Claudia Must Die

by Markinson, T. B.

  The Irish man patted the bandage, satisfied that Parker hadn’t bled that much, thank goodness.

  Sirens sounded in the distance, but Francis was certain they weren’t getting closer. He pulled his shirt off, revealing his freckles, faint ginger chest hair, and blood dripping down his shoulder.

  “Oh my God! You got shot!” Claudia was beside herself. If Francis died, she would be alone with Parker. She stared into the backseat. Sure, the loon was sound asleep right now, but what would happen when she woke?

  “Just a flesh wound. That’s all.” Francis placed the first-aid kit on the hood of the car. “Can you help me?” The wound was on his shoulder blade, and he was having a devil of a time seeing the extent of the damage.

  Claudia stumbled out of the car. All the excitement made her feel faint. She held up the small mirror Francis had handed her, so he could eyeball his injury.

  Francis grunted. He doused the wound with hydrogen peroxide, gritting his teeth as the bubbles burned. Claudia looked away. Blood had never been her thing.

  Within minutes, Francis, now wearing a clean polo, was leaning against the side of the car, smoking a Cuban cigar. Getting shot warranted a good cigar. Claudia sat on a tree stump. The barn hid the car from the road, and neither wanted to venture too far from cover until they felt certain the cops had vacated the area. Fritz sat by Francis, staring at him with sad eyes.

  Claudia called the dog over to her, and Fritz obeyed, reluctantly. As she stroked his head, the dog relaxed, as did The Hunted.

  Francis wandered behind the barn, where Claudia heard him on the phone. The call was brief.

  When he reappeared, she asked, “What’s next?”

  “Wait here for an hour or two and then continue to Loveland.” Francis was not in the mood for chitchat. His arm ached, and he didn’t relish the idea of having to drive another fifteen to twenty hours, depending on what they ran into. Were the boys heading to Loveland, too? Maybe the brothers had been planning a rescue operation. Francis shook his head and sucked on his cigar, blowing the smoke out slowly.

  Claudia remained quiet; it was clear the former military man was trying to figure stuff out in his head. Cicadas happily chirped away, competing with the buzz of flies around Fritz.

  Francis started a small fire and burned his bloody shirt, and then he added Parker’s to the pile. Claudia watched him intently.

  He hardly ever smiled, she noticed. His facial expressions, more often than not, were stoic. How did he always stay in control? Even when Parker was waving her gun about, Francis stayed calm.

  “I want a gun,” she told him.

  He turned to face her, and Claudia thought she detected a hint of a smile on his lips.

  “Interesting.”

  “Hear me out.” She shuffled her feet and leaned against the barn wall, arms crossed. “Everyone besides me has one, and everyone is trying to kill me—not you—at least not yet. I should be able to defend myself. What if Parker goes nuts again?”

  Francis chewed on his cigar before responding, “No.”

  “Is that all?” She felt rebuffed, as if he would never see her side.

  “Parker dropped her gun. You don’t have to worry about her anymore.” He placed the cigar back in his mouth, inhaled deeply, and then released a large smoke ring.

  “You think losing her gun will stop her from trying to murder me in my sleep?” She didn’t want to lose control, but she was close.

  “You don’t understand Parker.”

  “I know she keeps threatening me. The other night in the bathroom she drew a stick figure hanging from the gallows. Parker won’t stop until she kills me. I have a right to defend myself.” Claudia regretted the last sentence as soon as it left her mouth.

  Francis fixed her with a glare and mulled his words over carefully. “You’ve been spying on Parker for how long now?”

  Claudia refused to answer.

  “I wouldn’t want to answer either. And I bet that, during all that time, you didn’t actually look into her past. You just assumed she was an easy target. No connections to the world.”

  Claudia shifted her weight, uncomfortable with his observation.

  “You thought you’d swoop in and take over, not really caring as to what you were destroying. You have a right to defend yourself?” His voice was deep, wrathful. “Did Parker, when you sent the killers after her? Did Ida?”

  Claudia remained silent.

