Tell Me No Spies (25 page)

“I didn’t. The guys
that were trying to capture me in Victoria told him. They were
pretending I was an escaped criminal, and they told him I was armed
and dangerous. That’s how I got this.” I flashed the black and
purple bruise on my forearm.

“Wondered about that.
What happened?”

“I was hiding in the
bathroom in the sleeper. After they told him I was dangerous, he
picked up an iron bar for self-defence. I had to let him hit me to
prove I wasn’t a danger to him.”

Hellhound jerked
upright, his face twisting with fury. “He hit ya? That fucker, I’m
gonna twist his fuckin’ back so he never fuckin’ walks again!”

“No, you’re not.” I
glared at him until he subsided. “He was scared. They told him I’d
killed four guys and that he was in danger. You would’ve done the
same thing.”

“No, I wouldn’t,”
Arnie said flatly. “I’d never hit a woman. Never. No matter
what.”

“I’m sorry.” I took
his uninjured hand and stroked it, smearing the half-dried blood.
“I know you wouldn’t. I’m sorry.”

We sat in silence for
a few moments before he met my eyes again. “Yesterday, I thought ya
were just bein’ nice when ya said everybody had a violent side.
Seems like ya know more about that than I thought. Ya wanna tell me
about the other three guys?”

“It was self-defence.
I shot two on the way out of the warehouse in March, right before
you picked us up.”

“Those fuckin’
assholes,” Hellhound growled. “After what they did to ya, shootin’
was too good for ‘em.”

I sighed. “And you
remember the fire at Spider’s house a couple of months ago? There
was a guy… He was going to kidnap me and leave Spider in there to
burn. I had to shoot him so I could get Spider out. That was… hard.
Personal. I… I’d known the guy for a while, and I liked him…
before. I thought he was a nice kid. But it was all lies. Just more
lies.”

His arm closed around
my shoulders, and I leaned my head against him. “Ya okay, darlin’?”
he asked gently.

“Do I have a
choice?”

He sighed and his arm
tightened around me. “Nah. Just askin’.”

“I’m okay.”

“Good.”

“There’s Dave.” I
straightened up as I spotted him limping toward us, a couple of
large bags in his hands. “That’s got to hurt his back, carrying
those bags.”

I reached for the door
handle, but Arnie’s hand closed on my wrist. “Wait for him to get
to the car. Ya can help him then.”

I waited until he drew
closer before getting out to take the bags from him and hand them
in to Hellhound. Dave eased painfully into the back while I did my
best to support him, and at last we got him half-reclining across
the seat while Arnie rummaged through the bags.

“Lotta stuff in here,”
he observed. “Ya need more cash?”

“No,” Dave grunted.
“Used my plastic.”

“What?!”

“Shit!”

Hellhound and I let
out simultaneous exclamations of dismay, and I leaped for the
driver’s seat.

“What?” Dave demanded
as I slammed the car into gear and peeled out of the parking
lot.

“Slow down, darlin’,
don’t attract attention,” Arnie said tensely.

“Right. Dave, stay
down. Arnie, get cleaned up if you can.” I slowed the car to the
speed limit and tried to look everywhere at once. “Where should I
go?”

“Forest Lawn. Use some
back roads,” Arnie snapped, scrubbing roughly at his face. He
slopped some water onto the already scarlet towel and twisted
around to look behind us before continuing his efforts.

“What? What’s wrong?”
Dave repeated.

“They’ll be watchin’
for credit card activity, dumbfuck,” Hellhound grated. “Ya might as
well’ve put up a big fuckin’ neon sign, ‘Here we are, come fuck us
up the ass with a dead chicken’. If they catch Aydan because a’
you, I’m gonna -”

“Arnie, cut him some
slack, he didn’t know…” I begged.

I jumped as Hellhound
overrode me with a sudden shout. “Fuck, Dave, don’t ya ever watch
the fuckin’ movies? Ya thinkin’ with your fuckin’ dick, or
what?”

“Arnie, don’t!
Please!” Stress nudged my mind into overload. “Wait… what did you
say?” I faltered as the car slowed along with my brain. “Isn’t that
‘
like
a dead chicken’, not ‘
with
a dead
chicken’…?”

“Like, with,
whatever!” Hellhound yelled. “Drive the fuckin’ car, or we’re all
gonna be fuckin’ dead chickens!”

