Nina’s eyes were wide. “Oh, we are, like, totally against the use of force in a confrontation, I mean…” Her eyes met mine. “Unless it’s totally necessary, of course.”
“I can shoot,” Spike said softly.
We all looked at her and she shrugged. “Well, I was a district attorney,” she said. “Sometimes it got a little hairy, but it’s even worse in L.A.”
Aunt Lucy handed her the frozen weapon and the accompanying magazines.
“Mrs. Cozzone was in the OSS during World War II, she likes talking in code and playing secret agent now and then. Jake says she never quite got over the adrenaline rush of being a spy for the Resistance. Jake uses her to watch the house now and then.”
“That old woman?” How could he seriously think Mrs. Cozzone was even close to sane?
“She’s his grandmother, you know,” Aunt Lucy said in an aside to me. I raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know she was his grandmother?”
“Mrs. Cozzone says we’ve got company coming up from the backyard and I don’t think the police are aware of it. We might need to protect that nice detective.”
“From who?” I asked.
“Them,” Aunt Lucy said, pointing to her monitor.
We looked at the right side of the TV screen and saw two heavyset men dressed completely in black. As we watched, they crept silently forward, making complicated gestures with their hands.
“Plan?” Aunt Lucy asked me.
“You take the front door,” I said. “Holler ‘Help!’ and tell him you think we have prowlers.” I turned to Nina. “Use the phone in the kitchen. Stay low. Call 911 and tell them you have a burglar. Tell them they’re breaking in the back door and to hurry.”
I turned to Spike. “How good are you with that?” I asked.
She was struggling to fit the magazine into the butt of the gun and blowing on her fingers to keep her hands nimble enough to move.
“I’m a little rusty,” she admitted, “but I used to be fairly good when the targets weren’t moving.”
Okay, I thought, better than nothing. I nodded. “Then you back me up. Just do what I say and try to stay behind something bullet resistant.”
“Do you know them?” I asked my aunt.
“I never saw either of those two before,” she said. “But Mrs. Cozzone thinks Tony Manello’s involved, so maybe they’re his men. Anything that smells like money would get his attention. He’s got connections and deals going all over the world. It would be just like him to be behind all of this, working his own daughter like a puppet!”
I studied the surveillance screen and looked back at Aunt Lucy. “That one guy has a flattop. You sure you’ve never seen him before?”
Aunt Lucy shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t recognize him and I don’t think he’s ours, but he could be theirs. Who knows who the Manellos tried to bring in on the bidding? That guy could be Russian mob for all we know!”
I took a final glimpse at the TV monitor. The first man was slinking up to the back-porch screen door. He was dressed completely in black, right down to his black combat boots and black face paint. He wore a leg holster strapped to his thigh and carried a knife. I turned to the others.
“Let’s do it!”
Aunt Lucy and Nina split off from Spike and me as we left the lab. They took the steps up to the kitchen while Spike and I headed for the cellar exit. I stopped when I reached the ancient door, my fingers clutching the wrought-iron handle, praying the hinges didn’t squeak when I pushed it open.
“Stay back,” I told Spike. “Come out only if it looks like I’m in trouble. If it sounds like they’re in trouble upstairs, go to them. I’ll be all right.”
Spike nodded. No questions.
“One more thing.”
“Yeah?” she whispered.
“If you gotta shoot, shoot to kill. Don’t try for an arm or a leg. Shoot the son of a bitch dead, because I can assure you, that’s what he’ll do to you, given the opportunity.”
Spike nodded and swallowed hard. “No problem,” she murmured.
I pushed on the door, felt it give and began moving out into the cold night air. Above us I heard the sound of Aunt Lucy’s footsteps moving at a brisk trot toward the front hallway. I looked back at Spike, winked and took off at a crouching run.
I slipped around the side of the house and saw I was not alone. Flattop’s partner waited in the shadows, watching his buddy’s back.
I crept silently forward, turned my gun around in my hand and brought the butt down as hard as I could on the other man’s shiny, bald head. He dropped like a bad apple. He fell so fast that for a moment I thought he was faking it. So I hit him again for good luck.
