by Mallory Kane
Maynard had decided to go on the offensive. He’d picked up a piece of plastic from the front of a slot machine and was using it as a shield as he walked toward Dawson. He fired again. Twelve. Did he have three more bullets or thirteen?
Dawson hit the floor and rolled under one of the game tables. He tipped it over. Maynard put three bullets into the tabletop.
“Enough of this,” Dawson muttered. He didn’t care if Maynard had ten bullets left. Rising from behind the table, Dawson took aim and shot Maynard, right through the plastic shield. He hit him in the gut, just like he’d promised.
Maynard screamed.
Dawson quickly went over and grabbed Maynard’s gun. “You pitiful idiot,” he said. “Your damn shield was plastic, you imbecile.”
Maynard was sobbing and moaning. “D-deal—” he gasped.
“Not now.” Dawson turned his back on Maynard and maneuvered between tables until he was less than six feet away from the ladder. He shone his flashlight up and found them.
The goon had his forearm around her neck. It looked like her feet were barely touching the ground. Whenever he wanted to, Baldy could let go and with no more than a nudge, could send Jules crashing to the casino floor. And there was nothing Dawson could do. The most he could hope for would be to put himself under her, hoping to break her fall. But from fifty feet, he doubted either one of them would survive.
He racked his brain but couldn’t think of a way to save her. He’d promised to protect her. He could hear her now.
I can take care of myself. His mouth turned up in a smile, then it hit him.
She could save herself. She might end up falling anyway, or Baldy could toss her over. But it was her only chance to live.
“Jules, listen to me,” he shouted. “Grab hold of him. His arm, his neck, his belt. Anything you can grab. You’ve got only one chance, so make it good. Hold on and don’t let go. No matter what! Then kick him, bite him. But don’t let go. If you do, you’ll fall. I’m coming up.” He headed for the metal ladder. He had to hand it to Baldy. He’d climbed up here one-handed, carrying Jules. While she was slender, she was tall and shapely—certainly not tiny. The man must be strong.
“Maynard! You stupid—” Baldy broke off and growled.
Dawson could barely see the two of them, but he could hear Jules grunting and Baldy growling and cursing. He almost lost his grip—his hands were trembling so. Don’t fall, Jules. I can’t lose you.
“Maynard, shoot him!”
Dawson laughed out loud. “Maynard can’t shoot, Baldy. Why don’t you do your own dirty work?” The thought had barely popped into his head before he’d said it. He was sure Baldy had a gun. Maybe he’d pull it and try to shoot Dawson. If Dawson could make him do that, it would make it even harder for him to hold on to Jules.
“Ah!” Jules shrieked.
Dawson’s heart nearly exploded with panic. He was almost at the top of the stairs, but he’d had to use both hands to climb. He paused to pull his gun out of his waistband.
Baldy was turning in place, trying to maintain his balance while kicking and swinging at Jules. Somehow she’d managed to grab on to the back of his belt. Her legs were wrapped around his knees. She was desperately holding on as Baldy whirled and grabbed at her clothes, her hair, anything he could reach.
He snagged her hair and pulled. Jules shrieked and almost lost her grip.
“Freeze, Baldy,” Dawson shouted as he stepped onto the two-foot-wide beam from the ladder. It was amazing that the man could stay on these beams, as big as he was.
The bald goon cursed and spat, then he let go of Jules’s hair and reached inside his coat.
“Don’t do it!” Dawson warned.
Baldy ignored him. His hand came out holding his weapon, a big 9 mm. But instead of aiming it at Dawson, he put the barrel of the gun against Jules’s thigh.
Dawson’s pulse burned through his veins like jet fuel. Had he blown Jules’s only chance? “Wait!” he yelled. “What do you want?”
Baldy smiled. “You are smarter than I thought. That’s good. I want out of here, free and clear, of course.”
“Can’t do that,” Dawson said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. “But I can let you out alive. If you shoot her, I swear I’ll make you a quadriplegic.”
Baldy shook his head. “You’re not going to risk shooting me. If I go down, so does your girlfriend.”
