An Arm and a Leg (27 page)

“Let’s see, perhaps we’ll begin with the tender parts between your lovely toes.”

Frankie could refuse to answer Bellamy’s questions. But he would torture her until she’d be ready to tell him anything he wanted to hear, and kill her anyway.

“Okay.”

A look of something akin to disappointment flashed across Bellamy’s face. He frowned down at the biopsy tool as he opened and closed it several more times.

“I said okay. I’ll give you what I have.”

Bellamy sighed. “Of course you will.” He stood up. “Where is it?”

“It’s in my brother’s safe deposit box. But I’ll have to get it; they know me at the bank.”

Bellamy leveled a suspicious look at his captive. He walked to the cabinet, replaced the tool, and left the room. When he returned, he’d removed the surgical garb and was wearing a yellow dress shirt and dark brown slacks.

The doctor bent over and pulled up his left pant leg. When he stood, he held a derringer in his right hand. He pointed the weapon at Frankie.

“Not to worry, we have a concealed carry permit. Wouldn’t want to do anything illegal.” Bellamy laughed, or at least that’s what Frankie thought he meant to do. The sound made her flesh crawl.

The diminutive handgun appeared similar to one in Uncle Mike’s antique firearm collection. Although the weapon looked like a toy, each of its two stacked barrels would hold one deadly round.

“Precious, isn’t it? Less than five inches long.” Bellamy held the weapon up for Frankie’s inspection. “So small it is lost in our palm, nearly invisible.”

The doctor pointed the derringer at Frankie’s face. “This little sweetie is an American made .38 Special. Notice the chromed frame, fixed sights and big bore. What you can’t see is that it’s loaded with two copper jacketed, hollow point rounds. Do you know why we use hollow point bullets, Miss O’Neil?”

Frankie raised her chin, commanding her face to remain devoid of expression. “The hole in the tip of the bullet makes the projectile expand upon impact. It results in the widest wound path possible.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows rose. “Superior response. It would be such a pity to have to kill you. However, we will not hesitate if you do not do as you are told, understood?”

Frankie nodded her head. “I don’t have the key to the safe deposit box with me.”

The doctor again brought his face to within inches of Frankie’s. “Where is it? You’re beginning to piss us off, Miss O’Neil.”

“It’s at the motel where I’ve been staying since my house caught fire.”

“Ah yes, we heard about the fire. Do the police have any leads?”

“If not, they soon will. You can’t think I’d be stupid enough to track you down on my own, do you?”

Bellamy smirked and shook his head. “Such a clumsy attempt. But no matter, we’ve had our own personal exit plan in place for a good while. By the time anyone figures out what has happened, we will be sunning our oiled body and sipping mojitos in an undisclosed, non-extraditing location.”

Wordlessly, the doctor walked back over to the counter and picked up the roll of gray tape Larry had left there. He returned to the gurney and loosened the restraint on Frankie’s left hand.

“Now loosen the other hand.” He paused. “Take the tape and pull out a length of about twelve inches. No, no, don’t tear it off, keep it attached to the roll.”

Frankie complied.

“Wrap the free end of the tape around your right wrist a couple of times, that’s right. Now hold out both hands, wrists together.” Bellamy wrapped duct tape around both her wrists with one hand while keeping the derringer pointed at her temple with the other.

“Now undo the restraints at your legs.”

After several seconds of struggling, Frankie managed to sit upright. She fumbled with the buckles at her ankles, her fingers moving like thick sausages.

Bellamy backed out of kicking range and motioned for Frankie to stand. She slid her legs over the side of the gurney and sat on its edge. Her vision swam, and her bound wrists caused her arms to stick out awkwardly in front of her.

“If the things your brother took from us were to come to light, we would spend a great deal of time in prison. We share that information with you so you will understand that we have nothing to lose by ending your earthly existence. Do not make us shoot you, Miss O’Neil.”

Frankie sat for several seconds before slipping off the gurney and standing beside it. Bellamy motioned toward the door, and the two exited the room. They stepped over Larry, who lay crumpled next to the door. Blood slowly dripped onto the floor from a gash on the side of his head. He didn’t appear to be breathing.

