Shoot the Woman First (16 page)

Freeman shook his head. “He's new. Only been working for Marquis a few months. College boy. Always fronting tough, but he ain't shit.”

“That's not worth five thousand.”

“I ain't finished. Those other boys, ones that were in the Armada with me, they hiding, but they ain't far. Couple calls turned them up. Not Cordell, though. He gone.”

“Marquis know that?”

“Not from me. Sooner or later, though, he will.”

“Willie, you're jerking me off here.”

“There's more.”

“There better be.”

“Back when he started with Marquis, Cordell told some boys he had a cousin was a heavy hitter. A stickup boy.”

“He say his name?”

“Nah. But said his cousin worked all over. Banks, armored cars. Big scores. Said he was going to bring Cordell in on some.”

“Sounds like more fronting to me.”

“Few weeks back, though, he shut up about it. One of the boys that roll with me asked him about his OG cousin. Fucking with him, you know? Cordell wouldn't say shit this time.”

“You think the cousin's crew shot you up, took that money?”

“Maybe.”

“And you think Cordell was with them?”

“Could be.”

“But you didn't see him?”

“Like I said, they had masks.” He shifted, winced, rested his hip on the pew.

“You look like you're about done,” Burke said.

“Don't worry about me. I told you I'd give you a name. That's the name. You check it out, see. You get me that other five thousand. Maybe I have something else for you then, too.”

“Fair enough. But if all this turns out to be bullshit, I'll come back looking for my money. You know that, right?”

“I know it.”

“You know where this Cordell lives?”

Freeman shook his head, looked at Neesa.

“You need to start walking,” she said to Burke. “We done.”

He looked at her, then at Freeman, said, “I'll be in touch,” and started back up the aisle. He stopped halfway, turned. “One other thing.”

“What?” Freeman said.

Burke reached under his coat, back to where the Browning .380 was tucked into his belt. He drew it out in a fluid motion, the gun coming up smoothly, not snagging on anything. Neesa saw it, started to raise her gun, and he shot her twice in the chest.

The shots sounded almost as one, echoed through the church. Pigeons burst from the balcony, flew off, and disappeared into darkness. The flashlight hit the floor, rolled against a pew. Burke pointed the Browning at Freeman. “Stay right there, sport.”

Neesa lay on her back, not moving. Burke kicked her gun away, then bent and picked up the flashlight, turned its beam on Freeman. He was frozen.

“You think you're smarter than me, Willie.” He settled the beam on Freeman's chest. “But you're not.” He aimed the Browning at the circle of light, squeezed the trigger.

The shot knocked Freeman off the pew. Burke tracked him with the flashlight as he fell, fired twice more, the echoes chasing themselves. Brass clinked on marble.

Behind Burke, the woman groaned. He shone the light on her. She was blinking, her eyes unfocused, blood on her lips. He knelt, fit the muzzle of the Browning up under her jaw and fired once.

He used the flashlight to find all the casings, dropped them into a pocket. Then he turned Freeman's body over, took the envelope from his sling, careful to avoid the blood.

He put the envelope away, turned off the flashlight and tossed it into the shadows, heard it break. Then he walked up the aisle in the pale light from the stained glass, through the vestibule, and back out into the night.

 

FIFTEEN

Driving back from the mall, Crissa let the little girl have her silence. She was looking out the window, the breeze in her hair. In her lap was the new iPod Crissa had bought her, still in its packaging. It was a children's model, with a Mickey Mouse design on the case. At the electronics store, Crissa had asked the clerk to load it with songs a six-year-old might like. When he asked her for suggestions, she had none.

Haley hadn't talked much on the ride there, had never asked where they were going. When Crissa bought pizza slices and orange drinks at the food court, Haley had eaten in silence but left nothing on her plate. When they were done, Crissa took her to a children's store, let her pick out two new sets of clothes, including a Mickey Mouse T-shirt to match the iPod, Crissa guessing her size. Realizing she had no idea what a six-year-old might wear, what she might listen to or watch on TV.

