No One Lives Twice (A Lexi Carmichael Mystery)

by Julie Moffett

  “It’s for the girls’ bathroom,” he said, snorting. “Get it?”

  Yeah, I got it all right. This guy was seriously twisted. “Uh, thanks,” I said, quickly heading back out into the night.

  It took me a good two minutes to work the key into the rusty keyhole and I felt decidedly uncomfortable squeezing Pamela’s plastic boobs while doing it. When I was just about to give up and use the bushes, the key turned and the door opened.

  Once I finished my business and washed my hands in the rusty sink, I headed back to the truck to fill up the tank. I put my hand on the nozzle when a dark form abruptly stepped out in front of me.

  “Hello, little girl,” Beefy said.

  It was a good thing I had just gone to the bathroom. I screamed and dropped the nozzle. It fell on top of Beefy’s shoe, splashing some gasoline onto the leather. He glanced down and frowned.

  “I’m going to smell like gas now,” he said.

  That was the least of my problems. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice unnaturally high and terrified.

  He crossed his thick arms against his chest. “It’s a nice, balmy night, isn’t it? I thought perhaps we could take a drive together, deep into the woods for a little chat. What do you say?”

  “Gee, as romantic as that sounds, I think I’ll pass.”

  He pulled out a gun and pointed it at me. “I urge you to reconsider.”

  I swallowed hard and looked at the gun. “Well, if you put it that way.”

  “She’s not going anywhere,” came a voice from around the side of the station.

  To my utter shock, Finn Shaughnessy stepped out of the shadows. He, too, had a gun and pointed it at Beefy. Apparently everyone in the entire universe except me owned a firearm. Maybe it was time I changed that. In fact, morphing into a female Rambo was suddenly looking mighty attractive at the moment.

  I started to hyperventilate. Oh, my God, the plan was falling apart before it had hardly even started. Finn was supposed to be in an operational blackout and Beefy, well, he hadn’t even been considered worthy of discussion. Big mistake. I made a mental note to never, ever, discount a minor variable the next time I planned clandestine action.

  Jeez, I had to dump them both, and quick, or Elvis would skin me alive for breaking Rule #1—No Deviating From The Plan For Whatever Reason. Unfortunately, if I were to dump them successfully, I’d have to break Rule #2—No Improvising. Elvis would just have to understand that we all do what we must in moments of unexpected operational chaos.

  I lifted my hands. “Okay, everyone just relax,” I said firmly, pretending that I actually had some semblance of control here. “How did you guys find me?”

  Neither answered. Apparently it was a rhetorical question. How obvious did it have to be that I had no skills whatsoever at evasion, even by amateur standards? I might as well have driven around town with a Here I Am neon sign flashing on my forehead for everyone to see. Well, everyone except the FBI. Now the plan to ditch them until I got to Sweden wasn’t looking so good.

  Beefy and Finn continued to ignore me, keeping their guns pointed at each other in a weird kind of standoff. I felt like a B-movie actress, standing by helplessly while the men shot it out over me. Of course, to a girl like me, this had a bit of appeal in a primitive, warped kind of way. On the up side, as long as they weren’t shooting at me, maybe they’d disable each other and I’d be able to escape unscathed. But I didn’t condone violence, even if it worked in my favor.

  “Drop the gun, Harry,” Finn suddenly ordered, causing me to jump. His Irish brogue was thick and he was probably nervous as hell. Actually, I was nervous as hell, too, but instead of developing an accent, I had to pee again.

  “Your name is Harry?” I said, looking at Beefy.

  “I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Beefy growled.

  “He tried to kill you?” I asked Finn in disbelief. “You mean you know each other?”

  No one answered me.

  “Do you even know how to use that gun, Irish?” Beefy said. “Your hand is shaking.”

  “Oh, contraire. Your vision is blurred with fear.”

  “Um, excuse me,” I interjected. “It’s not like I want to interrupt this very mesmerizing conversation, but can’t we all just get along?”

  Unfortunately, instead of promoting peace my Rodney King speech brought out the violent tendencies in both men. Before I could draw another breath, Beefy grabbed me around the neck and yanked me to his chest. Finn shot a bullet right over our heads. I almost peed on the spot, shocked that Finn had actually used the gun.

