Martha Lee started struggling to get free. She stopped when Loretta put more weight on her back.
“Come on, King, Rex, Rin Tin Tin, whatever the hell your name is.” Loretta found a leash inside and clipped it to the dog’s collar. She tried to coax the animal out, but the dog was too woozy to move. “Come on, come on. Atta girl. Good boy.”
The dog just looked at her, tongue hanging out, eyes out of focus.
“Crap.” Loretta reached in and lifted the dog out, setting him down on the ground next to Martha Lee. Then Loretta picked up Martha Lee, who was screaming under the duct tape, flailing her head in a panic.
Loretta positioned Martha Lee’s feet, aiming for the mouth of the pet carrier, and jammed her in. Martha Lee tried to make her body rigid, but she was no match for Loretta, who pushed on her shoulders until she folded. Finally only Martha Lee’s head was sticking out. Loretta looked down and flashed a mean grin, remembering her ordeal in the mud bath. “Aren’t you so glad you’re a perfect size six?” she gushed, then shoved Martha Lee’s head in and shut the door. “Have a nice flight.”
Marvelli peered around the edge of the luggage carrier. “Where is she?” he whispered. Then he noticed the doped-up dog panting on the ground. “Where’d he come from?”
“Never mind about the dog. Martha Lee’s ready for boarding. Let’s worry about getting us on.” She spotted a pair of sunglasses hanging out of Marvelli’s breast pocket. “Let me have your glasses.”
“What?”
She took the glasses herself and put them on, then picked up the dog’s leash. “Just play along,” she whispered.
She dragged the deadweight dog out from behind the luggage carrier. “My dog!” she cried out, rotating her head like Stevie Wonder. “Help! Help! My dog!”
The baggage handlers ran over to her. “What’s the problem, lady?” one of them asked.
“My dog needs water,” Loretta fretted. “Quick!”
Marvelli picked up on her cue, rushing up and taking her by the arm. “What’s the quickest way back into the terminal?” he asked. “This lady needs help.” He rolled his eyes as if to say he didn’t need this headache, but he had it, so he had to deal with it.
“How’d she get out here?” the burliest baggage handler asked. They were all stunned by the sudden appearance of a barefoot blind woman in a blindingly gaudy muumuu, dragging a half-dead Seeing Eye dog.
Marvelli shrugged helplessly. “I just found her out here.”
“See that gray door over there?” the burly baggage handler said. “The one marked ‘14’? Go through there. It’ll take you back into the terminal.”
“Will the alarm go off?” Marvelli asked, assuming it would have one.
“Nope. That one’s okay.”
“Thanks.” He started to lead Loretta toward the door. “This way, ma’am. And slow down,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “You’re supposed to be handicapped.”
She started walking, but the dog was like an anchor. “Come on, Bowzer. You can do it,” she urged. “Come on, dammit. Move!” She jerked on his chain, and the dog lumbered into a halfhearted trot. Suddenly she felt terrible, treating the poor animal this way. “I apologize, Rover. Just make it to the terminal, and I’ll make it up to you. Dog yummies on me. Whatever you want. Just don’t stop.”
The dog took his time, but at least he kept moving. When they made it to the door marked “14,” Marvelli pushed it open and led Loretta and the dog into a short corridor. The cool marble floor was relief on Loretta’s feet. The air-conditioning seemed to energize the German shepherd a bit as they ran to the stairway and bounded up the stairs. When they got to the next floor, they found another gray metal door marked “14.”
“Hang on, hang on!” Marvelli stopped her before she pushed the crash bar. “This one’s got to have an alarm.”
“Why?” she asked, annoyed with him for being so cautious.
“Because they don’t want terrorists going out where the planes are, that’s why.”
“What’re you, the man from UNCLE? Get out of my way.” Loretta pushed through the door, and an alarm did sound. The waiting area for Gate 14 was on the other side, passengers waiting to board filling the gray vinyl seats. She pulled Marvelli by the sleeve and shoved him into a chair, then stood there with the dog, rocking on her heels, doing her Stevie Wonder imitation. A heavyset black woman with a badge pinned to her navy blazer ran into the waiting area. She had handcuffs, a walkie-talkie, and a can of mace attached to her belt. “Did you open that door?” the woman barked.