Frankie walked ahead of Bellamy through the rear exit of the hospital and out into the darkness of night. The well-lit staff parking lot was dotted with a few other vehicles, but there was no one else in sight.

The doctor motioned toward a black, late model Jaguar parked at the far end of the lot.

“You drive.”

“You’re kidding.” Frankie held her bound hands toward him.

Bellamy ignored her protest and opened the door on the driver side. “We never kid. Get in.”

Frankie managed to slide into the driver’s seat. She rested her bound wrists on top of the steering wheel while the doctor climbed into the passenger’s seat.

“Start the engine.” Bellamy dangled the car keys in front of Frankie’s face.

“You can’t seriously expect me to drive with my wrists taped like this. I can’t even hold on to the steering wheel. Besides, the seat is too far back—I can’t reach the pedals.”

“You are in no position to make demands. However, as they say, safety first.”

Bellamy stepped out of the car and walked around to the driver’s side. With the derringer unwaveringly aimed at her left eye, he adjusted the seat then returned to the passenger side.

“Hold out your hands.” Making no effort to be gentle, he removed the tape bindings. He smiled as several layers of Frankie’s flesh come off with it. “You will not exceed the speed limit, nor will you do anything to attract anyone’s attention. We assure you that we are quite willing to shoot anyone who approaches us.”

During the drive to the motel Frankie considered one escape plan after another. Perhaps she could speed so a policeman would pull them over. Maybe she could drive into a lamppost and take her chances on getting out of the wreckage ahead of Bellamy. Or maybe she could drive straight to the police station and lay on the car’s horn. But Bellamy had a weapon. And she had no doubt he would be all too happy to kill one or two innocent bystanders.

She glanced at Bellamy. “The key to my room is in my purse. And unless Mel took it, it’s still out at the chicken farm.” She pulled into the motel parking lot, parked the car in the slot in front of her room, and turned off the engine. “I’ll have to get another key from the desk.”

“So you say.” Bellamy sat still. Frankie could nearly hear the wheels of his mind grinding as he tried to decide how best to proceed.

“Okay, Miss O’Neil, we shall go in together. Is there any need for us to repeat our threat?” Bellamy put the hand carrying the derringer into the pocket of his trousers.

“No need.”

The two walked side by side to the front desk. The young man behind the counter initially smiled in recognition of Frankie, but as they neared the desk and the young man got a closer look, his smile faded.

Frankie could only imagine her appearance. Her torn clothes were filthy with dust from the cistern and stiff with Mina’s blood and her own dried vomit. Her hair had heaven-only-knew what kind of creepy crawlies tangled in it. She must smell like something dragged out of a landfill.

“Hello.” Frankie addressed the desk clerk in a conversational tone. “I have a problem…I lost the key to my room. Could you make another one for me?”

The young man’s eyes slid back and forth between Bellamy and Frankie. Regardless of her appearance, Bellamy’s impeccable dress obviously impressed him.

“Sure thing. No problemo. Room two seventy, right?” The kid looked meaningfully at Bellamy, the look on his face telegraphing words to the effect of:
whatever butters your biscuit.
“And will you be needing a second key?”

“No,” Frankie said, “just the one.”

The young man keyed a new magnetic keycard and handed it to Frankie. She thanked him and slid the key into her pants pocket. She and Bellamy walked outside.

Located on the second floor, Frankie’s room was only accessible via the outside stairs spaced about every thirty feet. She walked toward the stairs nearest her room with Bellamy close behind her.

As they approached the door to her room, Frankie stuck her hand into her pocket for the key. Something pricked her finger, and pain shot up her hand. Mina’s barrette.

Frankie withdrew the key, her mind swirling with ideas of how to use the small metallic weapon to her advantage.

Bellamy motioned for her to unlock the door. “You will not make any sudden moves.”

Frankie inserted the key card into the lock. When the tiny green light on the keypad blinked, she pushed the door open.

Bellamy shoved the barrel of the derringer into her back. “After you.”

Frankie considered smashing the door back into Bellamy’s face, but he stayed too close on her heels for that move. His proximity also negated her closing the door before he could get in.

