All Rise

by Rosemarie Aquilina

  I grunted. “Honor among thieves and killers, best joke in prison stripes.”

  Stocking Head Two cocked his gun just so I could hear it, I hoped. “Dead judges don’t talk.”

  “Except to Coroners.” I had to keep them talking. Where the hell was Sebastian? Had they done something to him?

  “We got time.” Stocking Head One’s voice sounded deep and wicked. “We knocked out the electrical in your neighborhood.” He pushed out an abysmal evil laugh. “That’ll slow-up your friends.”

  I slightly turned my head and strained to locate a third accomplice. No third person—what friend were they talking about?

  “Disabled your generator, too.” Sounded proud of himself.

  Renee was safe in lockup. That high-pitched edge to his voice had to be Keldon McKean. Laurel’s description, techno-savvy, also fit. Jurisa’s arrest meant things were closing in. They needed me convicted at least in public opinion to stop further investigation.

  The one with the gun went down on one knee and was struggling to fix something, but he kept the gun pointed in my general direction.

  Noel. Noel had access. Damn. Noel was either dead or working with them—who else could plant the camera to learn the code and knew that much about me, about my house? “When did you do all this?”

  “Shut up,” the second gruff voice ordered. “Get up.”

  Stocking Head One clunked the cold barrel against the side of my skull. Yellow light flashed deep in my skull, and searing pain stabbed through my eyes and reverberated through the bones around them.

  “Move it,” the voice commanded and hit me again.

  “I. Need. A. Minute. Can’t stand.”

  I got my legs around and sat on the edge of the bed but made my posture slack and tried to sound more exhausted than I was. “No one will believe I left without my boots and my bag.” I mirrored gun-guy’s breathing.

  The stocking heads aimed their faces at each other. “We’ve got no problem splattering your blood. Get your things. We’re watching,” Stocking Head One said.

  Stocking Head Two stood closet-side.

  I stood, and my shirt hung loosely over my pants covering the pockets. Slowly, seeing in the dark between the floating dots of light created by the clunks to my head, I glided to my closet.

  The bully-one jabbed the barrel against my back.

  I envisioned chips of vertebra perilously close to my nerves and skated forward. “Hey, it’s dark. I need a second to grab my things from my closet. You want this to look like I left on my own, not like I was kidnapped, right?” I got past Stocking Head Two and slid my feet into my boots.

  I could barely see my own hands. I relied on my fingers being quicker than stocking-smushed eyes. Jimmy Jack screeched louder, and his door-pawing intensified. Under my arms and down my back, my shirt was drenched. I’d never felt so out of control.

  I wondered where Dinkie-Do was and if Sebastian had clicked into the conversation. And, if Hunter’s man had been alerted.

  I risked another second, set my silenced phone to record, and then returned it to my jeans pocket. I hoped it could be on speaker and record at the same time. Damn me for not understanding technology. Had all Dexter’s security failed? Were any of the house speakerphones or back-up cameras on? Damn.

  “Take any longer, and I’ll dress you myself.” Stocking Head Two flashed a penlight on me. I firmly stepped forward and swung my bag over my shoulder.

  “Ready.”

  He pulled at my bag and zigzagged his light inside.

  I pulled it back. “Like I said, if it’s not with me, there’s no absconding. Might as well shoot me here.”

  “Tempted.” He yanked at the strap. We were at a standstill.

  “Credit cards. A little cash. Lipstick, backcomb, hairspray, blush, eyeshadow—”

  “Shut the f up.” With each syllable the bully banged the barrel into my spine. A scream broke loose. Hearing my fear scared me more. I was losing it. To brace myself from collapsing, I grabbed the closet doorframe, and I missed a breath.

  “Move.”

  I gasped, got a few steps forward and stopped to get air. “When you’re in prison, I hope your payout was worth it.”

  “Shut your frickin mouth. You’re not all that smart with a gun cracking your back.” He banged the butt of the gun into my shoulder and shoved me forward. The sensation of falling headlong confused me. For a second, I thought okay I don’t want this to be happening. Like I could turn it off like bad TV. The thought of going crazy scared me more. I had to fight back. “Smart plan—maneuvering cases and investing on sure things. Until you killed Donnettelli.”

