Otis leaned his seat forward, giving me room to lean out the window.
I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Hey you guys! I just wanted to say thank you for giving me some peace by staying away from the gates. I really appreciate it. Ya’ll have a good day now, ya hear!”
Izzy didn’t move until I was all the way back inside and then she gunned the four cylinder. White exhaust made a cloud in the rear window. I watched to make sure the media hounds would follow. Once one vehicle flipped a bitch on the hot tarred surface I knew the rest were in and I turned to sit, relieved. The Dalah had slid across the abused vinyl seat and bumped into the door handle on my left. I scooped up the box and set it in my lap.
Now we were cooking!
38 CATCH ME IF YOU CAN!
Our plan encountered a time snag in town as we hit Frankford Boulevard. Traffic was particularly heavy around the Frankford Square Shopping Complex as Gastonian’s got their consumer kicks jollied with every major corporate chain you could dream of. Anything from food to sporting goods or books was packed along this section of town. High end or low end—this place had it.
Cyril had always stayed clear of major stores or restaurants, preferring the locally owned eating establishments like Toby’s, K.O.’s and Jacks. Occasionally he liked to frequent fish camps too for variety. I had to agree with him on K.O.’s—they had the best barbeque slaw. The. Best.
Holy crap! Why was I thinking about food on a high speed rescue mission? Concentrate, concentrate.
Izzy had to tread the careful balance of driving fast enough to meet our delivery deadline, while also not losing our media tail and avoiding an accident. She was doing a bang up job in my opinion.
Otis didn’t appear to agree. He hissed and stomped the floorboard every time Iz nearly kissed a bumper.
Sirens lit up in the rearview and a police cruiser filled the small mirrored rectangle.
“Eff an A!” Iz swore on reflex.
I patted her headrest. “This is what we want, remember?”
She hunched down in the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel as if it were a life preserver. It went against the grain not to stop for the authorities.
Out of the corner of her mouth Iz added, “At least you don’t have to look like me anymore for this plan. That was too freaky.”
At first I thought Iz’s profile was scrunched in worry. Then I realized the one eye I could see was lit with single-minded, glowing purpose. We were in the middle of a mess and a small part of Izzy was having a blast. My best friend was in her chaos-inducing element.
Some of the side streets began to sport ‘one way’ warnings and giant speed bumps. Tires squealed and the scent of burned rubber crept in the windows as Iz took a corner and went airborne off the mound of tar that was meant to slow people like her down. I looked out the rear window and saw some small car parts I hoped weren’t necessary get run over by a pursuing police cruiser. The green stripes on the PD’s unit were streaked by ever moving shadows from the large overhanging trees on the residential street. Thankfully it was a school day and no kids were out playing on the raised front lawns.
I barely caught the words off another side street. West 5th Avenue. And it was about to dead end in a park and a right or left turn. Iz didn’t make a move on the steering wheel. Holy shit! We were jumping the curb! I closed my eyes and clenched myself taut.
Dom’s car took it like a champ. Body momentarily weightless, I ducked my head to keep it from slamming into the car’s roof and my shoulders took the brunt. Shreds of gray interior fabric came down with me and littered the floorboard. Cool wood dug into my ribs as I hugged the Dalah’s box hard. We’d be up the creek if I let it fly out the window before we were ready to get out. It would be too close to call as it was.
The ground was mostly dirt with clumps of stringy grass. It made for the roughest ride yet. Otis had his hands against the dash and his seatbelt kept locking tight across his chest.
All of a sudden, we stopped at a cluster of bleak one-story apartments. The orange brick side I could see was riddled with graffiti. Faded places in the shape of erased letters and rounded blobs showed where other vandalism had been blasted off only to be replaced by new tags.
I screamed at Otis as Izzy popped the gear shift to neutral and raised a knee high to stomp on the emergency brake, “Now, Otis!” I was left to stare at the open passenger door. Frozen, I panted.
