Hell on Wheels

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “But why kill her if you’d already set her up?” I asked, pushing for answers.

  “Same reason I threatened to hurt Ann if Kevin talked: she saw me,” Mrs. Tanaka explained. “Miranda didn’t see me in the van but near it and soon enough after I left the poison to be suspicious and tell the police after Peter died. I couldn’t have that.” She edged closer to us all, moving the gun from me to Kevin. “While everyone was in the gym watching the game, I went back to Peter’s van and got his gun.”

  “Keys.” Greg said the word in a simple sharp tone. “You had Peter’s extra keys.”

  “Of course. I knew where he kept the spares for both his van and the vault in his van and made good use of them.” She paused and took a deep breath, almost a cleansing yoga breath. After, a small, peaceful smile crossed her lips. The woman had clearly popped a mental wheelie.

  “I saw Miranda go to her husband’s van after she left Peter, so I knew which one it was. Before I could approach her, she went inside to watch the game. I waited, not sure what to do but knowing I had to do something. Then everything fell in place.” Another peaceful smile. “Miranda conveniently came rushing out of the gym, crying hysterically, and hopped into the van. While she fumbled to get it going, I jumped into the passenger’s side with the gun and told her to drive. She had no idea it would be her last trip until it happened.” Mrs. Tanaka paused and pursed her red lips. “Pretty but not a very bright girl. It’s almost ludicrous to think that vain, flighty thing was smart enough to plan a murder.”

  “You must have had an accomplice,” Greg said to her. “How did you get back to where you parked your own car?”

  Mrs. Tanaka shook her head. “You underestimate me, Mr. Stevens. I’m in pretty good shape. Although my bruises made it more difficult, I simply jogged a short ways to where I could catch a cab back to where I left my car. Which, by the way, was nowhere near the gymnasium but in another part of Balboa Park.”

  It was becoming clear it was a standoff—three of us but only one of her. The gun tipped the scales in her favor. She could have easily nailed all three of us with three quick blasts before any of us reached her. The men were in wheelchairs and I was slow on my feet. We stood before her like ducks in a carnival shooting gallery just waiting to be picked off so she could claim a prize. We had to stall and hope Martinez was on his way and hadn’t just made Kevin a tic on his calendar for follow-up tomorrow.

  “I don’t get it,” I said, spreading my hands out in front of me. “How did someone like you get hold of cyanide, anyway? It’s not like it’s on sale at Target, two for five dollars.” I used the same sarcastic line Steele had used on me and hoped it didn’t cause her to start shooting. What I hoped it would do was appeal to her obvious need to be in control and smarter than everyone else. Kevin stared at me with wide eyes, sure I’d signed his death warrant. What I could have told him and didn’t was that his death was a sure thing if we didn’t do something drastic.

  When I saw a smirk cross June Tanaka’s face, I knew I’d bought us some time—probably not much but some. “It’s amazing what you have laying around the house after years and years,” she said to me, “even cyanide. My late husband was a jeweler. He utilized it quite often in his work. Of course, now jewelers don’t, but years ago they did quite often. Some even died from exposure to it in the workplace.” She winked at me. I noticed she wasn’t gripping the gun as tightly now that she was in a chatty and bragging mood. I hoped Greg noticed that too.

  “Your husband,” I said, continuing with the topic. “Did he die of cyanide exposure?”

  She gave a shrug. “It happens, even to those who are careful.”

  At that point my cell phone rang.

  “What’s that?” Mrs. Tanaka asked.

  “It’s my cell phone,” I told her. “It’s in my pocket.”

  “Let it ring,” she told me.

  “People will be expecting us,” Greg told her, picking up on my stall tactics. “They’re probably wondering where we are.”

  “Let them wonder,” she said.

  “If I don’t answer,” I said, “they will know something’s wrong. I always answer my phone. ”

  “They’ll find out soon enough on the evening news.” Again she graced us with a small smile. My blood stopped flowing, and I felt my head would explode from the backup.

  She waved the gun at me. “You—you’re coming with me.”

  I pointed a finger at myself. “Me? You’re taking me hostage?”

  “More for insurance.”