  The pair grunted, and one of the Stocking Heads interjected, “Donnettelli and Dune were dead weight. You are sheer sport.”

  “Donnettelli was a jerk, but he was your ace.” I tried to get them mad so their voices would carry into the phone recorder and into Dinkie-Do’s room in case he was home.

  Stocking Heads laughed. “He and his prissy girlfriend wanted out—”

  “He’s married.” Come on, guys, keep talking.

  Stocking Head Two pushed at my back. “That idiot-nympho convinced him to quit—”

  Stocking Head One interrupted his partner in abduction. “Shut up. She’s wasting our time.”

  I pulled open the bedroom door. Jimmy Jack felt the bad aura and zipped downstairs. “Promise. Don’t hurt anyone. It’s me you want.” I wanted to ask why Jurisa wanted Donnettelli to quit but held back.

  “Then get moving.” Another welt to my back.

  I latched onto the staircase, descended slowly, gun barrel punched in my back, and the other Stocking Head flanking my left shoulder. I wasn’t sure whether it was my imagination or wishful thinking, but I thought I saw a shadow along the foyer wall. Jimmy Jack had completely disappeared. Shazam was unusually quiet. I could learn to love that bird if even a wing rattled. I hoped they were hiding and stayed hidden. I called out to Jimmy Jack to stay away, and the men grunted.

  At the bottom of the staircase, the gun barrel shoved me in the direction of the front door. I almost tripped but caught myself. Why didn’t Hunter’s man run in to save me? Where was my curious cat? I had a sick feeling.

  Stocking Head Two opened the door, and we headed out. “Shut the door; I don’t want my cat to get out.”

  “He’ll need to catch a mouse to eat.” They laughed again. It was an evil sound.

  “Ranger coming! Balls to the walls.”

  Keep talking, I thought, but all was suddenly quiet.

  “Let’s get the hell outta here,” Stocking Head One said. “Who is that?” Another welt on my shoulder.

  I didn’t respond, instead I stepped back and slammed the door shut. Stocking Head Two squeezed my arm, so hard I was certain it was going to snap. Number One cocked the gun next to my ear. “Blood-and-brain pavers would clash with your neighborhood. Don’t step out of line again.”

  “It’s not the first time you’ve done this.” I squinted across the street to the security vehicle.

  “He’ll be asleep for a long time,” Stocking Head One said.

  Number Two laughed. “Yeah.”

  A column of chill crisped deep inside me, and all around it, nausea roiled. Damn. Discreetly reaching for either Taser would be tricky. “My car? I wouldn’t abscond without it, would I?”

  “That’s part of the whole disappearance mystery,” Number One said. He pushed me forward.

  I stumbled. My back throbbed. The neighborhood was quiet, not a mini-van, bicycle, or frog. We neared the black muscle vehicle parked behind the security car.

  “Get in.” Stocking Head Two opened the back door and waited.

  Legs unstable, I clambered in and got myself onto the seat.

  He popped in next to me, shoving me aside. Stocking Head One skipped around to the driver’s side and turne
d the engine on, no lights. As he backed away from the security vehicle, the tires gave an odd screech.

  Stocking Head Two left the motor running, jumped out, ran around the car, kicked the tires.

  “What the hell—?” He sprinted ahead and checked the security vehicle. “All slashed.”

  Stocking Head Two opened the door and jerked me out of the vehicle, and I landed hard on the road. I didn’t hear a snap, but it felt like my wrist was broken.

  “She’s got cars.”

  I slipped a hand inside my bag and pulled out the keys. “Here.” I stretched out my arm, and he pulled me to my feet and snatched the keys from me.

  Tossed them to his twin. “Rev any engine she’s got, that’s our ride. Before you leave, hand me that duct tape and a couple of those handkerchiefs. I need to tie her hands.” He grunted. “And, I’m gonna stuff her loudmouth.”

  I grabbed my hair-buried Taser.

  Stocking Head One laughed and tossed Stocking Head Two a white cloth. One of Laurel’s handkerchiefs.

  I forced myself to breathe and waited while Stocking Head One lumbered away, and his footsteps grew faint.

  Stocking Head Two turned toward me with the handkerchief ready—

  I planted my feet, aimed, and fired. Repeatedly.

  Stocking Head Two dropped. I opened the other door and fled into the shadows. Hooves clomped toward me, and I spun.

