left.

  ‘Like I have a ... Goddamn choice ... you fucking traitor.’

  ‘Kiss my ass, Brett.’

  ‘I wouldn’t kiss your ... ass if it were covered in ... peanut butter and jelly.’

  I start to crawl forward as carefully as I can.

  Juan and Sally’s feet come into view, slowly edging forward. She’s slightly to his left, but close in as if he’s got an arm round her waist or neck.

  Sally is crying. Moaning that she hasn’t done anything; that he’s got the wrong person.

  I move forward a couple of meters then kneel, raising one foot so that it’s placed on the ground. I raise the bat, holding it over one shoulder and wait.

  Cowboy is cursing everything under the sun from the doorway.

  Just as they almost draw level with me, Juan seems to get a change of heart, stopping his slow progress, deciding that maybe the back exit might be safer. Cowboy might be hit, but seems compos mentis enough to shoot a gun.

  It’s now or never. I swing the bat with as much might as I can. It snags on a dress, but the momentum is enough that it crashes into Juan’s stomach.

  He grunts and folds over.

  I stand and bring the bat down across his back and he slumps to the floor groaning. 3-0 Crusaders!

  I’d like to smash his head into next week, but instead I grab Sally’s hand and start pulling her towards the back exit. She resists for a moment, seemingly frozen to the spot, then she falls into step.

  ‘I told you I’d be back for you,’ I say as we crash through the rear fire door, trying to sound like the nonchalant action hero. We both know, however, that it’s a minor miracle that we’re still alive and together; and that we’ve not yet made good our escape.

  * * *

  The wide passageway leads to a large roller shutter that is closed. We tumble through a fire door to the right and find ourselves in the east atrium. A few stragglers are being herded from the mall by anxious looking security guards.

  I drag Sally in that direction and we exit into the hot air, pushing our way through the confused crowd, most of whom had been in the movie theatres and were unaware of the chaos in the food court and what caused the evacuation.

  Sirens are approaching the site from several directions. Cars are scattering across the car parks, seeking exits. We start jogging across the expanse of tarmac, heading for the main road.

  We’re barely fifty meters out when there’s a shout behind us.

  ‘Tadhg!’

  I glance over my shoulder and we continue to run, Sally’s breath labored. Kate is standing on the edge of the car park, pointing a handgun at us.

  Will this never end?

  I step up the pace, veering towards a slow moving car. ‘We need to go faster, Sally.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she moans back.

  ‘Tadhg! I’ll shoot,’ Kate barks.

  I glance back again. Kate is still standing in the same spot, people scattering around her.

  I prefer the odds of her shooting from distance than a meter away. We keep running, aiming to intersect with the car.

  It’s going to glide past us. It must be doing no more than ten miles an hour, following the designated speed limit for the mall car park. I let go of Sally’s hand and dash into its path, waving my arms, the bat still in my hand.

  Whoever is behind the wheel is slow with their reactions.

  Here we go again!

  I jump up and land on the hood with my hip, rolling up onto the windscreen.

  The car comes to a sudden halt and I catapult forwards and tumble to the ground, landing on my back with a thwack. Every bruise and ache in my body flares. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck, not tapped by a car.

  Sally has grabbed hold of my arm with both hands and is trying to drag me to my feet. She’s babbling something, but it sounds like gibberish to me – like a voice yelling under water. Somewhat reluctantly, I stand, unsteady on my feet.

  Kate is walking purposefully across the car park towards us, the pistol down by her side. She looks like she’s casting for a role in a Terminator movie.

  A little old lady has got out of the car, her face creased in concern. ‘Are you …’

  I push her out of the way. ‘I’m sorry, Miss, but we need your car.’

  ‘I … I …’

  ‘Police business.’ As in we need to avoid the police!

  I push her to one side and slip in behind the wheel. Sally is running round the hood for the passenger door.

  Shit! I can’t do this! I smash my open palm into the steering wheel and leap out again.

  ‘You drive,’ I shout heading for the trunk.

  ‘What?’ Sally shouts.

  ‘You drive!’

  ‘Tadhg!’ She turns on her heels, heading back to the front of the car. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  I clear the end of the car and head down to the passenger door. Across the roof I can see Kate running towards us, closing fast, the elderly woman backing away, looking lost.

  I slip into the car.

  Kate is going to arrive in a couple of seconds.

  A moment later Sally plonks down on the seat, slamming the door behind her.

  ‘Drive!’ I shout.

  Sally shifts into gear and slams her foot on the accelerator. We jump forward just before Kate arrives where the trunk used to be. A second later there’s another loud crack accompanied by a ping and whine as a bullet thuds into the car.

  ‘FUCK!’