But as the doctor walked through the door, Collette leapt at him from her perch atop the entertainment center. With the full force of her thirteen pounds, the cat hit Bellamy’s shoulder, instantly pushed off again and disappeared into the bathroom.

Bellamy yelled something that sounded like “Whaa,” and tossed the derringer in a high arc to his right.

The weapon hit the wall and fell to the floor. Frankie and Bellamy simultaneously dove for it, but the doctor was a nanosecond quicker.

In desperation, Frankie reached into her pocket and pulled out Mina’s barrette. She stepped toward Bellamy, closing the distance between them. By the time he straightened and turned back toward her, the two stood nearly face to face.

Surprised by Frankie’s proximity, Bellamy did not take time to aim but precipitously pulled the trigger so rapidly the two shots almost sounded like one. Something tugged at Frankie’s sleeve as the first bullet nicked the fabric and buried itself in the wall. But the second bullet found its mark in her shoulder. A red hot poker screamed its way through her flesh as the superheated projectile expanded, searing and masticating tissue at the same time gun powder stippled her neck and cheek.

A low growl started up from somewhere deep inside her chest. It gained strength as it rose in her throat, turning into a full throttled battle cry. She shoved the sharp metal points of the starburst barrette into the base of Bellamy’s neck. The heavy metal spikes sliced deep, piercing flesh and muscle.

Dr. Bellamy squealed, dropped the derringer, and backed away. His eyes wide, he tugged at the still embedded barrette, but realized too late his mistake. With nothing to hinder its flow, blood seeped through his fingers and down the front of his shirt.

One hand pressed against his neck, Bellamy half ran, half crawled toward his car. Drops of blood marked his progress down the stairs and along the sidewalk.

Frankie’s vision blurred, but she forced her body into action. Warm blood trickled down her arm and ribs. Her legs felt like they were tethered to sandbags. But she ran after Bellamy.

The doctor whimpered and kept glancing back over his shoulder. With his free hand he opened his car door, fell onto the seat and jammed the key into the ignition.

Only a few feet from Bellamy’s car, Frankie’s eyes went out of focus. Her knees buckled and she fell forward onto the asphalt.

Chapter Thirty-Four

When Larry regained consciousness he was lying on a hard, cold, flat surface. His head throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat, and the roar of pumping blood filled his ears. He lay still for a few seconds and waited for the chaos in his mind to clear a bit. When it did, he opened his eyes.

Every movement shot fresh pain through his head, but he sat up. Nausea tickled at his insides and his vision blurred. He tried to stand, but his legs refused to hold his weight and he plopped back down onto the floor. The contact with the hard floor jarred his head and he nearly lost consciousness again. He hand-walked up the wall, leaning against it for support.

“Is that the best you could do, you old bastard?” he said to the empty hallway.

Larry staggered toward the lockup. Steeling himself against what he might find, he opened the door. But other than the empty gurney, the room looked the same as when he’d left to go for the car. He was relieved to see no blood or any other indication that Bellamy had hurt Frankie.

That was the good news. But as soon as Bellamy got his hands on what Tim took, he’d have no choice but to kill her.

“Not my Beauty.” Careful not to move his head more than necessary, Larry slid his hand along the wall and wobbled toward the cutting rooms.

Hector and the other cutter were standing at their work stations when Larry stumbled into the room. Hector put down his boning knife and walked toward his friend, while the other cutter went back to slicing pieces from the red mass in front of him.

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” Hector said. His mouth opened wide when he saw the blood on Larry’s clothes and the gaping wound on his head.

“So did I,” Larry said. “But I got sidetracked.”

Hector pulled his bloodied apron off and tossed it into an empty chair. He peeled rubber gloves off his hands and threw them on top of the apron. “What happened?”

“Bellamy hit me and took off with my girl. I’m going to get her back, but I don’t want to attract attention. Folks see me all bloodied up, someone’s going to ask questions. Might even call the police.”

Hector examined Larry’s head. He clicked his tongue a couple of times and walked to a white metal cabinet against the wall. He wet a handful of cotton balls with some kind of brownish solution and dabbed at the wound. Larry winced.

“You need stitches. Scalp wounds bleed bad.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Larry glanced at the other cutter, who kept his head down and eyes on his work. “I need you to sew me up.”