Cinco De Murder

by Rebecca Adler

  “That so?”

  I shrugged. “My uncle Eddie is on the town council.”

  Fillmore tightened his arm, and Lenny’s black eyes grew wide.

  Everything in my mind slowed. I could still remember when Lenny came to me—a young and scrappy version of the intelligent, supportive friend and cowriter, not to mention sidekick, he had become. All tiny legs, minuscule steps, and fast-beating tail. So anxious to thank me for adopting him from his previous owner—who’d married into a cat family with no desire for an immature, affectionate, and long-haired dog. So anxious he’d lick my hand for hours on end.

  “Hey, you don’t have to scare him to force me to leave. And if you don’t start the fireworks show, someone’s going to come over here and find out why.”

  “Answer the question, Josie. What are you doing in my van?”

  “Huh, what was that?” I asked, suddenly as deaf as my old Granny Callahan.

  He yanked Lenny close and whispered in his ear.

  My canine friend whined.

  “Whoa now. That. Is. Enough. I haven’t done anything to you or your cat.”

  With an odd smile, he kissed the top of Lenny’s head. “I don’t want to hurt him. In fact I’m very fond of animals.”

  I tried to laugh, but it came out like a whimper.

  “Oh, goodness. Don’t be scared.” He ran his right hand over Lenny’s head. “I won’t hurt you, but I have to make sure your owner didn’t steal anything from my van.” His gaze traveled briefly over the boxes and crates behind me. “What you see inside is all that I have to my name.”

  Suddenly his eyes widened and he checked his watch. “Showtime.” He move Lenny carefully from one arm to the other, untangling his leash from my Chi’s back legs. Then Fillmore lowered him to the ground and led him none too gently by his leash toward the fireworks launching platform. He was in the dark with my Chi for a heart-stopping minute until I witnessed the first flicker of flame, followed by a loud, high-pitched whistle. The fireworks show had finally begun.

  My hope sank. Soon the audience would all be looking up into the brilliant night sky ablaze with beautiful lights and explosive sounds, not down on the ground level where Lenny and I were in nasty trouble.

  Time to think logically and not like a dimwit blonde out of a horror movie.

  One. Frank could hurt me. Okay, that was nearly impossible. I had all the stun guns. In fact, as soon as he opened the freaking door, I was going to charge him and see how he liked being stunned up close and personal.

  Two. Before I hit Frank with a stun gun, I had to make sure Lenny was safe. It would be too easy for Frank to incapacitate or kidnap all six pounds of long-haired Chihuahua. I swallowed hard. That scenario was too awful to imagine. But my canine sidekick was tough. He’d chased down two crazy murderers. If anyone could escape or do damage to a grown, healthy psycho, it was Lenny.

  What I needed was leverage.

  “Meow.” The orange tabby, Tabitha, rubbed against my legs, finally marking me as part of her territory.

  Three. The cat. The fact that Frank was a cat owner definitely worked in my favor. I suspected that he was—as he claimed—honestly an animal lover as well. Otherwise, why not hurt Lenny from the get-go? As long as I had the cat, I could bargain for Lenny’s return. And once I had Lenny, we’d bust out of this van like the Incredible Hulk on steroids.

  Four. The phone. Without a battery, it was useless. No one would be able to track it or me. My only hope was that my aborted call to Emergency Services had connected before I hung up. Living in Broken Boot often felt like living on the moon. Cell service was sketchy outside of town, and in town too. If the winds were howling, or we had a dust storm, or the governor decided to play bingo on Monday night, our cell service would suffer. Still, I knew roughly where the pieces had gone. Now to find them, hopefully in one piece, and put the device back together again.

  Five. The tire iron. Every van had to have one along with a spare tire. I’d been itching to find his and bust out his precious van’s window with it since the moment he held Lenny’s tiny muzzle in his big brutal hand. I found it very suspicious that Frank hadn’t demanded that I pass a tire iron, the cat, and my phone through the window. Perhaps he’d remembered those stun guns after all. Or, and this rattled my nerves more than an angry rattler about to strike a hiker’s boot, he knew he had no tire iron inside the van to worry about.