  ‘Tadhg!’ Sally shouts.

  ‘Floor it!’

  ‘I am freaking flooring it!’

  ‘Well, floor it some more!’

  We barely seem to be moving, the car struggling to accelerate. Christ knows what heap of crap we’ve just
stolen from the old lady. It’s probably never been above the speed limit since it was bought.

  There’s another bang and the back and side windows shatter.

  ‘Tadhg!’

  ‘Head that way,’ I point to our left. The exits from the car park are choked with traffic. There’s no point trying them, we’ll be a sitting duck. ‘And swerve. It’ll be more difficult to hit a moving target.’

  Sally turns the car and sets off across the almost deserted car park, swerving left and right.

  There’s two more shots, but nothing seems to hit us. I glance back out of the shattered window. Kate is standing with her legs spread, both hands on the pistol, pointing it at us. There’s another bang. Instinctively, I duck and turn back to face the front. We’re almost on top of the shrubbery.

  ‘Sally!’

  We crash through the low lying bushes, smash through a chain link fence, bounce across the sidewalk and land on the road with a loud crack. I rise up out of the seat, smacking my head off the roof.

  DAMN!

  I’m aware of Sally turning the wheel hard to try and get us pointing in the right direction, the screeching of tires and a cacophony of horns, and the low rumble of a jet engine coming into land.

  I glance out the back window to see the exhaust pipe clattering along the road, cars swerving to avoid it.

  I catch a glimpse of a police car heading the other way, its lights swirling, siren blaring, as it makes its way to the mall.

  ‘You need to slow down, Sally.’

  ‘Go fuck yourself, Tiger.’

  Despite the drama of the last few minutes our friendship seems to be back on its normal footing.

  * * *

  The noise of the car without the exhaust is deafening and exhaust fumes are being sucked into the interior through the smashed windows.

  ‘Left. Left! We need to turn left.’

  Sally ignores me, continuing straight on.

  ‘Where the hell are you going, Sally?’

  ‘The police department.’

  ‘The police department? Are you mad! There’s no way we’re going to the police.’

  ‘Give me one good reason why not?’ She glances over at me, her mouth set in a determined hard line.

  ‘I’ll give you three. Annabelle, Jason and Paavo.’ I hold up three fingers. ‘They’re being held hostage. Aldo Pirelli has Annabelle; Barry White has Jason and Paavo.’

  Okay, so there’s a white lie in there – Annabelle is probably free at this point – but that’s beside the point. I need to win this argument.

  ‘Which is why we need to go to the police,’ Sally counters. ‘This has gone too far; it needs professionals.’

  ‘Professionals? Don’t make me laugh. Aldo Pirelli has been running this town for over forty years. If the police could have done something about him, they’d have done it by now. They’re probably all in his pay.’

  ‘And what do you propose? That we take them on ourselves? Wage a war?’

  ‘I just escaped and saved you, didn’t I?’

  ‘By placing hundreds of peoples’ lives at risk! Jesus, Tadhg, God only knows what the emergency services are finding back there.’

  She has a point. Things did get completely out of hand; bullets flying all over the place, but I press on. ‘You would have preferred it if I’d let them hand you over to Psycho-Bitch?’

  ‘No! Yes! This has gone too far, Tiger. It’s time to stand aside and let someone else have a go.’

  It had gone too far shortly after midnight.

  ‘Sally, if we go to the police they’re going to spend hours questioning us. They’re going to charge us with all kinds of stuff. They won’t believe a word we tell them. All that’s going to do is leave Jason and Paavo to their fate. Those bastards aren’t going to stop until they get their million dollars.’

  ‘And what about Annabelle?’

  ‘Annabelle should have been released by now,’ I concede. ‘We did a swap with Kate. Pirelli traded me for her.’

  ‘Why the hell did he do that? And what the heck did Psycho-Bitch want with you?’

  ‘For the love of God, will you please turn off this road? We need to get back to your house.’

  ‘Why were you swapped, Tiger?’

  ‘Annabelle signed over half of Annabelle’s Delights to Pirelli; Psycho-Bitch thought I had the million dollars.’

  ‘Annabelle did what?’

  ‘She signed over half of Annabelle’s Delights. That’s another reason we can’t go to the cops; it’ll have been for nothing.’

  ‘Any decent lawyer will overturn that. It was done under duress.’

  ‘Once someone like Pirelli has his claws in you they don’t let go,’ I reason. ‘He’ll wait a while then come back. Intimidation, coercion, threats, a little arson, whatever it takes.’

  ‘She can fight him. The authorities will have to help her. The Feds will sort him out.’

  I can tell she isn’t convinced. Pirelli has become rich and powerful running various rackets and nobody yet has managed to stand up to him.