  Greg edged forward a little. “Please, Mrs. Tanaka, take me instead.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Stevens, but from my experience wheelchairs aren’t convenient for getaways.” She looked at me. “Dump that phone and come over here, and don’t try anything or I’ll shoot your husband dead in front of your eyes.”

  Slowly I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dropped it to the wood floor. It landed with a clunk. Then, with a quick glance at Greg, I started walking slowly toward June Tanaka. To get to her I had to pass Kevin, who was positioned closest to her. I approached Mrs. Tanaka like a woman heading for the electric chair, walking that long last mile instead of a few yards. Kevin stared at me, frightened, tight jawed, and wild eyed. I begged him with my eyes not to do anything stupid. I even shook my head the teeniest, tiniest bit trying to get my point across. Whatever went down, him playing hero right now might only make it worse.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t get the memo.

  Like Mrs. Tanaka said, wheelchairs aren’t convenient for getaways. While they could be fast on the hardwood floor of a gymnasium or on smooth pavement, they took time to gain momentum, especially if the person in it doesn’t have full use of his hands. Using his wrists and forearms, Kevin rolled his chair at Mrs. Tanaka as hard as he could. What he did have in his favor was the element of surprise. With her focus on me and Greg and on getting out of the place with me as insurance, she’d almost forgotten about Kevin or had dismissed him as not being a threat.

  Just before I passed him, Kevin bumped me out of the way and headed for June Tanaka, plowing into her like she was an opponent on the rugby court. She didn’t go down completely but was knocked off-balance as he clipped her legs with his chair. As he passed her, Kevin wrapped his powerful arms around her torso and hung on, trying to wrestle her to the ground. She was right. She was in good shape and stronger than she looked. Her right hand, the one with the gun, wiggled free and gestured wildly in the struggle, looking to take aim at something.

  “Get the gun, Odelia,” shouted Greg.

  Even before the words were out of my husband’s mouth, I lunged after the tangle of metal and flesh that was Kevin and Mrs. Tanaka. Kicking one of her legs from under her, I gave Kevin the leverage he needed to drop the woman onto the floor. I threw myself on top of her, trying to pin her, and grabbed at her gun hand.

  Under me June Tanaka was a madwoman possessed by the devil, writhing, kicking, and screaming with unexpected strength. The whole place was alive with screams and shouts—loud enough, I hoped, to bring help. Kevin and Greg surrounded us, trying to help. Mrs. Tanaka got off a powerful and lucky jab with a sharp knee that landed in my soft middle, causing me to double up. She wiggled away from me and kicked again, this time with a foot, knocking the wind out of me. I rolled off her, gasping for air. Then her foot came down in my face, but instead of hitting me square in the middle, it glanced off the side of my nose and left cheek, scraping the skin and making me scream in pain. She aimed the gun at me, but before she could pull the trigger, Greg launched himself at her from his wheelchair, pulling her down to the floor again. They rolled around until he was on top of her, using his powerful upper body strength to subdue her. She screeched and flailed. Kevin was rolling his chair into the melee, trying to use the wheels to strike her, but with little success.

  I struggled to get to my feet or at least to my knees to help. Blood was gushing from my nose. I swiped at it with the back of one hand and gathered myself for the next attack. I
looked in time to see Greg make a grab for the gun still clutched in Mrs. Tanaka’s hand as if welded there permanently. And that’s when I heard the shots. There were two of them.

  Everything went silent, like in a slow-motion movie sequence. One of the shots had gone wild and hit the flat screen TV on the wall, shattering it. The other had hit flesh. I watched in horror as my darling husband—my life—grabbed his chest and fell off of the madwoman.

  A scream rose in my throat like burning bile—a single word scorching its way upward like a firestorm, expelled in horror and disbelief. “Greg!”

  Twenty-eight

  Today is Wednesday—the day of the joint funeral for Rocky and Miranda Henderson, but I didn’t go. Instead I was at Hoag Hospital studying the newborns on the other side of the nursery window. In the front was Bubba, a lovely baby boy, rosy and pink, weighing in at seven pounds and some change. His official name was Parker Thornton McHugh—a big moniker for a kid to live up to. The original Parker Thornton was Jolene’s grandfather, a judge from Minnesota who’d passed away two years earlier.