Izzy yelled in my face as she slapped the passenger seat down and forward on its track, “Out, Z!”
Sirens were all we could hear.
A great boom split the day and I straightened into a run at the low building in time to see Otis ram the front door into splintered lengths of wood with the left side of his body. He fell inside and out of sight.
Police voices barked in the background but I couldn’t understand the words. English—I knew they spoke English but it sounded like watered down gibberish. My legs continued to pump in earnest. Izzy beat me to the concrete block that served as a pitiful excuse for a front stoop.
We collided as she braced herself with her arms spread.
Otis was subdued on the worn carpet. One arm was twisted up and over and a rubber-soled shoe pressed against his neck. He was choking for breath and spittle erupted from his mouth as he resisted.
That wasn’t the shocking part.
What made my heart stop in terror and confusion were the cold gray eyes pinning Izzy and me in place. I’d seen him die. Green blood splattered my face again in a sensory memory that overtook my vision, blinding me until the man spoke.
Detective Dobbins’ smile was grim. “You were nearly late—tut, tut.”
I didn’t believe this to be Dobbins. No way no how. Two other men, tall and wearing unrelieved black slouched in the hall that led to the bedrooms. Iz had given Otis and me an idea of the layout in the cheap government-owned housing. The henchmen had the same intense stare as Dobbins but they were encased in brown skin rather than white. One of them raised an oversized T-shirt to expose the grip of a handgun.
His focus slid to Izzy as his upper lip curled. “Give me the Dalah.”
39 ON YOUR HEAD
Commands ran into one another behind me. Shouts from outside spurred me to action.
Dobbins wasn’t getting the blood key until Izzy’s family was safe. I turned and stumbled off onto the red dirt with the box held high over my head.
“Hold your fire! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”
Ten patrolmen were split equally in standing and crouched positions by their units. None of them wanted to be in the other’s line of fire. No matter the weapon they issued from, be it friend or foe, metal projectiles killed with equal prejudice.
I recognized one of the patrolmen from the gas station robbery—God, was it just yesterday? His arms were locked straight out from his body instead of bent to his chest for support like his brethren. Blond hair blew in a mild breeze.
Someone to the right ordered, “Set down the box slowly and put your hands on your head.”
I looked into the eyes of the Ken Doll cop. “You know me. You met my friend Izzy. The girl with the pink hair, remember?”
Something shifted in his stance. His gun dipped and he looked over his arm at his partner who frowned and shook his head no.
The barrel came up again but the blond asked, “What’s in the box? It’s not a bomb is it?”
My eyes went soft and beseeching. “I can’t put it down. If I do, you guys might shoot me.” I swallowed, it was harder than I thought it would be. All the spit had dried out of my mouth. “Izzy’s inside with some bad people that are threatening her family. We caused a commotion so you’d follow us.”
Press seethed around the trunks of the police cars even as a few patrolmen broke cover to motion them to back away a safe distance. Cameras were rolling so I might as well use them.
I shouted for the media, “There are men inside who won’t give my friend her family until I hand over this box.” It shook and rattled as I rocke
d it over my hair like I might throw it. Fat chance. “We’re talking hostage situation here! That’s a way better news story than a high speed chase for reckless driving. Come on ya’ll!”
All I saw was blunt cut bangs and a pair of brown eyes over a microphone. “You’re Bozena Skala. Why should we believe a girl who just got released from a mental institution?”
And maybe it would have gone on like that for a time but one of Dobbin’s thugs came out on the porch with a two-year-old in nothing but a diaper. He held a gun to the tot’s loose red-brown curls. Izzy grunted from behind the goon and I could sense by her posture that someone was holding her arms at an odd angle. One tear slipped into her short pink hair.
Pitiful howls of fear from the baby wailed over the murmurs of shock from the reporters. I heard some exclamations of outrage. Sympathy shifted to our side. They might still think me crazy but at least now they could see I wasn’t a liar.