  “Honey-girl, climb up on this wild beast before I forget I don’t have a license to drive him.”

  I scrambled toward a horse-scented shadow and Dinkie-Do’s whisper. “No driver’s license, no violation of the law. Just a little Mr. Ed magic.”

  Before I could think how impossible it was, I climbed up behind Dinkie-Do, bareback. My bruises blazed, and I pulled a few ligaments, but gut fear made me more ready to ride than an Olympic jumper. I re-secured the Taser into my hair, wrapped my arms around him, and we trotted forward.

  Dinkie-Do felt like he’d packed for battle. I heard my garage door winding up. Without electricity, the creep was lifting it by hand. We had mere seconds before he came slamming down my driveway.

  “Stealing the neighbor’s horse?”

  “Borrowing, Honey. No different than lending a hairclip. Mr. Ed can be cleaned and returned.” He patted my clasped hands, and I felt the horse’s rein. “The whole block is outta lights. I heard those thugs and twirled out the same way they slunk in.”

  “Kick him into gallop; we’re about to be run over.” I wanted to clench my Taser, but it wouldn’t do much good against a hit-and-run vehicle, so I left it hidden in my updo.

  “Miss Judge, I bet he knows your roads. Two more houses, and we’re making a sharp turn. Hang on, Honey-girl.”

  I corked my head back and clung onto Dinkie-Do with both hands. I felt like a soda can ready to explode. Mr. Ed bounced along the pavement masterfully, and my rear pounded painfully on his back.

  “Slow-up, just a little. Time to bedazzle,” I shouted. Sirens in the distance. Too distant. The Audi engine roared crazy loud. Audi lights appeared. Aimed at us. I stuck a hand into my bag. My heart flounced into my throat, but my adrenaline crashed into my chest and kept me moving.

  A cascade of gunshots cracked around us. Bullets whirred around us like leaves in a fierce wind, shooting shivers through my body.

  “Honey-girl, I’ll zig so you zag. We ain’t turning into no mounted sieve.” Dinkie-Do pulled up on the reins.

  “Hold your breath and stay the course.” I reached into my bag, clasped the treasure, and pulled it out. With a quick twist I tossed away the cap of the canister. With as much reverse thrust as I could command, I unleashed the canister of Dinkie-Do’s explosive blue glitter shadow behind us. With a flash and a bang, the stench of burned Kaopectate permeated the area behind us. I heard the Audi’s tires squeal and yelled. “Go!”

  “We’re going, Honey-girl.” Dinkie-Do shifted Mr. Ed into overdrive. Mr. Ed hung a hard left, and before I knew it, the Audi engine revved in the electric-blue distance.

  I heard a familiar yowl and patted around. Dinkie-Do had strapped a backpack to his chest, and it held a howling Jimmy Jack. “You saved Jimmy Jack—”

  “Honey, no one messes with Pussy JJ. Hang on; we’re about to Baha through your fancy neighbors’ yards.”

  A shower of bullets was suddenly spraying way too close behind us.

  The noise caused Mr. Ed to whinny and jerk. Dinkie-Do used the reins to control him, and he whinnied with the horse and pulled up on the reins. Mr. Ed smoothly jumped us over a fence. I held my breath, and we landed upright, not a hair out of place. We must have sprouted wings.

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Falling off a horse was better than falling from a bullet, so I hung on. Mr. Ed jumped and galloped through dark yards toward a still-lighted part of the neighborhood, away from bullets, thugs, and maniac law clerks. A very smart horse.

  When the horse finally stopped in a quiet, well-lit corner lot, I wanted to jump down, but my legs were weak, and my gallop-pounded rear objected. Okay, sitting is good.

  “Where’d you learn to ride?” My voice still reverberated.

  “Lessons as a boy,” Dinkie-Do said over his shoulder. “Animals and I have an understanding.”

  “Way to keep your head, horse-man,” I said. “Thank you.” In the direction of my house, the night sky was ablaze with police lights. The haze grew, more sirens sounded, and my homing instinct kicked in. “Talk Mr. Ed into a slow trot home?”

  With each hoof-fall toward home, I calmed.

