Kill Me If You Can

41

The stout Stick gestured with his pistol toward Sam and Missy on the sofa.

“Go visit your girlfriends.” His cue-ball head and goatee gave him the look of an Asian monk. All that was missing was the long robe to cover his holey jeans.

His sidekick was even scruffier.

“Welcome home, Patricia Russo,” Stick’s scrawny companion said in a voice that slithered down my spine. Black hair jolted from his head in random tufts. The short sleeves of his black T-shirt covered most of the tattoo on his left arm. He wore low-slung pants that showed the top of his underwear. I prayed his belt would spare us from an even more horrifying glimpse of his Hanes.

“Hey,” I said with false bravado, “if you’re going to break into somebody’s house, you ought to get her name straight.” I sat on one end of the couch and clasped Samantha’s clammy hand. “The name is Patricia Amble.”

A smile curled across Stick’s chubby cheeks. “Let’s give Jacob Russo some credit. He might have screwed up royally in his life, but at least he provided a daughter for collateral.”

“What’s my dad got to do with this, anyway? He hasn’t been around in thirty-three years.”

Stick leaned close to my face. A smell beyond morning breath gagged me. “Ever heard of a grudge? We take them seriously around here.”

“What, did my dad steal your lollipop from you when you were a baby? You don’t look old enough to hold a grudge for more than thirty years.” The guy couldn’t be a day over thirty-five himself.

“It ain’t my grudge. I just get the honor of ending it. And, it will be pure justice to snuff out the woman that snuffed out Drake.”

“You’re going to kill five people to make up for one death?”

Upstairs, baby Andrew chose that moment to cry, flinging wails of desperation down the stairs and to his mother, at the other end of the couch.

Missy wrung her hands. “I’ve got to go to him. I’m sure he needs a diaper. And he’ll be hungry.”

Stick glanced down at Joel and Gerard cooperating peacefully on the floor. Gerard lifted his head a couple of inches from the floor and peered over his shoulder at Missy. His brow scrunched in concern. Stick gave the sign for his partner to go upstairs with Missy.

After the two disappeared along the second-floor hallway, the podgier man settled into the rickety upholstery opposite us. His weapon never pointed far from the general vicinity of our heads.

I crossed my arms, hoping to look tough. “So how long are we going to sit like this? What are you waiting for?” I asked my captor as I nudged closer to Samantha. Our shoulders touched and I felt a boost of courage.

“Couple things.” Stick adjusted in his seat. The stubby ’50s chair legs twisted under his weight. “First, I want to hear you apologize for killing my good friend.” He rubbed a hand on his scalp and down over his eyes. “Drake was like a brother to me.” He practically wept the words.

For a split second I felt sorry for him. But I got over it. Back in Rawlings, I had taken on a lunatic and won. There was no reason I couldn’t outwit Stick. His intelligence quotient had to be far below that of the last villain I’d dealt with. And that person was now behind bars for life.

I scooted off the edge of the sofa and dropped to my knees on the floor.

Stick jerked his head up. “What are you doing?”

I started crawling toward him, contrite. “I’m so sorry for what I did to Drake. I wish I could undo it. I would never have told him to meet me there in the woods. I would never have taken that, um”—I quickly thought of a gun name—“that Colt forty-five and shot him. He was a good friend to you and I’m so sorry.”

I’d crawled halfway to him. He simply stared at me. A few more feet and maybe I could wrestle that gun out of his hands . . .

“Wait a minute.” He looked at me with squinty eyes. “You’re telling me you shot him with a Colt forty-five? Drake would have never let you get close enough to him to shoot him between the eyes like that. You’re lying to me. You must have used a rifle. He never even had a chance. He couldn’t have seen you coming.”

I paused and tried to think. “I’m a really fast draw.”

He jutted out his chin, skeptical.

“Here,” I held out my hand toward the gun. “I’ll show you.”

It may have been my imagination, but his gun hand nudged, as if he were actually going to pass me his weapon.

Instead, he stood up and reached the gun down to my temple. I jerked back, but he stayed with me. The tip of the pistol felt black and hot against my skull, as if its mere touch could shatter my bones. My body broke into a quiver. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” I dropped into a curled-up crouch.

Stick made the sound of a quiet gun report. “I ought to kill you right now.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Joel threatened from his place on the floor.

“What are you going to do, Jimbob?” Stick asked with derision.

I watched his feet move Joel’s way, passing close to Gerard. As quick as a cat on a mouse, Gerard grabbed Stick’s ankle, tipping him off balance. I gasped and scuttled back to the couch. Sam and I huddled together, little screams coming out of our mouths, as Joel jumped up and tackled the gunman to the ground. Joel grabbed the arm with the gun and aimed the barrel away from us. Gerard stepped on Stick’s hand, forcing him to release the weapon.

