She lifted out a medium-sized, silver gun with an inlaid grip. It was a beautiful gun, although Jenny had some trouble putting those two words together. She’d always hated guns, but she knew that stemmed from fear. Her experience at the gun shop had eased some of that trepidation.
“May I?” Jenny held out her hand, and Carol set the weapon in it. “Is it loaded?”
“No. I didn’t keep the guns for protection. Just for sentimentality. You’ll have to get ammunition.”
That was a kicker. Jenny had no clue how or where to buy bullets. She certainly couldn’t go back to Dave’s. When Steve had picked up her deposit and returned it to her, he’d made it clear that she was not to go back to the gun shop. And she didn’t even know whether she could buy ammunition without risking another background check.
“You can go to any big Wal-Mart,” Carol said as if she knew exactly what Jenny was thinking. “Just tell the clerk in sporting goods what kind of gun it is and he’ll give you the right bullets.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to tell me what this is.” Jenny hefted the weapon.
“It’s a Colt 45 Automatic.” Carol reached into the box and pulled out another gun. “And I have this little guy. He’s a Walther.”
Jenny eyed the small gun and wondered if it could come in handy sometime. “Could I borrow both?”
“Oh, my God.” Carol slumped against the desk. “You really are doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“Going after the drug dealers.”
Jenny started to protest, but Carol cut her off with a wave of her hand. “You could maybe fool someone else. But not me. Tell me I’m wrong. I’d love to be wrong.”
A host of possibilities swam through her mind as she struggled to hold Carol’s gaze. She could tell her friend the truth and swear her to secrecy. But if that didn’t work. If Carol told someone else... No. All Steve needed was one more infraction to have an excuse to cut her out of the picture.
“Please, Carol.” She touched her lightly on the arm. “Not another word. Not if our friendship means anything to you.”
Carol pulled back. “Don’t put me on the spot like that.”
“Don’t put me on the spot.”
Jenny could feel the tension in her friend as she struggled to come to some decision. God, she hated to do this. And she wouldn’t blame Carol one bit if she refused. But she needed that gun.
“Please.”
Carol didn’t respond, and Jenny felt her heart beat almost in perfect rhythm with the loud ticks from the antique clock on Carol’s desk. Then a loud chime broke the intense silence, startling them both out of the visual standoff. When the final gong marking the time eddied through the room, Carol handed Jenny the other gun. “Promise you aren’t going to do anything stupid or dangerous with this.”
“I promise.”
Later, in the privacy of her car, Jenny had to laugh at the brazenness of that promise. That was the worst lie she’d ever told her friend. What she had in mind was both stupid and dangerous.
~*~
The clerk at Wal-Mart didn’t even blink when Jenny asked for the ammunition, and the cashier rang it up along with the few groceries like it was nothing out of the ordinary. But she still didn’t feel comfortable until she got home and locked the guns in the security box she’d bought along with the ammunition. She stashed the box in her closet, putting it behind a stack of afghans her grandmother had knitted. She fingered the soft wool and had to laugh. What would Grandma think?
~*~
For two nights Jenny stayed home. She tried to tell herself she was doing it for the kids. And perhaps that was part of it. But she knew she was primarily driven by fear. The thought of confronting Chico made her legs weak, but she couldn’t put it off much longer.
After telling Alicia and Scott that she was going to take a shower, Jenny went to her room and locked the door. Then she pulled the box with the guns from the hiding place in the closet.
She set the box on her bed, unlocked it and took the weapons out. She set the smaller gun on the floral bedspread and tucked the Colt in the waistband of her pants; just like she’d seen cops do on TV. The hard press of the barrel against her back was uncomfortable, so she reached back to try to adjust it. The reach, the grasp, everything felt awkward. Hell, if I was ever going to use this, I’d shoot my ass off.
Then she remembered something the gun shop owner had said during her one and only lesson. “Most people buy a gun without fully realizing that if they have it, they’ll probably have to use it.”
Pulling the weapon free, Jenny ran her fingers along the smooth surface of the barrel. Could she? Would she?
Still holding the gun, she sat on the edge of her bed and let her mind play with a few scenarios. Someone breaks into the house. He’s going after the kids. A no brainer. I’d shoot him dead.
Okay, what about out there? Away from home and away from the kids? If someone threatened her, could she make that split second decision to take him out first? She truly hoped she never had to make that choice. But she also knew the real possibility of that happening. She wasn’t just playing around with some two-bit pusher. Chico had made that clear the night he ripped her off.
Wouldn’t do to let them think they’d scared her.
Jenny stood up and slid the gun back into the waistband of her jeans. This time she put it midway between her spine and her side. She put her jacket on, then practiced reaching for the gun a few times. She got a little quicker with each attempt. Turning into a regular little gunslinger now, aren’t you.
