1 Assault with a Deadly Glue Gun (36 page)

"SHIT! WHERE THE HELL'D they come from?"

Ricardo slammed on the brakes. I whiplashed from the front to
the back of the trunk, adding yet another layer of bumps, bruises,
and abrasions to my bleeding and battered body. The car fishtailed; I flew from side to side. Now I knew what it was like to go a
dozen rounds with Mike Tyson-and come up on the losing end.

I heard a loud smack as we sped off in the direction we'd come.
"You back-stabbing bitch! You're working with them, aren't you?"

Erica screamed out in pain. "No, Dicky, no! I wouldn't do anything to hurt you."

"Then how'd they know to stake out the lodge?" Ricardo had
gone ballistic. I couldn't be sure what he was doing to Erica as we
sailed down the road, but by the choking sounds she was making
and the repeated sickening thuds, it sounded like he had grabbed
her by the throat and was smashing her head against the dashboard.

"I don't know!" she gasped. "Please stop! You're hurting me. I
can't breathe!"

"Hurting you? I ain't begun to hurt you, bitch."

I heard a loud crunch. Then silence.

"Goddamn sonofabitch!" He slammed on the brake again. The
car jerked to the side, spun, then flipped. My body bounced around
like a load of wet laundry in a clothes dryer. My head continued to
spin even after the car came to a rest, upside down.

I don't know how long I lay there. I think I may have suffered a
concussion. Shouting voices and sirens surrounded me but like a
dream that faded in and out of my consciousness. Finally, someone banged on the car. "Mrs. Pollack? Can you hear me? Are you
all right?"

I never thought I'd be so happy to hear Robbins' voice. "I'm
alive," I shouted.

"Hold on. We have to flip the car to get you out."

The Mercedes rocked back and forth like some mangled metal
hammock. I swayed along with it, each to and fro more pronounced.

Someone yelled, "Here it goes"

The car flipped, slamming right-side up, and I followed, slamming my head yet again.

"Still with us, Mrs. Pollack?" yelled Robbins.

"No, I decided to step out for a Starbucks. This is a recording."

He laughed. Detective Robbins actually laughed! "While you're
there how about getting me a double-shot mocha Frappucchino?"

A moment later I heard the unmistakable sound of ripping
metal and saw the most glorious sight in the world-an Under
Dog tie swinging from Robbins' thick neck.

He helped me out of the trunk and gave me the once over. "You
don't look too good."

I swayed on my feet and nearly fell back into the trunk. He
grabbed my arm to steady me.

"You think?" I said.

"We're going to get you checked out at the hospital," said Batswin,
coming up behind us. A couple of EMTs, one wheeling a stretcher,
followed her.

Robbins led me to the stretcher, but before I allowed them to
strap me in, I scanned the area. Lots of cars with flashing lights. An
ambulance. A fire truck. People milling around, some in uniforms,
some not. A few holding rifles.

"What about Ricardo and Erica?" I asked.

Batswin jerked her chin toward a set of flashing lights receding
in the distance. "The other ambulance already left with them."

Six hours later, after a stint of physical poking and prodding at the
hospital, followed by several hours of verbal poking and prodding
at the Morris County precinct, I sat in traffic on my way back
to Westfield. Batswin drove, Robbins following behind in my
Hyundai.

I had sustained a mild concussion from all the head-banging
and several cracked ribs. My X-Acto knife stabbed, bruised, and
battered body-covered in shades of reds, purples, blues, and
greens-looked like an expressionist painter had mistaken me for
a canvas. My head felt like it was hosting a rave, and it hurt like
hell to breathe-let alone move. But I felt terrific.

"What's going to happen to Erica?" I asked. I had learned from
Batswin that both Erica and Ricardo were listed in stable condition, having sustained numerous minor but few major injuries
other than some broken bones. A testament to the advantages of
seat belts and air bags, even when traveling at Mach One.

"She's cooperating. The Feds offered her Witness Protection,
and she jumped at the chance. By the way, you owe your life to
her."

"How? She couldn't have known I had freed myself and had
my cell phone."

"No, but she had hers. She planned to call the police as soon as
Ricardo left the two of you at her father's hunting lodge."

"And Ricardo?"

"He's angling to cut a deal, too"

"But he's a murderer!"

"I don't think the Feds will be interested. There isn't much he
can tell them that they can't get from Erica. Ricardo is pretty low
level in the Milano organization pecking order. My guess is he developed a relationship with Erica to curry favor with her father"

Poor Erica. She deserved a life of her own. No wonder she welcomed the offer of witness protection and the chance to get away
from her family permanently. "So Ricardo was what? A mob loan
shark?"

