by S I Taylor
He seemed to be deep in thought and probably trying to make sense of what she said. And judging from his appearance it seemed that he had fallen asleep in the car.
She decided to push him further to see her point but although he was staring at her, his eyes seemed distant.
“Nothing is getting resolved sitting around waiting.”
After a few seconds of sitting in the dark in silence he finally said, “If we’re going anywhere, we have to ditch this car. It’s filled with bullet holes and it’s been targeted. We’ll stand out too much if we drive it into the city like this.”
She was relieved that he reasoned with her.
“That’s a good idea, but considering the time of day, we can drive this car through the dark hours and exchange it when the sun rises,” she said.
He nodded in agreement. “Good idea. There’s an FCCA forensics lab and a rental car agency a few miles from here. We can stop there. It’ll be morning by then and they should be open for business when we arrive.”
He reached back with one hand and with the other he pointed the gun at her as he grabbed the handcuffs and placed them around her wrists. With a loud click, he locked them in place.
“Here I thought I was making progress. Silly me,” she said. She thought that when he was including her opinion or advice in his plan, it was a step forward but apparently his police instinct kicked in when the handcuffs came out and wrapped around her wrists.
“Yeah. Remember you’re still in my custody and under arrest,” he said. “Besides, you were about to leave without me. If it wasn’t for the fact that I have a spare key and that I sleep in the car because I enjoy the outdoor noise you would’ve left.”
She shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his logic. He was always a step ahead of her even if he didn’t mean to be. But then again her luck hadn’t been the greatest so far.
“Get out of the driver’s seat and sit on the passenger side. Don’t try anything that will warrant one of these bullets in that hard head of yours. Anyway, where were you going?” he asked.
“I was going to see an old friend. He owes me some answers,” she told him, as she moved to the passenger seat and reclined the seat to a comfortable position and lay back.
“And you’re going there because?”
“Because this old friend of mine is the reason why I’m being followed.”
He looked skeptical, as if he wanted to ask more questions, but he just nodded.
“So, where are we going?” he asked.
“We’re going back to Huntersville to my old neighborhood. And then you can take me wherever else you need me to go.”
He nodded and started the engine, backed up into the dark paved road, and headed for the highway.
She was shackled and didn’t want to be reminded of her situation so she reached for the radio, turned it on, and searched for the smooth jazz station, then closed her eyes as she bobbed her head to the music.
They were headed to Huntersville. Back to her territory and to where it had all started.
Back to Iggy’s shop.
Chapter 37
Throughout the entire ride her mind kept shifting back to the photographs. This was a scenic ride, but her mind was preoccupied with the notion that she’d lost control. She’d thought the psychologist she was seeing growing up helped her with her outbursts and her temper, but apparently it hadn’t worked, and her nightmares were constant and vivid as if it were yesterday that she lived through them. Every night she encountered these nightmares it seemed that she was reverting to the old Barbara. The one who was losing, the one who was needy, the one who was vulnerable. She was scared of that Barbara and she didn’t want to be her.
She needed to ditch McKinley before she got to Iggy even though her heart didn’t want to part ways with him. But the conversation that she needed to have with Iggy would give away that she was not an exterminator or a hired bodyguard but in fact a fucking thief. She still needed to open the sealed boxes she had in her backpack to see exactly what had gotten her into all this trouble.
They stopped at a gas station to fill up.
“You need anything?” he said.
This was her opportunity to do something. “Yeah, as a matter of fact I need to use the restroom,” she said. She shoved the handcuffs in front of his face. “You know I can’t use the bathroom with these on.”
“No, you’re going to have to hold it until we get to our final destination.”
“Are you listening to yourself? This is cruel and I need to use the restroom. I’m sure you don’t want to add urine stains to the list of things you’ll have to explain to the forensics team that will process this car. Unless that’s what you want to do. On top of the fact that you’re going to present me filthy at the precinct when I was held against my will in a deserted house for three days with a broken ankle—which you caused, by the way. I’m sure the paperwork you’ll have to complete will be extensive, not to mention you’ll have a lot of explaining to do. Besides, I’m entitled to use the restroom and eat while in custody after a certain time. And judging by the length of time we’ve been awake and driving, I’m sure I’m due for either one of them.”
He frowned, slammed his fist on the steering wheel, grabbed the handcuff key, and released the handcuffs from her wrist.
Thank you, Internet, and the extensive research I did when I got locked up the first time. There was no way I was going to be taken advantage of again.
She smiled triumphantly but he was clearly annoyed about her knowledge of the law and the prisoner’s rights. Not that he was going to deny her those rights, he was just going to prolong when she was able to exercise those rights as much as possible.
She hopped out of the vehicle, grabbed her backpack, and started walking toward the gas station’s front door.
“Don’t get so happy. I will be standing outside of the bathroom and if for one instant you try to leave, you better pray that you can outrun me because I’m not going to be cordial, nice, or sympathetic.”
“Fine,” she told him and stomped her way inside.
