Fish Out of Water (8 page)

Five years I worked homicide in the city and I never got shot.

Not that I wasn’t in dangerous situations, many times. But I was always too quick.

My first time, I thought, as I sank to my knees like a folded piece of paper.

Always important to try new things.

Blondie slid off my shoulder as I hit the dirt.

I was in agony, but couldn’t work out where I’d been hit. The world was awash with pain. I was supine and vaguely aware of scrunching my knees up to my chest as I retreated into some fetal hug, thinking: I’m supposed to have three more weeks.

The pain was inside my head, and in my ears, like some demented thing.

I must have taken a hit to the head. That’s gotta be bad.

Then I couldn’t think at all.

The pain was getting worse, building to a screaming zenith and underneath the blind rage I was feeling at being hurt this way was a matching frustration that I couldn’t work out where the hell they’d hit me. I was worried about Blondie, I was worried I was making too much noise, I was worried someone would find me…

Then it was over. Very suddenly.

Doug was beside me, cradling my head in his hands and he’d done something else too but I was still picking my thoughts up off the nearest gooseberry bushes and couldn’t work out what the hell he did to make the pain stop. He shushed me by putting a finger to my lips and it was only then I realized I was moaning.

“Shush. Stop. Rania, stop. Look at me girl. Look at me, you gotta stop.” I could see his lips moving but I couldn’t hear him right.

And then I realized what he’d done. He’d put something in my ears. Like a dog with a flea collar on, I tried to brush the things away. They were some kind of ear plugs, hard plastic knobs rammed deep inside the ear canal. But my arms weren’t working like they should. They were flapping around uselessly, oblivious to my commands.

Doug turned my face to his impassive one and motioned
not yet
.

Then he gave me the wait signal, pointed to the van, and heaved Blondie over his shoulder. He darted over to the van really fast and low for someone so huge, and deposited Blondie unceremoniously through the already-open door.

Then he came back to me and motioned again:
now
.

I realized I must look startled as he bent to pick me up because his face started signaling effectively even with his hands around my torso and out of action.

Don’t argue
.

This time it was me he was tossing onto the van floor before the night was a kaleidoscope of spinning wheels and jarring steel and he sped out of there. I was lying right next to Blondie, although Doug obviously dumped her fairly perfunctorily before he came back for me, because she’d kind of half rolled over. She looked twisted up, and messy. I could see clumps of dirt and grass in her beautiful hair from when I dropped her. I lifted my right arm to try to straighten her up as we lay together on the steel floor of Doug’s van. I managed to lift my arm, but only just, and a rough stab of nausea knifed into my belly. I rolled quickly over onto my back again, trying to prevent it. But I couldn’t stop the torrents of vomit from pouring out of me. All I could do was try not to mess Blondie up further in the process.

I could feel the van pull up as I finally lay still, in a putrid pool of fear and injury.

Doug yanked open the van door and I realized we’d parked a few doors down from Mom’s place, at the park. He’d driven us up onto the verge and behind some trees, offering at least a little protection from the road.

He looked down at me, lying on the floor of the van and reached for my face. I was confused by why he was choosing now to have a tender moment when I realized he was taking the tiny plugs out of my ears.

“You okay?” He looked rough, although I guessed not as bad as me.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “But I’ve got bad news.” He wasn’t biting. “It’s worse than the Harley.” I motioned to the vomit.

He laughed, and even in the dark I could see the lines smooth out on that patrician face. “Jesus, Sheriff, that’s disgusting. You’re cleaning it out once you’re ok. Goddamn women, they always get carsick.”

“Hate to break it to you, but don’t think it was anything to do with your driving.” I paused. “What the hell happened back there?”

“No idea,” he confirmed unhelpfully, rubbing rough palms up and down my arms as though to warm me up. “I was watchin’ you carrying Blondie over like she was no heavier than a bagel, then I heard this sound. My ears hurt. But you dropped. You were rolling and clutching at your face and head.”

“Hang on.” I blinked, trying to clear my head. “Didn’t you hear the shooter before that?”

“Sheriff,” he said quietly, stopping the rubbing and cupping my face. “There weren’t no shooter. Just you. And Blondie. I ran over and there was blood all over your face. Coming outta your ears. And you were screamin’. I could see you were screamin’. But silently, y’know. No sound. Damnedest thing I ever saw.”