  “You wanted us to listen to your side, but you never offered to listen to ours?” He pulled the cigar out of his mouth, gazing at it like it was a piece of art.

  Seconds ticked by. Claudia hoped he would let the conversation die.

  He didn’t. “You want to know why Parker doesn’t have any pictures up in her apartment.”

  Claudia didn’t. In fact, she was tempted to place her fingers in her ears and shout so she wouldn’t hear what Francis wanted to share. Instead, The Hunted stared down at her feet. An ant wandered too close for her comfort, so she squashed it with her shoe.

  “Parker doesn’t know her father.” He paused to see if Claudia was listening. She didn’t look up, but her tense body language showed she was absorbing the news.

  “Her mother was insane. Parker’s childhood wasn’t easy. No father and a crazy mother. Her grandparents adopted her, and Parker’s mother was institutionalized for several years before she committed suicide. When Parker was eighteen, her grandparents died in a car crash. Her entire life, she has dealt with abandonment issues. The only person she had in her life when you entered the scene was Ida. Now Ida’s dead. Why don’t you think about that some?”

  Francis started to walk away, and then turned back. “Didn’t you think the apartment was too sterile? Like Parker was desperate to erase her past—because it was too painful for her to live with it.”

  Claudia picked up a stick and snapped it in half. Then she snapped it again. Finally, she said, “I didn’t know.” Her words were barely audible.

  “Do you know how I found out?”

  Claudia stared at the horizon, mute.

  “She didn’t tell me. I did some research. Google is amazing these days.” The bitterness in his words betrayed the calm expression on his face.

  Claudia wandered over to the car and peeked in at the drugged-out Parker. A spot of blood stained her shirt. “I think we need to change her bandage again.”

  Neither spoke while taking care of Parker’s wound again. Francis looked away the best he could when the student’s shirt was off. Ida had always liked women with ample breasts.

  “I think we should hit the road again,” he said, as soon as Parker was resting comfortably again in the backseat.

  Claudia nodded and called Fritz, who was lazing under an oak tree. The dog settled on the floor of the car, so he wouldn’t disturb Parker.

  God, I hope nothing happens to her dog, thought Claudia. It was the first kind thought she had had about the student.

  Immediately as she thought it, the sound of an engine forced Claudia to dive behind a tree. She thought for sure the cops had found their hideout. Francis stood still, eyeing the gravel road, waiting patiently.

  How is he always so cool? wondered Claudia.

  Another sedan appeared—dark blue this time.

  The driver of the blue sedan threw the keys to Francis. Without speaking, Francis started to unload the black sedan and to place all of their luggage in the new car. The two men moved Parker, ensuring she was comfortable in the backseat.

  Again, without any words, the stranger drove the black sedan away, down the dirt path. Within seconds, Claudia could see only the dust it kicked up.

  “Do you have connections in every state?” asked the bewildered Claudia.

  Francis shrugged. “It’s a global world.”

  She wondered how many associates her husband had. Claudia prayed silently that Francis beat him by a large margin.

  “Do you want me to drive?” She motioned to hi
s arm.

  Francis instinctively shook the arm to test its strength. The pain was minimal, and a few Advil would take the edge off.

  “Thanks. I’m okay,” he said, starting to walk toward the driver’s side. He stopped abruptly. “Maybe later, though.”

  Claudia smiled. Francis remained stone-faced.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The cops never pursued either car. After the first shot, all of the patrons in the diner ducked under the tables. Out of the twenty-one customers only four were younger than thirty; however, their good eyesight was hampered by being situated in the back of the restaurant with no window to look out.

  The town’s sheriff spat out tobacco juice as he stared the manager in the eye. “Do you even know how many people were involved?” he asked, unable to keep the disgust out of his voice.

  Droplets of sweat gleamed on the manager’s brow. “No, sir. You see, I was busy telling everyone inside to get down.”

  “Uh-huh.” The sheriff spat out more brown juice, and then plucked a piece of tobacco off his tongue and wiped it on his trousers. “Did you get a look at any of the suspects when they were in your fine establishment?”

