Taking Stock (37 page)

A patch of loose sand launched her sneaker down the slope, stretching her legs wide. The grating, scratching noise echoed through the damp musty air. She scrambled, regained her balance, and stopped long enough to hear the footsteps hasten toward her. She ran down two more levels, farther away from her pursuer, but deeper and deeper underground where she’d eventually be cornered. The bag was getting heavy now, too. The weight was slowing her pace and her shoulder ached. On the next floor, she decided to hide. She sprinted along the outer edge of the garage and lay down in a cluster of cars. Minutes passed. Each shallow breath brought more dust and dirt to choke her. With each passing second, she cursed herself for not getting on the elevator and riding up to freedom on the surface.

She waited.

Footsteps approached from the ramp.
Eric
a hoped it was someone coming for their car, but patrons would use the stairs or the elevator not the ramp. She peeked out from underneath a bumper and saw Brad searching the parking area with a black gun in his hand, his face lit by weak fluorescent lights. He methodically checked inside and underneath each car, making his way down the row on the opposite side of the garage.

When he disappeared behind the little building that housed the elevator,
Eric
a saw her chance. She lifted her bag and snuck toward him, hiding behind the building as Brad passed on the other side. At the end of the row he spun around and peered down the line of cars. He didn’t notice the eyes behind the blue sedan.

There were few cars in the garage at this hour, but thankfully enough of them were clustered around the elevator to hide her movement. Brad moved slowly, venturing to each and every car on the floor, even those parked off by themselves. His thoroughness made his progress slow and predictable.
Eric
a slipped behind a black Volvo against the far wall. Brad had already checked the area once. She wouldn’t give him reason to return.

When he circled the small elevator building,
Eric
a could hear his growls and frustrated curses. She waited until he searched halfway back to the ramp and then slipped between the cars, scooted to the elevator bank, and eased inside. She pressed the up button, counted to five, and pressed the down button. She stood in the center of the little room ready to jump though whichever pair of doors opened first.

A motor started somewhere below, the cable lifting a car toward her.

Trapped, the wait seemed endless. If the elevator came now, Brad would be at the far end of the garage with no chance to stop her. If it took much longer, he could intercept the elevator on a floor above. If he did, she’d be trapped in a four-by-four stainless steel coffin when the doors opened.

The room she was in wasn’t much bigger. The concrete wall hid Brad and
Eric
a from each other. He searched out there somewhere and she was trapped inside with no idea where he’d moved since she last saw him. The end walls and doors were mostly glass with a thin metal sheet underneath. She backed up against the concrete and switched her head back and forth from one glass wall to the other, watching the width of the garage. The enclosure muffled the sound of Brad’s footsteps. She’d entirely lost track of him and could only hope he was on the ramp to another floor. Freedom would be here soon.

Ding.

Brad, by chance, had circled back to re-check some cars in the center of the garage and the ringing bell called him like a hungry animal.
Eric
a stepped up, poised to dive inside at the first possible instant, not knowing he was rushing toward her.

The heavy car settled in place on the other side of the doors.

Brad’s head popped into view. He raised the gun over the roof of a brown sedan and the instant it settled, the gun kicked up with a flash and a muffled roar. The wall of glass between them shattered as the first bullet passed through. Shards of glass rained down on the worn carpet.
Eric
a dropped to the floor, smacking her knee and elbow on the tiles that outlined the small room. Brad fired again and again leaving no time to aim between shots.
Eric
a clutched her bag to her head, and rolled away from the elevator hoping there was something solid enough inside the bag to slow the bullets.

Her ears rang with the reverberating reports as she huddled at the base of the concrete wall, lying flat and clutching the bag at her head. The bullets stopped. Shattered glass covered the floor. The contents of her bag were strewn all over from her rolling. She couldn’t see Brad beyond the waist-high, solid wall and she couldn’t hear anything over the high pitched ringing in her ears. She wanted to run, but Brad could be waiting for her to step outside. She crouched low and waited as the doors vibrated.

The scraping of the clip was barely audible and
Eric
a didn’t recognize the sound. Her eyes swung from door to door wondering where Brad would appear. The elevator doors slid open and as they did, the bullets started again. Pairs of bullets pierced the thin metal walls beneath where the glass had been. The first two tore through the worn rug, ricocheted up and lodged in the door jam of the elevator. Two more skipped right through the room and into the parked cars beyond, shattering the remaining glass in the door behind her.