"Right"

I laughed. "Erica had us convinced Dicky was a financial consultant."

"Banker for a private financial institution would have been a
more fitting description. He didn't lend his money. He lent mob
money. And probably only about twenty-five thousand to your husband. The rest would have been the interest that had accrued
on the loan."

"A hundred percent interest?"

"I think the going rate is something like twenty-five percent a
week."

"Nice work if you can get it."

She turned her head toward me and raised an eyebrow.

"Don't worry, Detective. I have no plans to whittle down my
debt by becoming a loan shark."

"Glad to hear that, Mrs. Pollack."

"Besides, I have no start-up capital."

"Right" Batswin chuckled.

Earlier I'd elicited a laugh from Robbins, now a chuckle from
Batswin. Maybe the dynamic detecting duo was human after all.
And to think, it had only taken me nearly getting killed to bring
out the hidden Humor Gene in each of them. Who knew I had
such talent?

"So Ricardo had to account to higher-up hoods for the money?"

"Every penny or they'd suspect he was skimming."

"Then bye-bye Ricardo?"

"You got it."

"I guess that's why he was so desperate. Even willing to kill
for it."

"Kill or be killed with that group. But people kill for a lot less.
Besides, your own husband committed murder for that same fifty
thousand dollars."

I shuddered at the memory. Three innocent people dead because of Karl's greed. "I hope no further surprises materialize. I'd
like to close the Karl chapter of my life and start a whole new book. Although, that seems unrealistic, considering I'll be paying
off the debt he dumped on us for years to come."

"Oh, that reminds me," she said, shifting lanes to maneuver
around a minivan, "while you were giving your statement at the
station, we received a call from the Bronx police. Based on what
you heard Ricardo admit, they raided Nardo Milano's pawn shop.
All your stuff was still there. Once they're done using it as evidence, you can get it back."

The way the wheels of justice squeak and piddle along, that
could be anywhere from six days to six years, but we'd manage.
Somehow. We'd survived far worse over the past few days.

Half an hour later, Batswin pulled up in front of my house;
Robbins parked my car in the driveway. We all piled out. "Nice,"
said Robbins, eyeing the two-seater silver Porsche Boxster he'd
parked beside. "Yours?"

"Yeah, I only drive the rattletrap to work because of all the
crime in the cornfields."

"That's what I thought."

All three of us laughed. "You're okay, Mrs. Pollack," he said.

High compliment coming from a man who only a few days ago
wanted to slip a noose around my neck. "Yeah, so are the two of
you." And I meant that. Batswin and Robbins weren't the incompetent country rubes I'd originally dubbed them. After all, they'd
saved my life.

"The car belongs to my new tenant," I said.

I invited them in for cups of instant coffee, but they declined.
"We still have reports to file," said Batswin, "but thanks. Maybe
another time."

She and Robbins headed back to her car as I opened the front
door.

"Keep it up, and I'll report you and all your cohorts to Homeland Security," screamed Mama. "I know what you're planning in
those secret meetings of yours. You communists are as much a
threat to this country as Al-Qaeda!"

"Me?" Lucille laughed derisively. "Who do you think supplied
all those weapons to the Taliban? All your right-wing reactionary
friends."

Mephisto barked.

Catherine the Great yowled.

Ralph squawked, "Once more unto the breach, dear friend.
Henry the Fifth. Act Three, Scene One."

I turned to see Batswin and Robbins staring at my open front
door. "Home sweet home," I said with a shrug and a wave as I
closed the door behind me.

Life goes on. Eventually, I'd get past my anger over how Karl
fooled and shafted us. I'd deal with Lucille, deal with Mama, deal
with the debt, deal with getting Alex and Nick into college-and
how to pay for it.

And then if I had any time or energy left, I'd deal with me.
Maybe even dip my big toe back in the dating pool. You never
know what's waiting around the corner.

Or above the garage.

THE END

Mop Doll Murders

UPSTAIRS, THE FRONT DOOR slammed with enough force to register a
five on the Richter scale. Dust dislodged from the exposed basement rafters and drifted down like polluted snow, settling over the basket of clean
laundry I'd been folding. The ensuing shouting, barking, and yowling
drowned out my muttered curse of choice and yanked my attention
away from the now Dalmatian-spotted white wash.