“I was looking for the ladies’ room.” She yanked on the dog’s leash. “Bad, Rufus! Bad!”
The guard pulled the door closed and stopped the alarm. She glared down at Marvelli in his seat. “Are you with her?”
Marvelli shook his head. “Nope.”
The woman looked skeptical, but she didn’t challenge him. “Do you want me to take you to the ladies’ room?” she said to Loretta.
“I think we’ll find it this time, thank you.”
“Ask for help if you need it.” The black woman stomped off.
When she was gone, Marvelli got out of his seat and went to the monitors hanging over the waiting area. “Our flight leaves in ten minutes, Gate 16, right over there.” He nodded across the way. “You get rid of the dog. I’ll get us some tickets. Pray this flight isn’t booked.”
“Right,” Loretta said. As Marvelli trotted off to find the Wild Goose ticket counter, she wandered over to the waiting area at Gate 16. On the way, she passed a little dark-haired boy in knee-length shorts and a baggy T-shirt standing by the ladies’ room, guarding a beat-up backpack and a sky-blue carry-on bag. Loretta guessed that he was about eight or nine.
“You by yourself?” Loretta asked the boy.
“No.”
“Who are you with?”
“My mom.” He nodded toward the ladies’ room. “She had to go.”
“That happens,” Loretta said. “Your mom ever tell you not to talk to strangers?”
“Yeah.”
“So why don’t you listen to her?”
The kid rubbed his nose and shrugged.
“Don’t talk to strangers,” Loretta said. “They’re not all as nice as me.”
“Okay.”
“You got any pets?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then here.” She handed him the leash. “All kids should have pets. Take it easy, Lassie,” she said to the dog, and started to walk away.
The little boy’s mouth fell open. He’d hit the kid lottery.
Loretta took off the sunglasses and wandered into the crowd of passengers at Gate 16. She found a seat over by the windows between a distinguished-looking man in his sixties wearing a dark suit without a tie and reading a newspaper and a woman in her twenties with long brown hair parted in the middle, listening to a Walkman. Loretta could hear the music, it was cranked up so loud, and she was surprised that it was classical music. Solo piano. A Bach fugue, she thought. Nice.
A woman’s voice came over the intercom: “Wild Goose Air Flight 77, nonstop to Newark, New Jersey, will begin boarding passengers now. Please have your tickets out and ready when your seat number is called. Passengers holding seat numbers 29 through 40, please come forward.”
As people started shuffling into line, Loretta looked for Marvelli to come running through the terminal with their tickets. Come on, she thought. Come on!
She sank down into her seat and tipped her head back, closing her eyes to rest for a moment. There was still time, she told herself. It would take ten, fifteen minutes to board the passengers.
But when Loretta closed her eyes, an unexpected wave of fatigue washed over her, and she could’ve fallen asleep right there, she was so exhausted—except for the fact that she was worrying about everything. Martha Lee was in the pet carrier, but would the baggage guys hear her frantic humming and see her through the grill? Marvelli had gone to buy tickets, but what if he didn’t get back in time? Then t
here was Lawrence Temple. They’d lost the feds on the highway, but where were they now? And even if she and Marvelli managed to get Martha Lee back to New Jersey, could the feds legally throw their weight around and take her back? And if they did that, would Julius Monroe rescind his offer to give her a permanent job with the Jump Squad? And what the hell was she going to do if she lost this job? Where could she go? What would she tell her father?
The mantra started chanting in her head: I’m fat; I’m single; my career is in the toilet. I’m fat; I’m single—
“Hello, Loretta.”
Loretta’s eyes shot open. Lawrence Temple was standing right in front of her. She looked over her shoulder and saw the two skinny goons. The husky goons were behind Temple, one of them holding Roger Laplante by the elbow. It wasn’t the smiling, feel-good, infomercial Roger Laplante. It was the pissed-off, frig-you, I-want-to-kill-somebody Roger Laplante.
