Caught in the Net

by Jessica Thomas

  Janet looked at me blankly. “I was at my wit’s end with Terry. Then one night I came home and found him sitting with sheets of paper and maps, cold sober and smiling. He said, ‘Life screwed us, Janet, but we are about to screw life back. We shall have our bookstore and restaurant in Seattle.’”

  Good ol’ Terry! “I hope this plan was better than his last one.”

  Janet didn’t hear my sarcasm. “Oh, it was! I would, as usual, take a car for the night or weekend. We would put stolen plates from all over on the car, drive to places he had picked out in New York, New Jersey—wherever. I would wear a man’s disguise. Just before closing time, we would rob the small, isolated stores Terry had scouted out, change the license plates back to the legal ones and come home.”

  “And obviously it worked.” Until one of you decided to kill an innocent old man.

  “It was easy. I wasn’t happy taking other people’s money. But Terry assured me they were insured against this sort of thing, and wouldn’t lose a penny. So you see,” she finished brightly, “It was all Terry’s idea, and no one would get hurt—even financially.”

  That wasn’t what I had heard, and I wasn’t sure these people would be insured against much of anything, but it didn’t seem to be time to argue. I was still stalling. Where was the rest of the world? Couldn’t Mrs. Madeiros stop by to borrow some sugar? Wasn’t it time for the census takers? And where the hell were all those Jehovah’s Witnesses when you needed them?

  “I guess you knew about guns from the Coasties,” I mentioned innocently. I was running out of creative conversation.

  “Actually, I don’t like guns. The first time Terry handed me this gun, I literally threw it back to him. I said I could never shoot anybody, never! ‘You don’t have to,’ he assured me. ‘You just have to look tough. Otherwise, nobody’s going to hand us a till full of money.’ He was right. We visited three stores, and it went off without a hitch. But, you see, even the gun was foisted onto me by Terry.” She nodded emphatically, point scored.

  I loved that—“visited three stores.” It sounded like my mother doing her Christmas shopping. I tried once more to bring us back to some reality. “Janet, if we explain all this to . . . a friend,” I said soothingly, “Surely all this background will help.”

  “You’re beginning to irritate me, Alex. You have to understand! We weren’t going to make this a lifetime career! We would just get the money we needed and put this time behind us. You know how little it meant to me? One weekend we were driving to do a little business, and I found myself enjoying the scenery and looking forward to dinner and a glass of wine. I wasn’t really part of it at all! Terry planned everything, and, I regret to say, enjoyed every minute of it.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “When did Terry start to foul things up?” Well, he had to “let her down” at some point, didn’t he?

  “Oh, he got into a mood. He wanted to stay in Connecticut and open a sports bar or an upscale gay club. I wanted out of Connecticut. I was afraid his bar buddies might get too interested in the source of his sudden investable money. Also, I had no thought of frying greasy hamburgers in the sweaty kitchen of some club while Terry sat out front and held court. I told him—if that was his plan, we would split the money—minus my original twenty-K—and go separate ways.”

  I smirked. “And how did that go down with Lord Fauntleroy?” I tried to flex my back unobtrusively. I had to make some move—and soon!

  “He was livid, but then shrugged and laughed and said I was right. I should have known he was up to something. We agreed Plymouth would be our last little business. We put some clothes and all the money in an old duffel bag. I took an Acura that weekend. We planned to leave from Plymouth directly for Seattle, and we wanted a good car. I told the Krauses I needed a few days off due to a family illness. I was pretty sure by the time they realized I was gone for good, they’d feel so dim they wouldn’t report it.”

  It was time to get rid of Terry. “Terry must have really screwed up in Plymouth.”

  “Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. We were leaving the liquor store. From out of nowhere, that stupid old man pulled a gun and fired at Terry. He missed but thought he hit him. He turned his gun on me. I had no choice but to shoot! Otherwise he would have shot me! I didn’t want to kill the old coot! That was never in the plan. You can see that I had to do it, Alex, I had no choice. It was pure self-defense!”

  For one split second I found myself believing her. The old man turned a gun on her. She fired in self-defense. Then of course I remembered that she and Terry already had two guns aimed at the old man and had also robbed him of his day’s income Obviously, Janet’s thinking had gone around some bend where I could not follow.

