Jump the Gun

by Zoe Burke

  But it hit me all at once. I mean, three things hit me all at once. Two came from looking into those endless eyes of his. I could read them, and they said, one, I’m a cop, and I know how to handle this, and two, I don’t want you to get hurt. I knew right then that Mickey really did care about me. The third thing I realized was that I actually did not want to go see Jake. I was afraid, and I was tired of not knowing what was going on and people getting killed and my life getting trashed. So I sat back down, which surprised Mickey a little. He hesitated before turning and walking down the hall, waiting, I think, for an outburst from me. But then he left, his hand moving around to the inside of his jacket. Jeez, I thought, is he packing? And is that even the right word?

  Martha scrutinized me. “You don’t look so good.”

  I bit my lip. “Yeah, it’s been a very long, weird, scary, surreal few days.” I took a deep breath and let it out. “Tell me, Martha, what does Jake look like?” I was holding on to the ridiculously slight hope that Bad Goombah Cop Jake maybe wasn’t the same Jake as Mary Rosen’s son.

  “Big man, kind of reminds me of Hoss Cartwright from Bonanza, though he talks like he’s from New Jersey. I’ve always had a preference for big men. Not very attractive, to tell you the truth, but like I said, he’s a good son.” She suddenly leaned forward and tapped her finger on her desk. “I just remembered something. Georgia helped Jake get Mary into Tall Oaks. Another woman—very wealthy—had prepaid but didn’t want to move in for several months, so Georgia suggested to the administration that they offer it at a reduced price to Mary in the interim. That way Jake could keep tabs on her until he could find her a permanent residence. I guess Georgia knew Jake from when she worked in Las Vegas.”

  I coughed. “Shit.”

  Then Mickey was back. He didn’t look so hot, either.

  “It’s him, Annabelle. The big asshole. He didn’t see me. I’m calling Brad. We’ll get police here.” He started punching in the number, talking to Martha at the same time. “How long did Jake say he would be staying?”

  “He wanted a cup of coffee while he figured out what to do next. She put her finger to her lips, thinking. “He said something else, a bit strange though.”

  We both waited, watching her trace the outline of her lips. I never understand people who stop in the middle of telling you something, forcing you to say, “Yes?” or “And?” or “Oh, really, well why don’t you hold that thought and tell us about it some other time. We’ll call you tomorrow.” So I did a palms-up shrug with my shoulders, giving her my best JUST TELL US look.

  “He said that he was sure she would have gotten back by now, and when I said, oh, so you know where she’s been? He mumbled something like, no not really, just figured she’d be here.”

  “He saw her in Las Vegas, Martha, and he and Mary might have been in touch since Mary ditched us.” Mickey dropped his chin and talked into his phone, asking Brad for some Santa Rosa police backup. Then he hung up and gave Martha instructions. “I’d like you to get the other people in the common area out of there. Can you think of a way to do this, that won’t make Jake suspicious?”

  “I can try, but I’m not sure what this is all about. You’re scaring me. It’s just Jake, after all.”

  I would have spit out my coffee if I had been drinking any, but I wasn’t, so I blew out some weird burble noise with my lips, like a horse. “Just Jake? He could have killed Mickey, and he kidnapped me at gunpoint.”

  Martha brought her hand again to her mouth. “Jake? Really? I thought he was a policeman!”

  We answered in unison. “He is.” Like that explained everything. She shook her head, and we stared without blinking back at her. Then she stood up.

  “I’ll get the others out of there and make sure they go back to their rooms, but really, I don’t see the point of any of this. Jake’s a nice man.” She smoothed her hair.

  Mickey thanked her as she left us, then sat down. I told him about the Geogia-Jake-Mary connection. He reached for my knee, and I let him land his hand there. “We’re getting close, Annabelle. You okay?”

  “Not really. I’m a little shaky. Too much going on. I don’t want to see Jake again. It freaks me out, knowing he’s been here when Nana was here. Knowing he could have hurt her.”

  “Why don’t you go wait in the car?”

  “Not gonna happen. You might need me.” I flexed my right bicep and smiled. “I helped capture the bastard last time, remember?”