  “You missed!” I half shouted, half gasped the obvious because by now Beefy was pretty much choking me. Then he shoved the gun hard against my neck where it found a cozy little niche right against my jugular vein.

  “Back off, Irish,” he snapped and then squeezed me tighter. “Drop the gun and I won’t hurt her.”

  “Oh, jeez,” I managed to utter despite the chokehold. I hoped Finn wouldn’t do it. I’d seen enough of those cop shows on television to know that as soon as Finn dropped the gun there was a 99.9 percent chance that Beefy would kill us both anyway. If Finn kept the gun, at least we’d have a fifty-fifty chance.

  “Don’t do it, Finn,” I cried, my voice garbled on account of the fact that my windpipe was being slowly crushed by Beefy’s forearm.

  For a moment we all simply stared at each other in the dim light. I shifted on my feet and crossed my legs hard because I really had to pee now. Then, as if in slow motion, Finn began to lower the gun. In response Beefy lessened his hold around my neck.

  “What are you doing?” I screeched at Finn once I could breathe again. “Haven’t you ever seen a police drama? Don’t you know the good guys are never ever supposed to give up their guns no matter what?”

  “I know what I’m doing, Lexi,” Finn said, carefully tossing the gun to the ground in front of him. “Now let her go.”

  “In good time, Irish,” Beefy said, moving the gun from my temple and aiming it at Finn.

  “Oh, my God,” I moaned. Finn was obviously no connoisseur of American television, and therefore had no idea of the colossal mistake he’d just made. What could I do? Maybe I’d pass out, wake up and discover this had all been a horrible dream. Then again, if I passed out, Beefy would probably kill Finn and then take me for a torture-and-maim session in the woods.

  I was knee-deep in kimchee. Not that I wasn’t in deep kimchee to begin with, but things had just moved from deep to downright subterranean. Jeez, what would James Bond do?

  Well, he certainly wouldn’t stand around dithering about it, I told myself sternly. Saying a small prayer under my breath, I summoned all my strength and slammed an elbow into Beefy’s gut, loosening his hold around my neck. Then, because I wasn’t James Bond with a secret dart gun in my watch, I used the only weapon I had at my immediate disposal—my mouth. I opened it and took a great big chomp out of Beefy’s forearm. Blood filled my mouth and I started to choke.

  “Umffff!” Beefy grunted and he fired a shot wide and to the left of Finn’s head.

  I guess Finn had known what he was doing after all because I saw another gun magically appear in his hand. He must have had some plan I had just thrown a royal crimp in. Now he couldn’t shoot without hitting me, so he launched himself forward, plowing into Beefy and me and knocking the gun from Beefy’s hand. We all fell to the ground, shouting and grunting in a tangle of limbs.

  I got an elbow in the windpipe and it knocked the breath out of me. My left wrist bent unnaturally under someone’s hip and an excruciatingly hot pain shot up my shoulder. I howled, wanting to clutch my wrist to my chest, but I could neither move nor breathe with two men rolling around on top of me. Suddenly the crushing pressure on my chest disappeared and I realized Beefy and Finn were now grappling around in the dusty road for control of the gun.

  I struggled to my knees, my injured wrist cradled against my chest, and looked over at the men, grunting and punching. “What do I do
now?” I shouted in panic to no one in particular.

  I looked around wildly and saw the pale face of the gas station attendant peering out at us through the window.

  “Call the police,” I screamed and his face disappeared.

  I was still trying to figure out what to do next when Beefy stood triumphant, holding the gun and pointing it at Finn who lay on the ground with blood smeared on his mouth and left cheek.

  Trembling, I stood on shaky legs and walked closer to Beefy. “Leave him alone,” I pleaded. “Look, I’ll do whatever you want.”

  Beefy didn’t look at me, but I noticed he was breathing hard and his face was bright red from the exertion of the fight.

  “You certainly will not do what he wants,” Finn said, coming to his feet and wiping the blood off his mouth with his sleeve.

  “You’re in no position to stop me, Irish,” Beefy said. “Face it, you’re the weaker man.”

