No Brainer ( The Darcy Walker Series #2) (48 page)

Before I went completely out cold, I dug deep and headbutted her with the force of a mule’s hind leg. She staggered backwards—her arms and legs going in all directions at one time—then she fumbled around behind her, attempting to unlock the door. Did she plan to run? I heard a loud click twice but didn’t know if that signaled success or was self-deception on my part. While I sucked in as much air as I could, I still didn’t have enough time to regroup before she came at me again. Lunging for my hair, she latched ahold and yanked me toward her, causing me to fall flat-backed onto the floor.

My lucky hat tumbled out to the side, landing bucket-side up. “Your hair,” Eleanor laughed with a menace, standing overtop me. “It’s green, just like Elmer said. I think we should
wash it
.”

If I was fearful before, I now did a complete-180 into fight-for-your-life rage. Talk about adding insult to injury. She and Elmer were giving me an inferiority complex—well, larger than I already had—but at least, I wasn’t as grossly dysfunctional as they were. Elmer obviously had told her about me. Did he also tell her he’d asked me out on a date?

“You’re … ” I paused, “you’re … mean, you’re ugly, and you’re an effing female dog!”

Oh, God. That was my first attempt at cursing, and it sounded like the fifth grade playground.

Eleanor pulled and bounced me along as I crab-walked backwards on the floor. She kicked open a stall, full intentions of instituting a swirly. Dear, Lord. Prayers didn’t come easy for me, but I didn’t want my head in the toilet. Overall, the room smelled like citrus, perfume, and rainwater, but it didn’t overshadow the fact that it was still a toilet that God only knew whom had relieved themselves in.

Blood pumped furiously in my veins as I kicked and pawed, making note to take a self-defense class. I shouted the word, “Ergonomics!” which totally sailed over Eleanor’s head, and why wouldn’t it? Who in their right mind said the word ergonomics? I never cursed, but once I typed the abbreviation WTF on a text to my friend Justice, and my autocorrect changed it to the word ergonomics. Now, if I’m pushed beyond my limit, I shout out ergonomics.

Clearly, a testament that I’d slipped over the edge.

Inches from the toilet, I made one last-ditch effort for freedom and lodged a heel into the corner of the metal door. Gaining some leverage, I crashed my shoulder into her knee, and the moment she staggered, I jammed backwards again until she landed butt-first in the bowl. Eleanor pierced the air with a horrified scream, water splashing as she thrashed like an alligator in the death roll. Prying my heel lose, I stumbled up and curled the fingers on my right hand into a fist—knowing I should pound her face, not knowing if I had the required nerve.

Eleanor’s chin looked pretty hard, manly even, and when she pushed a few inches out of the bowl, I closed my eyes and swung like a heavyweight. On impact, the flesh of my knuckles split, road-rashed like it had been scraped along the highway. Unfortunately, my punch didn’t seem to faze her for more than a few seconds.

“That money and Elmer are m-
mmine
!” she stuttered, trying to stand.

Shaking out my right hand, I then hauled off and smacked her with my left. Bloody spittle flew from her mouth and drip-dropped to her chin. Before she could suck in another breath, I whacked her again, even harder.

“That’s for scaring that little boy!” I screamed, launching my boot into her shin. “And that’s,” I kicked again, “for telling me I had bad hair.”

She ugged a curse, sinking lower in the bowl. I had not one bit of remorse. Not one. In fact, she should count herself lucky I didn’t have a gun. I slammed the door shut and eyed a padded bench sitting flush against the wall. Quickly scooting it over, I jammed it up against the door, trapping her inside. I stood there, trying to gain some perspective on what had just happened.

As Eleanor continued to founder like a beached whale, I took two cautious steps over a pool of water slowly oozing across the floor. Shaking the water from my feet, not one thing inhabited my mind other than getting the heck out of Dodge and placing Eleanor in handcuffs. Hopping over a wet roll of toilet paper, out of nowhere it felt like an asteroid knocked me over. My teeth rattled in my head. Couldn’t breathe. Saw stars. Bit my tongue. Once I regained my bearings, I stooped down and picked up the sunglasses of the person I’d collided with.

My hands got sweaty.

Then turned ice cold.

