Highway 61 (31 page)

“I was going to,” Vicki said.

“After you got away Roberta called. She wanted me to tell her more. I didn’t have any more to say, only she wouldn’t believe me. Then the guys in the suits called and they wouldn’t believe me, either. Then the Joes—the things they said they would do to me, oh, God, they said they’d do to me what they did to Denny. Then you called and I panicked. What would happen to me if the Joes found out that we spoke, that I knew where you were and I didn’t tell them? Oh, Vic, why didn’t you just run away?”

“Why did you call Truhler?” I asked.

“I knew Jason was working with the Joes,” Caitlin said.

Of course she did. It’s the only way it made sense. The night the Joes showed up at Truhler’s town house, Caitlin was hiding in the corridor. She told me so. She must have overheard Truhler arranging with the Joes to use me to find Vicki. She must have called Truhler and told him where we were hiding. That’s how Truhler was able to make his deal with the Joes. They didn’t contact him; he called them. I could almost hear him now making his offer to the Joes, the girl for the money he owed, take it or leave it. What I didn’t fully understand was why he got me out of the motel.

Erica,
my inner voice said.
If I got hurt, Erica would never forgive him.

“I thought if I told Jason and he told the Joes it wouldn’t be so bad for me,” Caitlin said. “No one would know that I was involved. It was a terrible thing to do, but … Afterward, after I calmed down, I tried to make it good. I called Roberta because I figured she would send the suits and the suits were better than the Joes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Truhler and the Joes at the hospital or when we met the following day?” I asked.

“I was lying to help Vicki.”

“But after, you could have told us after.”

Caitlin hung her head, and her hair fell over her eyes. Vicki reached out and gently brushed the hair off Caitlin’s forehead.

“She didn’t know how to tell us,” Vicki said. “Everyone lies because everyone has secrets. Some of us lie so often for so long it becomes almost an addiction. We lose our ability to tell the lies from the truth. We can’t help ourselves.”

“I’m so sorry,” Catlin said.

“I’m sorry, too,” Vicki said. “This was my fault.”

The two young women hugged.

Heartwarming,
my inner voice said.
If only this were the end of it.

“Vicki, we don’t have time for this,” I said. She wasn’t listening. I pulled her by the arm. “We have to go. Now.”

“Yes, yes, Vicki,” Caitlin said. “You have to go. After you escaped from the motel, the Joes called. They said if I knew what was good for me, I’d better contact them if you came by. They said if I didn’t … Vicki, I called them. I called the Joes. They’ll be here any minute now. You have to run. Run.”

*   *   *

I positioned Vicki so that she could keep the inside security door open in case we needed to retreat and moved cautiously across the apartment building’s lobby and out the front door. I searched carefully and didn’t see the Joes or their Buick. However, the parking lot curved around the back of the building, and there was a part of it I couldn’t see from the doorway. I moved at an angle across the pavement, hoping to get a clear view of the rest of the lot, only there were a couple of pickups and an SUV parked in such a way that the cars behind them were hidden. I motioned for Vicki. She scurried out of the lobby and moved to join me. I directed her toward the Altima, following ten paces behind, my head on a swivel, my eyes scanning the lot from one end to the other.

I didn’t see Big Joe until Vicki screamed my name.

I spun and there he was, holding Vicki tight with one hand as she twisted and turned, trying to escape. The other hand held a .357 Magnum Colt King Cobra wheel gun, a twin to the one I took off of him at Rickie’s. He brought the gun up and pressed the muzzle against the back of Vicki’s head. At the same time, the Buick appeared. It had been concealed behind a GMC Yukon, one of the largest SUVs. It came to a halt at the corner where the parking lot turned to face the street. Little Joe got out. He was carrying an M-1911 Colt .45, the standard-issue sidearm of the armed forces until 1985—another cannon.

By then I had my own Beretta in both hands. I was in a Weaver stance and moving the sights from one Joe to the other. We stood about twenty feet apart.

“Drop your gun, McKenzie,” Big Joe said.

He had wrapped an arm under Vicki’s shoulder and was holding her against his chest. He continued to press the muzzle of the Colt against her head, but that didn’t seem to bother her. She kept struggling. Big Joe lifted her off her feet, then dropped her down again. She flailed her arms, and he whacked the back of her skull with the side of the Colt. Vicki slowed down but didn’t stop. Big Joe moved his hand up and viciously squeezed her breast. He smiled. “You like that, don’tcha,” he said.