  Mickey smiled back. “Dental floss. Got any on ya’ this time?”

  “No. But are you packing?”

  Mickey let out a little laugh. “You mean, is that a gun in my pocket or am I glad to see you?”

  I laughed a little, too. “Yeah.”

  “Both.”

  “You didn’t have it on you in Las Vegas. How…?”

  “Jake or whoever raided our suite tossed it aside and left it. I found it before you could. I hid it and then put it in my suitcase when you weren’t looking, before we left for the airport.”

  “What is it?”

  “A nine millimeter Glock. Seventeen rounds.”

  “Wow.”

  He kissed me softly. “The police will be here any minute. Then we’ll figure out what the hell is going on.”

  “Okay.” I kissed him gently, too. “You know what you said before, in Gumps?”

  “You mean when you socked me in the nose?”

  “Hey, I pretty much missed your nose, but…”

  “Yes, I remember that vividly. It was only about ninety minutes ago, as I recall.”

  “You meant it?”

  Mickey nodded. “I’m in deep, Beatrice Annabelle, and I’ve not handled it well. But you’ve swept me away. Absolutely.”

  I sighed. “I could have been a broom.”

  He studied my face, holding my hands, our knees touching. “I am completely in love with you.”

  Jake exploded into the room. He leaped toward Mickey and punched him over in his chair, landing on top of him. I fell backward, too, and got up to see Jake pummeling Mickey in the face. I screamed and jumped on Jake and beat him with my fists and scratched and even bit at him, wherever I could and however fast I could, but it didn’t seem to be making much of a difference.

  When I realized that Mickey was trying to roll away from Jake, and I wasn’t helping by being on top of both of them, I hopped onto my feet. I screamed some more while I kicked Jake and fumbled for the hatpin in my pocket. I finally grabbed it like a dagger and lunged, sticking it deep into his neck. I’d never stuck anything into anyone before, but somehow I managed it. I jumped back, while Jake growled and rolled off of Mickey, twisting to pull the pin out of his neck.

  Mickey scrambled to his feet and got his gun out of his shoulder holster, but his face was really bloody and he was staggering around. I hurriedly wrapped my arms around him from the back to steady him so that he could aim at Jake. I clearly missed Jake’s carotid artery, because no massive jet of blood spurted from his neck, but blood was oozing out, and he was pissed. He swung toward us, on his feet now, and charged.

  I called, “Halt! Police!” because Mickey hadn’t pulled himself together yet. But Mickey knew Jake was coming toward us, and he clicked his Glock, which meant he was ready to shoot. I know this from far too many cop movies.

  Jake stopped. “Who the fuck do ya’ think ya’ fuckin’ are, ya fuckin’ fuckheads?”

  Mickey still wasn’t talking, so I spit out, “We’re the fucking po-fucking-leece, you fucking moron, so get down on your fucking knees and put your fucking hands behind your fucking head. Right now, you creepy fuck.” Sometimes in conversation I follow the lead of others.

  Mickey began weaving, like he was losing his balance, so I braced myself behind him, let him lean against me, my arms now straight out in front alongside his, which were still holding the already clicked gun. I kept talking. “T
his gun is fucking already clicked, in case you didn’t fucking hear that, Mr. Fuck.”

  “Clicked? CLICKED? What the fuck.” He launched himself at us again.

  Mickey was ready to shoot him. I was frightened to my core that various scenarios would play out, like he would miss and hit the wall behind Jake, which was probably the wall to some sweet old man’s bedroom, and we’d end up killing the poor old man, and Mickey would fall down dead from loss of blood, and I would be strangled by Jake while I was trying to figure out how to reclick the Glock.

  But none of that happened. A heavy voice from behind us ordered, “Drop it. Now. All of you. Down on the floor, slowly, face down, hands over your heads.”

  Three guys in uniform came in, guns drawn on Mickey and me and Jake. Jake put his arms up in the air and said, “I’m police, Vegas.”

  “Get down on the floor now. We’ll get IDs in a minute.”