  The circle of life, hakuna matata, and all that crap.

  “Cute kid,” said a familiar voice behind me.

  I turned to see Steele standing about two feet away. He was dressed in one of his expensive suits, not the sweats I’d last seen him wearing. His face was still faintly discolored but almost back to normal. He was walking straight but not yet working out in the gym or running. He was back to work, although I wasn’t. From the kindness in his eyes, I could tell he didn’t mind. My own face was taking its turn at imitating a gargoyle. Scraped and bruised from Mrs. Tanaka’s kick, it was tender, but the nose wasn’t broken. It was the second time in a year that I’d taken a bad blow to the face, and my sturdy short nose had held strong again.

  I turned back to look at the babies. “Are you and Michelle going to have one of these one day?”

  “Who knows?” he answered with a shrug. “Do you think the world is ready for another Mike Steele?”

  I chuckled softly. “Sure, as long as the little guy comes with a warning label on his backside.”

  Steele put a hand gently on my shoulder. “The police want to ask you more questions, Grey. You up to it?”

  “Yeah, why not.” I’d already been questioned for three days straight by the San Diego police, the Huntington Beach police, and deputies from the Los Angeles location that serviced Altadena.

  “You look about to drop,” Steele noted. “I can tell them you’ll do it later, after you’ve rested.”

  I shrugged. “Now, later—makes no difference. I can’t sleep anyway.”

  In a rare show of affection, Steele drew me into him and held me tight. He smelled good, like fine soap and good wool. “Let’s go upstairs. That’s where they’re waiting.”

  When Steele and I entered the waiting room, Dev was there with Detective Martinez. They both got up and approached me. “I know you’ve been through the mill, Ms. Grey,” Martinez said to me.

  “Mrs. Stevens,” I corrected him, staring him in the eye. “My name is Mrs. Gregory Stevens.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Stevens.” He paused. “I’d like to go over just a few more things regarding the case.”

  “Can you give me a few minutes first?” I asked him.

  He looked at his watch, obviously in a rush to be done with me, but said, “Sure. I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”

  “Come on, Bill,” said Dev. “Let me buy you a cup of lousy hospital coffee.” Without waiting for an answer, Dev steered the detective toward the elevator.

  When Dev glanced back at me, I gave him a small smile of thanks, then moved forward, heading down the hall to a hospital room I’d come to know as home. Steele came with me, keeping his hand on the small of my back for support.

  When I entered the room, Renee Stevens looked up. In her hand was a plastic cup with a straw. She held it out to me, her eyes red and drooping. “Would you like to do this, dear?” Like me, she’d had almost no sleep since Sunday. Greg’s father was in a corner, asleep in a stiff chair. The poor guy was going to have a backache when he awoke.

  I nodded and took the cup, positioning the straw close to Greg’s mouth so he could take a drink. He shook his head. “I have two good hands, sweetheart. I can hold it myself.” His voice was weak but even. He looked from me to his mother. “You two need to stop treating me like I’m an invalid. The doctor told you I’m going to be okay.”

  Yes, Greg would be okay in time. The bullet had hit him on the right side of his chest, nicking a lung and causing it to collapse, but the bullet did no other major damage, and they were able to retrieve it during surgery. A miracle, especially when you consider how close Greg had been to the gun when it went off.

  After I’d screamed, I’d fallen on him, trying to staunch the bleeding with my hands. His blood, as precious to me as my own—no, more precious to me than my own—was coming out of him at an alarming rate.

  “Hang on, honey,” I had told him, tears streaming down my battered face. “Hang on.”

  “I’m okay,” he wheezed. “Really.” He winced with pain and went pale.

  “No,” I screamed. “No, you will not leave me! I forbid it!”

  “Everyone leaves—don’t you know that, you silly woman?”

  I looked up. The comment had come from June Tanaka. She had gotten to her feet and trained the gun back on Kevin, lest he try something again.

