Stella, Get Your Gun

by Nancy Bartholomew

  Pete smiled his approval. I thought I heard rustling inside the room and held my breath waiting.

  Thirty seconds passed without another sound. Pete looked at me again and I nodded.

  “On my count,” I mouthed. “One…two…three!”

  Pete brought his foot up, hit the door hard, but it bounced back. The deadbolt held.

  “Shoot that thing!” he cried. “Quick, before somebody…”

  I fired before he could finish his sentence. The door flew inward, twisted metal the only remaining sign of its resistance, and we stood there in the entrance trying to believe the scene before us.

  “Jesus!” Pete swore. “Who’s that guy?”

  Tony Manello, dressed in a charcoal business suit and red tie, lay on the floor in front of us. The back of his head was missing. At his side, an ice bucket spilled cubes that were quickly melting into the dark green carpet or were scattered like small pink-and-red prisms in the blood that pooled on either side of the man’s body.

  “Shut up,” I muttered, kneeling down to feel for a pulse. “This isn’t a gunshot wound. Somebody smashed his skull in from behind.”

  I pressed my fingers harder into Tony’s thick neck. I wasn’t getting a pulse. Pete knelt beside me, raised one of the man’s eyelids and then dropped it.

  “Dead as a hammer,” he pronounced.

  I looked past Pete, scanning the room for any sign of the black widow.

  “Check the bathroom. See if she’s in there.”

  Pete crossed the room in three quick strides, his gun held out in front of him. “Nothing,” he called.

  I leaned back on my haunches, studying Tony’s body, and trying to figure out what in the world had just happened.

  “She-it!” a female voice cried.

  I jumped, looked over my shoulder and saw the prostitute in the pink sequined dress standing in the doorway, a horrified expression on her face.

  “Oh, baby!” she gasped. “You done killed him dead! Oh, shit! What them po-lice gonna say when they see this mess? Honey, you best run!” She looked back out into the hallway, scanning the open corridor, and turned her attention back to me.

  “Baby, this is exactly why you get the money up front first! Honey, it ain’t good for business, you killin’ off the clientele!”

  “I didn’t…”

  Pete walked out from the bathroom, gun drawn, and clearly surprised to see our visitor.

  “What the—?”

  The pink lady held up her hands and backed away. “I didn’t see nothin’! I didn’t hear nothin’!” she said. “I’ll just be on my way!”

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Pete said.

  I stood up and did a quick scan of the room. The place was littered with fast-food bags, an empty pizza box and beer cans. Both beds were rumpled but the covers had not been pulled back. There was no sign that Jake had ever been in the cheap motel room.

  “Let’s go!” Pete called.

  “Wait a second,” I said. “Look, here’s how she got away.” I pointed to an adjoining door. “Come on!”

  I pulled the Glock and shoved open the unlocked door with my foot. Pete stood just behind me, so close his breath felt hot on my neck.

  “Empty,” he said, looking over my shoulder.

  I saw a small cylindrical object on the floor, bent down and picked up a blue ballpoint pen. Carpenter’s Auto Body it read.

  I felt my heart sink. Jake had been here and gone. Had he dropped the pen as a way to make contact or had he dropped it by mistake? Had he killed Tony Manello?

  “Look what somebody done did!” a loud female voice cried. “He’s daid!”

  The pink lady, accompanied by someone else, had returned. Pete shoved me farther into the vacant adjoining room and quickly closed the door behind us.

  “With any luck,” he whispered, “they’ll rob him. Let’s go!”

  We moved toward the door, slipping it open and checking the hallway for more potential witnesses.

  “Clear!” I whispered.

  We moved silently out into the corridor, away from room 212 and toward the back stairs. A minute later I was behind the wheel of Aunt Lucy’s Buick and we were almost airborne on the access road leading to I-95.

  “What have you gotten yourself into?” Pete demanded.

  “Me?” I didn’t look at him. “I just want to find out who killed my uncle. The cops here are too inexperienced to do justice to the investigation. At least I know I’m getting closer than they are.”

  “Who was that guy?”