After putting the smaller gun back in the security box, Jenny returned the box to the top shelf of her closet. She piled the afghans back in their place, mentally apologizing to her grandmother. Then she turned to look at her reflection in the mirror above her dresser. Just do it, girl.
~*~
Tonight, Jenny found Chico and Leon at the Dairy Queen parking lot.
“Hey, look who’s back.” Chico leaned out the open window of his Kia and gave Jenny a smile that hung false on his smooth face. “Thought you wouldn’t come back.”
“Why’d you think that?”
The challenge dangled there for a moment while Leon glanced at Chico as if looking for direction on how to respond. The other man kept his gaze on Jenny.
Sweat beaded on her spine as she approached the window, but she fought to keep her expression neutral. She leaned one elbow on the side mirror, bending forward so Chico could get an ample view of the gap in her tank top. When she saw his eyes move downward, she slid her other hand under the flap of her jacket and pulled out the gun. Before he realized what she was doing, she had the barrel under his chin.
Jenny’s smile became real when she saw the glint of fear flash in Chico’s eyes. In her peripheral vision, she saw Leon lunge from his position at the rear of the car. “Do it and I’ll blow his fucking head off.”
The man froze.
“Good boy.” She kept her gaze on Chico. “Now here’s the deal. You give me the stuff I paid for last week, and I don’t pull this trigger.”
A sheen of sweat emerged on his face, but despite that obvious sign of fear, he stretched the silence until it almost screamed. Jenny fought to keep her hand and her eyes steady as she tried to formulate another threat to forestall the moment when she might have to consider pulling the trigger.
Then Chico called to Leon. “Do what she says.”
“We don’t bend to no she-rah.”
Leon’s defiant stance prompted another surge of panic. Jenny swallowed hard, willing him in her mind. Don’t pull the tough-guy routine now. Do what he says.
“I said give her the stuff.”
“And hand it to me real nice,” Jenny said, relief fueling her confidence. “Don’t want any accidents here.”
Leon took a step forward, holding a bag out to her. She took it with her free hand and slipped it into her jacket pocket. Then she pushed the gun harder into Chico’s chin. “And I got another tip for you. Don’t. You.
Ever. Fucking. Do. That. Again.”
After giving him a moment to absorb the threat, she stepped back and touched her forehead with the gun barrel as if saluting the men. “Nice doing business with you.”
Walking away, she heard Leon ask, “You want I should go after her. Get our goods back?”
“Leave it,” Chico said. “That took balls.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dark clouds rolled across the sky and Jenny hoped the rain would hold off until she made it to her mother’s house. Nothing was worse than a drenching on a cold November day.
When Mitchell had offered to stay until closing and encouraged her to leave, she’d thought about going home and making a pot of chili. That might improve things with Scott just a tad. But the many phone calls from her mother that she hadn’t returned in the past few weeks tore at her conscience. Her mother wasn’t a big proponent of emotional blackmail but wasn’t above using it when desperate. Her last message had reeked of desperation.
Pulling her car into the driveway that led to the sprawling ranch house of her childhood, Jenny stilled the engine and let a little bit of peace wash over her. After last night, she desperately needed peace.
This comfortable old house had always been her sanctuary from the horrors of the outside world. Of course, as a child, she’d never imagined horrors like she’d been experiencing in recent history. But the eight-year-old who had lost her first pet had no point of reference beyond the immediate pain. Neither had the twelve-year-old who had been betrayed by her best friend.
Home was where she had found comfort and support. And today, she wished for a little bit of that solace.
If her mother harbored any resentment because of Jenny’s neglect, it wasn’t apparent in the warm greeting. They went into the kitchen, and the older woman opened the freezer. She pulled out two Dove ice-cream bars. “I was just looking for a good excuse to indulge.”
“Mother. It’s practically freezing outside.”
“Then we’ll go in by the fire.”
Jenny shed her coat, draping it across the back of the wooden chair that matched the deep cherry-wood of the kitchen table. In an ordinary house, the table would be too big for a kitchen, but this was no ordinary house. It had started as a four-room bungalow almost fifty years ago and, as time and money permitted, Jenny’s father had added on. The kitchen and dining area pushed out on the west side of the house, with a bath and laundry room tacked on at the end. Three bedrooms and another bath had been added on the east, leaving the original structure to serve as one great living area, open and spacious.
Technically, the house wouldn’t win any awards for design, but Jenny had always suspected that design meant less to her mother than function and comfort.
Following Helen into the Great room, Jenny could smell the mellow aroma of mesquite burning. As promised, a fire danced in the stone fireplace.
She took the ice-cream from her mother, tore the wrapper off, and settled on the large brocade sofa that faced the fireplace. Helen sat on the end of the sofa, taking much more care in opening her ice-cream, then faced her daughter. “Have you made any plans for Thanksgiving?”