  I tried the door again for good measure. It had no lock mechanism that I could reach with my fingers, and forget fingernails—I had none. Brilliant ribbons of light rippled through the sky until it was a dark umber, and still he lit fuse after fuse. Suddenly a rocket whirled and whizzed. Above me a shower of lights fell down around the van, pops and sizzles grazing the top.

  Maybe he’d left me in the van, knowing it would catch on fire.

  Yes, by now my subconscious had put it all together. He had to be crazy. Mr. Crazy had taken a stun gun out of this van and helped Lucky to a heart attack by blowing the circuit of his pacemaker. I sighed in frustration. No, Ellis had said it was a computer programming malfunction. My brain was working so hard, I expected smoke to come roaring out of my ears. Frank told me he programmed the fireworks display. He also said that he’d had a number of careers. What if he’d programmed the interruption to Lucky’s pacemaker? What if he’d used the stun gun to scare Lucky into a heart attack?

  A missile exploded directly above the van, and I hurled myself into the cargo area. If I hid behind his gear or, heaven help me, made it out the back of the van before he returned, he might hesitate before killing or hurting Lenny. I had stun guns at my beck and call. This joker had better watch his butt.

  I crawled into the back of the van with my flashlight, determined to find the phone and managed to wedge one of my legs between a large crate labeled EXPLOSIVES and my other fat thigh between the explosives crate and a roof-high stack of cases of a popular red soda. Too much soda. Maybe that was this guy’s problem. Too much food coloring? Too much caffeine? Fear was slowing me down. I shoved with all my might and gained nothing. There was silence.

  Was the show finished? Would he be back any minute? Did he have to stay with the show in case something went wrong? I prayed I was right.

  The back doors of the van creaked open. He reached up and unscrewed the cabin light, dashing my hopes of attracting someone’s attention. Who was I? A wimpy scary movie heroine? No.

  I froze, praying he wouldn’t see me where I crouched behind the cases of red soda, my head fully exposed.

  “I bet you’re wondering why I’m holding your dog in my arms like a watermelon I’m about to crush?”

  I refused to answer, hoping beyond hope that he was bluffing, that he hadn’t actually seen where I was in the van. I let my gaze roam the corners of the van that I could see. No phone. No tire iron. Not yet.

  He rubbed his hand over his face. “Most people, they never see it coming until it’s too late.” He waited. “My wife, Felicia. All sunny and bright eyed one day, and dead from cancer three months later.”

  “Oh, Frank. I’m so sorry. Felicia is a beautiful name.”

  “I always thought so.”

  “How did she die so suddenly?”

  He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “She’d lost a lot of weight. Had no appetite. I tried to get her to see a doctor, but she refused. Blamed her stomach discomfort on food allergies and indigestion.”

  “Was it pancreatic cancer?”

  He ignored me. “We didn’t have any money to speak of, what with my layoff and all.”

  “Surely the county hospital would have taken her.”

  “And I was never home—always traveling across the state with my fireworks, trying to make ends meet.” He stroked Lenny’s head. “I’d come home and ask her how she was feeling, but she always said she was fine. Or that the new medicine the doctor gave her was making her sick to her stom
ach.”

  “Did she ever see a doctor?” Poor woman. What a painful way to die.

  “She lied to save my pride!” His eyes became those of a madman. “She didn’t want me to feel bad or blame myself. Stupid woman wouldn’t go to the doctor if it meant I’d have to do without.”

  Puzzle pieces began to fall into place. “Were you laid off from Texas Power?”

  His fevered gaze turned toward me. “Lucky Straw never cared for anyone but himself. Didn’t matter that I’d given my life to the power company. Didn’t matter that I’d worked long hours and never saw my wife. Heck fire, it didn’t matter that I was too old to be offered another job in my line of work. All that mattered to that SOB was that his budget sheets looked good when he presented them to the board. His bonus was the only thing he cared about in his entire life.” A slow grin spread across his face. “That and making Lucky’s Naked Chili.”