  Without thinking, I lunged at her, gun or no gun. I didn’t care about my safety. I didn’t care about anything but the good man on the floor with a bullet in his chest. I had to get him help but couldn’t as long as Mrs. Tanaka was in control. I aimed for her legs, hoping to topple her again. She jumped back, laughing, and aimed the gun directly at my head.

  “No!” Kevin yelled. He surged forward, trying to ram her again. The movement made her take her eyes off of me for an instant. It was all I needed. She couldn’t cover both of us in movement. I tackled her to the ground. The gun went off, the bullet hitting the wall well above Kevin’s head, then fell from her hand. I climbed on top of her. Grabbing her hair, I slammed her head into the wood floor over and over.

  Someone pulled me off of her. I was breathing hard and half crazed. Then I remembered Greg. Shaking off the hands that held me, I crawled over to him and cradled his head in my arms. He opened his eyes, looked into mine, and whispered, “You look like hell, sweetheart.”

  “Wait till you see the other guy,” I whispered back before dissolving into a hot mess.

  The hands that had dragged me off of June Tanaka belonged to Dev Frye. He’d been called by Martinez, who was worried Greg and I would get into trouble hanging around Kevin’s place. He’d given the address to Dev, who was a lot closer, so he could check it out and make sure we behaved. Had we minded our own business, Kevin Spelling would most certainly be as dead as Ann. She’d been found in the Tanaka residence with a bullet in her brain.

  June Tanaka is sitting in jail with multiple charges of murder and attempted murder hanging over her head. I’m not sure what will happen to her. Steele and Seth both think she’ll be incarcerated somewhere for the criminally insane. Kevin, heartbroken and devastated by the loss of Ann, quit the Lunatics for the season. He visited Greg yesterday and told us he had decided to sell his townhouse and move to Arizona or Texas, both places where there were active quad rugby teams.

  A noise from the corner alerted us that Greg’s dad was awake. “Odelia,” Ron said, clearing his throat. “You’re back. Did you see your friend’s baby?”

  I nodded but didn’t take my eyes off of Greg. “I sure did. He’s beautiful.”

  Steele gestured to the Stevenses. “Come on, folks. Let me take you to lunch. There are some lovely places nearby.”

  Renee looked at us, then smiled at Steele. “I think that would be a lovely idea, Mike. Thank you.” She turned to me. “Would you like us to bring you back something, dear?”

  “Sure,” I said, still not looking at them. “Steele
knows what I like.”

  “A burger for me, please,” joked Greg. “Extra cheese and onions.”

  Ron Stevens patted his son’s shoulder with affection before they left. “Soon enough, son. Don’t rush it.”

  “Where’s Grace?” Greg asked.

  “She and Clark are at our house, getting some rest and taking care of the animals. They’ll be back later. Seth and Zee are having us all over for dinner tonight.”

  “After that,” Greg said, “I want you to go home and get some rest yourself. That’s an order.”

  “We’ll see.” I left the bed and walked over to the bank of flowers lining the counter that ran against the wall. “These are new,” I said, fingering the petals of a beautiful lily arrangement.

  “Those came while you were out,” he said. “And don’t change the subject.”

  I opened the card. It said simply: Get well soon! Love, S & W.

  I knew it wasn’t from Smith & Wesson. “It’s from Sybil and Willie,” I told Greg.

  A nurse walked in while I was admiring the arrangement. In her hands was another large vase of flowers. “Room for one more?” she asked cheerfully. As I turned sharply, she shut the door behind her.

  “Elaine?” I asked with shock.

  The arrangement moved to the side to reveal the face of Elaine Powers. “Bet you didn’t know I was the Florence Nightingale type, did you?”

  Greg tried to sit up. “Elaine Powers?” he asked, just as surprised as I was.

  She put the flowers down on a small table and went to Greg. “Don’t trouble yourself, sport. I just wanted to meet you and see how you were doing for myself. But you’ll have to excuse me if I say hello and scoot. I noticed Detective Frye hovering nearby. Not to mention Mike Steele, who can identify me.”

  I stepped forward. “Did Carlos and his mother get to their destination?”

  “They sure did. They are now snug as two bugs in the bosom of their family.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You didn’t mention them, did you?”

  I crossed my heart. “Not a peep. We found a way around it.”