Driven to Ink (34 page)

“I’m heading home, but I’ll call you in the morning. See how you’re doing.”

“Mmm,”
I said, not really paying attention. “See you, then,” I said, flipping the phone shut, my attention on what was going on beyond the windshield.

Flanigan held the bullhorn at his side. The building stayed as quiet as it was when we first got here. I began to wonder whether anyone was inside at all. I hadn’t heard any gunshots.

I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes. I still held the cell phone; it was smooth like the rocks I used to skim across the river at home in Jersey. I felt myself dozing off, despite more shouting from outside my little cocoon. I didn’t have the energy to open my eyes to see what was going on.

I felt the cold air sweep across my body as my door opened, but because I was half-asleep I thought it was just part of the dream I was having.

But when I was yanked out of the car, an arm wrapped itself around my neck; my eyes snapped open, and I struggled to breathe.

I felt the cold metal against the side of my head.

“Come with me quietly. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

I
couldn’t move to see who it was. The voice was low, deep, not one I recognized.

He dragged me backward a few feet, then shifted his arm a little. It gave me a chance to ask, “What do you want from me?”

“Just a little insurance for now.”

I was able to twist my head a little, not without a lot of pain, and I saw him. Will Parker.

I must have looked surprised, because he chuckled and said, “You’re a nosy bitch. I knew you knew it was me all along.”

He loosened his grip slightly, and I shifted. I could see the torn tuxedo. So it had been Parker out there shooting at us.

“You did steal Joel’s clip cord, didn’t you?” I asked with a lot more bravado than I felt. But as I thought about how Ray Lucci was killed, it dawned on me that Rosalie had already told me Lou had done it. Two people couldn’t have killed one man.

And then I realized what it had been about her story that didn’t jibe.

She said she’d gone over to the wedding chapel when Bernie and Sylvia were getting married, to see the wedding. Lou had gotten angry, hit her, and Ray Lucci cut him up. It was then that Lou killed Ray, Rosalie said.

But he couldn’t have. Ray wasn’t killed until later, because he’d stolen my car. His fingerprints were all over it.

Rosalie had lied. Lou Marino hadn’t killed Ray Lucci. Will Parker had. Later in the day, and then he’d returned my car to the parking garage as if it had never been gone.

“Rosalie’s protecting you,” I said. “She told me Lou killed Lucci. But it was you all along. It doesn’t matter now if she says Lou killed him because Lou’s dead.”

“No thanks to Lucci,” he said bitterly.

I started putting it all together. That ten thousand dollars in Lucci’s locker. The ten thousand dollars Bernie took from Sylvia. And something that Rosalie said: how Lucci had told Lou that cutting him wasn’t how he’d planned it.

Maybe that part of Rosalie’s story was true. Everything except Lou killing Lucci.

“Bernie paid Lucci to kill Lou, didn’t he?” I asked. “So what happened? How did you end up killing Lucci instead? Why?”

His grip got tighter, and he lifted me up a little, until I was almost off my feet. “He cut him up, but he didn’t kill him. He had all that money, and he hadn’t done it yet. Lou kept hitting her, and Lucci was dragging his feet.” The anguish in his voice was palpable. It was clear how he felt about Rosalie.

“So you took matters into your own hands? Anyway, why didn’t Bernie pay you instead to kill Lou? You were the one in love with her.”

“That’s exactly why I couldn’t do it,” Parker said, taking the bait, his voice a low growl. The gun had moved from my temple down to my neck now. “Lucci was the ex-con. If he got caught, no biggie.”

No biggie to him and Bernie, perhaps, but it was a biggie to Sylvia.

“Why do you think I know all this already?” I asked.

“You can’t keep your nose out of anything. When I surprised you at the chapel, I knew you’d been looking in the lockers. I knew you’d found it.”

“Found what?”

He sighed. “I’m so tired of you playing stupid. Pretending to buy the crap about how a girl got rough with me but telling me the whole time about how your brother, the cop, was there. I didn’t get why you hadn’t told him yet, except you were on a power trip. I knew it was only a matter of time, though.”

