Relatively Risky

by Pauline Baird Jones

  He always said where there was life there was hope. Okay, he tended to live in cliché-ville, but he always managed to make even the most tired cliché seem reasonable. And he’d know, wouldn’t he?

  That she felt sort of safe was an illusion. Something tickled her neck—almost she shrieked. She managed not to use the hand holding the gun to swat at whatever had decided to crawl on her neck. If she was going to be chased through a cemetery by bad guys, she shouldn’t have to deal with bugs, too.

  Was that movement she heard? She strained to hear, her gaze passing over crypts that had little fences around them, creating not just dead spaces, but tight spaces. She felt caught between the need to get away and a realization that she didn’t know where “away” might be. Cowering and hiding seemed indicated, but she also needed to retreat. Where to go was an open question. Not in the direction of the shooting seemed like a good choice. She wished she could figure out what that was. What with the shooting at, and the shooting back, how was a girl to know—

  She’d been staring at the crypt across from her without seeing it, straining to hear, but suddenly she saw. Her mom’s not-grave. She’d managed to find her mom’s not-grave by not looking.

  Antonia Calvino. 1963-1980

  That was all. No beloved daughter of or a rest in peace.

  She checked both sides, not really expecting to see Phil’s not-grave close by. Why would their families care that they’d wanted to be together?

  Like the tombs around it, it looked neglected, though someone had left a posy of forget-me-nots at the base. No more recent interment dates on the slab. Did that mean the tomb hadn’t been opened since her mom’s not-burial?

  And just like that she knew why she’d wanted to see this. This wasn’t the place where her parents had died. It was where they’d been born. Later, if she lived, she’d feel guilt for undoing what they’d done. But just for this moment all she could feel was grateful to them both for what they’d given up for her. And she knew, because she knew them, that she had been the driving force, the reason they’d fought to live, had built that ordinary life in Wyoming. They’d managed to survive. Could she do less?

  It might feel safer here by her mom’s not-grave, but it wasn’t. In the distance, she heard the sound she’d been waiting for: sirens. At what point would everyone quit shooting at each other and flee before the cops? How long had there been shooting?

  She looked at her watch, but she hadn’t looked at it when it started, so it didn’t help. Probably not been as long as it felt. The cops couldn’t take forever to get here, could they?

  Seemed she had two choices. Try to find a place to hide. Or try to get out. Only way out, that she was aware of, was the way she’d come in. Either way, she should probably move—

  She started to lean forward, when she heard a slight sound. She shrank back as a shadow grew long on the narrow path between two crypts to the left of her mom’s not grave.

  Alex stopped. Considered his current location, trying to fit perp movement to his memory of the cemetery layout. It felt like they were being herded. He hated that almost as much as he hated getting shot at. Seemed like if they wanted him going one way, he ought not go that way. He crouched in the shadow of a tall crypt, wondering why the sirens wailed in the distance without seeming to get any closer.

  The silence wasn’t a good one. It felt weighted by the menace stalking the many alleys. Other than the usual city sounds, it had gone quiet again. Like everyone was listening. Or thinking.

  Thinking seemed like a good idea. Felt like the shooters were trying to herd them away from the gate they’d come in, so that’s where he’d go. If backup hadn’t arrived, he could remove any roadblocks to getting the hell out and brief the first cops on the scene when they did arrive.

  He’d resisted thinking about Nell. He couldn’t help her. She’d surprised him before, though. He hoped she’d surprise him again. That’s all he could do for her right now, just hope.

  He worked his way toward the outer edge, aided by the occasional outburst of fire. He noticed it seemed to be moving away from him. He kept it quiet. Was almost stealthy. Who knew those nights trying to sneak out of the house would work for him now?

  As quietly as she could, she drew her legs up, so that she was crosswise on the steps, as much in the shadow of the crypt front door as she could manage. Suddenly cozy with the spiders didn’t seem that bad. Were almost her best friends right now. It wasn’t going to be enough if someone was really looking, but if she made a run for it, well, hard to outrun a bullet. Her heart pounded so loud, she didn’t know how it couldn’t be heard several tombs away.

