Harley Rushes In (Book 2 of the Blue Suede Mysteries)

by Brown, Virginia

  The least they could have done was hang around and make sure she was okay, since she’d saved Frieda’s life. But apparently, there was little gratitude for her efforts. “No honor among thieves, I see,” she muttered. “That’s the thanks I get.”

  “Told you,” Bernie said, and she felt like smacking him with the pistol. “Frieda’s a cold-hearted bitch. I oughta know. This isn’t the first time she’s left me holding the bag.”

  “Save your true confessions for the police. I’m sure they’d love to hear what you’ve got to say.”

  By now they’d reached the edge of the trailer, and before she realized what he intended, he broke into a sprint and went around the corner, disappearing from sight. Damn! She came to a halt. Now what did she do?

  “Hey, you can’t outrun a bullet,” she called after a minute, but Bernie didn’t answer. He was probably waiting around the corner with a big stick, so she went the other way, back around the rear of the trailer to come up from the other end. Her heart thudded so hard against her ribs it hurt, and her stomach muscles got tight. Breathing wasn’t an option. She didn’t see Bernie. He could be anywhere.

  This kind of thing looked so different on TV. If she was at home watching this from her chair, she’d be shouting Look behind you, stupid! or He’s under the porch! It was a lot more fun when she wasn’t the one in danger.

  Every hair on her head and arms had to be standing straight on end. She developed a twitch in her left eye. For what seemed like forever, she stood there uncertainly, not wanting to go backward, and not daring to go forward. Lord, what a time to have to go to the bathroom. She sucked in a deep breath and took a big step toward the porch. The dogs were gone from under it, not that they’d have barked anyway.

  A tingling sensation ran down her spine, and for some reason she recalled Diva saying, “Watch out for the dead man.”

  She turned, and just as Bernie rushed her, she leaped out of the way so he only brushed against her. It was just enough to send the pistol spinning out of her hand and across the concrete patio. They both dove for it at the same time.

  Fifteen

  “Let go!” Bernie snarled, holding Harley by the arm and shaking it to make her lose her grip on the gun.

  Flat on her stomach with his knee in her back, she held on to it for dear life. Then he hit her on the side of her head. Her ears rang, everything went blurry, and pure rage gave her a surge of energy neither of them expected.

  Gritting her teeth, she pushed up from the concrete so quick and hard he lost his balance and went sideways. Before he could get up she kicked him, not caring where, just slamming her size sevens into him wherever she could. What came out of her mouth sounded like gibberish even to her own ears, and she was vaguely aware of Bernie going into the fetal position with arms covering his head and his knees drawn up to his chest.

  Then he snaked out an arm and grabbed her ankle and gave a jerk. She went backward to land on her rear in a jarring thud that made her bite her tongue. Bernie went for the gun she still held in her hand, and she fought desperately to hold on to it.

  Adrenaline was no match for size and strength, to her dismay. Bernie wrenched the gun from her hand and stood over her, panting for breath.

  “Sure you want to shoot me?” she managed to get out. “Someone’s bound to hear the shot and call the cops.”

  “Not in the country. People out here are used to hearing gunshots.”

  “Right. But you’re going to need a hostage.” It was a desperate ploy, and it worked. He thought about it for a moment, then gestured with the gun.

  “Get up. No more tricks or I’ll shoot you.”

  Harley didn’t doubt that he meant it. He had a feral gleam in his eyes that more than said he’d even enjoy it. If she let him get her away from here, she was doomed. She had to stall, to keep him here long enough for help to arrive, but how did she do that?

  She got up slowly. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Just get in Anna’s car. And shut up.”

  Anna’s car was sandwiched between Aunt Darcy’s and the trailer. It was a beat-up old Ford that the crash hadn’t done much damage to, none that could be seen, anyway. It looked the same to Harley as it always had, while her aunt’s Lexus had a crumpled front fender and the hood had buckled. They just didn’t make cars like they used to, she supposed as she limped toward the Ford.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said, and when Bernie swore at her, added, “Believe me, you’d much rather I do that here than in the car.”