She saw the bathroom sign and made her way toward the back of the store, perusing the aisles looking for something that could assist her. McKinley was looking at her from his peripheral as he paid for gas pump number three.
She grinned and showed him a bag of chips, a chocolate bar, a water bottle, and a tampon box. She took it to the counter, paid for the items, and walked again toward the back of the store to the restroom.
She made sure that the door was locked and then placed the trash can underneath the hand air dryer to create noise. She took out the two boxes and with the screwdriver she was able to swipe from the aisle she cracked the lock open. The first box was filled with freshly cut glimmering diamonds. The second box was filled with blue pills, individually wrapped. She took one of the pills and inspected it. It had several symbols on one side. And from the looks of it, it seemed that it was a new street drug. It was similar to Ecstasy, but this pill was a little bigger and oval in appearance. She hadn’t seen this on the street yet and figured that she was in more trouble than she’d thought if McKinley found out about the contents of the box.
She paced in the bathroom thinking about how she would get out of it. It was one thing to steal jewels but to steal illegal drugs and get caught with them was another thing. She thought about flushing them down the toilet but there were too many and it could clog the pipe system, or she could unwrap each one, but that would take too long. Besides, if she did get rid of them then she wouldn’t get paid and get out of Huntersville for good. Barbara knew that whoever hired her for this heist wanted both boxes even if she delivered them late. And most likely she would die for not delivering the entire shipment.
She could handle theft charges, but drug trafficking or distributing charges was another thing. She closed both boxes, secured each one and placed them in her backpack. Blood drained from her face and she instinctively felt cold and hot simultaneously. She splashe
d water on her face because in the mirror it looked like she’d seen a ghost.
“What am I going to do?”
She had to find a way to get rid of McKinley, find Iggy, and meet up with Nixon. Tonight was the deadline for the extension.
A loud banging on the door startled her.
“I’ll be right out,” she shouted. She wrapped the screwdriver with toilet tissue and tossed it in the trash. She moved the trash can back to its location and walked out of the restroom. McKinley was standing at the far wall and three women waiting for the restroom stared at her menacingly.
“Finally,” one of them said and walked inside.
Barbara crossed glances with McKinley, and he shook his head.
“What? I really needed to use the restroom,” she said sheepishly.
They walked outside. McKinley opened her door and clasped her favorite jewelry back on her wrist. This is getting ridiculous, she thought.
“Do I at least get rewarded or some sort of kudos for not running away?”
“Nope, you did exactly what you supposed to do,” he said and slammed the door shut.
I swear I’m on the verge of doing something stupid right now, but I need to get out of these cuffs.
McKinley started to pump gas and whistled as he did. Barbara had never heard anyone whistle so well and in tune and enjoyed it for what it was, a soothing tune.
He got back in the car and they left the gas station en route for the rental car agency and the FCCA forensics lab.
“When are we arriving at Huntersville?” she asked.
“According to my GPS we only have one more hour and thirty minutes, but we need to ditch this car.”
“Awesome. Wake me up when we get there,” she said as she leaned back in the rear seat and closed her eyes.
He glanced at her, shook his head, and grinned.
Thirty minutes later they arrived at the rental car agency, which was adjacent to the FCCA forensics lab, but they were there too early, so they sat in the car for a bit. McKinley used the opportunity to make sure that Coolidge had made the reservation and alerted the lab of their arrival. As he waited for her confirmation, he fell asleep in the car along with Barbara.
The ping of an incoming text startled them. He checked his cell to see she’d confirmed the reservation. He stretched and looked toward Barbara.
“Stay in the vehicle. I only have to pick up the car, since my partner arranged the swap. Once I get the replacement, I will pick you up,” he said.
She nodded. This was her opportunity to get away from McKinley. Even if the handcuffs were secured around her wrists, she could hide them in front of her with her jacket. This was her chance. She’d tried this morning to get away from him, but this time the stars had aligned in her favor. How could she not take this chance to get away?
McKinley was nearly at the door. He looked back once to make sure she was still in the vehicle. She waved to give him some sort of ego power trip that she would not move from the car.
The moment he left the FCCA parking lot and entered the rental agency she sneaked to the back seat and opened the car door.
Chapter 38
This was an unusually large rental agency, as opposed to the small ones in L.A. that McKinley was accustomed to. Despite its size, it was almost empty. In the center of the lobby was a waiting line with bright yellow tape divider that spiraled toward the counter on the left wall. Large numbers from one to fifteen hung above each computer. From the clear windows he could make out that there was a couple being helped at check-in counter number nine, which happened to be the only counter with a working employee, as the other few were roaming about the lot. It seemed that they had tried to make this place inviting with the fresh flowers in the waiting area tables, the coffee station on the bar tabletop, and the water bottles stacked by each counter. But the company regulations and the available vehicle descriptions were the only things that were hanging on the white-colored walls. Damn, he missed San Diego.