Eric
a wondered how many bullets Brad had. They were coming slower now. He was being more careful. She peeked up and saw him pull the gun down and rush toward her between two cars. As he did, she took two running steps and leaped across the floor, landing halfway in the waiting elevator. She dragged her legs inside and heaved on her bag strap, hauling it past her so fast it smacked into the rear wall. She frantically pressed the lobby button from her knees, pressing hard as if that would close the door faster. A bullet whizzed by and clanked as the doors finally started to move.
Eric
a hurled herself into the corner, protected from the bullets by the concrete wall and several layers of steel. Two more bullets clanked inside the far end of the elevator, leaving dark, round holes in the shiny metal. The remaining bullets struck the sealed outer doors as
Eric
a was lifted away.

The ride up was slow, but Brad would be delayed when the next elevator arrived, heading down. He couldn’t beat the elevator up four flights of stairs. She got off, hobbled up the ramp and outside on a sore knee. Several streaks of blood oozed through her tattered pants where the skin on her kneecap had been. She jogged off gingerly toward Faneuil Hall ignoring her burning knee and aching shoulder. The pain was forgotten when she saw a brown and white cab at the corner of
State Street
. She waved frantically, crawled inside and the cab sped away.

Carlos scrawled the cab’s plate number then flipped open his phone. “Hey, Boss,” he said.

“What’s going on
?
”

“He chased her into the
P.O. Square
garage. In eight minutes I counted fifteen shots.”

“Fifteen
?
”

“Could’ve been more. They came fast,” Carlos said, shaking his head in disbelief. “She’s hobbling, looks like she fell, but he didn’t score a hit.”

“Fifteen shots and she’s moving
?
Where is he
?
”

“She bolted into a cab. He’s scrambling ass for his car.”

“How’d she get away
?
He run out of ammo
?
”

“Don’t know. You want me to do her
?
”

“No. I don’t want you guys cowboying around the city. Let’s leave this one to Brad.”

“He missed her fifteen times –
Indoors!
”

“I know. He’s useless. Anyone else hear the shots
?
”

“Nothing’s moved here for a while. Can’t say for sure no one’s camped out down there, but I doubt it.”

“Good enough for me. What about cameras
?
”

“Not sure.”

“Go down to there and check it out then report the trouble. Make sure there’s nothing to lead the cops to him or her. I don’t want cops attached to either one of them in case we need to make a move. If he whacks her great, but I’m not expecting miracles. Just try and keep him out of jail.”

“Got it.”

Carlos couldn’t understand why he was cleaning up after Foster rather than chasing the girl. Foster was more trouble than he was worth, but Carlos didn’t protest. That didn’t play with the boss. Carlos walked downstairs shaking like a frightened office jockey, scared by the commotion and ready to cling to anyone who could protect him.

The scene looked like Brad had been firing a machine gun. Ten shell casings lay in a group on the concrete about forty feet from the elevator. Eight more were scattered ranging from twenty-five feet to as close as ten feet from the glass door. Brad must have been running and shooting. Carlos got on his knees and searched around every tire to be sure he had them all. He couldn’t do anything about the slugs, but the gun was untraceable.

Every pane of glass was smashed out of the elevator lobby. At least four cars had been hit. Luckily no cameras filmed the shooting spree. He picked up some make-up and business cards from the carpet where the girl had fallen. He stuffed them in his pockets and went back upstairs wondering how Foster could miss her in that tiny room. He’d hit everything else.

Eric
a fished ten dollars from her wallet as the cab double parked on
Marlborough
. Brad couldn’t have beaten the jerky stop-and-go of the cab driver across town, but
Eric
a nervously scanned the dark sidewalks for him anyway. Two young kids wobbled along in search of their next drink oblivious to
Eric
a watching them through the glass. Farther up the block a more calculating figure leaned against a brick entryway. This man was waiting for something. His head was in shadow, yet she could tell he was intent on the happenings up and down the street.

The cabbie knocked the plexiglass for his fare. Her eyes shifted from the cabbie to the form outside and back.

“Change of plans.” She gave him Gregg’s address in the North End.

He hesitated, annoyed with the delay, but he must have sensed the fear in her face because he turned around and sped away without complaining.

Eric
a dug for her cell phone. She chose the speed dial for Gregg’s house, but didn’t dial. Brad knew about Gregg and he’d have ways of getting his address. He could probably get her mother’s and Gregg’s parents’, too.

They turned off Storrow closing in on Gregg’s place. She let him approach knowing she couldn’t get out. She needed someplace safer.

Her mother had taken her to a shelter once when she was four. They’d escaped her father for a week while the bruises on her mother’s face healed.
Eric
a never understood why she brought them back into that house. Years later
Eric
a volunteered in the shelter to counsel other young women not to make the same mistake. Some had listened.

She dialed the number her mother must have dialed frantically all those years ago, a number
Eric
a spent a good many nights answering.