She'd let Crissa take her hand as they were leaving the store. Toys “R” Us was next, and they'd left with a new Barbie doll, a stuffed squirrel, and a pink vinyl backpack. She had to be coaxed to pick out things. The doll had been Crissa's idea, remembering the broken one on the floor of the empty house. Haley had thanked her as they'd left the mall but had never smiled.

Now, in the car, the bags at her feet, Haley was tapping one foot on the floorboard, swinging the other. Humming to herself.

“Hey,” Crissa said. When she didn't answer, Crissa touched her on the shoulder. Haley looked at her.

“How you doin' there?” Crissa said.

“Thank you for all the presents.”

“You said that already. You're welcome.” Crissa reached out, brushed hair from her eyes. “Next time, maybe we can go somewhere, do something about this mop.”

“What's that on your arm?”

“What?”

Haley pointed at her left wrist, the Chinese character there. “That.”

Crissa looked at the tattoo, the faint burn scar that ran across it.

“That's there to remind me of someone who was very close to me. He has one, too, just like it.”

“What's it say?”

“It's the Chinese word for ‘perseverance.' Do you know what that means?”

Haley shook her head.

“It means to keep going when there's something you want, or something you need. Not giving up, even when things get rough and it feels like you can't go on anymore.”

“It's pretty.” She looked out the window again.

“So you like Mickey and Minnie, huh?” Crissa said. “They your favorites?”

“And Donald and Goofy. Pluto, too.”

“Have you ever been to Disney World?”

“No. Mom says it's too far away.”

“It's not that far. Closer than you think. Maybe we'll go there someday.”

“Who?”

“Me and you. How's that sound?” Regretting it as soon as she said it.

Haley nodded again but didn't smile, looked back out the window. She doesn't believe me, Crissa thought. And why should she?

The sky was a hard blue, the clouds gone. They passed a horse farm, the horses loose in a big pasture. Haley craned her head to see them, put her hand out the window and waved.

What are you doing here? Crissa thought. This isn't your daughter, your family. You need to do what you came to do and move on.

She felt a touch on her arm, turned. Haley was looking at her. “Are you sad?”

“What?”

“You're crying.”

“No,” Crissa said. “It's just the sun down here. I'm not used to it.”

Haley pointed at the sunglasses hanging from the rearview.

“Right,” Crissa said. “That's a good idea, isn't it?” She took them down, wiped her eyes with her wrist.

“It's okay to be sad,” Haley said.

“Is that right?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are you sad?”

“Not now.”

“That's good,” Crissa said, and turned away, not wanting her to see the tears. She put on the sunglasses.

*   *   *

When they pulled into the motel lot, Haley grew quiet. Crissa saw where she was looking. There were two motorcycles parked at the edge of the lot, near the far stairs. Flat-black Harleys with chrome pipes.

She parked, turned the engine off. The door to 216 was ajar. “Haley, wait here, all right?”

Crissa got out of the car. She started for the far stairs, heard the car door open and close behind her, turned to see Haley following.

“Go back to the car,” Crissa said. Haley shook her head, caught up with her, took her hand.

“All right,” Crissa said. “But stay close to me.” She hoisted her up, surprised by her weight, carried her up the stairwell to the second floor.

When she set her down, she let Haley take her left hand, wanting to keep the right free. She knocked on the door, and it opened wider, Claudette standing there. She gave Crissa a look she couldn't read, then stepped aside.

There were two men on the couch, both with long hair, sleeveless denim jackets over leather, engineer boots. Roy stood against the wall on the other side of the room, arms folded, chewing his lip. He looked up as Crissa came in.

The man on the right, grayer than the other, with a full beard, said, “Hey, baby.” Crissa looked at him, felt Haley move behind her. Realized then who he meant.

“Come sit on daddy's lap,” he said, and patted his knee.

Haley tightened her grip on Crissa's hand. She squeezed back.

“Company,” the other one said. He was younger, had a broken nose and long sideburns. He looked at Roy. “You should have told us.”

