Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1)

by C. Mack Lewis

  Enid’s jaw dropped.

  Was he serious?

  Jack said, “This isn’t working out.”

  Enid lifted her chin like she didn’t care.

  A taxi pulled up, followed by a moving truck and Bunnie driving a Honda.

  Enid followed Jack to the taxi.

  “Sky Harbor,” Jack said to the driver, whose face was black as ebony.

  Bunnie walked to her house. As she passed the taxi, Bunnie gave Jack the one-finger salute.

  “What’s Sky Harbor?” Enid said.

  The taxi moved forward and Jack said, “I got you a ticket.”

  “I’m not getting back on that stinking bus,” Enid said.

  “Airplane ticket.”

  “What about my stuff?” Enid said.

  “I’ll ship it to you.”

  “What about me saying goodbye to Ernie and – everybody?”

  “He’s your cousin – you’ll see him again.”

  Enid sat brewing in silence. She wanted to ask it but didn’t trust her voice to do the job.

  What about – us?

  “Look,” Jack said, “We gave it a try but – ”

  “You’re a lousy stinking father.”

  Jack’s lips tightened, he looked out the window.

  Enid said, “What if I don’t want to go back?”

  “Your mother will pick you up. You can get back to your life – friends, school – ”

  “It’s summer – no school. Second, you may not have noticed but I’m not exactly Ms. Popularity.”

  “You have friends, right?”

  “Scads,” Enid said between her teeth.

  “I’m sorry, Enid. It – I’m just not dad material.”

  “No duh.”

  The taxi driver stared ahead, playing deaf.

  Enid leaned forward and said to the taxi driver, “You have kids?”

  He ignored her, looked in the rearview mirror at Jack, “Which terminal?”

  “Southwest,” Jack said.

  “Chicken-shits,” Enid muttered in disgust.

  They drove in silence until the taxi pulled up to the terminal. Enid jumped out and, without a backward glance, marched into the terminal, ignoring Jack’s voice as he called to her to slow down. Her stomach rumbled as the smell of cinnamon buns wafted toward her. She hadn’t eaten, hadn’t showered, was in dirty clothes and her teeth had a film of funk – and he expected her to get on a plane and fly away – never to return.

  He hates me.

  She stopped, unsure. Jack was by her side, pressing a boarding pass into her hand. She stared ahead, refusing to acknowledge him. She felt his hand on her hair – then he was gone.

  Fat tears rolled down Enid’s cheeks as she walked blindly forward. People veered around her, their faces registering everything from shock to concern.

  I hate him.

  I hate everybody.

  She turned around, searching for Jack. She felt a need to hurt him. Punch him, kick him – scratch his eyes out of his stupid skull.

  I’ve got nothing to lose.

  She bolted after him, barging out of the terminal. She spotted him walking to the taxi that had let them off, the driver leaning against the side, smoking a cigarette.

  She ran toward him.

  Before she could reach him, Enid saw a hand clap down on Jack’s shoulder. She watched as Jack tried to shake it off, then froze.

  A gangly middle-aged nerd pushed Jack toward a waiting car. To her surprise, Jack got in the passenger side and slid to the driver’s side while the nerd settled into the passenger side.

  Enid got within ten feet of the car and she yelled for him to stop, but they drove away.

  Enid caught the first three letters of the license JEX, but she couldn’t make out the rest of it. She looked up the row of cars and saw the taxi driver waiting.

  She ran to the taxi driver who was waiting for Jack to return and said, “Did my dad say he was coming back?”

  The driver eyed her impassively.

  Enid pointed toward the disappearing car, “He’s gone.”

  The driver reeled off a string of curses in some other language and crushed his cigarette under his heel. He jumped in his taxi and Enid jumped into the back seat as he pulled out with a squeal of tires.

  “Watch out!” Enid said as he swerved around a truck, almost hitting it.

  He looked at her, startled. “Get out, you little brat!” He slammed on the brakes and stopped in the middle of the road.