“Don’t talk to her
like that!” Dave blazed from the back seat. “You big dumb ugly
bastard, you’re not worth the dirt on her shoes…”

Hellhound spun to
lunge over the seat at Dave. “Ya fuckin’ little-”

I slammed on the
brakes.

The car jerked to a
halt, accompanied by two heavy thuds and yells of pain as Hellhound
slammed into the dashboard and Dave crashed into the back of the
front seat.

Hellhound dragged
himself slowly up from his contorted position in the foot well of
the passenger seat, holding his head. I squelched my spasm of guilt
at the sight of the gash in his forehead bleeding freely again.

“What the hell did ya
do that for?” he inquired mildly.

“Speak for yourself,”
I told him. “I’m not fucking any dead chickens.”

“Say what?” He held
the towel to his brow and gaped at me.

“You said we were all
going to be fucking dead chickens. I’m not fucking any chickens,
dead or alive, and that’s final.”

He stared at me for
another instant before letting out a roar of laughter. An irritated
driver laid on the horn behind us and swung out to pass, giving us
an aggressive middle finger as he went by. Arnie laughed even
harder, holding his sides and bellowing.

Dave joined in with a
feeble chuckle from the back seat, and within seconds, the car was
rocking while we guffawed helplessly. A chorus of angry horns from
behind us made me wipe the tears from my eyes and take my foot off
the brake, still giggling feebly.

“Dead chickens,” I
repeated, and we all snickered some more.

I sobered as a police
car sped toward us in the oncoming lane, lights flashing but no
siren. “Better put on your seatbelts, guys.”

I took the next right
turn and zigzagged sedately through a residential neighbourhood to
emerge on another main road. We had a quiet and uneventful trip to
Forest Lawn.

At the industrial
park, I followed Hellhound’s directions to a large overhead door in
a nondescript brick building. As we pulled up, Hellhound shot a
wary glance around the deserted parking lot. “If anythin’ happens
to me, just drive away.”

“No.” I pulled my gun
out of my ankle holster. “I’ve had enough bullshit today. If
anything happens to you, I’m shooting the guy who made it
happen.”

He eyed me for a
second before the uninjured corner of his mouth quirked up. “Okay,
darlin’, that works, too.”

He climbed stiffly out
of the passenger seat and approached a keypad beside the door.
After another furtive look around the lot, he punched in a code and
quickly stood back against the brick wall as the door began to roll
up.

He glanced into the
opening and nodded satisfaction, motioning me forward. As soon as
the door was high enough, I drove the Caprice into the cavernous
space. Arnie ducked in behind and immediately punched a button to
roll the door down again. As the crack of light disappeared, I
turned on the headlights in the pitch darkness.

A few seconds later,
ceiling lights blazed to life, and I turned off the headlights.
Arnie headed for the front of the bay, looking pleased. “We’re
good, darlin’,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Ya can get out
now.”

I scanned the bay,
recognizing autobody and welding tools. I was just beginning to
wander away from the car when Dave’s tight voice stopped me.

“Need a hand.”

I turned back to the
car to find him still crumpled in the back seat, half on the floor.
“Can’t move,” he said apologetically.

Fear rushed through
me. “Can you feel your legs?”

“Yeah. Wish I
couldn’t, though.” He grimaced and struggled to sit up. Sweat
sprang out on his forehead, and he froze again, panting through
clenched teeth.

I heaved a sigh of
relief. “Be careful what you wish for.”

“Yeah, guess you’re
right. I’m okay, just need help to swing my legs around.”

“I’ll get you out.” I
leaned in, surveying the situation. “What do you want me to
do?”

“Don’t know. If I
could get up on the seat, I’d be able to use my arms. Just can’t
get ahold of anything here.”

“Okay, I’ll try to get
you onto the seat.”

“Don’t wreck your
back, now, too,” he admonished.

“I’m not planning to.”
I placed one foot carefully beside his legs in the foot well. “If
you just put your arms around my neck, I’ll be able to push off the
seat with both hands and drag you up. Hold on…”

I got my other knee
braced on the seat, one arm on each of the seatbacks. “Okay, put
your arms around my neck.”

“No,” he objected.
“You can’t hold my weight with your neck.”

“Arnie!” I called.

“Yeah.”

“We need help.”

“Be right there.”

“What if you put your
arms around my shoulders?” I suggested.

“Might work.” Dave
clasped his arms around me, and I heaved upward.

