"Almost there." With my thumb on the trigger, I descended the last few rungs. When I stepped off the ladder, I turned. Fuller was just outside the door and I squeezed past him.
He held out his hand. "Give it!"
I pulled the wad of money out of my pocket and tossed it at him. He fumbled to catch it and stared at the wad of money. "What the fuck is this?"
I stepped back a couple more steps. "Sorry. It's not a disc. But it could finance your escape right?"
Fuller jammed the money in his pocket then caught me by the wrist. "Sorry ain't cutting it bitch."
He raised his hand to slap me, and I shot him in the face with the pepper spray.
His eyes slammed shut, and he raised his hands to them, howling. "You fucking bitch. God damn you!" He stumbled back and fell over the stool at the workbench. "I’ll fucking kill you!"
I ran for the door but Fuller moved fast on all fours toward me. He was momentarily blind, but it didn't slow him down any. "You fucking little cunt!"
He caught me by the foot and I went down. I screamed at the top of my lungs. "Help!" Could anybody hear me? Fuller had me by the ankle and I couldn't kick his hand loose. Blindly, I kicked out with my free foot and it landed — hard. Fuller howled again, and his grip loosened enough for me to kick free and roll away.
I jumped to my feet, but Fuller kept coming. Squinting, he was on his feet but stumbling. I didn't know if he could see me or was relying on other senses, but I couldn't take the chance. I shot again and caught him at an angle, but good enough to slam his eyes shut.
I ran to the door, but there wasn’t time to drag a stool over and try to reach the screwdriver jamming the works. I had to get to the guestroom door. A pegboard full of yard tools hung next to it, even if was locked, I might be able to pry it open.
As I turned, Fuller grabbed me from behind and pinned my arms to my sides. "You're in a world of hurt now bitch. Nothing will save you from what you're going to get." He lifted me off my feet. "I'll kill you!"
I flailed, struggling to get free. He was strong but also injured — and working off adrenaline and brute strength. I drove back both my feet with all the force I could muster and caught him hard in the legs, then I heard a pop.
Fuller shrieked and dropped me. I fell like a bag of rocks, and my knee smashed hard into the concrete floor. Screaming, I crawled away from Fuller’s wildly flailing arms, to the washer and dryer.
Fuller moaned. Dazed but still determined, he crawled at me as though following my scent. He was like a machine that refused to shut down. I yanked the hoeing rake off the wall and spun back swinging, but Fuller was gone.
Heart racing, eyes darting, my back against the dryer, I panted with the rake poised . The pepper spray was gone and I couldn't see Fuller. Something moved to my right — blindly I swung the rake and dived to my left, sprawling to the floor.
Fuller banged against the dryer, arm raised, pepper spray in his hand. I crab-walked backwards away from my only escape. There was no other way out. Panting, hair and face greasy with sweat, I wept. Fuller wouldn't quit. He'd just keep coming until I couldn't fight anymore. Ted would never propose because I'd be dead.
I pulled myself to my feet and leaned against the workbench. My knee throbbed, and a wave of nausea threatened to knock me on my ass again but I kept my eyes on Fuller. Like wild animals we faced off, poised to attack. I felt like I might pass out but I forced myself to watch him.
Panting and still squinting, he stumbled toward me, raising the pepper spray. I ducked and rolled. Then scrabbled around to the other side of the room. The acrid smell burned in my nostrils and watered my eyes. And it felt like the oxygen was slowing draining out of the space.
Fuller leaned against the workbench, rubbing at eyes that were red and watering. His face was bright pink as though sunburned. He stood still and cocked his head, like a blind man. I limped toward the compressor quietly. When I flipped the switch, the compressor chugged and came to life.
Fuller, still dazed and panting, turned sharply at the sound. Propped against the workbench, he still grasped the pepper spray in his hand. I aimed the hose at Fuller, opened the nozzle, and blasted him. The pepper spray canister shot out of Fuller's hand and he yelped with surprise.
Then I aimed the hose at his head and shot. "Take that mother-fucker."
Fuller raised his arms to protect his face from the stream of air, stumbled then fell with a resounding crack when his head struck the concrete floor.
Trembling and dragging the hose with me, I inched toward him to get a better look. Sprawled on the floor, one arm over his face and the other above his head, I thought he was dead. "Fuller?"
Fuller gave no response but I didn't trust him and knew I only had seconds to find a way out. Limping backwards I dragged a stool to the garage door. Trembling with pain, I climbed up on the stool, but still couldn’t reach the screwdriver jamming the works. I threw myself against the garage door and screamed. "Let me out! Help!" I pounded and kicked and screamed until I couldn't do it anymore. But no one came. No heard me. I fell off the stool to the floor and sobbed. My voice raw and raspy. "Somebody help me. Help me, God. Please help me. God. Please. I don’t want to die!"
It was useless. I curled into a ball and sobbed.
"Ma'am?"
Confused, I looked toward Fuller, but he was as still as stone. I was losing my mind. God was punishing me because I killed Fuller, who was talking to me in my head. Still fucking with me even though he was dead.
I croaked.” Who’s there?"