“So that’s why you did the thing with the ear plugs?”

“Well…” He looked sheepish. “I’d like t’ tell ya it was my idea, but not really. Something I saw in Iraq. Went to a test of this new generation of weapons the terrorists are usin’. Scariest shit I ever saw. Crippling people with sound. It was pretty crude, but effective.” He looked like he was made of stone, remembering. “I’ve carried a couple of pairs of these little babies ever since.” He motioned at two bloody plugs lying in his open palm.

“Military issue. Cut out 90 per cent of all sound. Dunno what made me connect the dots tonight, really, but I tucked them in my ears before I ran over to you, and the pain stopped. Then, when I put them in your ears, you stopped the freaky quiet screamin’ stuff.”

I looked at him, impressed. A girl could sure get used to having this guy around.

“Just as well too, Sheriff.”

“Why’s that?” I asked quickly, suddenly worried that maybe someone had heard us.

“‘Cause I can’t stand to see a goddamn woman howlin’.”

I looked at him again. He was laughing, wiping tears from his eyes. “Anyway, GI Jane,” he went on. “Think we better get Blondie outta here. We got enough to deal with without some nosy neighbor havin’ a peek. Once we got her sorted, we can go get your Ma’s vehicle. You gonna be ok to walk?”

I wasn’t sure. I heaved myself gingerly over the side of the van, and planted my feet softly on the ground. It felt like I was taking my first steps.

“Just give me a minute,” I suggested.

“Fine,” Doug said. “I’ll get Blondie in the house. We can transfer her to Larry’s facility later. Right now I think you need to lie down. But maybe we shouldn’t leave her out here.”

I felt a rush of gratitude that he was taking care of her, although I was about to insist that I could manage her, when I felt my legs giving way beneath me and realized I couldn’t. “Okay,” I sighed.

“Thank you, God,” Doug sighed back. And then, to his shoulder, where our dead mermaid was already swinging serenely: “I thought I was going to have to insist, Blondie. And the good Lord knows that woman does not like it when you insist.”

And then he was off.

I took the opportunity to practice walking. I definitely did not want Doug hefting me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes again. The simple, rhythmic task was useful to stop me from completely freaking out. My mind was buzzing as it sorted through strands of information.

Someone tried to kill me. Worse. Someone tried to kill me with some seriously scary weapon I couldn’t even hear. And it was too early. I still had three weeks. Who was it? The big creepy guy Dan and Missy saw earlier? Did he kill her? And why? Did they want Blondie?

The last final piece clicked into place.

They did this to her, too. This was how they killed her. My poor Blondie.

The nagging thought that had started to scratch at me a little back at The End of Days, at the mike, dug its claws deeper into my heart.

I don’t want to die. Especially like this
.

I was down the dark end of the park when Doug returned, and he wasn’t alone. I could feel Mom’s voice poking in my head before I saw her.
Oh Mother. Someone tried to kill you?

My Mom never freaks out, and I couldn’t take it now.
Stop. Mom, stop
.

I felt her start up again.
Someone tried to kill you!

I reached for what I knew was a cowardly appeal, more to make her stop than for any other reason.
Just take care of me
.

It had the desired effect. She stopped her maternal rant in the inner reaches of my mind, which I was too wiped out and too tired to close off. She just ran to me instead, wrapping me up in her arms and picking me up like I was a feather and carrying me up the stairs, despite my protestations, despite Doug’s barely audible “Holy cow, the mother’s just as strong as she is.”

She wouldn’t let me talk, she’d seen enough in my head. She lay me gently on my bed, pulling freshly laundered sheets up to my nose. I tried to protest.

I had to get Blondie inside. And then get her to Larry’s contact.

And then get Ma’s car.

I had to…

But I was so tired. I felt like I’d run a marathon. Like I could die now, peacefully, in my sleep. I felt like if I wasn’t gonna die I was gonna sleep for a thousand years, like a fairy tale.

Mom got her elixir out of the bathroom cabinet. The one saved for major flesh wounds and broken hearts. She dabbed some on my temples, and whispered into my burned out mind.