  “He’s getting away!” Enid pointed forward like she could see the car, which she couldn’t. “He said you’re a filthy foreigner and you should go back to your own country!”

  “Motherfucker.” The driver’s eyes gleamed with fury as he jammed the accelerator with such force that Enid was hurled back against the seat. Within moments, he merged so hard onto the highway that Enid was hurtled to the floor.

  Enid crawled off the floor and put on her seat belt. “There’s a reward for his capture. He’s a wanted man.”

  “Jimakplon. He is the son of his father – like an animal. ”

  “That’s what his parole officer said,” Enid said.

  The driver pulled a huge machete from under his seat and set it on the dashboard.

  “Holy shit!” Enid said. “I made it up! I lied! He’s not dangerous – he’s just stupid. Stop the car! Let me out!”

  They both caught sight of the car that Jack was travelling in at the same moment.

  “Let me out!” Enid screamed.

  The taxi driver said, “He is impolite!”

  “I’m gonna puke,” Enid groaned, clamping her hand over her mouth.

  Enid wished with all her might she stayed at the airport. She eyed the huge machete that the taxi driver had in a knuckled grip and watched in horror as they caught up with Jack’s car.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  One does not get to know that one exists until one rediscovers oneself in others.

  –Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

  Jack stuck his eye to the hole where the back brake light had been and saw only the blur of highway. He’d felt safer behind the wheel with a gun aimed at him than he did stuffed in the trunk of a car.

  At the airport, Larry O’Donnell had shoved a gun into his side and told him to get in the car and drive. Within a couple of miles, Larry had forced Jack to pull over to a deserted parking lot and made him get in the trunk where the only witness was a mangy dog.

  Damn Petunia!

  She either flapped her gums to get Larry jealous or Frank Ficus had reported back to Larry before he kicked the bucket. Either way, the cat was out of the bag and the bag was in the river – and the bag was loaded down with one angry cat scratching at a heavy-ass brick.

  Jack had tried to talk to Larry but he wasn’t having it. Larry’s eyes were bloodshot and his gun hand had the tremor of somebody who wanted a drink – and bad.

  From inside the trunk, Jack kicked the back of the back seat, yelling, “Pull over, Larry – before this goes any further.”

  Nothing.

  Jack lay silent, thinking.

  He sure as hell didn’t want to be buried in this asshole’s backyard under a slab of concrete. He had just found Eve and he wasn’t about to check out now. He couldn’t stand the thought of letting Eve go – even in death. Another person would disappear from Eve’s life – and he’d be dead. Jack pictured Larry smoking ribs and dogs on the barbecue that Larry would build on top of the concrete slab that would hide his body until nobody cared – or remembered.

  Enid.

  The last memory she’d have of her father would be him dropping her off at the airport with a swift kick in the butt and a “so long and see you later.”

  How will that be any different from what my dad did to me?

  He failed Enid.

  Disgust and shame flooded through him. Jack felt a moment of panic and then – rage. He balled himself up and slammed his feet into the trunk wall.

  He let out a primal scream tha
t went on till his lungs were empty and his throat hurt.

  The car swerved.

  Jack dug into his pocket, pulled out his switchblade and hacked into the back seat.

  Larry might shoot him but Larry was going to have to do it on Jack’s terms. If Larry had a plan of how this was going to go – Jack was determined to fuck it up beyond all recognition.

  Jack howled and screamed every obscenity he could think of as he hacked at the back seat. “I’m coming to get you, motherfucker!”

  The car swerved – then steadied.

  Why hadn’t his dad fought for him?

  Jack stabbed repeatedly, feeling the fabric give way beneath his knife. Jack screamed threats until he was breathless and slathering.

  The car hit what felt like a dirt road so violently that Jack was flung into the front of the trunk where he hit his head and saw stars. After what seemed like a long time, the car stopped and Jack lay still, clenching the switchblade.

  The trunk popped open, revealing a slit of light. Jack blinked, trying to adjust his eyes. After a few moments, Jack used his foot to nudge the trunk open.