Squinting at the sound of shuffling footsteps, shadows moved toward me, then lifted me to my feet. "Easy, ma'am."
I opened and closed my eyes. "Am I dead? Are you real? Do I see you?"
<<>>
I swatted at the paramedic putting a cold-pack on my forehead and holding me down on the gurney at the same time. "Get off me, man." I sat up, scanned the ambulance and frowned. My head throbbed and my knee felt like a cantaloupe was strapped to it. Grunting at the burn in my muscles, I stood on wobbly legs and peered through the open cargo door.
The paramedic stepped in front of me. She was a brunette with even features and a concerned expression.” You’ve been hurt. Ma'am you need to lie down and let me…" She put her arm around my shoulder. "Let's get you down on…"
I shook off her arm. "The hell you will." Activity outside — cops, patrol cars, and onlookers — drew my attention. "What's happening out there? Is Ted here?" I limped toward the door. "And where the fuck is Daniels?"
I climbed out of the back of the ambulance, wincing from the pain in my knee. Daniels appeared as if by magic and gave me a hand. "I'm right here you foul-mouthed angel."
I squinted up at him. "So you finally checked your messages, huh? What took you so long, you big moose?"
"Scotti?" Ted came up from the rear and put his arm around me. He looked me over then frowned. "Oh baby."
"I'm okay. I'm okay."
He turned me toward the ambulance. "No, you're not. You're getting back in the ambulance so that nice paramedic can tend to your injuries."
I dug my heels in and was rewarded with another searing pain up the leg. "Stop Ted, I'm fine. It's just a couple of bumps and bruises." Ted creased me with a look. "Okay, okay. But don’t make me go in there — can’t handle closed spaces you know? I'll sit on the edge."
Ted lifted me up to the tail gate, and I cooperated while the paramedic checked, prodded and bandaged. Lots of bruises and scrapes but the worst injury was my knee. Not broken but swollen and sprained. The paramedic put a brace on it and said she didn't think I'd need a cast, but that would be the doctor's call.
I laughed because she thought I was going to the hospital. She also mentioned canes and physical therapy to which I nodded, then promptly put out of my head.
I had a big goose egg on the back of my head and one on my forehead. Somebody said MRI and concussion, but those were also words not in my vocabulary. I rubbed my burning scalp. "Do I still have my hair?" I bent
my head for Ted to examine it. "How many bald spots are there?"
Ted laughed. "No bald spots knucklehead." I squinted at him. "I swear, no stops at the wig shop necessary."
I got a mirror from the paramedic and did my own inspection, I gave her the mirror and told her to go away. Then I sat on the tail gate, swinging my good leg, while I grilled Daniels. "Donna's okay? You're not shitting me, right? She's not in surgery or a zombie because of what Fuller did to her?"
He shook his head. "She's roughed up." He appraised me with his eyes. "But looks damn fine compared to you."
"What did Fuller do to her?"
"He locked in her a closet, then shoved a big chest in front of it." He shrugged. “Maybe he was saving her for later. When we let her out, the first thing she was ask about you. Good lady."
I nodded. "Yeah she is. But the next time she calls me for help, I'll bring you with me." I looked into his big goofy face. "And Fuller? Did I kill him?"
Daniels chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, but you gave him a run for his money." He laughed. "He's the only thing that looks worse than you around here."
I smacked his arm. "That's not what I meant, smart ass. How'd he get away?"
Daniels explained that at his arraignment, Fuller was placed under house arrest and fitted with an ankle bracelet. Fuller, being proficient in tech gadgets figured out how to leave his bracelet at home without triggering an alert.
I leaned back against the door frame. "You didn't come because of the alert?" I gaped at him. "Just a coincidence? You were in the neighborhood and just thought you’d swing by?"
Daniels screwed up his face in a frown. "They do random checks. We would've figured it out by morning."
I snorted. "Yeah and I could've been dead by then." I pushed back my hair and winced at the tenderness in my scalp. "Then what, you got my message?"
Daniels nodded. "Yeah, I got the message. Later." He grinned at me. "Actually it was a 911 call." Daniels stepped aside and pointed toward the crowd of onlookers — among them, Mean Mike and friends. "From them."
I stared and shook my head. "I thought it was just a hallucination." I turned back at Daniels. They found me?"
Daniels nodded. "10-4."
I looked back to the crowd and waved them over. The guys smiled, shot me a thumbs up, then turned and shuffled away. I jumped off the tail gate and winced in pain. "No, don't leave."
Daniels caught me before I landed on my ass. "Easy now."
I craned my neck. "Where's Ted. He needs to go get them."
Daniels lifted me like I weighed five pounds and set me back on the tailgate. "Let it go, Scotti."
I looked up at Daniels. "But I want to thank them. They saved my life and Donna's."
Daniels frowned at me. "Ain't that enough? They saved your ass, so let them go about their business." He soft-punched my chin. "Bake them some pies or something."
I slumped back against the door frame and sighed. "But I want to help them. Somebody should help them." I looked back to the crowd but they were already gone. Ghosts who disappeared at will into a world most never know. "They were following me? All this time?"