McKinley walked inside the rental agency’s office, jogged past the couple, and grabbed the key that was waiting for him on the self-checkout counter with his name written in block letters on a tent card which was propped by a water bottle at the counter. The instructions on the form attached to the keys advised him to exit to the back door toward parking slot eighty-one. With the instructions and keys firmly held between his grasp, he walked briskly to the back door. His eyes scanned the area as there were a lot of parked cars. It looked like a sea of vehicles.
From the distance, slot number eighty-one seemed miles away as he stood from the doorway. But he made the three-hundred-foot sprint toward his reserved slot since he had no other choice. When he arrived, he noticed that the agency had paid for a small dark green four-door sedan. He was sure that Bush thought that having this little contraption would blend them in with the vehicles on the road as opposed to driving the luxury full-size SUV. Or the agency didn’t want to pay for another wrecked vehicle just in case another chase occurred. Either way, a smaller thirty-thousand-dollar vehicle wreck was less than an SUV worth fifty thousand dollars and that was just an estimate for the base model.
When he entered the vehicle, he realized that the agency must have requested the least expensive vehicle the company owned. It had a weird stench of sweaty old gym socks masked by the overuse of Febreze and potpourri. He couldn’t contain the sporadic feeling of gagging and how nauseated he felt each time that scent infiltrated his nostrils. I hope Wolf has a strong stomach because this disgusting odor is pungent, he thought.
He made the two-minute drive back to where he’d left the SUV parked. The place didn’t seem so huge when you were driving around the lot as opposed to walking across it.
A black vehicle with dark tinted windows sped out of the lot as soon as he arrived where he left the SUV parked. He stopped the green sedan right behind the SUV and saw that the rear left side door was ajar. As he sat inside the green vehicle, his heart sank and he thought how stupid it had been of him to leave her in the vehicle—a prisoner, a criminal alone without any supervision. Leaving a prisoner alone was something they were taught never to do at the seven-month-long training academy. He’d thrown everything he learned out of the window because he trusted her. He couldn’t believe it. But he’d let his guard down. The eight minutes or so that it had taken for him to complete the transaction was long enough for her to leave. “I fucked up,” he said.
He knew he should’ve handcuffed her hands to the hanging seatbelt loop but he didn’t. He wanted her to start trusting him in the hopes that she would corroborate with everything she saw against Trivaldi. He tried to make sense of the situation by telling himself that they were miles away from Huntersville and to hitch a ride from here would be near impossible in the desolate road. The SUV was a target even if she was able to hotwire it and drive it away. He was sure she wouldn’t have been that naïve to take the car, which of course she didn’t but she was gone.
He unholstered his gun, opened his driver’s side door without even bothering to close it, gripped the gun with both hands, brought it up to align the sights, pointed it toward the door, and approached the SUV slowly. He took one step at a time and then her bound arms flung out, lifeless. Either Trivaldi or whoever else was trying to get to her had followed them and killed her.
Killed her on his watch. He was responsible for her and she’d died. What was he going to tell his partners, her family, and his chief? He was screwed and he knew it. This case had just taken a different turn and it was not a good one. Not that anything about this case had been good news but this would be devastating.
He was expecting to see blood splatter in the vehicle—a struggle must have ensued, and they must have done it the moment he stepped inside the rental agency facility. He hadn’t bothered to keep a watchful eye once he was inside. Hell, he couldn’t, since he was out back looking for the vehicle. It was nearly the last one in the lot in the back of the building. Someone must have seen something, there must be cameras a
round here. He was careful and hadn’t seen any cars following him throughout the ride. Anyway, they would’ve attacked them in the house, not out there in a public place where anyone could see them, and especially not right across from the forensics office where law enforcement officers usually visit. Besides, that was why they’d left before sunrise, so that they could go undetected. Stealth mode, as Coolidge called it.
He took three seconds to collect himself and walked toward the open rear door. With his gun pointed he peered inside the vehicle.
There wasn’t any blood inside, but she was lying face up with her eyes closed. They must have suffocated her, which was worse than a bloody scene, since it meant that this person must have known her if she let them close enough to suffocate her.
He reached inside the vehicle, still gripping the gun. He wanted to feel for a pulse to see if it was there and to maybe try to resuscitate her if he had made it to her in time.
“Don’t you even fucking touch me,” she said.
Huge relief washed over him when he heard her voice. “What are you doing? Why is the door open when I told you not to move?”
“Did you want to kill me slowly? Because you left with the keys and didn’t bother to lower the windows,” she said.
He smiled internally for many reasons, but primarily because she was still as feisty and fiery as ever.
“I didn’t think about that. I just wanted to leave the car with forensics, get the rental car, and leave out of here fast,” he responded.
Her face was moist with sweat and she was angry.
“I couldn’t even take my jacket off because you left me here handcuffed. Another police brutality to add to my list,” she continued.
“Fine, that makes us even on the list. Two for two,” he said.
He could tell he was smiling but he couldn’t contain it, the fact that she didn’t leave and that she wasn’t dead was a relief to his career but most importantly to him.