Cautiously tilting my chin upwards, I stared into eyes as crystal blue as the translucent waters in Tahiti. Reality came fast and hard. I traveled back to the first day of vacation when I sat across from Lincoln, looking at a 5x7 black and white photo of Turkey Cardoza, his trophy wife, and two envoys representing different mob families. Turkey wasn’t the man in my presence, though. It was one of the others. In that particular photograph, this man’s profile had been highlighted, and the file clerk in my head reminded me this wasn’t our first face-to-face encounter. In actuality, it was our second. He’d just spoken with Grizzly minutes earlier but was also the man who’d threatened me when I busted up the amputation-in-progress in Grizzly’s building. And biggest gulp of all, this man just might be “the problem” that “traveled east,” according to Paddy.

Geographically, Orlando lay to the east of Los Angeles.

That could only mean one thing: the Taylor clan had been marked.

No doubt, this situation was what Paddy tried to warn Lincoln about, but I didn’t want to calculate the odds of both of these cases being related. I didn’t think they were, even though circumstances suggested otherwise. Funny thing was, it seemed the death wish Dylan feared I had might be receiving a little help from evil forces. I didn’t ask for things like this to happen; somehow, they just always did.

This man appeared bigger, meaner, and more “mobby” in person. In his large right hand, he gripped my lucky hat. Slowly replacing it on my head, he forcefully poked the barrel of his pistol in my ribs, giving a quick jerk over his shoulder toward the door. Call me a genius, but I interpreted that as I needed to move or I’d get real friendly with a bullet.

Eleanor barked out a line of expletives as she pushed herself out of the bowl, screaming I wasn’t going to take the kid and her man. Swinging the door wide, the bench screeched across the floor as she shoved her way out. Eleanor’s face blanched. Terror-stricken when she registered someone held a gun at my chest. She glanced at Blue Eyes then to me, then back at the bathroom stall she wished she’d never exited.

Palming both hands high, her chin quivered, and she surprisingly cowered like a whipped dog. You’d think she’d sick all that crazy onto him, but she stumbled behind me, making me her human shield. Funny what fear could do. You’d find yourself hanging onto the person less threatening. Survival 101, I guess. Here Eleanor huddled next to me like we were girlfriends when moments earlier she’d had plans to drown the life out of me.

I remembered the tagline from the 1956 version of
Invasion of the Body Snatchers …
“
There was nothing to hold onto … except each other
.” Wow, my options in life were a decapitation devotee or someone that rubberstamped an amputation. Neither sounded appealing, but if this was my day to die, I at least wanted to connect the dots.

“Turkey Cardoza sent you,” I whispered to him. Nothing. “Are you going to kill us?”

Even more nothing. I might be stupid, but I wasn’t an idiot. Situations like this didn’t occur out of the blue, inside a vacuum. Wise guys liked to send messages. They weren’t the ransom type. They could give a flying flip about money when they were laundering it elsewhere. If they wanted Lincoln to back off the Turkey hunt, what better way than to take something he cared about??

This man believed I was a blood relative.

Even though I had no affinity for Eleanor, I didn’t want him to shoot her. If Eleanor died, we might never get the answer to where she’d been stashing Cisco. But how could I convince him to only take
me
? Eleanor remained a witness, and I’d watched enough movies to know that an extra set of eyes weren’t what criminals deemed the perfect crime.
Appeal to his sense of decency
, I told myself. It might be hard to find because the man currently held a gun to my gut.

I gazed into his eyes, trying my best to shift into a hostage negotiator. “She kidnapped a little boy and hasn’t told anyone where he is yet,” I said. “Don’t kill her now. Let her tell the authorities where he is. You can have someone … umm … shiv her in prison.”

Darcy, Darcy, Darcy, you might as well have put the weapon in his hand, the good angel sighed. Ah, it’s for a good cause, the devil busted out laughing.

No kidding, those words weren’t something fifteen-year-old girls used in real life situations. Heck, your average adult didn’t, but my goal was to buy the both of us some time. Granted, I’d thrown Eleanor under the bus, but if this plan worked, at least she’d live and Cisco might be home by daybreak.

Blue Eyes lifted his gun, and for a split second, I waited for my life to flash before my eyes … it didn’t. Heck, I didn’t know what that meant. Maybe it meant I hadn’t lived long enough, or maybe I wasn’t smart enough to go to the light. After a second to debate, with an angry grimace, Blue Eyes reared back and struck a shrieking Eleanor on the side of the head with the butt of his gun. She grunted twice, her tongue shot out to the side, then she sunk down my back to the floor in a broken heap.