Jenny almost choked on a piece of the sweet chocolate coating. “Thanksgiving?”
“It’s less than two weeks away.”
“Oh, my God.” For a moment, Jenny was seized with an overwhelming sense of guilt that was replaced quickly with dread. Am I really expected to celebrate this holiday so soon after—
“I’m sure you probably just blanked it out,” Helen said, interrupting the thought as if she’d somehow anticipated it. She took a careful bite of ice-cream, then continued. “I desperately wanted to ignore every holiday that first year after your father died.
“Sometimes I still do.” She offered a smile that eased Jenny’s discomfort. “But I think Scott and Alicia would benefit from something close to normalcy.”
Normal? There could be nothing normal about Thanksgiving without Michael. Who would carve the turkey? Michael had taken great pride in assuming that traditional male—
“Though it might be better to do something different.” Again her mother’s voice intruded as if she was reading Jenny’s mind. “Totally break from tradition?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Maybe drive into downtown Dallas. Go to a restaurant.”
“Are you serious?” Jenny licked at the white stream of ice cream that was sliding down her hand.
“Yes. I think it would be perfect. No cooking. No cleanup. No—”
“Leftovers? That’s practically the best part of the dinner.”
“Then we’ll ask for a doggie bag.”
Jenny watched her mother maneuver her ice cream with much more decorum than she had displayed. No sticky mess down the side of her arm. How does she do that?
That’s when it hit her. Her mother handled everything in life with more decorum than Jenny could ever hope to have. Helen hadn’t blubbered and wailed when she buried her husband, or her grandson. She hadn’t alienated friends and family by being an absolute pain in the ass. And she hadn’t gone off to play cops and robbers. Or gotten a gun. Or—
Whoa, girl. You’re not your mother. And you don’t need to be beating yourself up again.
Taking a minute to settle her emotions, Jenny ate a couple of bites of ice-cream, then faced her mother. “You thinking just family, or your usual entourage?”
“Maybe it’s time someone else from church opens their home. I’ve done it for twenty-five years straight.”
Jenny gulped. Put like that it seemed like such a lengthy time. But where had the years gone? It didn’t seem that long ago that her mother had brought the first immigrant family to dinner on Thanksgiving. Those annual guests always ended up being people who didn’t know English; some of them from Central America and others from Third World countries. All of them without a clue to what the holiday commemorated. Somehow, despite the language and culture barriers, they’d managed to have great fun and cement relationships that were strong even today between her mother and some of the families.
The government could sure take a few hints from Helen Garrett when it comes to foreign policy and peace talks.
“You think we can get reservations this late in the game?” Jenny tossed her wooden stick into the fire, where it created a small eruption of embers.
“It’s not like everybody and their brother will eat out that day. I don’t think we have to worry.”
“Okay. You make arrangements. I’ll start working on the kids.”
Driving home later, Jenny wondered if changing the holiday plans would be as easy as it had sounded. Maybe she should have talked to the kids before agreeing to her mother’s idea. Scott would certainly have something to say about that one. But then he doesn’t really need an excuse, does he?
The harsh scrap of rubber across glass drew her attention, and she flicked the lever to turn off her windshield wipers. She hadn’t even noticed that the rain had quit. She also hadn’t noticed that daylight was quickly turning to dusk, the headlights of oncoming cars looming out of the grayish darkness like searchlights on wheels.
You better get a grip, girl, before you become a statistic.
~*~
“You did what?”
“What was I supposed to do? He ripped me off. He stalled me on the next step. I had to push a little.”
“I said ‘no guns.’ What part of that wasn’t clear?” Steve picked up a rock and threw it into a stand of brush about ten feet from where they sat. Jenny could hear it crackle as it broke through.
She figured the better part of discretion would be to keep her mouth shut until he wasn’t quite so angry. She watched the remnants of sun catchers tied to the limbs of a nearby tree dance in the cool afternoon breeze, and tried to convince herself she hadn’t done anything terribly wrong in ignoring the orders.
Of all the odd places they’d met. This was the weirdest. She’d never even heard of Connemara Conservancy, and she was surprised tha
t Steve had. It was a huge meadow that had been turned into a unique art park where exhibits became one with nature. He didn’t seem the type to appreciate art in any form in any place. But he’d assured her that he picked it for privacy. The drug czars might launder some of their profits through fine art, but connoisseurs they were not.
So here they sat in the middle of a stand of trees where the stained glass pieces decorated the limbs like Christmas ornaments. Steve had told her that the display had been exquisite in the spring when it had first been put up. The summer winds and autumn rains had not been kind to it.
ONE SMALL VICTORY Page 12