  Mickey let his arms drop and fell to his knees. I managed to kneel down next to him, then we both were on the floor, and one of the new cops had taken his gun. Mickey said, “I’m Detective Paxton. I’m the one who called Brad Franklin and asked for you guys to get here. ID is in my pocket.”

  Handcuffs came out and I was relieved, figuring Jake was being restrained. Then I felt my own hands being pulled behind my back and shoved into cuffs. “Hey! What are you doing?” I squirmed.

  “Don’t tell me,” the guy said, “you’re a police officer, too?”

  “No! But I’m…” I didn’t know how to explain who I was in short order. “I’m this guy’s girlfriend. And he’s a good cop. And that guy over there, he’s a bad cop.”

  “Thanks for the recap, sister. We’re all going to get up now and sit down, and I’ll figure out who’s who.”

  I was pulled to my feet, as were Mickey and Jake, and they shepherded us into lobby chairs.

  It only took a few minutes for them to check the IDs, confer with Brad on their phone, take the cuffs off of me and Mickey, and haul Jake off to the police station, where Brad would meet them to help with the questioning. They called an ambulance for Mickey, even though he said I could drive him to the hospital. I was still shaky, so I insisted on the ambulance. It arrived quickly. I sat in the back with him while the EMT mopped his face and checked his blood pressure. I got to sit there and hold his hand, because, as I explained to the EMT, I was his girlfriend.

  “I’m his girlfriend.”

  “Yes, I know, third time you’ve told me that.”

  Mickey smiled.

  And that’s when I realized that the last time I saw the hatpin was when Jake pulled it out of his neck.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Mickey’s eye was not in good shape. He had a detached retina. This meant that he needed surgery soon, or he could go permanently blind in that eye. As it was, his vision was really blurry. He was wearing an eye patch in order to see clearly out of the good eye. I told him it looked sexy—he had a bit of a Johnny-Depp-in-Pirates of the Caribbean thing going on—but either he didn’t believe me or he didn’t care. He was also really sore. Getting beat up by Jumbo Jake can do that to you. Every time he moved he let out a little groan. There was a lot of groaning going on as we left the hospital to take a cab back to the Mustang.

  Brad had called Mickey’s cell phone and left a message while we were in the hospital. Mickey picked it up in the back seat of the cab. He listened, and then disconnected. “Fuck.”

  “Fuck?”

  He looked out the window. I didn’t like it that he wasn’t looking at me, his girlfriend.

  “Mickey, fuck?” I touched his arm.

  He turned back to me. “They let him go.”

  “WHAT?” Mickey winced a bit—I guess his eardrums were sore, too—and the cab driver swerved and gave me a dirty look in the rear-view mirror. “HOW could they have DONE that?”

  “They have nothing on him except our fight, and he said he didn’t start it. He also swore he never saw us in Las Vegas, and he had an alibi that checked out.”

  “What.”

  “Doesn’t matter what. The guy’s a police officer. And your pal Martha was no help. Said she didn’t know a thing except that your grandmother might have stolen Mary’s hatpin and that Jake is a good son.” Mickey went back to looking out the window.

  All of this was turning out to be my fault, though I really didn’t know how. I was miffed about the “your pal” comment, but I was trying to be super nice since Mickey was in pain. I sank back in the seat. We didn’t speak for the rest of the cab ride.

  I paid the driver, who didn’t appreciate my generous tip, and Mickey slid into the Mustang’s passenger seat, leaving me to drive. I almost reminded him that I wasn’t on the rental car contract, but he wouldn’t have found that amusing.

  Once we were buckled in, I said, “Jake has the hatpin.” Mickey brought his hand to his forehead and sighed. I added, “Martha is not my goddamn pal.” Then I turned the key in the ignition, and we headed back to the Sheraton Palace Hotel.

  Mickey ran a bath and got in. I lay face down on the bed and tried to breathe deeply to calm myself, then realized I could barely breathe at all, since I was face down in the pillow. I turned over onto my back, stared at the ceiling, and dozed off for a few minutes.

  When I woke up, I walked into the bathroom and found Mickey in the tub, his eyes closed. I felt the water. It was starting to cool, so I touched his shoulder gently.