  “Tony Manello, Donna’s father, the Mob boss.”

  “So then was that his daughter we saw? You think she whacked her old man?”

  I didn’t know for sure what I thought. Detective Slovineck told Spike he had a positive ID on the burned body in Jake’s shop, and it was Donna Manello. They would’ve used dental records or other solid identifiers. How could Donna still be alive?

  “I don’t know who she was,” I answered. “The police say Donna’s dead.”

  “Mistakes can be made, even by a cop.” Pete sighed. “Guess you don’t know any other homicidal blondes, huh?”

  I almost let it go by, another flip Pete remark, but then stopped. I did know another blonde, and she’d been plenty mad in Jake’s office, moments before the entire place went up in a fireball at the pumps. The CIA liaison, Valerie, was a blonde. What if she—?

  “So, what now?” Pete asked, interrupting my thought process. “You hungry? Baby, I’m starved.”

  I just shook my head. “I’m sure there’s something at my aunt’s. I need to get back.”

  Pete nodded. “She make good tea?”

  I shook my head, irritated. “No, Pete, up here we do not drink sweet tea.”

  “Damn, what do you people drink, then?”

  I rolled my eyes and kept driving. What had I ever seen in him?

  “Aw, now, baby! Don’t start gettin’ all huffy on me. I was just playin’ with you. I was trying to get you in a better mood, that’s all.” Pete reached over and patted my knee again.

  I shoved his hand away. “Pete, I am not huffy. I am thinking about what we need to do next. Why don’t you just sit there and enjoy the scenery?”

  I heard the lecherous chuckle and moved to amend my statement. “The scenery outside, Pete. For pity’s sake. Is that all you ever think about?”

  “It’s that time of the month, isn’t it, babe?” he said. “Well, don’t you worry, I’m not taking offense where none is intended. If you don’t have a plan, I do.”

  Oh, right, I thought. You who knows almost nothing about the situation now thinks he can solve it with a plan. This should be rich.

  “What’s your plan, Pete?”

  “As soon as I get something to eat, I’ll go down and visit the local boys. I’m sure they’ll help us out.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t. What part of they-want-to-question-me-about-a-shooting did you not get?”

  “Oh, now, baby, that was just you being a woman. I’m sure I can—”

  “Pete, shut up!”

  I gripped the wheel, gritted my teeth and swore to dump him on the side of the expressway if he opened his mouth again. I pressed the accelerator harder and prayed no cops decided we were worth stopping. By the time we reached Aunt Lucy’s, my fingers were cramped and my jaw was terminally frozen shut.

  “All right, you root around in the refrigerator and I’ll go check in with everybody,” I said. I wanted to ask Aunt Lucy about Valerie. I wanted to know how close Jake was to her. Had they put on an act in Jake’s office because he knew I was eavesdropping? Did Valerie know my uncle was dead before Jake told her?

  Pete nodded. “When you get done checking in, we’ll make a plan you like, right?”

  I just looked at him.

  “Okay, okay,” he muttered. “You make the plan. I’ll do the muscle work.”

  We were walking up the back steps, heading for the kitchen, when the hairs went up on the back of my neck. Something wasn’t r
ight.

  I stopped and Pete bumped into me.

  “What is it?” The cop in Pete returned instantly on the alert.

  I looked around, checking for signs to confirm my vibe and finding nothing unusual. I looked back out toward the driveway and found the trigger instantly. Uncle Benny’s car was gone. Someone had disobeyed the order to stay put, which could only mean that there had been an emergency, something so desperately wrong that Spike had seen fit to override my instructions.

  My heart quickened. Pete picked up on the tension and for once didn’t ask questions.

  I slipped the key into the back door, stepped into the kitchen and paused once again, listening, feeling with my senses for any signs of danger.

  Pete stood absolutely still, watching me and waiting.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, heading for the basement.

  “No, I’m coming with you.”

  I turned to argue and saw that he’d drawn his gun, his face hardening into a cop mask. He felt the same thing I did. Without another word, I started down the steps, drawing my Glock as I walked. I reached for the light switch and was surprised when the lights came on just as they usually did. Everything seemed so normal on the surface, so why was I so suddenly sure that something was so terribly wrong?