  I say nothing, leaving her to her own thoughts and the roar of the engine.

  ‘And do you have the million dollars?’ she asks eventually.

  ‘No. You do. It’s in your house.’

  She slows at the next junction and turns.

  ‘Once we get to my house,’ she says, ‘we’re picking up the million dollars, phoning Annabelle and then we’re going to the police.’

  I don’t reply, staring out the window. I wonder if the newspaper’s health cover – assuming I still have a job – is going to pay for all the treatment and physiotherapy I’m likely to need once this is all over. And will it extend to a prison hospital?

  9

  Life is never so bad that it can't get worse – Calvin and Hobbes

  Sally is still sour when we turn into her cul-de-sac. You’d think she’d be just a tincy-wincy bit pleased that I’ve just rescued her. Instead she’s treating me like some kind of pariah. I guess I got her in the situation in the first place and she’s a long way from forgiveness. Still, it’ll be something to tell the grandkids when she gets out of prison.

  Suddenly I feel a mushroom cloud of panic rise up inside. I’m not holding my bat. Where’s my Goddamn bat? I’m not expecting trouble at Sally’s house, but I can’t help feeling anxious. I’d feel much more comfortable with a bat than bare hands.

  I glance back on the back seat, but it isn’t there either – just a neck scarf and a handbag. Damn! It cost forty bucks and I’d become quite attached to it for the short period it was in my possession. It felt like it had dozens of home runs and a couple of cracked elbows and knees running through its grain.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ Sally asks, annoyance in her voice.

  ‘My bat.’

  ‘You dropped it when the car hit you.’

  ‘That was quickly becoming my lucky bat.’

  ‘Try and get some perspective will you, Tiger. We can buy you a new freaking bat with the million dollars.’

  She’s right. I’m losing perspective, conflating large and small issues. I guess when life is this chaotic every little thing seems like a major event. Nevertheless, I’d feel more comfortable if I was still armed with my lucky bat. Strange how the brain works. Or at least, this brain.

  Sally parks the stolen car on the driveway and the jet engine cuts to silence. Thank heavens for that. A least I now know what it would be like to be strapped to a rocket. We clamber out; the car is some kind of small Japanese run around. Clearly there’s no need for a high speed getaway in the Far East. It must have done zero to sixty miles an hour in about a minute and a half.

  Sally opens the front door and I hold her back, poking my head into the hallway, listening for intruders.

  ‘What the hell are you doing, Tiger?’

  ‘Making sure the coast is clear. I’ve had enough surprises for today.’

  We creep into the hallway, but the house feels empty. I move to the coat stand.

>   The cap is missing.

  The Goddamn cap is MISSING!

  I start to throw coats and hats to the floor.

  ‘Hey! HEY!’ Sally shouts.

  I turn to face her, my face flush with frustration.

  ‘Are you going to put all that back?’

  ‘The Crusaders’ cap is missing!’

  ‘You can have mine.’

  I clutch at my hair. Damn, I lost my cap as well. I’ve lost the bat, my cap and Kate’s cap. It’s like a Crusaders’ giveaway. At least I still have the t-shirt, even if the sleeve is punctured with a bullet hole.

  ‘I don’t want yours,’ I explain. ‘I want the one that was here.’ I tap the coat stand.

  ‘We don’t have any Crusaders caps. Joel and the kids support the Red Sox.’

  ‘Kate’s cap, not theirs! The cap contains the million dollars.’

  ‘The cap …’ Her face is creased in a puzzled frown. ‘Have you been taking drugs?’

  ‘Come on Sally, get with the plot. Why do you think that you and the Memphis mobsters turned up at the mall wearing Crusaders caps? Because Kate hid the location of the money in the cap. I’d picked her cap up off my front porch this morning and put it on. She must have lost it when she was kidnapped. I left it here. But I told her that you had it.’

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘It was true, you did have it. Here. I was trying to find a way of rescuing you.’

  ‘By putting me in the middle of a gun fight!’

  ‘I was rescuing you!’

  ‘And I’m meant to be grateful, am I?’

  ‘Well, yes!’

  ‘You don’t have a great record on rescuing me.’

  ‘I don’t have a great record on rescuing you?’

  What the hell is she going on about? I’ve never tried to rescue her before. Am I meant to be rescuing her on a regular basis? From what: an idiot husband and two brat kids?

  ‘No.’ She starts to head through to the kitchen. ‘I’m going to ring Annabelle.’

  I follow after her. ‘If the cap is not here, where the hell is it?’

  ‘How am I supposed to know?’ she says, lifting an extension phone near to the refrigerator.

  ‘Well, who could have taken it?’