I looked around the corner and saw the point man slip a knife between the screen and the wooden frame of the back-porch door. There was no time for subtlety or finesse. I ran, lacking the element of surprise, pointed the Glock and yelled.
“Police! Freeze, motherfucker!”
All cops yell that same exact phrase during every high-intensity arrest. We don’t learn it at the academy. We see it on TV and think it’s put on, but then, there we are, with our adrenaline pumping and that’s when we find ourselves mimicking our television colleagues. It gives the bad guy little room to doubt our intentions. We’ve said all we need to say, and yet, I still find myself adding extras.
“Drop your weapon! Put your hands up where I can see them!”
And unless I have my suspect cornered, they always run. It’s as if I’ve said, “On your mark! Get set! Go!”
There I am, holding a gun trained on their miserable criminal torso, telling them in no uncertain terms that I am the po-lice, and they are still running. Go figure.
This time was no exception. The son of a bitch whirled around, grinned and took off like a jackrabbit.
I started off after him, still yelling, as if maybe he hadn’t heard me or something. He ran through the backyard, vaulted the fence and sprinted down the alley. In the distance I heard sirens and thanked God for Nina’s brain cells.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!” I cried.
I thought I heard the fool laugh. I guess he’d watched COPS enough to know we never shoot while running.
I fired.
The bullet hit the ground by his heels, kicking up dust and probably scaring the shit out of the idiot.
“There,” I panted, “laugh now!”
We kept on running. I felt a stitch grow in my side and struggled to take tiny gasps of air. I was closing in on him, which is saying something because he was setting a good, tight pace and looked as if he could run forever.
“Don’t make me shoot your ass!” I yelled in a breathy growl. “You don’t want to die over something stupid, do you?”
Again I heard the laugh, an easy, deep chuckle. He didn’t believe me, but he had a point. I couldn’t keep up with him and squeeze off a round that had any chance of hitting the target. Besides, I was beginning to think I wanted him alive. Dead men don’t give up names. They don’t tell you all you need to know.
I settled for studying his ass as we ran. It was a tight, compact package. It would be a shame to ruin such a nice…target by shooting it with a .40-caliber bullet. I was doing womankind a favor by taking him down in a humane manner.
In addition to the humanitarian aspect to my pursuit, there was another, more important factor to be considered in this chase. I was not the police and I had absolutely no business shooting a fleeing intruder. The law clearly states that citizens may not shoot interlopers unless in imminent danger. The fact that Bozo was running away from me made the case for shooting his ass rather weak.
So I kept on running, right out onto Bradford Avenue, heading for the park and First Lake. I was six feet behind him when we passed under the granite entranceway. I was thinking I’d tackle him somewhere around the tennis courts.
He got to me first. He didn’t wait for the tennis courts. He hit the basketball courts, rounded behind the rest rooms and spun on his heel just as we disappea
red from sight.
He hit me like the tight end I figured he’d been in college, if there were colleges in whatever country he’d come from. He crossed his arms, brought them up in front of his chest and used them like a battering ram. The blow took me from a C cup down to an A and a half.
I fell back onto the ground, the air fleeing from my lungs like a leaky balloon. I started to bring up the Glock. He stepped on my wrist, and the gun went flying out of my hand. I screamed, rolled toward him and used my left leg to kick his kneecap, knocking him to the ground and releasing my arm.
I thought I’d shattered the bone. I waited for the cry of pain, heard none and was completely surprised when he sprang on top of me, his hands wrapping around my neck.
I brought my arms up inside his, punched outward and felt him give. He fell on top of me with a thud. I raised my hands and felt for his eyeballs with my thumbs.
“Laugh now, big man!” I snarled.
I hit my target, but he rolled, taking me with him. We struggled. Every time I found a vulnerable spot, he twisted it to his advantage. Eventually perseverance won out. I hit him square in the throat with a blow that made him choke and gasp for air.
I followed this with a move that I’m sure sent his stomach lurching up behind his nasal passages. I finished by rolling away from him, springing to my feet and kicking him dead center in the solar plexus. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted.