The details were sketchy but according to Daniels, Mike called 911 when they saw my car at Donna's. Then they called Ted. Then Ted called Daniels. Ted and Daniels arrived within seconds of each other. When they rushed into the backyard, the guys were carrying me out. They turned me over to Ted and hovered until they knew I was okay.
I stared down the street, wondering if I'd ever see them again. I hoped so. I hoped that Ted could return the favor Mike had done for him. Although I sensed that Mike and his men were moving on.
Daniels patted me on the head softly. "You done good, Scotti Fitzgerald." High praise coming from Daniels. "Really fucking good."
I pinched his big flabby cheek. "Thanks, Daniels. Back atcha. And could you hang onto Fuller, this time? Forever?"
Ted appeared as Daniels and I finished our conversation. Daniels hooked his head toward Ted. "She's all yours." To me he said, "When you're up to it, come by the station for a formal statement and all that jazz." He smiled. "And bring pie."
I saluted him. "Copy that big guy."
Ted sat next to me and I leaned against him. "What time is it?"
Ted looked at his watch. "Too late for dinner."
I shrugged. "Maybe we could get some burgers on the way home?"
He raised an eyebrow.
I held up my hands. "I know what you're thinking. If I'd just stayed home, none of this would've happened. But then Fuller would've killed Donna. Would you want to have that on your conscious?"
Ted chuckled. "Nah, that wasn't what I was thinking." He helped me to my feet and put his arm around me for support. Slowly we started toward his car.
"Then what?"
He chuckled. "Just wondering if that knee brace was going to get in the way."
"Of what?" He wiggled his eyebrows. I threw back my head and laughed. It hurt like hell, and my eyes filled with tears, but I didn't care. "Men! How about a coma? Would that get in the way of your love life, too? Or do you prefer malleable women?"
Chapter Fifty
We didn’t stop for burgers on the way home because Ted took me straight to the hospital. A doctor poked and prodded, shined light in my eyes and took my vitals. He muttered and frowned a lot then admitted me for observation — all because of a couple of bumps on the head. The following morning I was released with strict instructions to take it easy and stay off my feet.
Zelda, Matt and Eric ran the food truck while I stayed at home to mend. But after a couple of days I was losing my mind since I couldn’t do anything that required standing — hard to bake lying down.
A few days after the show down with Fuller, Ted took me to the Foothill station house where I gave my formal statement. Drew Fuller's bail and house arrest was revoked, and he was put in county lock-up under suicide watch. Understandable, since he‘d racked up three counts of murder, two counts of kidnapping and two counts of attempted murder against him.
The D.A. was confident that Fuller would take a deal since he would face the death penalty if he went to trial. Providing a cop in prison lived long enough to be executed. Fuller’s future was dismal at best, and I have to admit I didn't waste any tears over Fuller's fate.
A week into my recovery, Daniels dropped by to check on me. With the help of a cherry pie and a dozen brownies, I managed to get more details out of him.
“So Davis was right — Marika wanted Ron dead for the life insurance?”
Daniels smirked. "Yeah, plus the widow benefits." He crammed a big bite of cherry pie into his mouth. "And she wanted to keep all her stuff, so divorce was out."
I rolled my eyes. “Which as we speak, is being pawed through at a thrift store.”
Daniels moved onto his brownies. "The house ain’t in the thrift store."
I laughed. "True. Donna donated that and Marika’s car to her church. They’re going to turn it into a halfway house for displaced vets."
Daniels stopped eating and looked at me. "No shit?"
I teared up a little. "Seems right, doesn’t it? That Ron’s home would end up helping other vets."
Daniels stared at his food and squirmed in his chair — if I didn’t know better I would’ve thought he was touched. "That it does."
I limped to the coffeemaker and refilled our cups. "So, tell me the rest."
Daniels nodded and went on. Marika stepped out on Ron a lot. Among her many men was Fuller with whom she'd had a years-long affair and who was obsessed with her. They had a falling out a few months before, and Daniels guessed it was because he wasn't willing to execute her husband.
To spite Fuller, Marika took up with Beidemeyer, hoping he’d be willing to fill the role of hit man. Fuller was enraged by this because of his obsession with Marika and because Beidemeyer was Fuller’s friend — in fact, he’d introduced them. But that ended the friendship and Fuller became determined to destroy his former friend.
When Beidemeye
r wimped out, Marika went to Fuller and begged him to kill her husband, promising she’d be his forever if he did. Fuller obliged and was in a perfect position to take advantage of our investigation and my natural curiosity to make Beidemeyer look guilty. Cloning Daniels' phone made it easy to stay on top of the situation and enabled Fuller to achieve his mission.
After Ron’s murder, Fuller and Marika had another falling out. According to Fuller, she'd rejected him again and threatened to go to the cops with her video if he didn't fuck off. Realizing he’d been duped, pushed Fuller over the edge. Scorned, he did everything in his power to implicate Beidemeyer and Marika in Ron's death — and it worked. Once again, Marika went to Fuller tearfully, but he was hip to her tricks. So under the guise of helping them, he lured them to the Wash and ‘took care of business.’
M.urder R.eady to E.at (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 2) Page 33