  Blue skies.

  Steeling himself, Jack gripped the switchblade so that it was hidden behind his leg. He began climbing out of the trunk.

  “Stop!”

  Jack froze, anticipating the gunshot that was going to rip through him.

  “You got me wrong,” Larry said, voice quavering.

  Larry stood twenty feet from the car, his gun aimed at Jack.

  They were on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere with desert stretching for miles.

  Larry looked like he was on the verge of wetting his pants.

  Jack stretched his face into his best psychopath smile –like he was having the fucking time of his life.

  Larry gasped like he’d seen the devil.

  They stared at each other. Larry’s eyes wide with fear and Jack’s – a killer.

  With a jerky movement, Larry turned and ran.

  Jack watched in astonishment as Larry ran pell-mell down the long stretch of empty road.

  Jack shouted, “Throw me the keys, asshole!”

  Without looking, Larry hurled the keys behind him.

  Jack climbed out of the trunk, and headed for where Larry had thrown the keys. It took some searching but he found them and headed back to the car.

  Jack kept an eye on Larry till he was a speck disappearing into the desert.

  Once in the car, Jack gripped the wheel and looked at the broad expanse of desert. Arizona never looked more beautiful.

  I’m alive.

  And I want to stay that way.

  Jack started the engine and headed up the road, thinking.

  Two hours later, Jack stood behind the door in Larry and Petunia’s bedroom. He’d parked the car on an out-of-the-way street and gotten in using Larry’s garage door opener that was in the car.

  It was a long time till Larry came home. Jack listened to Larry climbing the stairs.

  Jack stayed behind the door as Larry staggered in and collapsed on the king-sized bed covered with a floral comforter.

  Jack shut the door.

  Larry sprang from the bed. “Oh Jesus – !”

  Jack hurled Larry against the wall, pinning him there with his hand pressed over his mouth. “Shut up, fuckhead.”

  Larry’s terrified eyes darted around the room.

  Jack pressed his arm into his throat, not enough to cut off his oxygen but enough to get his attention.

  “Petunia – ” Larry said, voice hoarse.

  Jack eased the pressure on his throat. “Did you hire Frank Ficus to follow me?”

  “What kind of man tries to break up a marriage? What kind of animal are you?”

  “Frank Ficus – !”

  “I don’t care if you do kill me. Make a lousy joke out of me – I deserve what I get for letting a pig like you – ”

  Jack shoved him against the wall so hard that he felt his own teeth rattle.

  “You’re nothing!” Larry screamed.

  Larry shoved forward, throwing Jack off balance and threw a punch that Jack easily dodged.

  As the punch landed harmlessly in the air, Jack felt a stab of guilt.

  I deserve it.

  Breathing hard, Jack backed up, surprised at the guilt he felt.

  Larry slipped to the floor, racked with sobs.

  Jack stood a moment, unsure. “Petunia got with me – to get your attention.”

  Larry looked up with wet, questioning eyes.

  Jack said, “I said something once – she got mad – said you were more of a man than anyone she knew – more than me.”

  “You wrecked my marriage.”

  “Frank Ficus – did you hire him?”

  With a violent motion, Larry spit in Jack’s face.

  Jack dragged Larry off the floor and slugged him in the gut.

  Larry doubled over, sunk to the floor, gasping for air.

  Jack rubbed his aching fist, hating himself.

  “Pig,” Larry said.

  Jack stood for a moment, then turned to leave.

  Jack drove aimlessly until he passed Warren Hibbitt’s bar. It was a dive on Seventh Street called ‘Do Drop Inn’ – except it wasn’t an Inn. It was barely a shack.

  The down-on-their-luck clientele hung over various drinks. A sixty-year-old woman dressed like she was twenty stared at Jack from the end of the bar.

  Jack sat at the bar and nodded to Warren Hibbitt, who was the sole bartender. “Bourbon.”

  “Ran short,” Warren said. “I’ll send you a check – next week…?” It was more a question than a statement of fact.