“Which one of you is Blue?” Crissa said.

The younger one looked at her, said, “I don't believe we've met.”

“Claudette,” Crissa said, “why don't you take Haley down to that Dairy Queen up the block, get some ice cream?”

“Why you wanna do that?” the older one said. “She just got here.” He smiled at Haley, showed a gold tooth. “Come on over here, beautiful. Give Uncle Jackson a kiss.”

Haley squeezed her hand tighter. Crissa looked at Claudette, said, “Take her.”

“Now, that's no way to be,” Jackson said. “Look, you're getting her all upset.”

Claudette came behind Crissa, took Haley's free hand, tried to lead her away.

“Come on, sweetie,” Jackson said. “Sit over here.”

Crissa knelt, gently worked her fingers free from Haley's. “Go with your mom. I'll see you in a few minutes.” Haley shook her head.

“Let's go,” Claudette said. “Ice cream.” When Haley didn't move, Crissa scooped her up, carried her out the door, Claudette following. She set her down, kissed the top of her head. “Stay with your mom. Go on, go get some ice cream. I'll be over in a little bit.”

“I don't have any money,” Claudette said. Crissa took a twenty from her pocket, handed it to her. “Stay there. I'll come find you when they're gone.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just go.”

Haley was wiping her eyes. Crissa squeezed her shoulder, felt the bones there, so close beneath the skin.

“Go on now. Everything's okay. I'll come get you in a little while.”

She watched them walk away, hand in hand. Haley turned to look back over her shoulder at Crissa. Claudette picked her up, carried her down the stairs and out of sight.

Crissa went back into the room, closed the door. The two bikers were watching her. Roy was still by the wall, swaying back and forth, arms crossed, hands in his armpits.

To Blue, she said, “How much does he owe you?”

“Like I said, lady. I don't think we've met.”

“Hey, Roy,” Jackson said. “How come this chick knows your shit?”

“Shut up,” Blue said. Then to her, “What makes you think he owes me anything?”

“We can dick around here or get down to it,” she said. “How much to get free and clear?”

“Free and clear,” Blue said, and sat back. “That sounds nice. Free and clear. Who wouldn't want to be that?”

Jackson got up, started for the door. She moved in front of him. He frowned. “What are you doing?”

She could smell the alcohol on him. Aim for the throat or eyes, she thought. Anywhere else and he might not feel it. And you'll only get one shot before they're both all over you.

“Hey, Jackie,” the other one said. “Sit down. Be cool.”

Jackson squinted at her. She didn't look away, watched for the shoulder movement that meant he was about to swing on her, hoped it would give her enough time to hit him first.

He turned away from her, sat back on the couch.

Blue looked at Roy. “What's going on here,
papi
?”

Roy shrugged. “She's a friend of Haley's father.”

Jackson said, “Dude, I thought
you
were her father.”

“Her real father,” Roy said.

“Enough of this,” she said. “How much?”

Blue pulled an earlobe, looked at her. She saw the tattoos just below the knuckles of his right hand,
PAIN
spelled out in Gothic letters.

“How much,” she said, “for you to leave them alone?”

“These are friends of mine you're talking about,” Blue said. “Claudette and I go back a long way. I knew her when she used to dance at the Whisky Room. She was fine back then, let me tell you. But if you're talking business…”

“I didn't tell her anything,” Roy said. “I don't know where—”

“Shut up,” Blue said. Then to her, “I'm not saying I know what you're talking about here. But if he has debts, why wouldn't he take care of them himself?”

“You're a smart guy,” she said. “A businessman. But he's a fuckup.” She nodded at Roy. He was chewing his lip again, watching her.

“You know you'll never get more than chump change out of him,” she said. “Even if he squares up this time, it'll happen again. He's a junkie. It's their nature.”

Blue laughed, looked at Roy. “She's sure got your number, slick.” Jackson still looked confused.

“She's got money,” Roy said, talking fast, the words spilling out. “A lot. She brought it here for us. From Haley's father.” She looked at him. He took a step back.