If that represented a harbinger of things to come, I’d be on the floor next or in the trunk of his car. Blue Eyes bore his gaze into mine like a laser beam. “You make a sound,” he threatened, “and I’ll shoot the first person we see.” This situation was so bad it seemed almost incomprehensible. I had enough bad things on my conscience; a dead body wasn’t one I wanted to add to the list.

We left Eleanor lying in a pool of water as he pushed me in front of him, left hand clutching my shoulder, the other ramming his pistol into my kidney. Giving the assumption I was onboard with the plan, I knew enough to not let anyone take you away from a venue.

It empowered them and weakened you.

“Open the door,” he ordered.

I’m not sure I had the proper enthusiasm, but I hoped my inner idiot seized the opportunity to prove me different. My hand slid through the handle, and my only line of defense was to do what I did best.

31. 2-FOR-1 SPECIAL

T
ALK AND BARGAIN.

Immediately, uncontrollable chatter spewed from my mouth, rolling like a tsunami in the South Pacific.

“So do you have any kids? Who do you think is going to win the World Series? Honest to God,” I paused, looking over my shoulder, “do you think we’ll ever go back to the moon?”

I had no forethought on my verbiage; only that I pulled things out of my own rear end. The cords in his neck bulged, and clearly, I’d become an irritation. His voice demanded no refusal. “Shut up, and keep walking,” he barked.

I didn’t.

“Turkey sent you, right?” He remained tight-lipped. “Then you must be the errand boy.”

“I’ve never been an errand boy,” he snorted angrily.

“Oh, I’m sorry, the lapdog then.”

My word, I practically begged for a bullet to the back of my head. He could care less about his and Turkey’s interpersonal relationship, and he answered my question with another menacing shove forward. Stepping both feet outside, the party atmosphere had been reborn, but the tension between psycho killer and me turned radioactive. When my body stiffened, he went scarecrow and stiffened even more.

Music piped loud, and what my periphery could make out, Kyd still talked to Troy, Elmer was no doubt in the back of a squad car, and I found the thick, black crown of Dylan’s head about twenty feet away. My body instantly ached, my heart yearning to yell out to him, but if Dylan chose to get medieval—you know, rip him to shreds and desecrate the body—there was a good chance his body would be swiss cheese.

I didn’t want my best friend to be swiss cheese.

Blue Eyes tilted his gun toward a rear exit, as the aficionado in me smelled coffee. I drew in a deep whiff and slowed my gait. “Can I have a cup of coffee for the road?” Once again, he shoved the barrel tighter into my lower back. “I’ll be in a better mood,” I rationalized.

My boots shuffled three more feet ahead.

People huddled together, moving in groups like a gaggle of geese. One girl danced nervously, trying to fit in. A guy sitting at the bar next to her slouched over his drink, checking out a pair of women dancing close by. Neither appeared particularly happy, but they were alive … with plans for tomorrow. An ice-cold thought sliced through me. Dreams would be shattered if I didn’t go along with his wishes.

I was here … no going back … my only choice was to let it play itself out.

My mind wandered back to the spring when Eddie Lopez chased me with a loaded gun. In that situation, I made myself bait to save those around me, but how horrifying and mentally traumatizing it felt during the process. In retrospect, I operated on complete and utter shock. Frozen. Moving erratically. Not even slowing down to breathe. This time, I knew what I’d be in for, but even if I tried things differently and yelled for assistance, Blue Eyes undoubtedly would still take me or someone else hostage.

Someone else with the potential to not make it out alive.

Ten more steps brought us to the exit sign. My eyes locked with a large, imposing man who stood only a few feet from the door. Dressed in a dark jeans and a black t-shirt with “Cowboys” stitched over his heart, his short, brown hair rounded out a face almost devoid of features. His upper frame looked immense, his arms barely crossing comfortably above his chest because of the bulge. If he was the bouncer, he definitely didn’t possess the gift of intuition. I shook like a leaf, but he merely glanced down at me from his more-than-six-foot frame and stepped out of the way.

My hand circled the knob as I led us out into the cool, midnight air. The temperature was Baltic by Florida standards, and my body immediately wrinkled like a prune. The sounds of cruising cars and honking horns blared along the street. The ambience was dark and lonely and shockingly not a soul was to be found in the parking lot.