Just as I’d feared, this plan was going to hell. Why had we thought it would work at all? I kept my arms raised but tremors raced up my biceps to numbing wrists. Dobbins, or whoever the dude was, had forced this with the police. He could have let them think I was nuts and hopped a portal out to steal the Dalah from police evidence lockup or something later. Not hard to do if you look like a detective anyway. He’d just tipped his hat for no reason I could see.
Our plan had been to force the bad guys to show their hand when Otis smashed in the front door and we lured them into the front yard for the exchange—barring that if the police had been too hot on our tail we could have at least led them to the door. Having witnesses as backup had weighed heavily into our hope of controlling the situation somewhat.
Control, like most things, was an illusion.
Ken Doll Cop tucked his upper arms to his chest and aimed his weapon at the sky. All but one of the other patrolmen did the same. The only one still aiming at the crowded apartment doorway had elbows braced on a trunk with a scoped rifle. No one wanted a wild shot to kill the baby.
I yelled, “Can I please lower my arms? They hurt.” My eyes were watering from the sweat running into them.
The veteran policeman that had ordered me to put my hands on my head earlier spoke, “If you have what they want would you please step closer to me slowly and keep the box in plain sight?”
His voice was much kinder now but still hard. He wasn’t taking chances. The nameplate over his pocket read V. CHOPRA. I got the impression Chopra was a father. He looked like one to me with his thickening waist and receding hair line. Strong forearms and shoulders said he still hit the gym but his waistline spoke of cuddles during Saturday morning cartoons and homemade meals from a worried but supportive wife. I would concentrate on him.
Dobbins’ growling voice came from inside the apartment, “If you give them the box I’ll order my man to shoot the little girl.”
Izzy yelped and gasped as her struggles forced the hidden captor to ratchet their hold a few notches.
Izzy’s sister was still wailing. I could see she was a girl now by the Minnie Mouse cartoons on her disposable diaper. Plus, someone had painted the little sweetie’s fingernails and toenails bright purple. She was the baby caboose and her name was Destiny.
If she got hurt, I wouldn’t forgive myself—ever.
My heels dug into the hard packed dirt as I moved closer to the apartment. In a compromise of sorts, I kept my eyes pinned on Chopra as I hugged the box in front of my body.
A radio squawked.
I hollered backward, “I can’t just go inside and give you the Dalah. You might kill all of us.”
No response.
I added, “How about a trade? All of them for me and the box?”
Chopra shook his head and whispered, “No ma’am. I urge you not to do that. Wait for SWAT. They’re on their way.”
But would they get here in time?
40 TOPSY TURVY
Dobbins finally answered, “Come closer to the porch. I’ll hold the little one until last. Once you’re in she can leave.”
Chopra wiped sweat away from one eye and frowned in disagreement. He pleaded with cautious eyes for me not to take the offer.
I began to back up then paused. “Send everyone but the baby out then or no deal.”
With a careful sidestep I angled my body to see the police and the apartment out of the corners of my eyes. Chopra inched forward with a plainclothes like they might rush me to the ground.
“I wouldn’t.” I warned as I moved that much closer to the goons on the porch. “I never did say what was in this box, did I?”
Izzy yelped as they pulled her roughly out of sight and then a hunched over Otis was flung forward to stumble and fall to his knees. Of course they wanted him out first—he was the biggest and baddest.
Chopra sited on Otis and I held out a hand in entreaty. “Don’t shoot him. He’s my friend and he might be hurt!”
Long black tresses and thick tan thighs were all I could make out as a screaming struggling woman was dragged by her hair and thrown in the dirt beside Otis. When the thug turned his back the woman rose to attack. Otis caught her around the waist. I guessed this to be Izzy’s mother, Georgina. Her voice could have split firewood as Georgina cursed and spat in tearful Spanish.
Next out was a thin teenage boy in a white tank and pajama pants with two identical elementary age kids clinging to him. One boy with a mop of curling brown hair and big eyes was piggyback and the other with the same big eyes but shorter hair was pulling the waistband down on his older brother’s bony hip with his weight. Okay, so maybe Joseph and the twins, Jordan and Jason? That theory only stood if Izzy had named them in chronological order during our drunk confession session in the garden.
