Triumph (22 page)

G
ordon seemed to take up most of the space in the interior of the van. The WBRX vehicle was a mini broadcasting station on wheels, crammed with equipment and trailing cables.

“Looks good so far,” Gordon said about the tape. “Want to see it again?”

“Okay.” Kelly watched herself take two steps toward the camera and speak the lines she’d memorized. They were at the open area by Gunther Bach’s apartment building, taping additional footage. They might need it if they ran out of new developments and had to take the story back in time.

“How’s that?”

“Looks good. Thanks for coming out, Gordon.”

The burly cameraman shrugged. “No one else would do it. They think a suicide scene is bad luck.”

Kelly patted his thick shoulder. She knew he was on her side. “They could be right. Let’s hope they aren’t.”

“This is a nice neighborhood,” he said casually.

Which hadn’t stopped him from looking around as intently as Deke before they shot a single frame. Kelly felt safer, working with a guy as big and as ornery as Gordon Lear.

He sat in the swivel chair, fiddling with dials and knobs, whistling tunelessly.

Kelly glanced outside the small window in the door—and slammed her head against it. Seeing stars, she realized dimly that the whole van was rocking.

Thrown out of his chair, Gordon rolled heavily, spreading out his arms to stop himself. The van tipped sideways, then banged down on its axles. It took several seconds for the screeching sounds of metal stressed to the max to die down.

Kelly gasped, holding her head. “What the hell was that?”

“Don’t know.” She looked down at Gordon, who seemed dazed as he slowly got on hands and knees, then grabbed a built-in shelf to get up.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“If the van doesn’t blow up. Whew.” He hung his head, still holding on to the counter.

Kelly moved the door, opening it with difficulty. The shock of the impact had done something to the latch. She stepped outside onto the sidewalk, gulping in air. A few yards ahead of the van was a pickup truck, black but so rusted it looked brown. It had stopped in the middle of the street, smoke pouring out of its muffler. Deep gouges in its sides told the story. They had been sideswiped.

She started to walk to the truck but began to limp. Then she thought better of it and stopped where she was. A guy built like a bouncer was getting out of the truck’s cab, trading curses with another man behind the wheel whom she couldn’t see.

Kelly turned, relieved to see Gordon slowly exiting the production van. He had been banged around but he was still standing. He walked to her side, eying the man coming toward them.

He had facial piercings and weird hair—a thick, orangey thatch, like he’d done the dye job himself with bleach and henna. His tattered pants were held up with a studded belt. The skull-and-crossbones buckle said whatever else needed to be said about him. He looked half-wild and menacing.

She flinched inside when the man’s hand went up suddenly, holding something black. She let out her breath when she saw it was just a vinyl holder for insurance and registration.

“You have?” the man asked.

Okay, speaking English might be a problem. She would manage, but Kelly was still shaky. She crossed her arms in front of her to control the trembling as Gordon went back into the van.

The man looked at her. “I see you on news.”

His voice was gruff but not threatening. Thank God for that. She didn’t want to deal with road rage from someone who’d hit them while they were standing still.

“Yes,” she said acidly. “And that is a news van. Bright white. Don’t tell me you didn’t see it.”

“Sorry,” the man said calmly.

Kelly stepped aside when Gordon returned with a pen and paper, and the two men exchanged information. Gordon made sure to write down everything. She took the opportunity to memorize the plates and other identifiers, as well as the condition of the truck. The other man inside stayed in it, one hand draped over the wheel while he waited for his passenger.

The punk and Gordon surveyed the van together.

“That’s a lot of damage,” Gordon said wearily. “I have to call the cops.”

The punk shook his head. He stomped back to the truck and got in, banging the door shut. The driver floored the accelerator and the truck zoomed away, going miles over the speed limit.

“How do you like that?” Gordon said indignantly, his fists clenched at his sides. Without thinking, he crumpled the paper he was holding. “So much for a nice neighborhood. Unless it means the cops get here faster.”

Kelly slipped her arm over his elbow. “Forget it. I have a bad feeling about those guys. They could come back. I don’t want to wait around to find out.”

Gordon grumbled his agreement. Using the side of the van, he smoothed out the crumpled paper with the insurance and registration information before he folded it and put it in his pocket. “Where’s your action figure when we need him?”

“What?”

“That guy with the gun. You know, from the building.”

Kelly rubbed her head, which was beginning to ache badly. “His name is Deke. And I don’t know where he is right now.”

As soon as she figured that out, she would give him an earful—and the license plate number and description of the truck.

“You okay?” That was the first question Deke asked.

“Kind of rocky,” Kelly answered. “But hanging in there. The van is in the body shop. Monroe didn’t blow a gasket. But he did tell me and Gordon to stay the hell at home for a day or two.”

“I think that’s reasonable.”

“Did you find out anything about the pickup truck?”

“Stolen. Bogus plates. More to come. Want to go to the firing range?”

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “That sounds like a good idea. Let’s do it.”

 

As it turned out, there wasn’t much he could teach her. Kelly was no novice and she seemed instantly comfortable with the handgun and small-caliber bullets he provided, figuring it would be less kickback for her and more precision. He gave himself the handicap of a heavier gun.

She loaded hers, looking great in goggles and ear protection, then turned to the target and began to fire when he gave the signal. Her stance wasn’t textbook, but she hit her targets in the kill spots.