  When our final trot landed us next us to an ambulance, Dinkie-Do hit pause. EMS was about to transfer a body from the surveillance car onto a stretcher; Hunter’s guy—his mouth and nose were covered by an oxygen mask. Not a sheet. Sudden relief.

  I didn’t recognize him, but Hunter had wanted it that way. I spotted Hunter speaking with an officer standing amid the emergency vehicles that now clogged the road at odd angles.

  Behind Sebastian’s car in my driveway, a cruiser held nasty-mouthed Stocking Head Two. Keldon McKean’s face was tinged with cop-car-blue light. My bet: Wade Mazour had carjacked my Audi.

  Before I could dismount, Hunter jetted toward us, and Sebastian shot over from where he stood with Fredericks and Grayson. They followed but didn’t look as eager to see me.

  “Holy dooley. How’d the pair of you find a brumby?”

  I slid down into Sebastian’s arms, and he held me close. Then he gripped my shoulders and inspected me at arm’s length—hairspray to boot toe.

  Hunter circled the horse like he was checking out a new car.

  “Dinkie-Do and Jimmy Jack borrowed him.”

  “Dogs balls.” Sebastian paused until Hunter stopped next to us. “It was the law clerks.”

  “And I know who the shooter is.”

  Sebastian laid an index finger across his mouth, and I saw Hunter saw it, too. Alrighty, then. Evidently we weren’t ready to share with Hollywood. Sebastian stepped aside and let the Detectives approach the horse. Grayson grabbed ahold of Mr. Ed’s mane.

  “McKean’s raw from where you tazed him and is whining for his lawyer,” Fredericks said. “We have a BOL—for Wade Mazour and your Audi.”

  “Mind if Dinkie-Do and I put Jimmy Jack in his room before we talk?” I needed to stretch before I replayed my neighborhood steeplechase.

  Dinkie-Do dismounted and handed Mr. Ed’s rein to Grayson, and side-by-side we eventually got into the house. Dinkie-Do took the lead up the staircase rubbing noses with Jimmy Jack, while I clung to the railing and struggled with each step.

  The lights had returned, and I wasn’t sure if the generator had been turned on or the electric company had made repairs. I didn’t care. I was grateful to be out of the darkness.

  When we reached the second floor, Dinkie-Do turned to go to his room, but a shadow from underneath the door to
my left caught the corner of my eye and landed in my throat. I tiptoed to Dinkie-Do with a shhh-finger pressed to my lips.

  I again plucked my Taser from my updo.

  Dinkie-Do’s eyes widened. He lay Jimmy Jack bed-center, closed the door, and followed me to the sewing room.

  I pushed the door open slowly. In fire stance, I aimed at the dark figure. “Noel, drop your backpack and put your hands up.”

  “How—?”

  “On the count of two, I’ll fire,” I said.

  Dinkie-Do flicked on the lights. “Mr. Noel, why are you here?”

  “I lost something when I stayed here. Don’t point that at me.” Noel dropped the backpack at his feet.

  His face didn’t show a single contusion. He’d faked it. I brain cataloged what I’d seen in his backpack when I pulled the papers. Damn. “Dinkie-Do, grab the backpack, and get Sebastian and the Detectives. Tell them to stop looking for Noel; he’s up here. Now.”

  I stepped away from the door to let Dinkie-Do out and placed myself in front of it.

  “Why the hell would detectives be looking for me?”

  “Keldon and Wade are telling tales—fast and furious—like how much you enjoyed shooting Donnettelli in the ear—big on metaphors as you are.”

  He didn’t say anything, but he paled a bit.

  “You knew I’d seen the SD cards. You were here to kill me—if the absconding didn’t work.”

  “You’ve never been shy about sharing what you think,” Noel said. “Whether it was pure truth or shit. Shovel away.”

  I made my voice sincere. “The poker-party alibi was brilliant. I can’t figure how you guys pulled it off.”

  “You can barely figure out how to pull your ridiculous boots off.”

  The little fucker could insult me all day long—but my boots?

  I’d try again. “I know Keldon had you all well trained, so there was no chance—”

  Now Noel had to set me straight. “We used the same lemon-scented compound on Donnettelli that we’d put on your roses. You’re so arrogant you’d believe some dude sent you three dozen roses when it wasn’t even a holiday.” His tone suggested I ranked up there with mold on way-too-old limburger.