“I can get you a deal. I’ve got influence,” Dawson pressed.
“Not good enough.” Baldy had the barrel of the gun pressed against the top of Jules’s right thigh, which was wrapped around his knees. His elbow was bent and he held the barrel straight, to keep from accidentally hitting himself with the bullet. “Try again.”
Dawson saw Jules bow her head. Was she losing her grip on Baldy? Were her arms and legs getting tired? Don’t give up.
“Come on, man. Vega would give you up in a heartbeat. Give me Vega and I’m betting you could skate by with five years, no more.”
“I can’t be in prison,” Baldy protested. “I might as well die right here.” He looked down at his gun, as if contemplating taking his life.
At that instant, Jules leaned farther over, let go of Baldy’s belt with her right hand. In one fluid motion she grabbed his shirt sleeve, opened her mouth and bit down on the skin of his elbow with all her might.
Baldy bellowed, jerked sharply and nearly dropped his gun. He teetered for a second or two, and nearly fell when Jules let go of his belt and scrambled away. But he finally managed to grab hold of a strut.
“Careful, Jules!” Dawson shouted as he dived toward her across the metal latticework.
Baldy touched his elbow. His hand came away covered in blood. He roared in rage. “You—” he growled at Jules. He lifted his arm and aimed at her.
“Jules!” Dawson yelled. He threw himself in front of her, grabbing a wire to steady himself and, in the same motion, he raised his gun to shoot.
Something struck him right below his ribs. The impact knocked him backward. The wire cut into his hand. He fired at Baldy one-handed, too off-balance to aim.
He heard the man grunt, heard his leather-soled shoes slipping on the metal.
Don’t fall, man! Don’t die. They needed his testimony.
“Police,” a commanding voice rang out from below them. “You up there, drop the gun.”
Dawson was shocked. He hadn’t heard sirens. He’d decided the 9-1-1 operator had written him off as a crank call, and he hadn’t had a chance to call back. He blew out a breath of relief, which hurt—a lot.
He touched the place where it hurt and his hand came away all bloody. Had he been shot? It didn’t matter. Everything was okay now. The cavalry had arrived. He kept Baldy in his sights, just to be sure he obeyed the officer.
“I said drop it,” the officer yelled. “I will shoot you.” Dawson had no doubt he would. His determination resounded in his voice.
Baldy looked at the gun and Dawson’s heart rate tripled. His mouth had lost its perpetual sneer. He looked like—like he was considering suicide. Dawson took a breath to try to reason with him.
Then Baldy met his gaze. “Deal?” he said.
Dawson nodded. “Deal.”
“This is your last warning, mister,” the officer shouted.
“Don’t shoot. I’m dropping the gun,” Baldy yelled. “Here it comes.” He let go of the weapon. It hit the marble floor with a sharp clatter.
Then two officers were scrambling up the metal ladder and heading straight for Baldy. They warned him to stand still while they patted him down and cautioned him to walk carefully on the beams and not make any sudden moves.
“You go down the ladder first,” one officer told him. “Sergeant Flynn has you covered. Flynn, coming down,” he shouted.
As Baldy climbed down, Dawson could hear Flynn reciting his Miranda rights.
The officer turned toward him. “You all right? Any injuries?”
Dawson shifted and grimaced. “I’ve got a flesh w
ound, but—”
“Ma’am, are you okay?” the officer called to Jules.
She didn’t answer.
“Jules?” Dawson whirled in place. She was lying still—too still. Her eyes were closed.
“Jules, answer me!” He touched her shoulder but she didn’t move. He reached out to push a strand of hair away from her face and his fingers came away wet. He stared at them, uncomprehendingly at first. Then he knew.
It was blood—her blood.
* * *
JULIANA WOKE UP but she wished she hadn’t. The lights were too bright and something was buzzing around her head. She lay there without moving, hoping she could go back to sleep. And maybe she could, if her head weren’t hurting so badly.
The buzzing wasn’t helping, either. She tried to block it out, but it just got louder and more annoying.
