At The Edge

by David Dun

  "Maybe we can go out the side window over the roof and into the tree," he said.

  Maria noticed her knee shaking through her tattered nylons and quickly took inventory of her body. Everything was painful, but nothing excruciating.

  "We're gonna get out of this," he said.

  Wham! A bullet from a high-powered rifle slammed into the car. There was a creak as the metal stretched.

  "God, no," she heard herself saying.

  She froze. She looked at his face and found him appraising her.

  "I'm OK," she muttered.

  Another bang shuddered the car. Neither said anything, waiting, feeling the agony of their own mortality.

  Looking down at the gray rocks and green river below, with the twisted metal groaning, Maria imagined the long free fall superimposed over the sound of her pounding heart.

  "Please let them stop shooting," she prayed.

  "We gotta get out of here. Any second this thing could bust free of the tree."

  But they waited, in the coolness of the wind, their minds searching for a way to free them from the anticipation of being about to fall and yet not falling. Two or three minutes seemed like ten. The leaves were life green; the sky was a hopeful blue; the ants on the luxuriant bark looked busy, unaffected. The chill-was it death or was it a morning's invigoration? In just moments she would know.

  "Come on," he said, snaking his right arm around her small waist even as she felt his fingers fumbling for the latch on her seat belt.

  "Wait, be careful, I'm liable to fall right out of here." Immediately in front of her, there was a gaping hole through what used to be the front windshield and beyond that, the abyss. Somehow his right arm wasn't enough. By putting out both arms and both feet against the jagged metal, she secured herself.

  "OK," she said.

  At that moment a third bullet slammed the underside of the car, just missing Maria and punching a hole in the roof.

  For all of five minutes they waited in near silence. His arm remained around her and her right hand had found its way to his, down at her waist where he still gripped her. There were no more shots.

  "Ok, I'm going to release your belt."

  The belt came away and she rolled toward him. On his side the opening was smaller and she realized the roof in front of the driver's seat was sunk in, whereas on the passenger side it was torn open by the branch.

  Shattered glass was everywhere.

  "Wait, let me," she said when she saw him about to crawl out the driver's-side window. "I'm a climber. I can do this." Despite her dread of further shooting, she crawled over the top of him and stuck her head outside. The front of the car was hanging free about two feet above the L-shaped main trunk of the tree. There was nothing to grab. The branch that had punctured the front windshield and exited the rear window was large and smooth and moss-covered like the main trunk. It was without any hand- or toehold for a sufficient distance, so it would be difficult to climb. Ripples went down the side of the fender, some angular enough that they might make a foothold.

  "Maybe we can climb down the side of the car to the trunk of the tree and then try and scale the cliff. It's either that or wait and hope somebody finds us."

  "We aren't waiting," he said.

  "I've hung off cliffs. It's pleasant. This isn't." She wondered how he would react to the high climbing.

  "Let's go."

  "They may start shooting again," she said.

  "They may. The wind may blow a little harder and the car may plunge."

  She nodded her assent. Holding out her hand to him, she shook his and looked in his eye.

  ''If I fall, tell my father I loved him. My mother knows."

  "You aren't gonna die today. You should tell him yourself." He smiled. "Industry won't be that lucky."

  She began pulling herself through the window.

  "How can you be almost dead and still joking?" she asked, trying to get a firm toehold on a small branch held tight against the crushed fender. It was a long stretch as she tried to hold herself with her hands.

  "Same way you can be almost dead and arguing about it. Here," he said, holding out his hands. "I won't let go."

  They locked their hands on each other's forearms. She could feel his fingers biting into her flesh. With her body fully extended, and Dan hanging out the window, her feet were within inches of the tree trunk; yet she wouldn't hit it square. Even a small slip could have her sliding off the tree and into space.

  "Let go, I'll drop," she said.

  "You're sure?"

  "Do it."

  He let go and she dropped, tried to balance by squatting. Both feet slid off the tree and she grabbed.

  She groaned when her chest hit the tree trunk. She lay barely draped across it, most of her body hanging in space, digging her fingers into the wood, while she struggled to stay alive. Her feet hung down one side of the log while her arms reached over the top to the other side. Her chin sat on the log's crest.

  "Hang on," he said.

  "I'll make it," she groaned. But she couldn't think. Her mind was full with spinning, falling fear. Any second her fingers would give way. Slowly she raised her foot until she found a rough gouge in the bark where her toe could get a purchase. She pushed but was able to move her belly up the tree trunk only a fraction of an inch. Again she tried and moved a little farther.

  "Hold on, I'm gonna jump," Dan said. He was crawling out the window. A man his size in a free fall would come right off the log, she was certain.

  "No! You'll fall."

  "I'm coming."

  In the split second before he let go, she realized he had kicked off his shoes.

  Dropping much farther than she had, he felt his bare feet hit the wood with a loud slap. The pain was a mind-sharpener.

  He teetered crazily, arms gyrating. In a squat he hovered over Maria and dropped his hands to the moss-slick bark. His seat-stiffened joints could barely tolerate the maneuver.