“Welcome to la-la land, Banana Breath!”
I retrieved the Glock, knelt by his inert form and searched his body for any sign of identification. There were no markings in his clothing, nothing in his pockets and no way to tell where he’d come from. I rocked back on my haunches and studied him, humming “Who’s Sorry Now?”
“Okay, Brutus,” I whispered. “Wake up!”
I slapped his cheeks, called his name and finally scooped mucky pond water out of First Lake and threw it at him, all without any luck. He was down for the count, and nothing I did seemed to revive him.
“Damn,” I swore under my breath. “I didn’t fracture your skull, did I?”
I lifted his eyelids and studied his pupils. “Equal and reactive,” I said. The phrase sounded good, even if I wasn’t quite sure what it meant. “I’m not a doctor,” I whispered to the sleeping man. “I just play one on TV.”
I needed to make sure the others were safe, but I didn’t want to leave my captive. I wanted to know who he was and who’d sent him.
“All right,” I muttered. “This is getting us nowhere. How’s about you wait here while I go get the car and someone to help haul you in.” Flattop slept on. “But first let’s make sure you stick around. I got a few questions that need answering and I’ll bet you sing like an angel if I find the right key.”
I unlaced his boots, knotted the strings together and hogtied my quarry. He never moved. I knelt, worried, felt his neck for a pulse and was reassured by the steady, throbbing beat.
“Guess I don’t know my own strength, huh?” I murmured. “Bet Jake won’t believe this little small-town cop caught the big one, huh?”
I stood up and walked away. It was an easy mile back to Aunt Lucy’s, but I wouldn’t be taking the direct route, not with every cop, criminal and wise guy in Glenn Ford on the lookout. No, I’d be ducking down alleyways, skulking behind trash cans and jumping fences.
“And to think I wanted to be a nurse,” I muttered. “Where was my head?”
Chapter 16
In times of trouble, I find there’s nothing like an old song to make you feel worse. I huddled behind a broken trunk in Aunt Lucy’s garage, humming “It’s My Party and I’ll Cry If I Want To” and feeling very sorry for myself. The adrenaline rush had long since worn off, leaving me shivering in my sweat-soaked T-shirt and jeans. It was, after all, November, and I was still stuck with the few pieces of clothing I’d been able to borrow from Nina or salvage from the trunk of my car.
To cap it all off, my ankle hurt again, probably because I’d run a mile in my attempt to capture Flattop. I thought about my hostage and hoped he was at least as uncomfortable as me. Who the hell was he anyway? I rose up and stared out the grimy window at my aunt’s house. I didn’t want to just walk inside if the cops were still there. After all, I’d shot a guy, albeit in self-defense, and I had impersonated an officer in order to accomplish this feat. Then there was Pete and Lou Ann, materializing out of nowhere to arrest me on charges that just couldn’t be genuine, or could they? What if they returned with a real warrant for my arrest? Where would that get me?
No doubt about it, the cops were looking for me and now just wasn’t a good time to be discovered.
“This really sucks!” I muttered.
I studied my surroundings. Uncle Benny had used the garage as a catch-all for junk and broken appliances. He wouldn’t have been able to put a car inside the narrow building if he’d wanted to; it was full. Baskets hung from rafters. Boxes lined the shelves. Broken bicycles, bed frames, a rocker with a missing seat, flower pots and storm windows completed the collection.
I could just hear Uncle Benny. “You never know when we’ll need something like that,” he’d say. “We’d better stick it out in the garage.”
I was intently studying a bassinet when three boxes in the middle of the floor began to move, shifting to the side as a trapdoor slowly opened. A dim light spilled out into the darkened garage, and Aunt Lucy stood framed in its glow, looking for all the world like an avenging angel.
She was carrying a frying pan and a squirt bottle.
“Come on!” she whispered. “Before someone sees the light in here!”
I stood up and moved toward her, every joint in my body stiffly resisting her instructions to hurry.
Aunt Lucy stepped over to a can opener that hung on a hook by a set of shelves and turned to make sure I was watching.
“If you ever need to get back without me, just tug on this twice and the door will open.”