Deke had expected as much. But he was enough of a marksman to want to beat her at it. When they stopped after several rounds, he took a pack of playing cards out of his pocket.

He held the cards up when she set her gun aside. Kelly took off the ear protectors.

“Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s shoot these. I’ll attach them to the big target.”

“Okay. With what?”

Deke went back to his duffel bag, unzipping it and reaching in. “With this handy packing tape dispenser I just happened to bring along.”

Kelly’s eyes narrowed behind the goggles. “Is this a test?”

“Just a little friendly competition. I’m on my last bullet.”

She checked the barrel of the gun she was using. “I have three.”

Deke walked by as she stepped aside, then she watched him tape a handful of cards to the paper targets.

“Don’t want all the little pieces to blow away, right?” He walked back to her. “I’m going to try for the ace.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll take the three of diamonds.”

They put their ear protection in place and took their stances. They fired around the same time, then put down their guns. Deke could see from where he was that he had hit the large black shape of the ace card near the center. Kelly’s card looked a little ragged.

“Go look,” she said.

He walked over to the target. She had hit every diamond on her chosen card.

“You’re good,” he told her from where he was.

“Thanks.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. He took more cards out of his pocket and taped them up.

When he was standing next to her, they reloaded.

“Did you ever try tossing cards in the air and shooting them?” Deke asked her.

“You mean from the side? Split them in half? No. Never saw the point of it.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, if you had to shoot a bad guy, would you do it from the side?”

“If I had to, yeah,” Deke said.

“Well, I like to hit a target where it counts.”

He was getting the idea. “I wasn’t suggesting we split cards. It just came to mind. I saw a guy who could do it on YouTube.”

“Really. Do you believe everything you see online, Deke?”

She was teasing but he felt the need to defend himself. “Maybe it wasn’t YouTube. Maybe I saw it on the news,” he answered.

“That’s possible. Considering we make up at least half of what we broadcast.”

“Is that right.” Deke smiled as he checked his gun. “Why?”

“Because the real news is too freaky to put on the air. You ready?”

“Yeah.”

She turned toward the new set of targets and fired off several rounds. Deke did the same. This time she went with him to look at the results.

“You win,” Deke said. “You plugged every single card in the center except that one.”

Kelly looked at it. “Can I have a do-over and still win?”

Deke laughed out loud. “Go ahead.”

They went back and he stood to the side as she took a last shot. “There. I think I got it,” she said.

He took the gun he’d given her back and set it aside with his. “Just making sure.”

Deke walked out one last time to the targets. The missed card was cut in two. The larger paper targets that she’d used were peppered with shots in the heart area.

He pulled off the two halves of the last card and brought them back to her. “I think you’re ready to officially join my team. I’m not sure I should tell them you can shoot this well, though.”

Kelly grinned at him. She curled her hand and blew imaginary smoke off her index finger.

When they were done and back in Deke’s car, he picked up a call from Hux. Kelly had to wonder if there were two teams, good and bad, keeping an eye on her at all times.

“I’m with Kelly, so I’m putting you on loudspeaker,” Deke said. “What’d you find?”

“The registration number you got from Gordon bounced back. That thing was probably forged, and the insurance company doesn’t even exist.”

For a punk, he’d paid a lot of attention to details, Kelly thought. But then he hadn’t been alone.

Hux continued. “Okay, the driver’s license number the guy gave Gordon? That belongs to a World War Two veteran who gave up his keys ten years ago.”

“Great.” Kelly sighed. “I’ll take that as proof it wasn’t an accident. They slammed into us to get us out of the van. More intimidation, and in broad daylight.”

“So be a good girl and stay indoors with the blinds pulled down,” Hux said.

“I
think
you’re teasing.”

 

Kelly lugged a heavy tote bag filled with folders and a laptop up to her hotel apartment and set it in a corner.

She didn’t know why she’d brought work home. The tote bag would be lugged back to the station tomorrow, its contents untouched.

Kelly headed straight for the bathroom and got undressed. Her on-air makeup felt like a mask, heavy and itchy. She swiped off most of it with a makeup remover pad, then turned the shower on full blast and got under the hot, pulsing spray.

She felt a little better when she got out and put on a thick, soft robe. Then her cell phone rang. Probably Deke calling to make sure she was still doing okay. He’d warned her about the delayed effects of being in a crash. It had been her first, so she’d listened.

Kelly answered without looking at the number.

“Hello.”

“My dear Kelly. I
had
to thank you.”

Natalie Conrad. Just about the last person on earth Kelly felt like talking to.

“What for?”

“You were so helpful. Luc was truly inspired by the old factory you recommended. He’s already installed his new piece. We want you to see it before anyone else.”

“Oh—I don’t think I can. Not right now.”

“Have I called at the wrong time again?” Natalie managed to make the question sound insinuating.

“No.” Kelly didn’t feel like explaining. “I just can’t go.”

“But you must.”

“Sorry. Does Luc have a Facebook page for the installation? I could look at photos.”

“I shall ask him. He’ll be here soon.” Natalie sounded a little giddy. “May I call you back?”

It would have been outright rudeness to refuse, so Kelly said yes. The reluctance in her voice didn’t dampen Natalie’s enthusiasm. She chirped a good-bye and hung up. Kelly slipped her phone in the pocket of her robe and went into the kitchen to forage.

Slim pickings. Kelly ransacked the empty kitchen drawers for a takeout menu that the previous tenant might have left and came up empty-handed. Nothing. She would have to go online.