  I led Pete through the workshop, back into the laundry area and up to the paneled back wall. When I pushed the panel, exposing the hidden door, Pete whistled softly under his breath.

  “Shit. Leave it to a Yankee,” he whispered.

  We stepped into Aunt Lucy’s gleaming lab. There was no sign of a struggle, no overturned chairs, no note of explanation, nothing. Aunt Lucy’s remote control sat in the middle of the table, away from the cabinet where I’d seen her place it every time we left the room.

  I studied the black rectangle, reluctantly picking it up and turning it over and over in my hand. It was literally covered with buttons, but not one said anything I could use to figure out its operation.

  “You gonna watch TV now?” Pete asked.

  “No,” I said, sighing. “This thing runs the lab. It’s out of place. I figure Aunt Lucy left it for me, so I could figure out where she is or what made her leave, only trouble is, I don’t have a clue how the thing works.”

  “Let me see it,” Pete coaxed. “I’m good with electrical stuff.”

  He pulled it out of my hand and punched two buttons. The television screen slid down from its hiding place and the front stoop was suddenly in full view.

  “Cool,” Pete breathed. “Wonder what this does?”

  He punched a rectangular button and the bread box began to beep.

  “What the fuck is that, a bomb?”

  He crept slowly over toward the stainless-steel counter, his eyes fixed on the beeping bread box.

  “No, the phone’s in there,” I said, half sorry to relieve him.

  Pete slid the lid up and studied the phone silently. He looked back at me and gestured toward the blinking red light that lit up the left top side of the receiver.

  “You got a message,” he said. “See?”

  He hit the button and I heard a mechanical voice say, “You have one new message.”

  “This is Dr. Mattioni’s office,” a female voice said. “I’m calling about your dog.”

  “Lloyd?” Aunt Lucy cried, picking up the phone. “I’m here. Is he ready to come home?”

  “No, ma’am,” the attendant said. “I’m afraid we have some rather bad news. Lloyd is dying.” I heard my aunt gasp. “We don’t think he’ll last another hour. The doctor wanted me to tell you. He says if you want to say goodbye, you’d better come down now. I’m very sorry.”

  I heard Aunt Lucy begin to sob, and listened as Spike took the phone from her. “Thank you,” Spike said softly, and hung up.

  “Can you tell when the call came in?” I asked Pete.

  He studied the digital readout on the phone set. “About an hour ago.”

  “Lloyd’s dying?” Pete asked. “What happened?”

  I looked up, surprised to see a stricken look on Pete’s face.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I should’ve told you. Lloyd got shot, but the vet thought he’d make it. Aunt Lucy talked to him this morning and the vet said he was fine, considering.”

  He looked like he was going to cry and I felt sorry for him. “Come on. Maybe there’s still time.”

  I led Pete through the back tunnel, up into Aunt Lucy’s garage and back out into the driveway. If the secret passageway surprised him, he didn’t mention it. Instead he seemed lost in thought, a worried frown creasing his forehead and pulling his usually impassive face into a deep expression of sadness and loss.

  I slid behind the wheel, biting down hard on my lip to keep from crying myself. “Thank you for keeping my family safe,” I prayed. “But in case you didn’t know, Lloyd’s family, too.”

  I drove on automatic pilot, remembering images of Lloyd from the past few days, Lloyd sitting in Uncle Benny’s place at the dinner table, a big white napkin knotted around his neck and Aunt Lucy patting his paw as he wolfed down pasta, or the grin on his face as he allowed Aunt Lucy to slip Uncle Benny’s fishing cap over his ears, all so he could enjoy eggs and bacon for breakfast.

  “Please don’t let Lloyd go,” I whispered, unaware that I’d spoken aloud until I heard Pete’s whispered response.

  “Amen.”

  We pulled into the Mattioni Veterinary Clinic and stopped just behind the bumper of Uncle Benny’s Cadillac. No, I couldn’t blame them for ignoring my order to stay put, not when Lloyd was dying. No one, not even a dog, should die alone.