  Everything seemed more. The dead smells. The stealthy sounds. The silence between the sounds. And the shots. A soft sound from the other direction made the one shadow stop. Then another shadow slowly grew on the path on her other side.

  Her heart, her breathing either stopped or got too slow to feel or count.

  The sense of being in that nightmare, the one where someone looked for her, the struggle to wake up and not being able to…

  She shrank back into the moldy stone, aware of the hot, damp smell of rotting things and oddly cold stone through her thin shirt…

  The shadow on the right appeared to reach out for the next crypt. The limbs and body distorted, but despite that, she could tell he held at least one weapon.

  The other shadow appeared frozen in place.

  Sirens filtered in, though they still seemed too far away.

  Off in the distance a horn honked.

  Both shadows jerked, as if startled, their images wavering on the ground.

  A long pause…

  Right shadow moved again.

  Her brave plan to live for her parents seemed like wishful thinking now…

  Left shadow decided to move now, too.

  Right reached the point of exposure first.

  Dimitri Afoniki. His attention was directed away from her first, then his head began to track her direction. He stopped. He stared at her, weapons ready.

  She stared at him. Pretty sure she couldn’t get hers up in time—

  It seemed like he’d started to lower his, when he spotted the left shadow.

  Even if he didn’t shoot her, he could shoot her in the cross-fire.

  Left shadow paused at exposure point, then stepped into view.

  Calvino.

  He stared at her. Then at Afoniki, then back at her.

  If moments froze, then this one did, despite the heat. Nell felt the chill of death reaching out of the crypt at her back. Felt it laughing…

  Like weird mimics, both men lifted fingers to lips, paused, then gestured for her to join them. What a choice. And how did a girl choose either without getting shot by the one she didn’t choose? Not that she wanted either one.

  Before she could figure it out, a scrabble of sound had both men darting forward out of sight.

  My heroes.

  Before Nell could find a new spot, too, the scuffle of sound came closer, and she spotted yet another shadow. Now she had time to ready her weapon.

  A man stepped into view one crypt down from where Afoniki had been.

  She knew he was one of the shooters because he held a rifle, auto or semi, she couldn’t tell which. And he had a nylon stocking over his face.

  Time slowed. His head was turned away from her and angled for listening.

  He started a turn toward her. He’d see her. He couldn’t help but see her—she sighted her weapon on him—

  A sound, a shift of footsteps on gravel in the direction of Afoniki’s heroic retreat.

  The shooter hunched, hesitated, and then headed toward the sound.

  Nell made herself count to ten, then lowered her weapon, sweat beading along her upper lip and running down her back.

  Time to move. She wasn’t good enough to go ghost, like the military guys liked to call it, but she felt like a ghost. Bet she was pale enough to pass as one. She wished she was as invisible as one. Hoped not to be dead as on
e…

  She shook her head—and her thoughts—told herself to get moving.

  She worked her way back along the crooked line, changing alleys, trending toward the entrance as sirens continued to wail, though she’d lost the ability to tell if they were getting closer.

  A flurry of shots broke the long silence. An exchange, she decided. Rifle fire and handgun fire. Was that a shot across the alley? She couldn’t tell, but it seemed closer. Maybe she should find a place to sit tight and wait—

  “Someone flanked us! Johns and Stevens, get back and cover the exit,” a harsh voice ordered. “Don’t want no one getting out of here alive.”

  Alex knew it was a risk dropping the shooter watching the bad guys backs, but he’d had to take his shot. No way to make a quiet approach. He cussed at the shouted order and made his run for the street. He paused by the wall and did a quick check. No sign of anyone, but they could be hiding, waiting for him to pop out.

  Heard footsteps pounding toward him.