…still not talking…
…if he’ll give up Vega or not…
Those were words, mixed in with the buzzing. Giving up on the possibility of any more sleep, Juliana lay there listening. She’d recognized some of the words, so maybe if she lay very still, she’d be able to make sense of all of them.
…when she wakes up enough to…
That was Dawson. “Daw—” She opened her eyes, blinked and looked around. Moving her eyes made her head hurt, so she closed them again.
“She’s awake.”
“Ms. Caprese, I just need to—”
“Hey, Brian!” Dawson’s voice again, sharp and commanding. “Get out. I promise you’ll get to talk to her, but not now. Go put the screws to your Mr. Schumer again.”
Juliana left her eyes closed. She listened to the people leaving. After the footsteps faded, she heard a door close, then Dawson took her hand in his.
She squinted at him.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked.
She narrowed her gaze. Why was he being so nice? A knife blade of fear tore through her and she gasped.
“What is it?” he asked, squeezing her hand more tightly. “Are you hurting?”
“What happened?” she asked. “I can’t remember—”
“You were at the Golden Galaxy and two men grabbed you. One was—”
Juliana didn’t hear anything else Dawson said. Memories pelted her like machine gun fire, rat-tat-tatting too fast to process. All she could do was let them blast the inside of her eyelids.
The dark casino. The slot machines. The eerie sounds. Flashlight beam. Whisperings. Bald man. Syringe. Dizziness. Gunshots. Grasping. Holding on. Blood. Pain. Silence.
She pressed her palms against the side of her head. Her fingers touched a bandage. She explored it gingerly as she waited for her head to stop spinning.
“What’s wrong, Jules? Is it your head? Should I call a nurse?” He reached for the call button. “Yeah, let me get a nurse.”
“No!” she snapped. “Stop. Nobody else.” She cautiously lowered her hands, testing to see if the machine gun fire had stopped. It had—at least for the moment.
“Tell me what happened,” she ordered him.
He gave her a hard glance, then stood.
She gasped. Under the blue scrub shirt he had on, she saw the bulge of a bandage. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing. “You’re hurt.”
He looked down and gingerly touched the bandage. “This, nothing. It’s nothing.”
She frowned at him. “Dawson—”
“Okay, I’ll give you the abridged version for now. You apparently went to the casino to find the ring you’d dropped when the beam fell.”
“How—”
He held up a hand. “Let me finish, then you can ask questions. Somehow, Maynard and Schumer cornered you and knocked you out with something—we found the syringe and it’s being analyzed. Schumer carried—”
“Wait,” she said, holding up a hand. “Schumer?”
“The bald goon. He carried you up to the ceiling framework. We think he was planning to push you, making it look like you’d climbed up there and lost your balance. It would have been a tragic accident and your suspicions and your proof would die with you.”
“But you followed me.”
Dawson shook his head. “No. You didn’t wait for me, so I had to try and guess where you’d gone. If I’d been a few seconds later, you’d be dead.”
Did she imagine it or did Dawson’s voice break? “He shot you, didn’t he?” she snapped. “That’s a gunshot wound.”
“He did.” Dawson walked over to the bed and touched the bandage on her temple. “But what I didn’t know, and what scared me to death, was that the bullet went through me and grazed your temple.” He paused. “God, Jules, I thought—”
“Then why aren’t you in bed like me? If the bullet went through you—”
A nurse who’d come in holding a clipboard interrupted. “I’ll tell you why, Ms. Caprese. He’s gone AMA—against medical advice. He wouldn’t stay in bed. Had to get in here to see you.” The nurse leveled a hard stare at Dawson, then turned back to her.
“You’re being discharged. Do you have someone who can drive you home and stay with you for a couple of days?”
“She does,” Dawson said quickly.
“Good. Now if you’ll just sign these—” The nurse thrust the clipboard into Juliana’s lap and handed her a pen. “We’ll get you out of here. That first sheet is yours. It’s wound care instructions. Although your little scratch won’t be a problem. Put some antibiotic ointment on it and keep it bandaged for a couple of days.”
Juliana signed where she was supposed to and handed the clipboard back to the nurse. While she was signing, Dawson’s phone rang. He stepped out of the room to answer it.