  “Kiss my arse, you gobshite,” Finn snarled.

  I wasn’t exactly sure what gobshite meant, but I was fairly certain it wasn’t a glowing compliment in Ireland.

  For a moment we all stood around breathing heavily and staring at each other as if unsure what to do next. Then Beefy turned unexpectedly to me.

  “You bit me,” he said, frowning.

  “Ah, yeah,” I stammered. “Sorry. It was a spur-of-the-moment, my-life-is-in-mortal-danger kind of thing.”

  “Don’t ever do it again.”

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  “You’ve been a lot more trouble than we ever expected,” Beefy said. “I should have finished you off in front of that disco club. Actually, maybe I should have shot up the club while I was at it. I hate disco.”

  I contemplated that in stunned silence. First, that Beefy was the one who shot at me in front of the disco, and second, because we actually had something in common.

  But first things, first. “You shot at me?” I asked him incredulously.

  “You should have taken that incident seriously.”

  “Believe me, I always take people shooting at me seriously. Why’d you do it?”

  Beefy rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t want you giving away the whereabouts of Judyta Taszynski to anyone except CGM. And that still holds. Either you tell me where she is or you’ll die.”

  “Um, are those options mutually exclusive?”

  “Damn, I like you, Lexi,” Beefy chuckled. “I don’t want to have to hurt you or your boyfriend. So, please, spare me the trouble and just tell me where I can find Judyta Taszynski.”

  “Jeez, what is with everyone?” I said indignantly. “Finn is not my boyfriend.”

  Beefy rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

  “Don’t tell him anything,” Finn warned.

  Desperate, I glanced over my shoulder, hoping to see the gas station attendant marching out with his shotgun. Unfortunately he was nowhere in sight. I hoped like hell he’d at least called the police and they’d be here momentarily. That is, if they even had police out here in Nowheresville, Pennsylvania.

  “I’ll give you one more chance, Lexi,” Beefy said, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Where is Judyta? If you don’t answer, I’m going to shoot the Irishman in the knee. After that I’ll shoot his arm, shoulder, back, both hands and then his neck. At some point, he’ll be begging me to shoot him in the head. I’ll make you watch until you tell me where Judyta is hiding. Or you can tell me now. This is your last warning,” Beefy said, his eyes narrowing. “One.”

  “Wait!” I screeched.

  “Two.”

  As panic gripped me by the throat, I shifted my weight and, using all the strength I had, gave him the best karate roundhouse kick I had ever performed. The kick hit him square in the lower back. I think the sheer surprise of it knocked him forward a couple of steps.

  Unfortunately the arm holding the gun didn’t waver or budge. Not one single iota.

  Instead Beefy started to laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding. Is that the best you can do?”

  “Nope,” I said, panting. “How about this?” I leapt onto his back shrieking as if I were a crazed maniac, clawing at his face. Not very James Bond-like, but we are who we are.

  Beefy kept laughing and threw me off with barely any effort. I nearly fainted from the pain in my wrist when I hit the ground hard. Unfortunately, throughout all of this, Beefy didn’t seem alarmed in the slightest. Instead he laughed even harder, tears starting to stream from his eyes. His entire body began to shake and I thought he’d shoot Finn by accident before he could do it on purpose. I started to silently say my prayers because I was afraid Finn and I were about to become serious toast.

  Suddenly Beefy began to cough and choke. As Finn and I watched in astonishment, the gun dropped from his fingers and he keeled over face-first onto the ground. I scrambled to my feet and then Finn leapt over and kicked the gun away, rolling Beefy over onto his back. He was out cold.

  “Are you hurt?” Finn asked me.

  “Just my wrist,” I shouted. When I get scared, I shout to hide the clawing, embarrassing fear. “I don’t think it’s broken, but it hurts like hell.”

  “What did you do to him?” he asked, looking down at Beefy.

  “Nothing. He just keeled over.”

  “Shit,” he said, dropping to his knees. To my horror, he abruptly ripped open Beefy’s shirt to the white T-shirt beneath.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted.