  “If this is another one of your tricks—”

  “Spastic colon. It happens when I get nervous. I’m surprised I haven’t already made a mess. It won’t take long, I swear.”

  After a moment, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the steps leading into the trailer. “I’m gonna stand right outside the door, so don’t get smart.”

  “If I was smart, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

  That was all too true, Harley thought as she went up the steps and into the trailer. It was a mess. Clothes were scattered around and lamps overturned, drawers open and stuff all on the floor. Bernie walked her down the narrow hall to the bathroom, and after checking it out, he gave her a push inside.

  “Hurry up before I decide you’re too much trouble as a hostage.”

  Hurrying was the farthest thing from her mind, but she didn’t share that with him. Best to just delay as long as she could and hope like hell Bobby had gone to Darcy’s house looking for them. He’d put two and two together. She just prayed it’d be soon enough.

  The bathroom was small and wood-paneled, with a tub, vanity sink, toilet, and washer and dryer. A small window was over the appliances, but one look was enough to tell her she’d never be able to fit through it. And even if she would, she’d have to take it apart before she could, as it had those glass louvers like many older mobile homes.

  She flipped up the toilet lid so Bernie would think she was using it, and quietly opened the vanity doors. The usual necessities were there, toilet paper, shampoo and conditioner, and all the other things women required for basic hygiene and feminine improvement. Anna had seemed like the old-fashioned kind of girl, and just as Harley thought she wouldn’t have one, she found it in a drawer: a steel nail file. She slid it inside her tee shirt at the waist, then made some more noise for Bernie’s benefit. A little more searching turned up a purse size can of hair spray that she tucked into her waistband close to the nail file. Bug spray would have been better, but she’d have to go with what she could find.

  Bernie rapped on the door. “Better hurry it up or I’m coming in there.”

  “All right, just another minute. I think I’m almost done.” She flushed a couple of times just to stall a bit longer. After spraying deodorizer, then washing her hands so long the top layer of skin probably went down the drain, she dried her hands and opened the door.

  Bernie looked at her suspiciously. “You’re up to something.”

  “Right. Anna stored her grenades in the bathroom. I’ve got three in my pocket.”

  “Smartass.”

  “Well, as my mama always says, better to be a smartass than a dumbass.”

  “Yeah, if your mama could only see you now, huh.”

  “Point taken. Mind if I get a drink of water? My throat’s dry after all that running around in the field.”

  He gave her a shove ahead of him into the living room. “Get your ass in the car. If you try anything else, you’re dead.”

  He didn’t sound at all tolerant about more delay, so Harley walked toward the front door as slowly as she dared. Once she got in that car with him, there’d be no finding her in time. She went down the steps one at a time, past the general debris and toward the car.

  “Hey,” she said, suddenly struck by a memory, “weren’t you driving a blue Mustang last time I saw you?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Nothing. I just notice cars sometimes.” Not often enough, apparentl
y, or she’d have remembered that Harry Gordon’s blue Mustang was still missing. What an idiot she was!

  Bernie put her in the car and tied her hands in front of her with a strip of cloth, this time making sure it was tight enough that she couldn’t wiggle free. Then he took some tools to the steering column to hot-wire the car, as Anna hadn’t been thoughtful enough to leave the keys.

  “Jack of all trades, I see,” Harley muttered, hoping against hope he wouldn’t succeed. It started right up. She leaned her head against the window and sighed. She should have listened to Bobby. And Morgan. And Cami. And . . . well, the list went on. They’d tried to tell her. Why did she always think she could do things she obviously wasn’t equipped to do? She hadn’t fit into the world of corporate banking. She wasn’t really a good tour guide, forgetting her spiel half the time, and the rest of the time, annoying the clients as much as they annoyed her. Maybe she should try something else. Limo driver, perhaps. That couldn’t be too bad. No spiel to remember, nothing to do but ferry drunks around town while they went to big, important parties while she waited in the limo with a Coke and listening to the radio. Yeah, that wouldn’t be bad. And she wouldn’t run into a lot of dead people with a job like that. All she had to do was get out of this mess, and she’d give up any attempts to help anyone else. Ever again. She’d leave it to the police next time, if there ever was a next time. If she survived this time.