Anyway, that was three brothers out of five. That meant two more sisters besides Destiny and two more brothers. Great googly-moogly—how did they all fit in there?
No one else came out. I waited.
Georgina was still screaming. She needed to shut it. Acidic guilt hit at the callousness of my irritation.
Chopra motioned for all of them to hurry out of harm’s way. Izzy’s mother wouldn’t budge. Both of Georgina’s arms reached to the apartment for the children we couldn’t see and Destiny. Her boys came close. Izzy’s oldest brother Joseph, said, “Mamá, vamanos.”
He winced as the child on his back hitched himself higher, choking his windpipe in the process.
Chopra stayed with me but three of the other officers rushed into the open to usher Otis, Georgina and the others behind cover. They placed their broad Kevlar covered backs to the goon on the porch. If anyone were to randomly start shooting they’d hit the patrolmen first. That took guts if you asked me. And maybe a little foolhardiness. But then again, here I was swinging in the breeze, waiting to sacrifice myself in trade.
Once they were safe I asked of the dark doorway, “And the rest?”
Destiny was really shrieking and thrashing herself around now that her mother was in sight. The thing about little ones I’d noticed was they couldn’t see the big picture or consequences. Reason wasn’t in their vocabulary. Izzy’s baby sister knew something wrong was happening but probably not what the cold metal thing against her head could do to her. All Destiny saw was her mother. And she wanted her mommy.
Eyes bulged when teeth sank into the goon’s hand. He jerked and Destiny slipped free. Diaper broke the fall a bit and then she scrambled to her feet and ran on stubby little legs.
It all slowed down.
The goon in all-black baggy clothes took aim at Destiny. I ducked down with a hand out hoping she’d run to me. She didn’t. Her big brown eyes were all for Georgina.
One powerful pop later and a hole about the size of a penny appeared on the goon’s brown forehead. He looked surprised and then brilliant red blood meandered down his nose. One knee collapsed and the rest of his long, tall body followed. A heap of dark clothing and sprawled limbs nestled beside the concrete stoop in the weeds.
41 PEEKABOO – I SEE YOU!
What would happen now?
Izzy was back in the doorway. Her face was as pink as her hair from the strain. If they pulled any harder on her arms they might dislocate. She didn’t make a sound. Not a whimper. Izzy’s full lips were yellowed from the pressure as she clamped her mouth closed.
Dobbins’ voice was loud in the startled atmosphere, “Well, that was unfortunate.”
He sounded put out, not angry or outraged that one of his goons was dead. When did a person reach a state of existence where death was an unfortunate, emotionless occurrence? If I hadn’t had the box to hold in my arms they would’ve been shaking with reaction.
I swallowed to clear my swollen throat. There was barely enough spit to manage it, my mouth was so dry. “We still a go?”
Chopra’s radio bleated and I stared at him—expression sharp. He tilted his head down at an angle and murmured code straight into the pocket clipped mike. If SWAT had made it, I couldn’t see them. Perhaps that was the whole point. Bad guys with hostages didn’t need to know if the good guys were sneaking up on them.
Dobbins didn’t answer my question with words.
Izzy got shoved to her knees. She grunted as her shins hit the metal strip on the threshold. Whoever her keeper was still stood hidden behind the wall—save for his wrist and the gun digging into Izzy’s temple.
Another teenage boy emerged, this one in cargo shorts and a video game T-shirt. His eyes were a pretty jade green but his hair was curly and reddish brown like Destiny’s. Two black-haired girls hugged his skinny waist from the sides with their faces turned into his chest. I started to check off my mental list of Izzy’s sibs. This could be Lucas in the middle, Delfina on the right because she was taller and Cassie on the left.
The Blood Key (The Wander Series Book 1) Page 20