  Jack shrugged, figuring that “one week” meant maybe never.

  Warren set up a beer for a construction worker three stools down.

  “How’re things going?” Jack said, eyeing Warren.

  Warren frowned. “Good. Things going good.”

  “You got things straight?” Jack said, desperately wanting to hear that everything was good with Warren and his cheating wife.

  Warren shrugged, a wary look in his eyes.

  Jack leaned forward, so only Warren could hear him. “You and your wife – are you back together?”

  Warren’s face twisted, a dead giveaway. Warren abruptly turned, busying himself with other customers.

  Jack finished his drink. Somehow, he was equating Warren and his cheating wife with Larry and Petunia. Maybe if Warren had managed to get things straight with his wife – maybe what Jack had done – could be undone…?

  Fairy tales.

  Jack thought about Larry and Petunia. Funny, he had never really thought about them together as a couple. Jack had never visualized Petunia with anyone but him, which was nuts because the first time he had seen her – she was with another man.

  Petunia had told Jack that she and her husband had an understanding. She had saidthat Larry understood that he was a wet rag in bed.

  No excuse for what I did.

  Jack pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers – trying to rid himself of the terrible sensation of feeling alone and –

  Ashamed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  A woman’s guess is much more accurate than a man’s certainty.

  –Rudyard Kipling

  Bud spotted Enid sitting in the open door of the backseat of a police car on the side of the I-10. A police officer was sitting in the squad car writing his report, the wrecked taxi was in the ditch and the ambulance was pulling out as Bud pulled up.

  Enid jumped up and ran toward his car. “What took you so long?”

  “What happened?” Bud said. “Why’d you tell them to call me – instead of your dad?”

  Enid frowned, pushed back her hair.

  Bud walked to the squad car with Enid following him. He hooked his thumb at the wrecked taxi and said to Enid, “You were in that? Are you all right?”

  Enid said, “The ambulance people checked me out. They said it was a miracle I wasn’t dead.�
��

  “They should have taken you to the hospital,” Bud said.

  Officer Roundhouse looked up and nodded toward Enid, “They cleared her.”

  Enid said, “They said I’m not in shock.”

  Bud nodded to the wrecked car, “What about the other guy?”

  “Fell on his machete,” Officer Roundhouse said.

  Enid said, “I didn’t push him. He fell on it.”

  “Machete?” Bud said, catching Enid’s overly innocent face. “The driver just happened to drive off the road and fall on his machete?”

  “It wasn’t my machete,” Enid said.

  Officer Roundhouse said, “He’ll live. He’s missing an ear though. The EMT’s weren’t quite sure how he got his ear torn off during the crash. The taxi driver claims – she bit him.”

  Enid said, “I found his ear and gave it to the ambulance people so they can try to sew it back on.”

  “Lovely,” Bud said.

  “She’s all yours,” Officer Roundhouse nodded at Enid.

  “Thanks,” Bud said, stepping away as he drove off. Bud turned to Enid, “You bit the taxi driver’s ear off?”

  “I didn’t bite it. I accidently hurt his ear and it tore off. There is a difference.”

  Bud sighed.

  Enid said, “You have to help Jack. I was standing there and saw some guy kidnap him.”

  “Did you tell the police?”

  “You’re the police and I’m telling you,” Enid said.

  Bud said, “Tell me what happened. Be honest and don’t leave anything out.”

  As Enid told what happened, Bud’s dream flashed through his mind. Enid in the red dress pointing to the volcano behind him that was going to destroy the world.

  Enid said, “Didn’t you hear me? He’s been kidnapped. I got the first three letters of the license – JEX. Can’t you run a check or something?”

  “Why did the taxi driver pull out a machete? And why was he chasing the other car?”

  Enid shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Bud gave her a look.

  Enid made a disparaging sound. “I may have led him to believe that Jack was trying to not pay him.”

  “Did you stab the taxi driver with the machete?”

  “I wouldn’t call it stab. More like – accidently poked.”