  Remembering days of football and workouts, of agility and stamina, he tried to get his body to follow his memories. Still draped over a horizontal section of the trunk, Maria moved herself up farther now and was about to push again. He grabbed her armpits and pulled, moving her belly six inches higher up on the log.

  "Hold," he said. He did it again and she was able to spring up.

  They moved down the trunk to a small shale ledge just big enough for them to stand together. ''Well, you potentially saved my life," she said, her eyes searching his. "But you could have killed yourself. And I was making it." She paused. "Anyway, thanks."

  "No thanks until we get up there," he said, nodding at the cliff.

  Each of Dan's back pockets held a shoe that he now removed to slip on his feet. She began climbing, clinging like a spider, Dan staying just below her. They were using roots and stems from sparse vegetation and gouges in the face of the rock to support their body weight.

  "It's dangerous for you just below me."

  "Nah. I'll catch you," he said. He thought about stopping to rest but she wasn't, so he forced himself to keep moving.

  After another ten minutes of hard climbing, several near-slips, and two short rests, they finally made it to the forest and eventually the road. There was no sign of the thieves or their car. They backtracked at a crisp jog until they came to a gravel driveway.

  "There's a house down here, I think," Dan said, noticing her regular breaths. He wasn't used to women who could keep up with him. "I'll find a car and try to track them again. You go back to town."

  "Oh no. That was our money," she said, jogging right after him. "If you go, I go."

  3

  They had come to a farmhouse. White, with peeling paint that revealed weather-grayed siding, the single-story house looked as if it were slowly dissolving. Moss-clad gutters appeared useless, and brush and tall grasses had taken over the area around the building. A Ford half-ton pickup truck was parked in a carport to the side. In front of the house was a tired Buick with a visible rust spot near th
e back window.

  The presence of two vehicles looked promising. Dan stopped and blocked her way, as if to settle this matter before moving on.

  A million words went through his mind, but he knew none of them would do any good. Changing his mind, he turned to walk to the farmhouse.

  "Wait a minute," she said, grabbing his shoulder and yanking him around. "Just stand right here and don't move. You are being crazy and you're making me crazy. If you end up a bullet-ridden, Republican corpse, I have to think about that the rest of my life. And I refuse to spend the rest of my days thinking about a dead Republican."

  Looking down at all 120 pounds of her, at her chest heaving with determination, he started to smile, then stifled it. "What can I do for you?"

  "Some discussion. Nobody gives us briefcases full of money, and not five hundred thousand at a time. I mean, that in itself is unbelievable. But now we have a robbery by someone who obviously knew what was happening."

  "Seems that way."

  "So did someone on your end tell somebody, or someone on my end?"

  "How many people on your side knew about this money drop?"

  "As far as I know, just me and Patty McCafferty. How many on your side?"

  "With the exception of the donors, I was the only one who knew it was today and the manner of the delivery."

  "So according to what we know, this couldn't have happened except by pure chance."

  "Saturday-morning purse-snatchers with a getaway car? I don't believe it was chance."

  "I'm with you," she said. "What are you going to do if you catch them?"

  "I don't know yet," he said. "For starters, I want to know where they're going."

  "They'll be long gone."

  "The longer we stand here discussing it-"

  "Well, we need transportation no matter what. Once we get a car, we can talk about where to go."

  He rapped on the door of the house. A middle-aged woman with obviously dyed flaming-red hair answered the door. A cigarette dangled from a mouth rich in red lipstick.

  "What can I do for you?" She seemed intent on their filthy, semi-dressy clothes.

  "Need to rent your truck."

  "It's not for rent."

  "We just crashed our car. We're in a hurry. How about two hundred fifty dollars?"

  "How do I know you'll bring it back?"

  "I was a Boy Scout." The woman didn't seem amused. "I'll show you picture ID, and give you my home address and phone number."

  "We need to use your phone," Maria said.

  "What for?" Dan asked.

  "Because we're going to call our people and tell them what happened."

  "Now hold on-" he began.

  "While you two argue, I'll get the keys," the woman interrupted. "You get your checkbook ready."

  "This is not negotiable," Maria said.

  "Shit-"

  ''Are you afraid your boss-what's his name, Hutchin? — will stop this insanity?"

  "I didn't know that it was any of your damn business what I tell my firm and what I don't."

  ''I don't want to force the issue. I need a little cooperation here."

  "What do you mean force the issue?"

  "I could go to the press, go to the police. The money was ours."

  "You're a real piece of work," he said.

  She just glared at him.

  "I hid a radio transmitter in the briefcase. There's a radio signal. I need to follow it, so now you know."

  Maria looked stunned.

  "I don't have to depend on ESP."

  "That's not the point. You put that… device in the briefcase without telling me?"

  "It's called an ADF. It's used to track a target, like a wild animal. But aren't you glad it was in there?"

  He pulled the automatic direction finder (ADF) receiver out of his coat pocket, trying to reassure her.

  "But this is a really small receiver. We have to be close."