  “We started to leave, and two young men—boys—were outside,” she continued matter of factly. “We turned off some lights, hoping they would think he was closed. Terry wanted to kill them, but I pulled him away. I didn’t want someone to hear gunfire or see them lying in the street. They hadn’t paid attention to us, anyway. Still, I figured—being boys—they’d made the car, so I knew we couldn’t use it for long.”

  “It’s a good thing you were thinking straight,” I prompted, “You went for a boat.” I skipped over her casual comment about young bodies in the street.

  “Yes. It was easy enough to get a boat, as you know. Terry wanted to take it into Boston, but I convinced him Boston would be the first place the police would look for us. I calculated we could come right across the bay—dock the boat at some wharf, where the residents had gone for the winter and just leave it to be found God-knowswhen. We could lay low, while everybody looked for us in Boston.”

  I knew she was coming to the end of her tale and her options. How to stay one of her “good guys” was becoming hard. I felt like a fool. I felt used. I felt like I’d like to slap the hell out of her. And here I stood. What you might call a captive audience.

  “About half way across the bay,” Janet explained, “Terry went below to check around. He said we were taking on water. Later, he took the wheel and I went below to assess the water level and see if I could slow it down. The boat had been handling heavier and heavier. When I got below, I saw at once there was more water than the bilge pumps could handle, and I couldn’t figure it out. Then it dawned on me that the bastard had opened the sea cocks. We were sinking. Then I understood. He was going to leave me to drown, while he took the money and got away in the Zodiac.”

  “But you caught him, apparently,” I supplied.

  “I ran topside and there he was. He had pulled the Zodiac alongside and was already in it—with the money. He had the Zodiac’s motor idling and was bent over, starting to untie the line holding it to the Bertram.”

  “So you shot him.”

  “What else could I do? It was him or me. I couldn’t just stand there and wait to drown! I had never expected him to let me down that way. It was an absolutely awful moment. When I fired, he pitched overboard and bumped along the side of the Bertram to the stern. Then there was this kind of thunk! And a little jolt when he hit the propeller.” For the first time, her voice quavered. “I thought I was going to faint, but I managed to grab the line, jump into the Zodiac and pull away before the Bertram went under.”

  I risked another look and saw that she looked pained and unhappy, but there was nothing unsteady about the hand holding the gun. I caught a glance of Fargo, looking uneasy and confused. He was looking at the doorway, as if he’d seen someone or wanted to go out. So did I. “Then where did you come ashore?”

  “Beach Point. I know this area, Alex. I beached the Zodiac, got the stuff out, secured the tiller and sent the boat back out to the middle of the bay. I hoped whoever found it would just keep it.”

  Her voice slowed now, in relief or fatigue. “I walked across the beach to the Holiday Inn. The night clerk was a half-asleep kid. I fed him some story about a fight with my boyfriend and running out in the storm, and got a room. I was about done in, not thinking well. I had to have re
st. The next morning I went into town and got a few clothes and decided I’d better get out of a motel and find a small private place to stay, while I pulled myself together and planned what to do. The rest you know.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said bitterly, “I know the rest. The Peres family sure came in handy for keeping you updated, didn’t we?”

  “I know what you’re thinking and I don’t blame you.” Her voice became gentle. “Yes, that’s what it was at first. But then, something happened. I can hardly explain it. First, I began to like you—and Sonny, for that matter. Then I began to really like you. And everything seemed so normal. Going out to lunch, walking the dog, making dinner, and then Aunt Mae, asking me to tour the greenhouses. It was . . . it was like I was beginning to have, not only a lover, but the family I had always longed for.” Her voice almost broke, and once again I almost believed her.

  “I realized how truly unimportant all that other stuff had been. This was real. You, Fargo, your family. Us. I even thought of opening a restaurant here, so we could be together in the hometown you love so much. Then I realized that wouldn’t be wise. It would be better to go to Seattle, as originally planned. So that’s what we’ll do. Now that you understand, we can make a life for us!”