I managed to raise him
a few inches before my shaking arms collapsed under an overdose of
adrenaline and an under-dose of blood sugar. The impact wrenched a
cry out of Dave when our combined weight landed on the seat.
Panting, I tried to squirm carefully off him before I hurt him any
worse.

“Jesus, no kiddin’ ya
need help,” Hellhound chuckled. “You’re doin’ it wrong. Ya gotta
take your clothes off first.”

I struggled up from my
straddled position over Dave’s body and backed out of the car to
see Arnie leaning against it, a beer in his bloodcaked hand.

“What are you doing?”
I demanded.

“Raidin’ the beer
fridge,” he said smugly. “Weasel owes me.”

“We need to get Dave
out right away.” I took a deep breath, trying to slow my racing
heart.

“Awright, what d’ya
wanna do?” He poked his head in. “That’s gotta hurt.”

Dave grunted. “Just
get me out of here.”

“Okay. Aydan, if ya go
around to the other side, can ya lift his shoulders? I’ll get his
legs.”

“I’ll try.”

Arnie eyed my
trembling hands and blew out a breath. “When did ya eat last,
darlin’?”

“Breakfast.” I went
around the car.

“Fuck, this ain’t
gonna work. Ya gotta eat first.”

“No, I’ll be okay.
We’ve got to get him out.”

Dave was the one stuck
in the car, but I was feeling panicky on his behalf. Trapped, in
pain, unable to move… I shuddered and got into the car beside him,
switching to yoga breathing. Stay calm.

“You okay?” Dave eyed
me with concern.

“Fine. Come on, Arnie,
let’s do this.” I slid my hands under Dave’s arms and locked my
hands over his chest while Hellhound reached in the other door, one
arm under Dave’s legs while he braced himself against the seat back
with his other arm.

“Pull him toward ya.
Just get him on the seat,” Hellhound directed. “On three. One, two,
three
!”

I heaved on Dave’s
shoulders and a hoarse cry burst out of him as his body flopped
onto the seat.

The nightmare flashed
in front of me. The unending raw-throated screams of agony. The
smells. My own pain. The terror of being trapped.

I squeezed my eyes
closed, breathing carefully. In. Out. Ocean waves. That was long
past. Breathe.

“Aydan?”

I jerked with shock,
my eyes flying open when Dave touched my face. Trapped. I clamped
down hard on my urge to leap out of the car and run screaming.

“What’s wrong?” he
asked, wide-eyed. “You’re white as a sheet.”

“I’m fine.” My voice
didn’t seem to be working right.

Hellhound opened his
mouth to speak, his eyes worried, and I shook my head. “I’m fine.
Let’s get Dave out.”

“I can sit up. Just
help me a bit,” he said, still eyeing me with concern.

I sat beside him and
pushed him slowly into sitting position, trying not to listen to
his grunt of pain. My heart hammered and long tremors shook my
body.

“Okay, I’m gonna pull
him out now,” Hellhound said. “Just stay up against his back while
I pull.”

I nodded, and together
we shuffled Dave across the seat. When his feet were on the ground,
he drew a long breath. “Should be fine now.”

He grabbed the door
and hauled himself up inch by inch, muscles working in his jaw.
When he finally stood almost upright, I scrambled out the opposite
door and clung to it, trying to calm my breathing.

Dave took a few
faltering steps, leaning heavily on the car, before straightening
another couple of degrees and limping ahead with more
confidence.

“Couch over there,”
Hellhound suggested, pointing to a broken-down sofa so begrimed I
hadn’t even noticed it skulking in the shadows.

Dave nodded. “Later.
Gonna walk a bit.” He hobbled down the bay, and Arnie turned to me
with a frown.

“Ya okay,
darlin’?”

“Fine.”

“Bullshit. Sit.” He
steered me over to one of the grubby upholstered chairs beside the
sofa.

“Arnie, I’m fine. You
should sit, you look like hell. Let me-”

“Sit,” he interrupted,
and pressed me into the chair that had the least amount of duct
tape holding the upholstery together. “Stay.”

“Woof, woof.”

“Funny girl.” He
strode to the car and returned with the grocery bags, then sank
slowly into the second chair. “Here.” He handed me a
cellophane-wrapped chocolate snack cake.

I shuddered, my
stomach twisting. “I can’t. If I eat that sugary stuff, I’ll throw
up.”

“Shit, no orange
juice.” Hellhound dug through the bags. “I shoulda told Dave to get
some. Wait, here’s some bread an’ peanut butter. An’ some beef
jerky.”