  She sighed. "So you were keeping this secret, hoping to get rid of me. You're still holding out on me. If you don't call, I'm going to the cops with the whole story. It's that simple."

  "I'll call Hutchin," Dan said, resigned but irritated.

  "You can use the phone if you want to." The woman pointed to an oak stand where the hallway opened up into a living area.

  Dan told Hutchin a much abbreviated and safer-sounding version of the story, then waited.

  "Don't you think you should come back and regroup?" Hutchin said.

  "I've got Maria Fischer with me," he told Hutchin. "She's no cowboy. We won't confront anybody, but I've got to do this while there's still a chance of a signal. Once they discover the transmitter, our odds go way down."

  Hutchin reluctantly agreed they could drive around public roads and try for a signal, but nothing more. With maddening precision, he spelled out the terms of their understanding while Dan waited for the moment he could hang up.

  "Now what do you intend to do?" Maria said when he returned.

  "Just what I've been doing."

  She nodded and turned to the woman. "Do you have any boots that I could buy? You can put them on the car tab."

  The woman waved her new cigarette as if it were part of the thinking process, then nodded. "You can have my husband's old ones. Fifty dollars."

  "Fifty dollars?" Dan interjected.

  "Don't argue. What size?"

  "Eleven."

  "Great. And two pairs of thick socks."

  "Twenty dollars."

  Dan shook his head.

  "Relax. You can afford it."

  The woman brought the boots and socks, took the hefty check, and smiled between drags. Before Dan spoke, he ushered Maria out of the house and away from the woman who seemed grateful to close the door on them.

  "I'm going to look for a black sedan whose owner lives in these mountains. I'm going to find a Chevy with the letters SRH on the license. I'm ninety percent convinced it was a woman who attacked us, and she knew how to use that billy club. Maybe she's got a police background. She or her accomplice has to be from around here or they wouldn't have headed into the mountains. City people don't do that. Don't know the roads."

  They hustled to the truck and jumped in. Dan cranked the engine and it took a few turns before the throaty sounds of the un-muffled exhaust vibrated the floorboards. "Of all the people to get stuck with-to be donating to the coalition… or representing somebody who would. Why you? I just don't get it," Maria complained.

  "I don't like it any better than you do. Why didn't you call your office?"

  "Don't want to worry people."

  "You know that if McCafferty hears about this, she'll have you on the next plane home to Sacramento."

  "I suppose."

  "And you wanted me to call Hutchin, hoping he'd tell me not to go after the money."

  "Someone should know where we are and what we're doing."

  "Don't you think we'd both be happier if I did this by myself?"

  "Not a chance," she said as he roared back up the mountain road.

  Corey Schneider thought it interesting that her silent partners wanted their half of the money immediately. There was some risk to them in an immediate transfer. Traveling toward the meeting spot, she had fumed at the presence of the man. Nothing had been said about some big macho fucker sticking around after the delivery. Another few seconds and that guy would have been all over her. Even with her baton, he would have been tough. So she'd have used the gun. And wouldn't that have been a mess. According to her sources, it was to have been a simple money drop to Maria Fischer and not a long, cozy rendezvous.

  Another puzzle was that Corey's unknown accomplices set up a meeting site on a back road where they could be spotted should someone follow. These people who called her in the night were far too cautious and sophisticated for amateurish plans. She glanced down at the map to make sure Denny was on the right road. Although she knew these mountains well and had traveled most of the ranching roads, the location for the drop was remote, and she could
only recall having traveled through that area once before.

  "I can't believe you did that. We could have lost them." Denny had looked tense and completely distracted since the shooting. "I'm not going down for this."

  "Relax."

  Denny was a cheap grunt. He was spineless, and she knew she would need to do something about it. And soon. Other than having the hots for her and his willingness to "help," he was unsuited for everything they did.

  She pulled down the mirror over the visor. Even without makeup, which she almost never wore anymore, she looked good. She had clear skin, a small and slightly narrow-lipped mouth, but great cheekbones and good symmetry. Not that it meant anything to her. She flipped the mirror closed as if disgusted that she'd even looked.

  "What's this?" Denny said.

  A chopper had swooped low over the car and dropped something in a small parachute.

  "Chopper's unmarked. Must be somebody who doesn't want to be recognized," she said. They were on a ridge covered mostly by grassland and oaks. "Pull over."

  When they were opposite the spot where the chute had fallen, the chopper hovered in the distance. Attached to the chute was a small plastic cylinder, and inside a rolled-up map. On the map an X marked the place where she was to meet the mysterious voices on the phone.

  Beside the X it simply read "no." At another spot very near their current location was a second X marked "yes." Now it all made sense. They were almost twenty miles from the originally designated point. They knew her route, could follow with the chopper, see everything for miles around, including someone following. They had picked a different location so that she could not plan a trap. They were in complete control.

  "We're going just up the ridge and stopping. I suspect that helicopter will come to us."

  "What's in that briefcase? Drugs?"

  "Nothing illegal."

  "I don't think I'm getting paid enough for this."

  "We'll fix that. But for the moment just shut up and do your job."