  It seemed to me we had a few details to clear up, but Janet had it all figured. “We’ll take Mrs. M’s car to your house tonight. I came by there earlier but you weren’t home. I thought you might come here. It’s why I left you the note in my notebook yesterday. We’ll stay at your house tonight. You can get a rental car tomorrow— there’s seventy-thousand dollars in that old grey mare parked out there, m’dear—but I really don’t think we should try to take that particular horse across the country.” Her voice was actually joyous. “Plenty to get us started out there. I’ll buy my little restaurant and cook my heart out, and you’ll start up your PI business and find all the sad, missing children.”

  “God, Janet. You’ve really got it all planned out, don’t you?” I barely choked the words out, but apparently it was enough. Another peep over my shoulder showed a happy face, and I thought I saw the muzzle of the pistol drop an inch.

  “I’m glad you do understand, darling. Believe me, we’ll have a wonderful life out there. It’s God’s country . . . mountains, sea! Unfortunately,” her voice dropped a tone, “I’m afraid Sonny can’t be trusted to forget what he knows. So I guess before we go we’ll have to . . . uh dispense with him and . . .”

  “What?” I whirled around and things began to happen very fast. I felt a numbing blow to my side almost before I heard the crack of the pistol. Then I got a terrible pain in my head. Had she shot me twice? Why hadn’t I heard two reports?

  Then I really didn’t much care one way or the other. I was too busy diving into a very deep, very black hole.

  Chapter 15

  God was speaking to me in a deep, far-away voice. “Wake up, Alexandra, come on now, it’s time to wake up.”

  “Thank you, Sir, but I’d rather sleep,” I croaked. I tried to look at Him, but couldn’t seem to get my eyes open.

  He began to shake my arm gently. “No more sleeping, my dear. It’s time to wake up, now.”

  My dear, that sounded nice. It boded well for the future. I managed to open one eye, the other seemed glued shut. I saw that He was wearing a grey pin-stripe suit and polished black wingtips— sartorially correct, I noted, and none of this old-fashioned flowing white robe and scruffy sandals stuff. And I saw that the hand that shook me was old and gnarled—well, that was appropriate, wasn’t it? Suddenly Fargo was beside me, licking at my face. Fargo, had she shot him, too? She must have. He was here. My dog was here . . . with me! How wonderful!

  God bellowed, “Get that beast away from that wound!” I heard a clatter of feet and saw two shiny black boots topped by a pair of wrinkled khakis. Sonny! How did Sonny get here with Fargo and me in Heaven? At least, I guessed we were in Heaven.

  “Heaven?” I asked, as Sonny pulled on my arms.

  “No, you’re not heavy,” he snapped, “But you’re not helping, either. Now come on. Help me get you up.” He got his hands under my arms and lifted me to my feet and sort of danced me over to one of the chairs at the table. I looked around me and saw my brother and Dr. Marsten looking at me with concern.

  “All awake now?” The doctor asked, I nodded and thought my head fell off. “Good. Let me just get a fresh paper towel and dampen it, so I can clean you up and see what we’ve got here.”

  Now fully aware I wasn’t in Heaven, I realized I was in Janet’s apartment and very much alive. Of course, I was under Doc Marsten’s care, so that fact could change momentarily. I snarled softly at Sonny. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  “Can’t help it. Both EMT crews are tied up over on Route Six at a head-on collision,” he whispered. “Just be nice.”

  “Why? Ouch!” Marsten cleaned the blood away from my eye and forehead and revealed a fairly deep cut just over my eyebrow. “Don’t you dare stitch that without an anesthetic!” I shrilled. “I want some of that stuff that freezes it, do you hear?”

  Everybody heard. The room went quiet, and I realized that in addition to Sonny and Marsten, there were two cops milling around the living area and another cop—this one female—sitting with Janet in two chairs that had been moved into the tiny kitchen. Janet cradled her right wrist in her left hand, and I could see she was in pain.

  But it was the hurt-angry-sulky expression on her face that thoroughly jolted me. I had seen it again and again as she talked of her parents, her counselor, her commander, Terry. And now I had joined the legions of those who had “let her down.” She had to know the Seattle restaurant dream was well and truly dead. And it could not be her fault. It could never be her fault. That would negate its very existence. It had to be my fault. I suppose the only way I could have atoned would have been to die from her gunshot. I felt very tired.