I didn’t have time to respond before she was once again moving toward the steps and disappearing from view. I followed her, finding myself in yet another tunnel.
“Those CIA people don’t mess around, do they?” I asked.
Aunt Lucy kept moving, calling her answer back as she walked briskly through the tunnel. “They didn’t think I should wind up trapped with only one exit.”
Aunt Lucy was hurrying, rushing to reach the big lab. She didn’t speak as we navigated the tunnel and seemed relieved when we closed the door behind us and were at last back in the sterile room. Nina and Spike were waiting for me at the table. They looked grim.
“What happened?” I asked.
Nina was sipping from a large white mug, her eyes red-rimmed with fatigue or perhaps from crying, I couldn’t tell.
“The police took away the man you hit,” Spike said. “He was still unconscious when the ambulance came, so I imagine he’s at Chester County Hospital. Then they searched the house, presumably to make sure no one had gotten in.”
“They even looked in my underwear drawer!” Nina cried, clearly distressed. “I told them no bad guys were in there, but they still looked. ‘Just a precaution, ma’am!’” Nina mimicked. “Can you imagine that? What’s my underwear gonna do, bite them?”
She looked as if she were about to cry. Spike reached over and patted her knee.
“Don’t worry, honey,” she said. “They were probably just curious.” Spike looked up at me. “I thought they were looking for you, but when Detective Slovineck got here he gave me the real scoop. That body they found at Jake’s?” I nodded. “It was his wife, Donna. Slovineck wouldn’t say he thought Jake did it. He only said he wanted to ask him a few questions, but it was pretty easy to read between the lines.”
I sucked air into my lungs and tried to calm my runaway heart. I thought about the expression on Jake’s face after he shot Ron, how empty and remorseless he seemed. Surely he wouldn’t arrange his wife’s death, would he?
“Have they notified the family?” I asked.
Spike shook her head. “I don’t think so. I think they know what kind of hell that’ll unleash. They won’t wait long, but I think they wanted to try and find Jake before Tony Manello did.”
Aunt Lucy set a steaming mug of coffee in front of me and patted my shoulder.
“The police won’t bother us any more tonight,” she said in a soothing voice. “Besides, things are looking up.”
The three of us stared up at her. I didn’t think I was the only one wondering if she’d been sniffing her own concoction. Looking up? Who was she trying to fool?
“The vet called,” Aunt Lucy continued. “Benito’s out of surgery and he’s going to be okay!”
I think my jaw dropped.
“You mean Lloyd’s okay?”
Aunt Lucy frowned. “No, I mean my Benito, just like I said!” A look of dawning realization crossed her features and was quickly replaced by an angry scowl. “Oh, I get it,” she said. “You think because I had a few memory lapses I’m crazy, is that it?”
“Oh, no, Aunt Lucy,” Nina hastened to reassure her. “Reincarnation is a fine thing to believe in. I guess it’s just that Lloyd is such a…” She hesitated, uncertain about continuing.
“Such a what, dear?” Aunt Lucy asked dangerously.
“Well, a dog,” Nina finished. “Lloyd was Stella’s dog first. I thought if you were reincarnated you got a new body, not a used one.”
“Well, I guess that just shows how little you know then, huh?” Aunt Lucy huffed.
“Where is Jake?” I asked.
Aunt Lucy frowned. “He should’ve been here a while ago,” she murmured. “I wonder what’s taking so long?”
Spike’s head had been sinking lower and lower as we talked. Now she was resting it on her folded arms, and if I didn’t miss my guess, she’d be fast asleep in the next few minutes. The clock on Aunt Lucy’s wall said it was almost 3:00 a.m. No wonder Spike was giving out. She’d probably had no more than a few hours sleep in the past twenty-four hours. As I stared, she opened one very bloodshot eye and met my gaze.
“They did ask about you,” she muttered, “but I said I didn’t know where you were. I said they had no grounds for searching your room. I told them they had to produce a warrant. Slovineck said he wants to talk to you about St. Anthony’s. I said take a number.”
Stella, Get Your Gun Page 20