Little Joe took two steps toward my right, hoping to flank me. I didn’t want to shoot him. That would cause Big Joe to open up on Vicki or me, neither a good thing. Yet I could not allow myself to be flanked. Having Little Joe on one side of me where I couldn’t see him while I was watching his brother and vice versa—I knew I’d never get out of the parking lot alive. I sighted on his chest.

“Don’t move. Don’t even think about it.”

Little Joe stopped. He cast his eyes on Big Joe. I followed his eyes. If there was traffic in the street, pedestrians walking by, I didn’t see them. If there were birds singing or sirens from approaching police cars, I didn’t hear them. The entire world was directly in front of me.

“Drop your fucking gun, McKenzie,” Big Joe said. “Drop it. Drop it.”

Like that was going to happen. I hadn’t been retired from the cops for so long that I had forgotten the First Commandment: Thou shalt not give up thy weapon. Never! If you give up your weapon, chances are that both you and the hostage will be executed.

“I’ll kill the whore,” Big Joe said. “Drop your gun or I’ll kill the fucking whore.”

“No,” I said. Possibly I might not have been so resolute if I hadn’t been wearing Kevlar, but there you are.

I turned just enough to sight on Big Joe’s head. He could see it, too. He slid farther behind Vicki, using her as a shield.

“Drop your fucking gun,” he said.

“I’m not dropping my gun,” I said.

“I’ll kill the girl.”

“Then I’ll kill you.”

The unpredictable Minnesota weather seemed to shift again while I was standing there. Despite the November chill, I felt very, very warm. Perspiration beaded up on my forehead. My hands became sweaty.

Little Joe made another effort to flank me. I turned and sighted on him again.

“If you take another step, Joe, I’ll shoot you.”

He stopped.

I sighted on Big Joe again. He was still shouting.

“Drop it, drop it, drop the fucking gun. I’ll kill the fucking girl, the fuck I won’t.”

“Shoot and I will kill you, Big Joe,” I said. “You’ll be dead before she hits the ground.”

He turned the muzzle from Vicki’s head and pointed it at me.

“We’ll all die,” he said.

“Shoot ’im, shoot ’im,” Little Joe shouted. His .45 was up and pointed at me, too, yet he didn’t take the shot. I don’t know why.

“What’s the point of that?” I asked.

Little Joe took another step to my flank. I swung the Beretta and pointed it at him again.

“Don’t fucking move, Little Joe,” I said. “It’s the last time I’m telling you.”

“Kill ’im, kill ’im,” he chanted again—but he stopped moving.

Vicki continued to struggle. Big Joe squeezed and twisted her breast some more.

“I like it when they fight back,” he said.

I was standing twenty yards away and pointing a gun at his head, yet he was copping a feel.

What is wrong with this picture?
my inner voice said.

“Let her go,” I said aloud.

He pressed the Colt against Vicki’s head some more.

“Drop your fucking gun, goddamn you,” he said.

Everyone was shouting. I deliberately lowered my voice, hoping to calm the situation.

“You don’t need to do this, Joe,” I said. “You don’t need to hurt the girl.”

“Fuck you, McKenzie,” Little Joe said.

“Listen to me,” I said. “Are you listening? We can make a deal.”

“Like in Hastings,” Big Joe said. “That kind of deal?”

“You don’t need the girl. You need her files, am I right? It’s the files you want. She doesn’t have them.”

“Kill ’im,” Little Joe said.

“Shuddup,” Big Joe said. “Keep talkin’, McKenzie.”

“The files have names, addresses, they have video; audio and video,” I said. “Everything you need to take those dumb jerks to the market.”

“Where are they?”

“I got them.”

“Where?” Little Joe asked.

“In my pocket,” I said.

“No, McKenzie, no,” Vicki said.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” Big Joe said. He slammed his gun against Vicki’s head. She slumped in his arms yet did not fall.

Little Joe held out his hand.

“Give ’em to me,” he said.

“Let the girl go, first,” I said.

“Fuck that,” Big Joe said.

“Give ’em to me,” Little Joe said.

I pointed the Beretta at Little Joe with one hand and reached into my jacket pocket with the other. I was moving slowly, not wanting to startle them. I pulled out the purple BlackBerry and held it up for everyone to see.