  The look of derision on the sheriff’s face scared the manager. “Uh, I was in the kitchen. You see, Wally, he writes restaurant reviews for the local paper, showed up today. I was supervising the preparation of his meal. I wanted our place to make an impression. Wally’s paper reaches 10,000 people.” The manager spread his arms, indicating the sprawling land around them. Along the horizon there were some specks that could have been houses, but the manager knew customers were out there, somewhere.

  Al’s Diner was on the outskirts of town, and the owners hoped it would corner the highway crowd. Mostly, though, the people from the surrounding area only flocked to the diner on Saturdays, to escape the boredom of home. A ten-mile trip to Al’s was like going to the big city.

  “Well, I guess you did make an impression, didn’t you?” The sheriff walked away in disgust.

  Three of his officers stood by their patrol cars. “Did any of those people see anything?”

  All three officers shook their heads.

  The sheriff looked around. “Not one saw the customers while they were inside? No one noticed any strangers?” When he questioned the waitress she was too distraught and couldn’t remember anything.

  A woman in her late forties approached. In her heyday, Hildy had been a knockout—long legs, blond hair, blue eyes, and perky breasts that hated being contained by a bra. But after marrying at nineteen and popping out three kids, her body filled out—and it kept filling. Even her muumuu now bulged around her waist and buttocks.

  “You see, Sheriff, young Joslynn ran off last night with Johnny.”

  The sheriff huffed. “So, we’ve been expecting that for months. Joslynn’s been dying to get her hands on the Jurgen’s money.”

  “She didn’t run away with the youngest Johnny.” Hildy didn’t give more information. She was bursting at the seams, and she wanted the sheriff to ask for more. It wasn’t every day that she had such juicy gossip.

  “Are you saying she ran off with Johnny’s father?” Lucky bastard, thought the sheriff. The lawman had been married for twenty years, and after five years of marriage, his wife had ballooned out like all the other women in this goddamn state. And now Johnny’s father was banging a twenty-year old hussy with the most delectable titties.

  “Nope,” said Hildy.

  “But you just said she ran off with a Johnny. Which one is it?”

  Hildy bubbled with the tittle-tattle, and the words burst out of her like water gushing from a dam. “One-legged Johnny.” A smile spread across her chubby face, and her eyes twinkled.

  The sheriff backpedaled. “One-legged Johnny!” he sputtered. “Why, he’s got to be seventy years old! And with a fake leg to boot.”

  Usually, the sheriff didn’t bother to point out the obvious, but he felt justified in this situation. The deputies whistled their admiration.

  “The way I see it,” said Hildy. “Is that One-legged Johnny didn’t want to see his grandson throw his future away on a gold-digging hussy, so he up and wooed the girl away himself.”

  “How in tarnation did he do that?” asked the youngest deputy. He had tried for months to get Joslynn to notice him. All he wanted was a smile, yet it was One-legged Johnny who was experiencing carnal bliss.

  “That’s what we were all talking about when the strangers walked in. I heard the front door tinkle, and usually I’m pretty observant when it comes to strangers, but given the news, you can’t blame me for not noticing a thing. The gals”—she pointed to a gaggle of fifty-year-olds, all just as obese as she, standing off to the right—“couldn’t stop talking about Joslynn and One-legged Johnny. I just knew as soon as her folks gave her a foreign name that the girl would be trouble. It was destined right from the moment they put that name on the birth certificate. Lynn would have been better. No one named Lynn ever gets into trouble.”

  Frank, Hildy’s husband, piped up with, “The twins were purty, though.” He pulled a green John Deere hat further down on his balding head.

  “What twins?” asked the sheriff.

  Frank placed his right index finger in his ear and wiggled it about before answering. “The twins.”

  “Two of the strangers were twins?” probed the man in charge, doing his best to maintain his cool.

  “Had to be. They looked alike.” Frank stuck his left index finger into his left ear and gave it a good shake, too. “Had to be.”