“Where is she, Loretta?” Temple asked, grimly deadpan.
“Who?”
“You know who. Martha Lee.”
Loretta could see all her worst nightmares coming true: going home empty-handed, losing the job, losing her last shot at putting her life back together.
“Where is she, Loretta?” Temple asked again.
“Where is she?” Roger Laplante echoed. He was seething. “That little bitch tried to screw me. She paid over two hundred grand to a dummy company in Panama. Thank God the bank called for confirmation and I was able to cancel the wire before it went through. But that can’t be the only thing she’s done. I know it. If my books are for shit, it’s because of her.” He was talking to Temple now. “Martha Lee Sykes—or whatever her name is—is the one responsible for any financial shenanigans at Weight-Away. I know it. She’s the one you want, not me. Her.”
“We’ve been through this, Mr. Laplante,” Temple said, blowing him off. “So where is she, Loretta?”
Loretta didn’t answer. She was trying to think of something to say.
“You’re hiding a fugitive, Loretta. That’s a federal offense. Now where is she?”
The IRS agents closed in around her.
“Well, I. . .”
“I will have you arrested,” Temple said. “Don’t think I won’t.”
“Well, ah—”
BOOM!
An explosion from down the corridor made everyone duck.
The roar of an approaching engine came up fast.
BOOM! Another gunshot, closer this time. It sounded like a cannon blast.
“Die, Marvelli!” someone yelled.
Loretta stood up on her seat to see what was going on. People were scattering, running in terror as the sound of the engine roared closer. Suddenly Marvelli came running down the corridor full tilt followed by Torpedo Joe Pickett on his red motorcycle, a pistol-grip shotgun in his hand and Ricky Macrae hanging onto his waist. He was still wearing his black WeightAway staff shorts and white polo shirt, and Ricky was in skintight black jeans, a red tube top, and a black leather vest, showing off those massive arms of hers. Even from this distance Loretta could see that Ricky was furious, her raccoon eyes flashing. Loretta could feel her stomach tightening, and she hated herself for reacting this way. Ricky Macrae is not Brenda Hemingway, she told herself. Ricky is not Brenda, and I’m not afraid of either one of them.
But now she wished she’d kept Martha Lee’s gun when Marvelli had offered it.
Temple’s men had their guns out, but they didn’t seem to know what to do with them. They seemed confused.
“Shoot the biker before he kills Marvelli,” Loretta hissed at the IRS agents, but they ignored her, looking to Temple for their orders.
“Don’t fire,” Temple told them. “Too many people here.”
“Well, then do something,” Loretta snapped, but he ignored her, too.
By now Joe had corralled Marvelli into a corner of the waiting area, revving his engine threateningly as Marvelli struggled to catch his breath, his back to the plate-glass windows that overlooked the runways. The barrel of Joe’s shotgun was leveled on Marvelli’s chest.
Ricky screeched from the back of the bike, “Where is she, you limp little dickhead? Where’s Martha Lee?”
Hearing Ricky talk to Marvelli like that gave Loretta an uncontrollable urge to go over there, grab her by that awful rat’s nest of hers, and throw her through the glass, but Temple was holding her wrist, trying to get her to get down and take cover. Roger Laplante was already under her seat, cowering like a bad dog.
In the meantime Temple’s goons had mobilized and were trying to do an end run around Joe to take him from behind, but Joe saw them coming.
BOOM! He shot through the plate-glass window three feet to Marvelli’s side, then pulled a revolver from his shorts, training it on the IRS agents as they Grouchoed around the waiting area. “Freeze, assholes. Drop your guns, or I start shooting civilians.”
Temple was on the spot, and he didn’t look comfortable having to make a decision that couldn’t be figured out with a calculator.
“Joe, Joe, look at me,” Marvelli said. “Let’s talk about this—”
“You shut up!” Joe kept the shotgun on Marvelli as he turned back to the feds. “Now drop your guns.” He used the revolver to shoot through the window again.
Temple whispered to Loretta, “How many bullets do you think he has in the shotgun?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“Okay,” Temple finally said to his men, clearing his throat. “Do as he says. Put down your weapons.”