By the time he was done, the nurse had brought a wheelchair. While she wheeled Juliana downstairs, Dawson went ahead to bring the car around. He got her situated in the passenger seat and headed east.
“I’m taking you to my condo. You can rest while I go meet Brian Hardy. Schumer’s finally decided to talk.”
“No, I’m going with you,” Juliana said. She was not going to miss this. The bald man’s confession could be the last missing piece of the puzzle. She might finally know just exactly what happened to the Sky Walk and why.
“I don’t think—”
“If you can go with that hole in your side, I can. Mine is just a ‘little scratch.’”
Dawson shot her a glare. “The nurse said you should take it easy for a few days.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, she said you were going against medical advice.”
“Jules, you’ve been through a lot.”
“And you haven’t?” Juliana rubbed her head. “I barely remember what happened. Did I bite somebody?”
He smiled. “You bit Baldy—Schumer. You were hanging on to his belt. You did good.”
“Whatever he gave me, every bit of that seems like a dream. Was I really way up above the casino?”
“Yeah. It’s probably better if you don’t remember it. So I’ll put you to bed and then—”
“I have to give a statement anyway. I can do that while I’m there.”
He sent her a disgusted glance but he didn’t argue. He turned toward the Waveland police station.
When they got there, Detective Hardy greeted them. He peered at the strip bandage on her temple. “Juliana, I wasn’t expecting to see you for a day or two. It looks like you’re doing pretty good.”
“Thank you. Where’s the bald man?”
Hardy looked at Dawson, who shrugged. She chose to ignore them. “He’s in the interrogation room with his lawyer. The assistant district attorney, Maura Presley, just left. She’s giving him a few minutes to talk with his lawyer about her offer of a deal.”
“What did she offer him?” Dawson asked.
“Well, I told her what we have on him—aggravated assault on Juliana.”
“Assault? Don’t you mean attempted murder? He was going to throw her fifty feet to the casino floor. He took her up there to murder her.”
Juliana knew that—in her he
ad, but hearing Dawson say it sent icy fear up her spine. The memory of being fifty feet above the casino on a maze of two-foot-wide beams was unreal. It seemed like a nightmare.
Hardy looked exasperated. “I thought you were the one who wanted a super-deal for him, so he’d talk.”
Dawson’s jaw flexed. “So what is Maura offering him?”
“Ten years—eight suspended, plus two years of supervised probation, if he testifies against Vega.”
“Vega? He’s going to testify against Vega? That’s what the deal is for?” Juliana asked. Her heart fluttered like a panicked butterfly. Was Vega finally going to be exposed for what he really was? Then a memory that had gotten buried under the terror of her ordeal surfaced.
“Vega!” She grabbed Dawson’s arm. “Dawson, I think Vega was targeting my dad! It was something to do with his son.”
Dawson nodded and jerked a thumb toward Hardy. “I’ve already told Brian. Your dad gave Anthony Vega a job at the Beachview Casino in Gulfport, but before long he found out Anthony was shaking down customers. Your dad had him arrested and despite Tito’s influence, Anthony went to prison and was killed.”
Juliana broken in. “I knew it! I knew there had to be a connection. So he blamed my dad for his son’s death? That proves it, doesn’t it?”
“Listen, Juliana,” Detective Hardy said. “Even if we could prove that the Sky Walk was brought down deliberately at a specific time when your father was in his office, linking it to Tito Vega will be a crapshoot at best. He has friends in places so high you need an air mask. Plus, he could drag a lot of prominent people down with him—politicians, businessmen, community leaders. It’s liable to be a bloodbath.”
“He murdered my father. What are you saying? That you can’t do it? Or that you won’t?”
Chapter Nineteen
Hardy ran a hand down his face. “We can’t prove it. Our best bet is sitting right in there.” He nodded toward the interrogation room. “But right now we’re at a standoff. Schumer won’t share what he’s got until he has a deal and Maura won’t offer a deal until she knows what she has to work with.” Hardy gestured with his head. “There’s Maura.” He motioned her over.