  “Do you think they were terrorists?” Hildy chimed in. “Why else would people blast away here?” She gestured to the cornfields. No one in this part of the country even bothered to lock their doors.

  Her husband scoffed. “The man with the twins had freckles. I’ve never seen an A-Rab with freckles.”

  “Have you ever seen an A-Rab, Frank?” asked his wife. She was not going to be persuaded that normal folk had anything to do with this mess. Terrorists were the only possibility.

  Frank scratched the back of his head, nudging his green cap over his face. “Don’t reckon I have. But freckles and terrorists don’t jive to me.”

  The sheriff probed further. “Did the man with the freckles have red hair?”

  Frank shifted his weight to his left leg and stared off into the horizon. Seconds ticked by. And then more. “I don’t rightly know. Could have. That makes more sense than him being an A-Rab.” Frank didn’t look in his wife’s direction, but she knew he was directing his scorn at her.

  “Now, Frank, you don’t know nothing about terrorists. They’re trying to take over the world, including our little town. Nothing else makes sense.” She walked off in a huff, keen to share the latest gossip with the gaggle of ladies. Hildy was having the most exciting day of her life.

  Frank stayed put, cleaning his ear with his finger again. That was the end of their argument.

  “So because of the Joslynn affair and the restaurant critic, no one saw a thing.” Disgruntled, the sheriff wandered away from the civilians and studied the parking lot.

  Right next door was a gas station, and he noticed a camera above the pumps. Eyeing the direction of the camera, he hoped it had captured some of the commotion in the parking lot. “Look there, get me the video from that camera.”

  The younger deputy sprang into action. Within minutes, he returned, eyes downcast.

  “Well?”

  “The camera ain’t working. Hasn’t for six months.” The deputy stood back. The sheriff was known for his temper. Everyone braced for the attack.

  Surprisingly, the sheriff didn’t react. Hitching up his trousers by his belt, he then adjusted his gun and handcuffs and strode into the diner. At the counter, he ordered a cup of coffee. The sheriff decided to wait, to see what the state troopers found. He had done all he could do. Twins, Wally, A-Rabs, and One-legged Johnny—it was all too much.

  ***

  In the ga
s station parking lot, Boyd and Otis heaved a sigh of relief. “We need to ditch this car,” stated Boyd.

  Otis nodded crisply.

  Boyd saw the perfect car in the employee parking section. Hopefully, the owner had just started his or her shift, giving the boys more time to get far away before the vehicle was reported stolen.

  Boyd pointed to it. “That one. You get it, Otis, and meet me down the road. I want to ditch this one away from here.”

  Stealthily, Otis made his way to the car. As far as Boyd saw, no one noticed. The camera on the building faced the customer parking section, not the employee parking.

  Boyd pulled out of the lot, followed by Otis. They drove around some neighborhoods until Boyd found a nice home on one of the streets. The yard was maintained; the house sported a fresh coat of paint. No one would suspect this owner of stealing a car. Maybe the cops won’t find it for days, he hoped.

  Ditching the car, they continued their journey to Loveland. They had three days until their deadline. Three days to save their family members—and themselves.

  ***

  Francis pulled into a gas station four hours after they left Ohio. His arm was throbbing, although for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. It was just a flesh wound.

  In the bathroom, he removed the bandage and checked that the injury wasn’t infected. It didn’t appear to be. So why in the heck is it hurting so much? Getting old wasn’t for sissies.

  Back in the car, he popped the top off an Advil bottle and chased the pills down with stale coffee he had purchased in the station. Its bitterness made his entire face pucker. No amount of sugar would fix the drink, so he dumped the contents out the window, leaned back in the driver’s seat, and sighed.

  “Why don’t you let me drive,” Claudia said. “You look like you need a rest, and don’t lie. I know your arm hurts.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. After getting out of the car, she marched over to the driver’s side, yanked the door open, and thrust her hand out for the keys.

  Francis knew she was right, even if he didn’t trust her completely. They were behind schedule due to Parker’s mental breakdown. He hated being behind schedule.