“Give it to me,” Little Joe said.

He took a step toward me.

“Don’t move, Joe,” I said.

“Give it to him,” Big Joe said.

I kept holding the BlackBerry aloft.

“Release the girl,” I said.

Big Joe responded by pulling Vicki closer.

“It has everything you need,” I said. “Everything to get yourself a real nice payday. Isn’t that right, Vicki?”

Big Joe squeezed her breast again.

“Is it?” he asked.

Vicki nodded. There were tears in her eyes, yet I was convinced they had been caused by the repeated blows she had taken to the head and not by fear. Despite everything, she did not seem frightened.

“Tell me,” Big Joe said.

“Yes,” Vicki said. “It has everything.”

“Give the phone to my brother,” he said.

“If your brother takes one step I will kill him,” I said.

“I’ll kill the girl,” Big Joe said.

“Then I’ll kill you.”

Big Joe took the muzzle from Vicki’s head and pointed it at me again.

“I’ll shoot you first.”

“Maybe so, but you’ll be dead before I fall. Look, we’ve been through this before.”

Like I said, the Kevlar was making me feel more confident than I would have been otherwise.

“What do you want to do?” Big Joe asked.

I squatted slowly, careful to keep the Beretta trained on Little Joe’s chest, and set the BlackBerry on the pavement. I stood up and gripped the Beretta with both hands.

“Release the girl,” I said. “She backs away. Once she’s safe, I’ll back away. Your brother takes the BlackBerry and you both leave and everyone’s happy. No one gets hurt.”

Big Joe shifted the muzzle of the Colt from Vicki’s head to her throat.

“How do I know I can trust you?” he asked.

“You don’t,” I said.

“What the fuck, then?”

“I don’t need the files,” I said. “I don’t want the files. I sure as hell am not going to die for the files. Why would I? To protect a bunch of shitheads? You can have the damn files. Do your worst. What do I care? How ’bout you, Vicki? Do you care?”

She smiled, actually smiled.

“He can have them,” she said.

“Oh, can I?” Big Joe asked. He licked the side of Vicki’s face, and she cringed. “You gonna give ’em to me, huh? What else you gonna give me?”

“Is that why you came here, Joe?” I asked.

Vicki smiled some more. She said, “It’s like my Facebook friend Drew Hernick likes to say—Situation normal, all fouled up.”

“I think that’s the sanitized version,” I said.

“SNAFU by any other name will be just as sweet.”

One way or the other, she will get her revenge,
my inner voice said.
Let’s hope she’s alive to see it.

“What do you say, Big Joe?” I asked.

“Give me the phone.”

“Give me the girl.”

“Fuck, Joe,” Little Joe said. “Kill ’em both.”

“Kill the girl and I’ll kill you, Joe,” I said. “Even if you kill me, you’ll be dead. Where’s the profit in that?”

“I still owe you from the other time,” he said. “My fucking knee hurts like hell.”

“We can come to terms about that later,” I said. “Right now, let the girl go.”

“Or what?” Little Joe asked.

“Or nobody gets rich.”

I was looking to see how Big Joe took it. He was grinning as if he’d just drawn three cherries on a pulltab. He kept pointing his gun at Vicki’s throat, yet his arm came out from under her shoulder. His empty hand rested on the back of Vicki’s neck.

“Okay,” he said.

“Oh, fuck that shit,” Little Joe said.

He took three long strides toward me, his .45 automatic leading the way.

I shot him in the center of his chest. The bullet went right through him.

I pivoted to face Big Joe. There was a stunned expression on his face. He should have been firing. Instead, he was shouting his brother’s name.

Vicki dove to her left, hit the pavement, and rolled away.

I fired twice. The first round missed. The second caught Big Joe high in the shoulder. He spun around and fell. The gun left his hand and skittered across the pavement. Vicki climbed to her feet and ran full speed toward the Altima. I moved just as quickly to Big Joe’s side. The Colt was near his hand, but he paid it no mind. He was crawling toward his brother’s body. I kicked the big gun away just the same.

“Joe, Joe,” Big Joe said. “Ah, Joey.”

Vicki started the Altima and drove it around the Buick. The car’s tires squealed as she made the corner that led to the main drag.

Again?
my inner voice asked.
You’re leaving me again? Really?

I hovered above Big Joe. The wound to his shoulder didn’t seem that bad to me.