  Staring out the window, Harley caught a glimpse of movement in the side mirror on the car. She blinked. There was someone behind Darcy’s car. Surely she wasn’t imagining things. It had looked like a man hiding back there . . . could it be? But if the cops had arrived, they’d show up with sirens wailing and flashing lights. And they’d send more than one guy.

  While she was trying to decide if help had arrived or she was in even bigger trouble, Bernie got out of the car. He bent down to say, “I’m going to move that car out of my way, but I’m watching you, so if you even look like you want to get out and run, I’ll shoot you. Understand, Blondie?”

  “Perfectly. I’m fine right here.”

  As soon as he straightened up, she fumbled with the waist of her jeans and pulled out the hair spray and nail file. She tucked them both between her legs and hoped he wouldn’t notice.

  When a loud yell erupted behind her she looked in the side mirror to see Bernie go flying backward. Swiveling her head, she saw out the back window another man leap on top of him, and for a moment she didn’t recognize him. Not until she heard a loud voice cursing in Spanish did she realize who it had to be—José. And he’d provided her with the perfect chance to get the hell out of there.

  Grabbing her weapons just in case, she managed to get the car door open and took off for the road. If Bernie came after her, she might stand a chance if she got out into traffic where people could see her, she reasoned, and hoped that José kept him busy long enough for her to make it.

  Behind her, gunshots rang out, followed by more yelling. She didn’t want to think about what might be happening to José, and kept running. As soon as she could get to a phone, she’d call the cops. More gunfire, and this time, she felt something hot whiz past her head. She dove to the ground, heart pounding so loud she couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing to her head. Now she really had to go to the bathroom, and wished she’d thought of that earlier.

  She couldn’t lie there forever, and after a few seconds passed, she pushed to her feet. The nail file was lost in the grass somewhere, so she grabbed the hair spray and took off again. She ran clumsily with her hands still tied in front of her, fear pressing down and her heart in her throat. The line of trees along the property line lay just ahead of her, if she could only make it past them. A few more yards and she’d be on the road out of sight.

  Just as she reached the trees an arm snaked out to grab her. She screamed and pressed the nozzle on the hair spray, twisting toward her attacker and aiming upward for eyes and face. It didn’t do much to get her free, but she did recognize the low, irritated voice.

  “Ow! Dammit, Harley!”

  She almost collapsed with relief. “Morgan? Where the hell have you been!”

  Wiping at his eyes and blinking, he muttered, “Glad to see you too, babe. What’d you hit me with?”

  “Hair spray. Listen, the guy who killed Harry is here and he’s fighting with José. We need to help him.”

  “We, hell. Stay here.”

  “No, don’t go out there, you’ll get shot!” She grabbed him when he pushed her behind the trees and started around her. The look he gave her should have turned her to stone. The timbre of his voice was inflexible.

  “Stay down. My car’s over there. Get in it and stay there. Don’t do anything else stupid. Backup’s on the way.”

  “Mike, wait until they get here.” He wasn’t listening. He’d go out there and get himself killed, and it’d be her fault. Her throat knotted and she couldn’t say anything, could only watch while he unclipped something on his boot. Then she noticed the gun in his hand, heavy, lethal.

  He gave her an impatient glance. “Dammit, go, Harley. I need to get in position while they’re busy fighting.”

  This was a side of him she hadn’t seen. He looked almost feral, a glitter in his eyes that bordered on ferocious. His expression had gone sharp, intent. Like a wolf. He wore a Kevlar vest over his black tee shirt, an empty holster strapped to his thigh, the butt of a small pistol sticking out from his boot top, and with the pistol in his hand, he looked like he could handle almost anything, including a rampaging rhino. She swallowed her panic.