  I felt tears burn my eyelids and was aware of Pete reaching over to pat my leg.

  “Come on, honey,” he said. “Let’s go be strong for Lloyd.”

  I followed Pete for once, out of the car and down the walkway to the clinic entrance. I was following Pete’s broad back and praying, one more time, for Lloyd.

  We stepped inside the clinic, rang the bell at the front desk and waited. When no one answered immediately, I reached for the door that led to the examining rooms and tugged at the handle. Locked.

  “Damn,” I muttered. “Where is everybody?”

  I stepped back to the bell and rang it, harder and louder this time. A moment later a brassy blonde stepped up to the window, slid it open and said, “We’re closed for the afternoon.”

  “My aunt is here,” I said. “Our dog is dying.”

  The woman seemed not to get it. “So, you want to wait for her, or what?”

  I resisted the urge to reach across the counter and slap her.

  “No, I do not want to wait. I want to go back and see my dog!”

  She nodded. “I figured you would,” she muttered. “Wait a sec and I’ll unlock the door.”

  She vanished, stepping out into the hallway. A moment later the bolt slid back and the door opened.

  “You might as well join the others,” she said, stepping out to meet us. “I think your aunt could use a little support in her time of trouble.”

  We stepped through the door and started down the hallway with me leading the way and the blonde following us.

  “When did his condition take a turn for the worse?” I asked.

  “About the time I arrived,” she answered.

  Something in her voice was familiar. It made me stop and turn around to face her. Pete reacted as if he, too, had sensed the menace in the woman’s tone.

  She stood in the middle of the hallway, smiling at our sudden discomfort. In her hand was a shiny Smith & Wesson 9 mm semiautomatic pistol.

  Chapter 18

  “You must be Valerie,” I said. “I’ve only seen the top of your head, but I never forget a voice.”

  For some reason this seemed to please and amuse the blonde because her smile grew wider and her watery blue eyes seemed to glitter with pleasure. I found myself sizing her up, thinking the same thing that I supposed Pete was thinking. Give me an opportunity and I know I can take her.

&n
bsp; “I’m sure you have guns,” she said softly. “Take them out, place them very carefully on the floor and then kick them toward me. And I’m warning you, if you try anything at all, I’ll shoot you both.”

  She was shorter than me, maybe ten years older, and thin, but in a wiry, athletic sort of way. She watched us like a wildcat studies its prey, with caution and intent. She kept herself out of reach as we removed our guns, keeping her semiautomatic trained on Pete’s midsection. She was watching every minuscule move we made, prepared for one of us to break out.

  “Where are the others?” I asked. “Where is my aunt?”

  The blonde cocked her head slightly to the left, nodding as her eyes momentarily slid toward a closed door.

  “Why don’t we join them?” she said softly. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate the company. After all, they’ve assured me over and over that you’d be coming to save them. Maybe now that you’ve arrived you can set them straight.”

  I spun on my heel and practically ran into the examining room. My mind was humming with a billion possibilities. If she’d killed Lloyd or harmed anyone in that room with him, there would be no mercy. I never entertained the idea that she could kill me. It was simply not an option. I was more than the sum total of that bitch and her gun. I was the only chance my family had for rescue and recovery, and that made me superhuman and invincible.

  I pushed the door wide and stepped inside the small room. Lloyd, dead or alive, lay on his bed, an IV hooked to his foreleg. I couldn’t tell if he was even breathing because my aunt lay beside him, shielding him with her butter-ball body. She huddled against him, her shoulders shaking as she gently rocked back and forth over him. It was frightening to see her like that, so oblivious of her surroundings and our arrival.

  Against the wall, Nina and Spike were duct-taped to hard vinyl chairs. Their wrists were bound behind their backs, and their mouths had been taped shut. Nina’s eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, but like Spike’s, they glittered with unexpressed rage.

  Pete’s mouth fell open as he took in the scene before us. He swung around, fists clenched and jaw tightened to face our captor. As I watched he worked to control himself, knowing that any display of aggression could only lead to his death or the death of another hostage.