Just as Gerard’s fingers touched the pistol, Skuzzball’s slithery voice came from the balcony.

“Back off, lamewad, or I’ll kill your girlfriend.”

Gerard froze and looked up. I followed his gaze.

Skuzzball had Melissa around the neck, his gun pointed at her head.

From the bedroom door came Hannah’s cries. “Don’t hurt my mom! Don’t hurt my mom!”

My stomach curdled with the child’s plea.

In the great room, Gerard put his hands in the air and stepped back. Joel gave Stick a final rough thrust, then stood, hands raised. Still cowering together on the couch, Sam and I lifted our hands on level with our ears.

Stick grunted as he stood and brushed himself off. He retrieved the gun. A few vigorous gestures of his weapon, and Joel and Gerard were back on the floor.

With order restored, Skuzzbag dropped his hold on Melissa. She ran back to the bedroom. I could hear her comforting Hannah.

“Okay, guys,” my lip quivered almost uncontrollably, “if it’s me you’re after, then let them go.”

Stick had a new look in his eye. A hard, cold look that sent fear coursing through me. “Nobody’s going anywhere. And lucky for you, I don’t feel like killing you yet.” He looked at his wristwatch. “At least not right away.”

I swallowed. “Great. What are you waiting for?”

“The only one who can save you, Mr. Jacob Russo.”

“My dad?” I almost snorted. “Good luck with that.”

“I guess we’ll see how much he loves his own blood. Or maybe he doesn’t care. And then it’s bang, bang, bang, bang.” He swung his gun to point at each of us, as if we were ducks at an amusement park sideshow.

“Do you even know where my father is?” The last I’d heard, he was MIA.

“That’s what you’re going to tell us, darlin’,” Stick said. He looked at his watch again. “Just a few more minutes and Frank will be here.”

“Frank who?” I asked.

“Majestic,” Joel interjected from his place on the floor. “We’ve already been over this before you got here.”

“That’s the trucking guy my dad turned in—how many years ago?” I was incredulous.

Stick looked up at the ceiling as he calculated. “Um, that would make it twenty-five, twenty-six years. Something like that.”

“He’s taking a pretty big risk just to get back at my dad.”

“I’m sure he feels it’s worth it. Things got a little out of control out here on the peninsula, what with Drake getting killed and Candice going clean and Melissa hiding out. Frank feels like a personal visit to the area might just knock some people back into shape. And if he can haul in your dad while he’s at it, so much the better. He was pretty happy when he heard you turned up after all these years.”

I gritted my teeth. “Is that why those guys tried killing me at Mead Quarry tonight? It’d be pretty hard to get an address out of a corpse. Anyway, Frank Majestic is wasting his time if he thinks I can tell him where my father is.”

“He told me you’d say that. But no one’s stupid enough to believe Jacob Russo hasn’t had some contact with you over the years.”

Nothing like thrusting in the knife and giving it a good twist. I lowered my head at his mocking words. “You’re stupid if you believe he has.”

Sam put a hand on my back. “Come on, Tish. It’s alright. Your dad stayed away because he loved you so much. He never wanted you to have to bump into Bucko here.”

I nodded, feeling a little better at her words.

“Hey,” Stick looked up at the balcony, his voice bellowing through the house. “How long you gonna take up there?”

Skuzzbucket poked his head over the rail. “She’s dressing the kids. We’ll be right down.”

A few minutes later, Melissa headed down the staircase with Andrew on one hip and Hannah clinging to her leg. They picked their way through Gerard and Joel and camped out at the other end of the sofa. Samantha squeezed Missy’s hand as she settled in.

The room got quiet as we waited. Time crept along like a 5K race for inchworms. In Missy’s lap, Andrew played with the string on his pacifier, as if he knew to sit still. Hannah sighed and leaned into her mother.

My head jerked up as I fought sleep. On my shoulder, I felt a gentle thud. Samantha’s head tilted against me as if she was also catching some winks.

The sun was in full gear when the sound of a vehicle chimed in with the chirping of birds. The sleepy occupants of the great room rustled awake.

“Go see if that’s Frank,” Stick ordered.

Skuzzy got up and went in the kitchen. He came back a second later. “Yeah. It’s Frank.”

The back door opened and closed. A moment later a squat man wearing a forest-green polo over a potbelly and khaki slacks entered the great room. His thinning blondish hair was combed over the sparse area on the top of his head.

“Hey, Frank,” Stick said.

“Grampa!” Hannah shouted and ran toward the man.

Grampa? If that guy was Frank Majestic, and he was Hannah’s grandfather, that meant . . .

I turned my head in Melissa’s direction. She looked at me, then cast her eyes to the floor. A blush crept over her face.

I’d been betrayed.