  I turned back to Marsten. “Oh,” I muttered, embarrassed. “Well, might as well make it painless if possible, huh?”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way, my dear. This is not the Dark Ages. We are considerably more enlightened these days.” He smiled knowingly and reached into his bag, coming up with a little aerosol can. Guarding my eye with one hand he sprayed the cut with something that made it feel cold, then numb. He leaned over me with needle and thread, and I thought I saw a slight tremor in his hand. Oh, God, I thought, he’s liable to sew my nose to my ear. He must have read my mind.

  “Not to worry, now, Alex. I sew a very fine seam, as the ladies used to say.” And so he did. I was together, neat and bandaged in short order. “There, now, all done. Just stop by in about a week and I’ll take out the stitches for you. Three months and there won’t even be a hairline scar to remind you that it happened. Now, let’s just be sure you’re not concussed.”

  He did the bit of asking how many fingers I saw, and he shined a flashlight in my eyes, which hurt, and told me if I vomited or got double vision to call him at once. Yeah. Well, maybe, in a pig’s eye. “Now,” he asked. “Anything else need my attention?”

  “No, thank you, Doctor . . . oh, yes, my God, I forgot. My side! That’s where she shot me first, in my side.”

  Doc Marsten looked startled and confused. “There’s no blood there . . . you say you’re shot . . . exactly where . . . how can . . . ?”

  Sonny chimed in. “Janet only fired one shot and that went wide. She didn’t actually shoot you at all, Alex. Just as she fired, Fargo leaped from out of nowhere and hit you in the side and knocked you out of the line of fire. Fargo hit you. He saved your life!”

  Sonny turned to Marsten. “Doc, you never saw anything like it! That dog is so smart, he knew he had to get Alex away from where that bullet would go, and as Janet fired he hit Alex and knocked her aside into the table, but that’s better than a bullet! He’s some brave, clever dog!”

  I wondered how Sonny knew all this, but somehow I just could-n’t quite pull it together to ask him. Explanations could wait. I was a
live. So was Sonny. So was Fargo. It was enough for now.

  “A noble beast,” Marsten agreed unenthusiastically. “But let’s look at the side anyway.” He pulled up my shirt and expertly felt my left rib cage. “There’s no wound and I don’t feel anything. Breathe deep. Does that hurt? No? Cough. Does that hurt? No, well, no broken ribs. Maybe a bruise, but nothing serious.”

  I was beginning to like his type of medicine. It was certainly simpler, faster and God knows cheaper than the X-rays, MRI’s and CAT scans I’d have gotten at the hospital. Perhaps I had misjudged him. He turned to Sonny.

  “Still, she’s had quite a shock. If there is any wine or brandy around, a small glass wouldn’t hurt.”

  How had I ever not realized what a fine old physician he really was? “There’s wine on the kitchen counter,” I advised them.

  “I’ll get it,” Sonny said. “Doc, you’d better come and have a look at our shooter in here. I think maybe I broke her wrist.”

  I sipped the wine Sonny had fetched, and watched them go to Janet. Dr. Marsten bent over her arm. He seemed to be speaking gently to her, and for some reason that made me want to cry. Sonny came back out and fired off a bunch of orders to his minions.

  “Santos, you and Highsmith get Mrs. Madeiros’ car towed to the impound lot. Get that money out of the trunk and take it into the jail and lock it in a cell. I want somebody sitting outside that cell watching it till I get there and we can count it and get it to the state police. Fingerprint the duffel bag inside and out and see if you can get any prints off the bills. With luck you’ll get Janet’s and O’Malley’s and some of the store owners they robbed. I especially hope for the old man in Plymouth. Get Alex’s car taken in, too. She can come by tomorrow and give us her fingerprints to disqualify.”

  “My prints are on file in Boston,” I said. “For my license.”

  “Okay, then we’ll get them off the computer in the morning. Mitch, wait here for me, please, I’ll need you in a minute.” Mitch sat gingerly in the easy chair, and Sonny went, at my request, for another glass of wine.