Witness to Death (22 page)

“You ever hear them say the streets were paved with gold? That’s how it was. Money, booze, sports and strippers. Like the Greeks, we had it all.”

Christine tilted her head. “You mean the Romans?”

“No, the Greeks. The strippers gave us lots of anal.”

Christine felt her cheeks get hot. “Oh my God. Come on.”

“Go get ‘em,” Tony said, laughing.

Christine stepped down off the walkway and opened the front door of her car. She wondered what Michelle looked like these days.

Christine shook her head. She didn’t care.

Instead Christine pictured Mike O’Connor’s blade cutting open Michelle’s neck, while she laughed.

“You told him where we were.”

“I didn’t—He said he was going to help.”

John had Michelle by the armpits, lifting her off the bed. His shoulder screamed as he did so. He didn’t shake her, but she couldn’t back away. He wanted to dig his hands into the flesh and push hard and shake her until she cried, but he didn’t. He wanted to stare into her eyes. The eyes that were wide and dancing everywhere around the room.

“He’s not going to help, Michelle.”

He let go of her and watched her take a step back to keep her balance. Perhaps he had held her harder than he meant to.

“How can you say that? He’s my father. Why wouldn’t he help? I don’t want to be stuck here forever. What other choice do we have?”

“Wait things out. Why would your father help? He might help you, but not me. He just said it on the phone.”

“He just said… I’ll be…”

“But not me,” John said. “He purposefully didn’t mention me.”

“I think you’re reading too much into what he said. Why wouldn’t he help you too?”

“Think about it, Michelle.”

Michelle took him by the wrist and turned him toward her. The gray light through the window fell on her face, making her eyes shine. Her lips parted as she took in a breath.

“Because I’m involved. That’s why he’ll help you too. I’ll make him.”

“You never thought he loved you. He doesn’t care about you.”

“You didn’t hear him on the phone. He was concerned. I’m in trouble. I’m his daughter. Whether he loves me or not, I’m still his blood.”

Michelle seemed tentative, saying the words slowly. John wondered if she thought her family was just as questionable as her friends.

“That’s not how he acted when I talked to him,” John said.

He thought about the man standing outside, the one he’d gone to check on. John sat in the car, heat running for twenty minutes watching him. As he watched, the man never even looked toward the car, never gave him a second glance. Each minute that passed, John tensed more tightly. His heart pounded harder. His breathing quickened. The feeling was familiar; it was only the cause that was different.

Finally the guy went into the lobby. John followed him inside five minutes later, and bought a soda from the vending machine. He only relaxed when he saw the man counting the keys behind the counter.

But they still weren’t safe.

“He didn’t sound concerned when I talked to him. His voice was cold. I can’t describe it, but it’s not right Michelle.”

“The police are on their way.”

John closed his eyes.

“They’re going to come and get us out,” Michelle said.

“They’ll arrest me on the spot.”

“No, they’ll listen to my dad. They’ll get us to safety, and then we can figure this out. He was going to send someone else too. A bodyguard.”

Michelle sat back on the edge of the bed, out of the light. The life was gone from her face, her skin paled. No, that wasn’t right, John thought. Ashley had the life seep from her face, Michelle was still here.

For now.

“The police are going to come and arrest me. Last time, Ashley had to break me out. Someone stabbed me. If your dad knows where we are, so do other people. This bodyguard is coming for you. Not me.”

Michelle turned to him. “So what do we do?” she asked, as if it were a dare.

He sat next to her on the bed and put his good arm around her. It was what he’d done anytime they had a fight. When it was over, he’d put his arm around her and hold her close. If she asked what they were going to do after the fight, he’d say he didn’t know.

Before he could say it this time, there was a knock at the door.

Michelle went to it. She looked through the peephole, and then stepped back like someone had punched her.

“What?” John asked, stepping toward her. The room felt as if the temperature had gone up ten degrees.

“It’s my . . . my half sister,” Michelle said. “I haven’t seen her since . . . a party at college. Before I met you.”

John shuddered, despite the warmth. “Your half-sister.”

“I’ve mentioned her before. She hates us.”

Another knock at the door. Louder this time.

“Michelle? It’s me, Christine. Dad sent me to get you home safe.” The voice was dull through the thickness of the door.

Michelle opened it before John could stop her. The woman standing on the other side was Michelle’s height, and trim like a track runner. Her brown hair was in a ponytail, and her face was red and windburned.

She looked Michelle up and down. Michelle crossed her arms.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Christine asked.

John felt sweat at the base of his neck. It was so damned hot in the room.

“I’m fine.” Michelle let her arms drop to her sides. “I didn’t think you and Dad talked anymore. Not since . . .”

They stood looking at each other, as if each was unsure what to do next. John didn’t know what the proper etiquette was, but he didn’t expect the two girls to hug. Michelle stepped toward Christine, and held her arms out, but Christine turned toward John instead.

“You,” she said. “You were the one on the news.”

John leaned back, as if the words were a gust of wind. He’d heard them before. More sweat formed on the back of his neck. His hands were shaking hard. He’d heard someone say those words before, in that exact tone. That exact voice.

Last night.

In Ashley’s apartment.

The girl in the ski mask.

With the knife.

He felt like he was going to throw up. Why was she here? He took a step forward, too quickly and nearly lost his balance.

“Why did you do it?” John asked. “Why’d you kill her?”

Christine squinted.

“You killed Ashley.”

“John, what are you talking about?” Michelle asked, her face going slack.

“Why did you do it?” John shouted.

Christine reached behind her back and came out with a gun. She swung it back and forth, from John to Michelle. John felt his legs give way, and suddenly he was kneeling.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Why did you kill her? Why is all of this happening?”

His mouth burned, and he smelled something sour. Christine approached him, tucked the gun in her waistband, and pulled his hands in front of him. She used both hands to hold his wrists together.

Now was Michelle’s chance to do something. John looked over Christine’s shoulder at Michelle. She didn’t move.

John tried to force his arms apart, but Christine held tight. “Don’t bother,” she said.

“Why did you kill her?” John screamed. “Tell me!”

She pulled a plastic cord from her jacket pocket and wrapped it around John’s wrists, tying them together tight. They felt as sharp as the handcuffs.

Michelle hugged herself. Twisted back and forth at the waist. Then, as if waking from a nightmare, she stepped toward Christine.

“Oh my God. Stop! Don’t do that!”

Christine swung the gun back to Michelle. “I don’t want to kill you, sis, but I will if you make me.”

Michelle froze. Christine turned back toward John, and tested the cord. She seemed satisfied and reached back into her pocket. She pulled out a round metal object. As she jammed it into John’s hands, he suddenly realized what it was. But before he could react, Christine pulled the pin.

She stood up again, and grabbed Michelle by the shirt, pulled her close.

“Let’s have a little fun. You know what that is, right?” she hissed at John. “You drop it, you got about four seconds before it turns you to dust. Get up.” Then turning her head, “Michelle, don’t you move.”

Michelle and John did as they were told.

Pressing the gun into John’s chest, she forced him to walk backward, until he was in the bathroom. She pushed him on to the toilet. His hands were shaking so hard, he was afraid he’d drop the grenade.

Christine stepped out of the bathroom, and looked at him through the doorway.

“I called the cops,” she said. “Should be here any minute now. When they arrive, I hope they don’t tell you to put your hands up.”

She smiled, then slammed the door shut. John heard the lock click into place.