  “Sure. I’m going,” she said, then crouched down behind a tree to watch as he ran in a cautious, bent-over lope police used when confronting an armed criminal. He took cover behind a bush for a second, then ran toward the opposite side of Darcy’s car from where Bernie and José were still fighting for the gun. José was obviously a better match for Bernie than she’d been, but she had no idea which one of them had the pistol.

  Morgan briefly positioned himself behind the car, watching them struggle. Harley knew she was supposed to go to his car, but she couldn’t. It was like watching a train wreck about to happen, all her muscles tensed and air locked in her lungs, paralyzed with some kind of dread fascination.

  So far, neither José nor Bernie had noticed him, they were each so intent on getting the gun from the other. Harley couldn’t tell who had it, just saw a blur of fists and feet. Air locked in her lungs until she got lightheaded. Damn, there was nothing she could do. She’d only be a distraction if she tried.

  Then Morgan stood up and shouted, “Police! Put down the weapon!”

  José shouted something in Spanish and Morgan shouted back. Bernie grabbed for the gun in José’s hand and wrenched it free, then whirled around.

  “Drop the weapon!” Mike shouted, his arm braced atop the trunk of Aunt Darcy’s car and his revolver steady. For a moment, there was no sound, just the face-off between the two men.

  Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Bernie’s pistol spat orange flame, Morgan fired back, and Harley watched in horror.

  Sixteen

  “Noooo!” The scream erupted from her throat despite her intention to keep silent. Harley leaped to her feet. She didn’t know what she meant to do, only that she had to help Morgan, who had hit the ground and rolled.

  Then she saw him take aim again from his prone position, heard the sharp report of his pistol, and Bernie jerked backward as if hit with a two by four. He flopped around for a moment like a fish, then lay still. José stood up and looked down at him, then over at Morgan.

  “He’s still breathing.”

  “Hands in the air,” Morgan ordered, slowly getting up with his pistol still aimed and ready. “Now lock your hands behind your neck and get down on your knees.”

  José did as he was told, and Mike approached cautiously. He leaned over and took the gun from Bernie’s hand and stuck it in his waistband. Then he looked toward Harley where she’d stopped halfway up the r
utted driveway. His mouth twitched.

  “You never listen to me. Go to my car and call for an ambulance.”

  When she got back, Bernie was sitting up with his hands cuffed behind him and José sat close by, cuffed as well and glaring at him. She looked from them to Morgan.

  “So what’s up?”

  “Flesh wound. He’ll be fine. Wanna tell me what’s going on here, Harley?”

  “I’d love to, but I have no idea. Bernie said he’s Anna and Frieda’s brother, but Anna said he’s not. None of them get along very well, it seems, as he tried to kill Frieda after calling her a few unkind names. José is Julio’s brother and I have no idea why he’s here or how he found us, but I’m ever so grateful.” She paused to take a deep breath. “Anna and Frieda left with a box that has invoices or a ledger full of names. Or maybe bank account numbers. Anyway, it’s important and Bernie here is willing to kill to get it. So how did you know where I was?”

  Mike grinned. “You called me. When we got cut off, I called Bobby. He was at your aunt’s house by that time, and told me where you and your friend here must have gone.”

  “I called you?”

  “Yep. I heard something about Bernie, guns, and your cousins, then him tell you to shut up, and figured you hadn’t stayed where you’d promised to stay.”

  “Yes, I did. It wasn’t my idea to leave. Talk to Bernie about that.” A little indignant, she added, “And I was trying to call nine-one-one anyway, not you.”

  “See? Even by accident you know who to call.”

  About that time sirens wailed an approach, and several police cruisers screamed into the rutted driveway with an ambulance close behind. It was over.

  Abruptly, Harley plopped down on the ground and put her face in her palms. She started shaking and couldn’t seem to stop, even when Morgan handed over the prisoners to be read their rights and put into the car and the ambulance, and then came to kneel down beside her.