  Should I prod him to confess outright? Or will I drive him away?

  His manner changed abruptly. “If you’re not going to tell me the real reason you’re snooping around my personal belongings, I’ll go back and check on my fireworks. The show’s a real humdinger.” And then he laughed as if all his screws had not only come loose, but had fallen to the floor and been kicked under the sofa. “Not to mention, I’m getting hungry.”

  I debated turning on my flashlight to draw attention to our plight, but I didn’t want to lose a possible weapon. At that hopeful thought, a shower of sparkling fireworks showered down nearly on top of us. Frank wasn’t fazed. Lenny tried to wriggle free. And I prayed the lights had illuminated Creepo for a second or two.

  I gathered my thoughts and slowed my breathing. Enough was enough. I gripped my flashlight and tensed my muscles to run. If I could distract his captor, Lenny could either scratch or bite him, or escape the way that Toto escaped from the Wicked Witch of the West.

  Then he closed the rear door and locked it.

  And I lost it! I began to bang the side of the van with my fist, metal or no metal. Fireworks made no difference. I banged and screamed. Tired and spent, realizing that no one was going to hear me until the fireworks show ended, I collapsed and felt a tear try to wriggle its way down my face. Stupid tears. Not going to happen because everyone knows tears get you nowhere.

  Suddenly the driver’s door opened.

  Chapter 19

  Josie to the Rescue

  “Cut it out!” His voice was still low, but heavy with fury.

  I cowered from his rage.

  “Comfort this flea-bitten mutt until I get back. One more sound and it’ll be your last.”

  As a journalist, I couldn’t help but notice he was speaking in clichés. Were all bad guys idiots or did they mimic other villains in movies and television shows—heck, even Saturday morning cartoons—and then come back ready to try them out on their own victims?

  When I wrote about this event, and by God I was going to . . . Forget feeling afraid. Forget allowing this estúpido gringo, as Senora Mari would say on a very bad day when the butcher from Alpine tried to deliver bad fish, to control my life and stink it up and make me and my family sick with grief and suffering.

  I gave myself a mental slap. Now who was being melodramatic?

  Frank dangled Lenny inside the door and my heart leapt. I pushed and shoved the boxes away, reaching for him. He needed me, to feel my arms around his quaking body.

  “Psych.” He chuckled low and smarmy. “You ain’t getting him back until I’m good and ready.” Quietly he closed the door and locked it.

  “Yip, yip, yip,” Lenny complained from the other side of the door.

  I counted to thirty and then tried the driver’s door. Nothing. What had he done to make it impossible to get out? Could you install a child safety lock on the driver’s door? Doubtful. If he could set up a fireworks display and figure out how to kill someone with a stun gun and an extension cord, then this jackalope could keep the door from opening on the inside.

  I banged my head on the driver’s headrest. When would he monologue? Weren’t villains supposed to start monologuing? Giving the good guys a chance to get away or talk them out of it? Or something?

  My vision narrowed to hyper focus. I turned on the flashlight, praying someone would see it, but it glowed only dimly. The front of the van was parked away from the crowd. No way would they be able to see the light inside even if the full cabin lights were on.

  Why? Why had Frank Fillmore, Aunt Linda’s prom date, killed Lucky Straw? I couldn’t imagine the frustration and despair he must have felt to watch his wife die without the proper care. But why would you do something criminal if you had proof that you would be caught, tried, and relocated to death row?

  My arms and legs, even my lungs, were heavy from the long ordeal. My heart was slowing. Adrenaline was wearing off. Not good. Not going to help my flight instinct.

  “Ugh.” I slapped both hands to my forehead, and I did it another eight times for good measure. I had a cell phone somewhere in the back of this van. With the help of the dying flashlight, I found the battery and finally the rest of it. The battery slipped into place. Hallelujah!

  I crawled through the cargo, fireworks explosives, and crates full of sparklers, watching my screen for any change in service. I stood, neck and shoulders bent, moving the phone like a divining rod. If there was service in one micro inch of this van, I was going to find it.

  Did I mention I prayed? I do that. And not just when I’m in trouble. Though to be honest, more fervently when I’m in trouble.