This guy was living in his own little fantasy world. I didn’t want to let on that I’d just figured everything out. I’d have loved to know what it was I’d supposedly found in his locker. I hadn’t even gotten to his locker. I’d seen Dan Franklin’s university ID, and that was it.

“That’s enough talking. We’ve got to go for a ride.”

Parker spun me around and shoved me in front of him, his arm still wrapped tight around my chest, so my arms were pinned to my sides. The gun hovered somewhere near my ear. I wanted to scream, but he’d already shot Jeff, so he probably wouldn’t have any scruples about shooting me, too.

He weaved me through a couple of cars. The Love Shack was across the street, and we were headed in that direction, away from the police and the lights in front of That’s Amore.

“How did you get out?” I asked. “Out of the chapel back there?”

He chuckled, the rumbling vibrating against my ear. “I was gone before the cops got there. Those couples were convinced, though, that I was still in there and told the cops that.”

Great. No one would be looking here, across the parking lot and then across the street. He’d taken his arm away from my chest but held on to my upper arm, the gun stuck in the center of my back, where my Celtic cross tattoo was. He was walking so close to me that no one would be able to see the gun or that I was being forced to go.

“How’s your friend?” he asked.

“Fighting for his life,” I said, trying to choke back a sob. I hadn’t signed on for any of this, and I was making promises to Sister Mary Eucharista that I would never get involved in this sort of thing ever again as long as she let me live.

The bigger-than-life Elvis hovered overhead, the Love Shack sign flashing its neon. Anyone watching us would think we were just another couple going in to get married.

I needed to stall for more time.

“So I think I know what happened,” I said. “Bernie paid Lucci to kill his son-in-law, who was beating up his daughter. You didn’t think Lucci worked fast enough; you had some sort of fight—that’s where those bruises on your hand came from—you ended up killing him and putting him in my trunk; then you sat back and waited until the time was right to kill Lou.” I paused. “How did you know where to return my car after you killed Lucci?”

“I was with him when he stole it.”

Okay, that made sense in a weird sort of way. “So how come your prints weren’t found in the car, but Lucci’s were?”

He snorted. “Gloves.”

People wear gloves only when they know they’re going to have to cover something up. “You stole the clip cord; you had gloves; you were waiting for that moment, weren’t you?” I asked.

“Always be prepared, right?” His voice was so cold it sent shivers down my spine.

“Lucci didn’t really try to run you down, did he?”

“I wish you’d stop with the stupid act.”

He was giving me a lot of credit.

I had another question. “Why the rat?”

“I hated that rat.”

“Dan said Lucci killed it.”

“I did. And I figured what better way to send off Dean Martin than with a rat. Rat Pack, right?” He chuckled at his own joke.

“But you didn’t kill Lou, did you?”

He stopped laughing, and he shoved the gun hard into my back. “What do you mean?”

“Bernie killed him. With the Gremlin. But you still wanted money, didn’t you? It wasn’t enough to have Rosalie. That’s why you had him meet you at Murder Ink. To try to get money out of him.”

He wasn’t arguing with me, so I figured I was on the right track. I wished I had a tape recorder or something so I could prove all this to Tim later. If I had the chance.

We were going toward the door of the Love Shack now. It was a twenty-four-hour wedding chapel, and it bled light out onto the parking lot. If he was going to kill me, it seemed pretty risky to do it here.

And then I remembered Martin Sanderson.

“You’re driving Sanderson’s car,” I said. “Why?”

“It’s my car,” he said. “Martin doesn’t know I switched the plates.”

He wouldn’t be telling me all this if he was going to let me live.

Maybe I could yank myself away from him. Try to kick up backward and get him in the groin or the shin. Spin around and push him away and run.

As I was going through scenarios in my head, I didn’t hear the roar of the engine until it was almost upon us.

The car made the decision for me.

Will Parker threw me aside as the Impala sideswiped him, throwing him up over the hood in a total déjà vu moment.

I
’d lost my balance and ended up on the ground. When I rolled slightly to get up, I saw the gun near my feet. I stood and picked it up. It was big, like that Smith & Wesson that came in the mail for Ray Lucci. Had Lucci been waiting for the gun to kill Lou? Is that why it took so long that Parker felt he had to take matters into his own hands?