“Sleep, Ransha, sleep. Doug and I will do what needs to be done.”

Chapter Four

Sting-rays and Eight-ball

Day Two: 10:00am

He is riding the ivory stallion, and I am bumping along sitting astride it, behind him. My heart is full and I can feel the ride’s bony back between my legs and the strong, muscled back of my lover pressed against my chest at the same time. The setting sun dips in front of us as we bounce across the plain. It is huge and orange and glowing with possibility
.

All is well. After everything that has been, all is going to be okay…

I was groggy and disoriented, my mind blank, as I twisted and bucked in the bright room, sheets pinning me down. My eyes connected with furniture and light that I didn’t recognize, that made no sense. I was a girl, riding off into the sunset, my heart full. What was all of this? A slick black space occupied the zone where I somehow knew my thoughts and memories should be. I gasped and spluttered like a drowning woman. I groped for myself, for my soul, not knowing who or where I was. A prickly rush arced through me and I tasted blood on my tongue as I bit down against the terror. Blank consciousness overwhelmed me for a few seconds before I remembered who and where I was. Before the simple furnishings – the netbook on a desk, the Goan wall hanging – declared themselves mine.

Me.
Rania
. Of Dirtwater, Nowhere. Half mermaid, half cop. Half freakin’ insane.

I sat up quickly, tearing sheets from my body and wondering if death was like that. Ugly nothingness. Being empty of self. It was the shit-scariest thing that had ever happened to me.

I stretched like a cat, feeling sore patches and an aching bruise where my brain used to be. I glanced at the clock. Ten am. Brownie o’clock.

Wonder why Mom let me sleep so long.

Then I remembered. I was out of bed and hunting for Mom in one swift movement, although the larger muscles of my torso and quads were echoing the screaming of my brain. I felt like some giant hand had picked me up and squeezed until I was red-raw inside and out.

But I didn’t care.

I limped through the red shield of agony. The whole thing seemed surreal. Mermaids in Dirtwater. Sound weapons.

And, weirder still, happy ever after dreams.

“How are you this morning darling?” I fuzzily registered that Mom was speaking with her lips rather than into my head, and that she sounded forced, so I figured we had company.

“Peachy, Mama,” I lied briskly.

And then the voice of my boss was at my ear, picking at my wounds as though he was scratching them with a scalpel. “Big night, huh Rania?”

Aldus. Give me scary sound weapon guy any day. I should have known. Brownie Sunday is like a mating call to the Dirtwater male.

“Hi Aldus,” I smiled at him, sniffing the air. “Started early this morning, Ma?”

“I remember you promised some brownies to little Billy,” she confirmed, doing her best Little House on the Prairie.

Oh by the Goddess, that’s right. I needed to get rid of the Sheriff. But how? I shot an SOS like a laser beam into Mom’s head.
Don’t you need something for the frosting?

Mom quickly bundled up two care parcels of freshly iced brownies for Aldus. “Here you go, dear,” she offered with honey persuasion. “Best get those over to your Ma right away, so they’re nice and warm for her.”

“Now?” Aldus had never been sent on his way so quickly. “What about Red Riding Hood?” He motioned at me in my crimson dressing gown. “She usually takes ’em to Ma.” “Oh, she would darling, but she has to go visit her father first. Didn’t you remember it’s Arty’s birthday? And you know your Ma’ll be waiting for them.”

Aldus had the good grace to look embarrassed. Dad’s still his best friend, despite having been locked up in the county jail for the last twelve years. “Oh, of course,” he lied. “Course I remembered. Gonna pop over to see him myself. Later.”

Aldus and Dad play a regular poker game at the jail, every Tuesday afternoon. It says something about Dirtwater that no-one bats an eyelid about the Sheriff and our most famous con being best buddies. Or about the con being the Mayor’s ex. Or the deputy being the daughter of said con and said mayor. I thought for a moment that maybe Dirtwater wasn’t such a parochial little shithole. Maybe Mom knew what she was doing when she chose it after all.

Aldus pried himself off the stool, moseying over to give Mom a quick peck on the cheek.

“Here you go.” She handed him the two parcels in a way that made him feel like the whole thing was his idea.