  “I’m not asleep.” Then he opened his eyes.

  “The water’s getting cold. You should get out.”

  Once he was standing I wrapped a towel around him. “Lean on me while you step out of the tub. I don’t want you to slip.”

  He put his arm around me and as he lifted one foot out, his other slipped, and he fell into me. I lost my balance, landing both of us on the floor. “Oh, god, Mickey, I’m sorry, here, let me help you up.” I scrambled to my feet and then squatted down to try to help him sit up, my hands holding him under his armpits. He was sitting, leaning against the toilet. “Come on, we can do this.”

  “Let go.” I did, and I sat down on the toilet. After a moment of drying himself, sitting on the floor, he patted the tiles. “Come here.”

  I slid off the toilet and sat down next to him. He dropped his towel around his neck. “There’s something you don’t know.”

  “Those are five words I don’t want to hear at this moment.”

  He sighed. “Are you ready?”

  “I guess I have to be. Go ahead. What is it? You’re married? You’re not really a cop, you’re a gangster? You’re actually gay? You don’t live in New York? You hate the Subdudes? You’ve been investigating me? You think I’m a murderer? You don’t…”

  Mickey put his hand gently over my mouth and looked me in the eyes. “I think Brad is involved.”

  I went silent. I couldn’t have said much anyway with his hand over my mouth.

  He took his hand away. “You were right. It was too coincidental that he showed up on this case. And he let Jake go much too quickly. I think these bad cops have some sort of multi-city network.”

  I liked it that he thought I was right. I didn’t like it that bad cops seemed to be sprouting up all over the place like a wicked case of acne.

  “There’s something else you don’t know.”

  I was sure I didn’t want to hear this either.

  “Okay.”

  “Listen to me very carefully, Annabelle.”

  “I am. Just tell me.” He was scaring me.

  “I’m crazy ass in love with you. And I don’t want to go anywhere ever again without you.”

  Apparently I had been holding my breath, because a huge exhale poured out of me at those words, and I started crying, yet again. “You don’t really know me, Mickey, and I’ve caused you all this trouble. I can’t see how you love me, I really can’t,” I sputtered. “You’re g
oing to realize when this is over that you’re not that interested in me, so please don’t say that you love me because then when you leave it will just make it worse.”

  He took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead, each cheek, and my nose, which was running rather terribly. “To tell you the truth, you’ve taken me completely by surprise. But here we are on the bathroom floor, a one-eyed beat-up cop and a confused, enchanting publicity manager, and I can’t move without hurting, and you can’t stop crying, and I can’t imagine being anywhere else right now.”

  I hugged him until I stopped crying. I dried my face on his towel and sat up. “Food. We’ll think better with food. I’ll order room service. And then I’ll check in with Mom and Dad. What do you want to eat?”

  “French fries. Red wine. A bottle. The most expensive pinot on the wine list. And ice cream. Chocolate.”

  I grinned. “You gotta be kidding me.”

  He grinned, wincing. “Not at all. That’s what I want.”

  “And here I was thinking you couldn’t get more perfect. Do you want help standing up?”

  Mickey was already pushing himself up from the floor. “No, I got it.”

  From the bedroom I dialed room service, ordering double of everything Mickey said, including the bottle of wine. Then I picked up my cell phone and dialed my parents’ house. I had already checked in with them from the hospital and told them everything that had happened. I wanted to hear their voices again. Mom answered, and I said, “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Sweetheart, you must be completely exhausted. Why don’t you and Mickey come here for the night? I’ll get take-out from that Thai restaurant.”

  I rubbed my eyes. “Mickey can barely move, and we just ordered room service.”

  “Hmm. Well, I wonder, are you out of danger now, since that Jake fellow got the hatpin?.”

  “Good question. If he and Mary were after us for the hatpin, and now they have it, maybe this nightmare is over. The only thing left to do is to figure out how it all happened in the first place. Like, what is Georgia’s part in all of this? And”—my eyes filled up with tears—“Cassie, what about Cassie? I mean, is that hatpin really worth a life? We still don’t know about Nana, either.” Tears burned my face.