  After minutes that felt like hours, I slumped back into the driver’s seat. I was going to have to go for it. This loser was going to kill Lenny if I didn’t get out of there. Heck, if I didn’t get out of there, he was going to hurt us both. My heart dropped to my socks. If I escaped he might not just hurt my friend. He might do much more.

  The screen on my phone flickered to life. I had one bar. I sat up straight and unlocked the screen. The bar disappeared. I held my breath. I slumped back into the seat, and sure enough, the bar came back. I dialed 911.

  “Nine-one-one Emergency Services Big Bend County. What’s your emergency?”

  “I’m being held against my will in a white fireworks van at the county fairgrounds near the fireworks platform.” I took a breath and realized that my voice sounded thin and reedy. The bar had disappeared. NO SERVICE displayed quietly on my screen.

  I exploded into action, hitting the driver’s side window with full force. I screamed like a banshee. I threw my weight into it. My shoulder ached and lactic acid began building in my underused biceps muscle and still I slammed the light into the window.

  I stopped and inspected my flashlight. The lamp cover was dented in several places, but the lamp itself was intact. I was going to get out of this piece of junk. Now.

  I turned the flashlight off and found a crate I could haul into the front seat. Ridiculous. I couldn’t hit the window with a crate full of fuses. I reached for the stun gun. Gone. No wonder I could sit and maneuver without feeling the ripping and pinching of the stun gun in my front pocket.

  I went back into the cargo bay with my wounded flashlight until I located a gorgeous tire iron, the old kind actually fashioned out of iron. I grabbed the remaining two stun guns and turned one on. Nothing. No charge. I flew back into the front seat and began hacking at the window with the tire iron. I swung and swung until with a pop the window cracked.

  Success. I changed hands to give my right arm a rest. I swung at the window like I was at the State Fair of Texas and was on my way to winning a giant stuffed unicorn, complete with blue eyes and a pink tail. The crack grew. Outside the fireworks had slowed even more. There was a noticeable gap between the rockets that was longer than before. I raised my boots to the window and kicked with both feet.

  Nothing.

  This is what came from not working out. This was what came from missing
your walk for thirty more minutes of sleeping. I kicked with both feet a few more times, my long-lost adrenaline surging back to the fore. Suddenly, my right boot heel went all the way through the upper right-hand side of the cracked pane of splintered glass.

  I nearly screamed with relief until I suddenly remembered Frank.

  I moved my boots to the left side of the window and kicked like a mule on speed. The window released from its moorings and fell out onto the grassy scrub beyond. Quickly I reached out of the hole where a window had once been and tried the handle. It was locked. Small shards of glass littered the window seal, but my gut told me I had seconds to spare. My gaze landed on the floorboard and I knew I hadn’t misjudged the opportunity. I grabbed the floor mat and stuck it through the opening.

  I had my legs through the window opening when it dawned on me my curves might get stuck. Had dancing made me flexible enough? Too late to find out.

  I grabbed onto the upper window seal, too late feeling a sting in my palm. I hefted myself up, threw my head back, and slid into the opening. Now my feet dangled out the window, my, uh, curves sliding slowly, ever so slowly, downward toward the ground. The floor mat was moving with me until I felt it fall out the window below me.

  My breath squashed out of my lungs and for a few scary moments I just knew I would hang there by my, uh, bra for eternity. My head thrown back. My legs dangling above the ground. Bent backwards like a wilted prawn.

  Desperate to not be caught by the nutjob while I was hanging out the van window, I changed the position of my hands and surged through. I hit my back on the door handle on the way down. I fell to the ground in a puddle of relief. Despite my own heavy breathing, I heard footsteps in the scrub somewhere to my right. I slithered to the ground and rolled underneath the van. My back throbbed where I’d hit it and my palms smarted. The Maglite was still in the van. My only weapon. The stun gun too.

  I inched away, slowly. The steps grew closer and came to a halt inches from my nose. I lifted my hand and felt for my phone in my back pocket. It was still there. Yes! Thank you, God!