  “Stop yelling,” Finn said, wincing. “What does it look like I’m doing? He’s had a bleeding heart attack, lass. I’ve got to start CPR. Go see if that useless attendant called the police. Tell him to call for an ambulance, as well.”

  Holding my throbbing wrist to my stomach, I ran into the station. The chair where the attendant had sat was empty. I went around the counter, picked up the phone and called 911. I found the gas station address on top of a receipt on the desk and requested police and an ambulance, then hung up despite the operator insisting I stay on the line. I ran back to Finn who was still administering CPR and told him what I’d done.

  “We’re going to have company soon,” he said.

  “I know. Well, I guess I’d better be going.”

  Finn looked up at me. “And where might that be?”

  “Anywhere but here.”

  Finn leaned down close to Beefy’s face. “Dammit, he’s not breathing.”

  “Too bad,” I said, lifting my hands.

  “You’re going to have to help me,” he said, resuming the chest compressions. “Give him mouth-to-mouth.”

  I looked at Finn, flabbergasted. “Are you freaking nuts? No way are my lips touching his.”

  “He’s dying, Lexi.”

  “He just tried to kill us!”

  “Do you want to stoop to his level?”

  I took a step back. “Frankly, it’s looking like a pretty attractive option at the moment.”

  “Lexi!”

  “Oh, jeez,” I said, trying to calm myself. “All right, all right. Can’t I do the pushing part?”

  “Do you know how?” he asked as he steadily continued the compressions.

  “Not really.”

  “Then lock lips and start blowing.”

  “This can’t be happening,” I moaned, kneeling down next to Beefy. Grimacing, I turned his pudgy face toward me with my good hand.

  “Check to make certain he hasn’t swallowed his tongue,” Finn ordered.

  “Sure, easy for you to say.”

  Finn helped me pry open Beefy’s mouth and I got an unpleasantly close-up look at his front gold tooth. Trying not to appear squeamish, I grasped his tongue and pulled it straight. “There, at least he’s not choking on it.”

  “That’s the spirit, lass. Start the breathing and don’t forget to pinch his nose shut. Listen for my count during the compressions. When I’m done, you start.”

  “Oh, God, oh, God,” I murmured as I leaned over Beefy and pressed my mouth to his. His skin was cold and clammy. His mouth smelled faintly o
f onions.

  I did the breaths as instructed and lifted my mouth. “Now what?” I asked.

  “Keep going,” Finn instructed.

  Finn made me keep up the pace for what seemed like forever, but was really only a minute or so. To my surprise, Beefy suddenly took a huge, gasping breath.

  “Oh, my God, you did it,” I said in amazement. “He’s alive.”

  “We did it, and he’s just barely alive,” Finn said grimly. “See if you can find something to keep him warm. Then we’ve got to get the hell out of here.”

  I rushed into the station again, but still no sign of the attendant. I yelled for him and heard a noise in a back room. I ran over and tried to yank the door open, but it was locked.

  “Open up,” I shouted. “I need a blanket.”

  “Get out of here,” he screamed back at me. “Get out, get out, GET OUT or I’ll shoot!”

  I totally, utterly believed him, so I left him there screaming and desperately searched the room for something that would serve as a blanket. I saw the attendant’s jacket hanging from the back of his chair, so I snatched it and ran back to Finn.

  “It’s the best I could find,” I said, out of breath.

  “It’ll do,” he said, covering Beefy and then standing. “Let’s go.”

  “Is it safe to leave him?” I asked.

  “Do you want to wait for the police?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then we don’t have any choice. The police and paramedics will likely be here any minute.”

  I thought of Basia, Judyta, my mission. “You’re right. Well, thanks again for all your help, but I guess this is where we part ways.”

  “Like hell it is,” Finn growled. “You aren’t going to drive anywhere with an injured wrist. You need my help. We go together.”

  “No way!”

  “Look, we don’t have time to argue. The FBI already has an APB out on the truck you’re driving. Once they’ve confirmed you’re in the area, the state police will haul you in before you can even get out of Pennsylvania. With me, you’ll at the very least have a better chance to get where you are going. No one will know I’m involved unless Harry here regains consciousness and tells them. Given the condition he’s in, I’m betting we’ll have a good head start.”