“Dear, are you all right?” Sylvia climbed out of the Impala and came toward me. She took the gun out of my hand as though it weighed next to nothing and went over to Will Parker, who lay on the ground, his leg twitching slightly.

Sylvia pointed the gun at him.

“Who do you think you are?” she demanded.

Her white hair was piled on top of her head and held in place with those little butterfly clips; she wore cotton pants and a fleece pullover. If it weren’t for the big gun locked between her hands, she’d look like someone’s grandmother on her way back from book group or knitting club.

Movement caught my eye. I turned to see Tim running across the intersection, his face grim.

When he caught sight of Sylvia holding the gun on Will Parker, he stopped short, and a big grin crossed his face. He hid it quickly, though, and strode over to her, putting his hand over hers and carefully taking the gun. He tossed a “How are you?” back at me.

I nodded to indicate I was okay.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Tim demanded of Sylvia as he leaned down and turned Parker over, slapping handcuffs on his wrists.

“I tried to tell you, but you weren’t paying attention,” Sylvia said. “I saw him”—she cocked her head at Parker—“taking Brett over here and it didn’t look like anything friendly. Someone had to do something,”

“That’s the last time I leave my keys in the car,” Tim muttered, pulling Parker to his feet.

“If you didn’t keep the keys in the car, then who knows what would’ve happened to your sister,” Sylvia said sharply. She was almost a foot shorter than he was, but she looked a lot taller as she stood with her hands on her hips, admonishing him.

I stifled a chuckle.

Parker glared at me. “It’s your word against mine,” he growled.

Tim shoved him. “Somehow I think her word is worth more,” he said.

A cruiser skidded to a stop behind the Impala, and Tim opened the back door and pushed Parker in, closing it behind him. He turned to me.

“Hate to tell you, but we’ve got to take a statement.”

Story of my life.

 

I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to get myself to the shop by eleven the next morning. I was sitting with my coffee and a bagel when Bitsy and Joel came in. They were laughing about something as they pushed the door open, but when they saw me, their faces froze.

“What happened to you?” Bitsy demanded, her voice stern, although I could tell I was totally off the hook for abandoning everyone yesterday.

Joel came over and gently touched my face. “Sweetheart, you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” I said, making a face at him. I’d looked in the mirror exactly once that morning and decided I wouldn’t do that for the rest of the day.

I’d spent most of the night at the hospital with Sylvia, waiting for Jeff to wake up. When he did, he gave me a small smile and raised his eyebrows as he assessed my bruises and scrubs, but he didn’t say anything. They wouldn’t let me stay, because I wasn’t family. Tim took me home after I gave my statement about Parker, and I got exactly two hours of sleep. But at least I’d gotten another shower and I could put on clean clothes.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” I said. “I went out for chocolate, and the next thing I knew, I was riding the Monorail and going to Summerlin and getting shot at. And Jeff’s in the hospital, and Will Parker tried to kill me a second time and—”

“Jeff? What’s wrong with Jeff?” Joel asked, concern etched in a frown across his forehead.

“Parker shot him after he ran us off the road. But he’s okay,” I added. “He’s out of surgery, and they say he’s going to be fine.”

Bitsy held her hand up. “Stop. You know you have to tell us everything from the beginning, but you’ve got a client coming in about two minutes. Is that enough time?”

I rolled my eyes. “Not nearly enough.”

As I spoke, my client came in. I was a little worried I’d be too tired, but turns out there’s a little thing called autopilot. I didn’t want to tell the client that I could do this in my sleep, because I practically was.

Bitsy plied me with more coffee after my client left, and I went over the story piece by piece. She and Joel and Ace, who’d come in while I was with my client, hung on every word and didn’t even interrupt.

I’d gotten pretty much all of it right. When Tim took me home to get a little sleep, he told me Rosalie admitted she and Parker had had an affair; she was protecting Parker by telling me that Lou killed Lucci. Bernie admitted—after the blood type found on the Gremlin matched Lou Marino’s—that he’d contracted to have his daughter’s husband killed, and when it didn’t work out, he took matters into his own hands.