  Make his move or fall back—

  He dodged out into the street, weapon ready and headed toward the car, zigging and zagging, using the line of parked cars for cover as soon as he could dart between a couple. When no shots took him down, he dug in his pocket for his keys. Came around the driver’s side, shoved the key in the lock, and turned it savagely. Yanked the door open—a shift in the heavy air was his only warning before the blow…

  Nell heard the pounding of footsteps coming down the main alley and heard others—they seemed like they were outside the wall? She angled her head. Sounded like it. Lots of confused sounds, mixed with confused shooting. She used the confusion to make a short dash that took her within sight of the cemetery gate. She crouched down, aware her position wasn’t great if the ordered-back shooters swept the area as they came by. She readied her weapon, though she was less certain of her ability to hit a moving target.

  And then they were there, running in a weaving pattern down the center alley, weapons pointed back the way they’d come. They paused twice to loose off a couple of rounds. Crouched once and fired a sustained burst at someone.

  She heard a car engine start. That got their attention. They jumped up, picked up the pace, their attention directed toward the street now.

  The two shooters ran past her position, as she pressed against yet another damp and web-infested crypt, tracking their progress with her gun. Once they had passed by, Nell eased up, ready to duck down if they looked back her way. They reached the gate and stopped, starting a right-to-left sweep—

  The shots caught first one, then the other, sending both staggering back a few steps before they dropped, first to their knees, then they both fell forward onto their faces.

  A car came into view on the street, backing toward the snarl created by all the wise rides.

  Ben’s car.

  Alex. It had to be Alex.

  Nell cast a careful look back along the alley. Didn’t see anything. She un-chambered the bullet, tucked the gun into her jean’s waistband, then jumped up and ran, passing between the two walls. She made the turn that put the wall between her and the cemetery interior with a lot of relief and a renewed burst of energy. An arm waved from the driver’s window, then disappeared. Seemed like Alex wanted her to drive. So he could shoot, she guessed. He didn’t know she was a crappy driver or that she had a gun. No time to tell him she should be shooting, not driving—

  She scooted between two parked cars and grabbed the handle, scrambling behind the wheel and pulled the door closed with a hearty slam. She fumbled with the controls a bit, managed to get the car in gear and started down the street with only one wobble. Only after correcting that did she glance toward Alex—

  Only it wasn’t Alex.

  It was that bald Curly guy.

  And he had a gun pointed at her. As Ben’s car rolled toward the corner, she noticed something lying on the ground between two, parked cars. No, not something.

  Alex…

  11

  Nell didn’t have to tell bald Curly that she hadn’t driven for a while and no, driving wasn’t like riding a bike. She kind of sucked at that, too, with or without the gun pointed at her. She’d never been that great at self-propulsion. And it was hard to get better at it in a city with a million-plus pot holes. Just saying. Okay, just thinking, cuz even talking was outside her skill set at the moment.

  “Do you have a driver’s license?”

  The question sounded like it emerged from between gritted teeth. She did not have time to verify that. Steering an unfamiliar car down narrow, rutted streets with other cars playing chicken required all her attention—well, the parts left over from worrying about Curly and that gun she assumed was still pointed at her.

  “Wyoming one.” Barely. She’d passed her driving test because it was late in the day and he only made her drive around the block. A very quiet block.

  “You’ve lived here two damn years!”

  There was a kind of yelpish wail to that last word, as Nell narrowly missed the streetcar, which seemed to think it had the right of way. She didn’t have time to wonder if it did. There were more obstacles to dodge. People to not hit.

  “Been on a bike for all of them.” Unless Sarah drove, which she always did. Sarah knew all about Nell’s lack of driving skills.

  A light went from green to yellow. She hit the brakes and heard a screech of tires behind her. She made the mistake of looking in the rear view mirror. Closed her eyes and braced for the hit. It didn’t come. She wasn’t sure if she was glad or sad about that.

  Bald Curly loosed a string of swear words, ending with, “You don’t never brake at a yellow light!”