Reluctantly the IRS agents tossed their automatics into a pile on the carpet in front of the check-in counter. Loretta’s knees were shaking. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the shotgun pointed at Marvelli.
Ricky climbed off the bike and walked up to Marvelli, standing clear of Joe’s shotgun. “Where is she, dickhead?”
Marvelli showed her his palms in a gesture of conciliation. “Can’t we talk about this?”
“No!” she screeched, and spit in his face.
Loretta snatched her wrist away from Temple. That did it. This little shit wasn’t going to get away with that. She marched over toward Ricky.
Ricky’s brow arched when she noticed Loretta coming. “Well, if it isn’t fatty Patty,” Ricky said in a drop-dead voice. “Nice dress.”
“Back off, bitch,” Loretta shouted, getting in her face. She didn’t give a damn. She wasn’t going to put up with any more bullshit.
“You must know where Martha Lee is,” Ricky said. “Tell us or say good-bye to your partner.”
Loretta saw red. “Forget it. You’re not getting squat.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Marvelli stepped forward and tried to get between them. “Easy, ladies, easy. Why don’t we just sit down and—”
Joe jabbed the air with the shotgun, reminding Marvelli that it was aimed right at him. “Freeze!” He swept the room with his other gun, keeping everyone else at bay.
Ricky gave Loretta her Elvis sneer. “Now what’re you gonna do?”
“I’m not giving up Martha Lee.” And she meant it. She was not going to lose this time.
“Oh, you don’t think so, huh? Well, what if I—?” Ricky reached between her blubbery breasts.
Loretta didn’t wait to see what Ricky had in there. She snatched the chrome-plated automatic from Marvelli’s waistband, wheeled around, and buried the barrel deep into Ricky’s chin fat, tilting her head all the way back.
“Drop it,” Loretta growled.
Something hit the carpet. Loretta glanced down and saw the Derringer.
Ricky’s arms were out straight, arm fat quivering. “Joe!” she screamed. “Do something! Shoot her, goddammit! Shoot her!”
The barrel of Torpedo Joe’s revolver was five feet from Loretta’s head, looking right at her.
“Joe! Shoot her!”
25
Loretta’s throat was tight. She still had the gun under Ricky’s chin, but her hand was shaking. “I’m n
ot backing down,” she managed to get out.
Ricky was going nuts. “What the hell’re you waiting for, Joe?” she screamed. “Do something! Help me!”
Marvelli was right next to Loretta. “Don’t be stupid, Loretta. Do you hear me? Put the gun down.”
Joe snarled at him, “Back off, Marvelli.” He shook the shotgun, indicating that he wanted Marvelli to move away from the women.
Loretta was shaking her head, talking to herself as much as to Marvelli. “No. They are not getting Martha Lee. I’m not backing down this time. They can kill me if they want, but I am not backing down.”
“Joe!” Ricky’s lips were trembling, her double chin jiggling.
“Loretta, don’t be stupid,” Marvelli pleaded. “Let them have—”
“Shut up, Marvelli!” Joe growled.
“Joe!” Ricky wailed. “Do something! Shoot her!”
Joe narrowed his eyes and looked at the two women, his revolver aimed at Loretta’s head, the shotgun in the general direction of the crowd that included Lawrence Temple and his men. Joe’s eyes swept the crowd. It was dead quiet, except for Ricky hyperventilating. He stared at her for a long moment, then focused on Loretta and started shaking his head. “I can’t shoot her, Ricky.”
“Why not?”
“ ’Cause she’s a good person. I feel for her.”
“Joe! What the hell’re you talking about? She’s got a gun to my neck, for chrissake.”
“If you’d heard what I’d heard this morning, you’d feel the same as me, Ricky. Miss Loretta, when you were on that massage table telling me about all the crap you put up with because you were fat when you were a kid, even though I was trying to kill you, my heart went out to you. The story about having to wear the rain slicker when you’d ripped your dress? Pitiful, just pitiful. I was a fat kid, too, so I know what it was like.”
Ricky screamed, “Shoot her, Joe!”
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