  “But I wouldn’t have made it through before the red,” she felt compelled to point out. Was the bad cop really criticizing her for a legal stop at a light? If her eyes weren’t scared open, they’d have twitched. With extreme reluctance, she looked at him. It had to be asked. “Which…where…”

  “I need what your Ma and Pa left you.”

  It wasn’t a huge shock, though it was a relief he didn’t seem to know about St. Cyr’s ring. She bit back a “get in line” snark. She didn’t want to make him any more pissed off than he already was. She’d always hated line jumpers. And bad cops. She didn’t mind guns but didn’t like them pointed at her. She licked dry lips.

  “Only things that I have left from my mom and dad are back at Sarah’s.”

  “Then that’s where we’re going.”

  Nell noticed the green light for the other direction was going yellow. “I don’t actually know how to get there from here.” This statement was so true, she almost winced.

  “You don’t know how to get home?”

  “When I know where I am, I can get home just fine. But I’m not really sure where I am.” She’d spent most of the drive watching Alex drive, rather than watching where Alex drove. Obviously she had not expected to have to drive home. Her gut clenched at the thought of Alex, of how still he’d looked laying there. “Did you kill—”

  “Didn’t have to. He didn’t see me.”

  It was not comfortable feeling relief and panic at the same time. She was glad for Alex. Sorry for herself since she was looking Curly in the eyes. She didn’t like Curly. Hadn’t liked him from the moment she met him.

  The light changed.

  “Get this bucket moving,” he ordered, moving the gun in a threatening manner.

  Not the brightest bad cop around, if he wanted her to keep driving. On the one hand, moving was good. He couldn’t shoot her. But there were cars and people all around. And he was an old dude. How fast could he flee a scene? And why should she do what he said when—

  “You’re just going to kill me. I think I’d like to get it over with.” She lifted her hands from the wheel and folded them across her chest. She didn’t look at him as she said this. She didn’t actually want to get it over with and he might notice that. But she didn’t see why she should have to drive herself to her own death. Which probably wouldn’t go
well. The driving and for sure the dying.

  Horns started to honk.

  “I’m not—”

  “I’ve seen you. I’m not stupid.” Interesting how people equated smarts with driving skill. She had a high IQ. And was easily distracted. Not ADD, her mom used to joke, but definitely DD, a daydreamer, she’d explain to the various teachers when they became baffled enough for a parent-teacher conference.

  The level of honking increased. Some shouts joined the complaint parade.

  “I won’t have to kill you,” he said, with a thread of desperation, he cast a look out the window, then kind of ducked his chin as pedestrians started to stare. No crowd yet, but give it some time and maybe the Lucky Dog cart would show up. “I promise I won’t kill you,” he added in what he probably thought was a sincere tone. “I wouldn’t—”

  Nell gave him a skeptical look.

  “You won’t talk cuz of what I know about your Pa.”

  Did he really think she’d care enough about what people thought about her dead father to keep her mouth shut about him? Cuz she was dang sure her dad wouldn’t care. Or was he hoping she’d be stupid enough to believe him?

  Probably that last one.

  “And—” The hesitation was long enough for Nell to give him a reluctant look. It might have been what he’d wanted. He gave her this ghastly grimace that was probably meant to be a smile. “Calvino ain’t your grandpa—”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” Nell jerked her head away from the sight of his attempted paternal-ness.

  “But—”

  “Don’t say it or I swear I’ll crash this car.” Actually…she eased up on the brake, though not a lot. Never been that good at thinking and driving. She made it through the light before it changed, but left some unhappy people behind who didn’t. She took it slow enough to get caught by the next light. I don’t believe him. That goon had called Ellie a nice lady. If she hadn’t wanted the rich bad guy, she sure as shooting wouldn’t have had an affair with the dirty cop. And there was Charlie Baker. Nell didn’t know him, but she had a feeling that once a girl fell for a Baker…look at Zach. He’d got two women to have a bunch of kids with him.