Imperfect Contract (19 page)

"No."

"I want you to drive."  He pulled into a driveway and hopped out. 

I did a better job of laying rubber by accident than Ray had on purpose.  For the first time in days, I heard Ray break into a deep, rumbling laugh.  I couldn't help but join him.

"Take it around the block.  Get used to it.  Then I want you to cruise the boulevard.  When I tell you, let me out, then just keep me in sight.  If you lose me, go to the next gas station, and I'll find you there."

"That's a plan.  But why the theatrics?" 

"The name the kid gave me is the local gang leader, Gordon Wright.  He said Wright arranged the contract and was pissed about not getting the rest of the payoff."

"How'd he know?"

"The kid is always on the street, one of our informants.  He's the one who put us onto the other two.  He thought we'd stop there, and he'd never have to finger the big man."

I nodded, urging him to continue.

"Wright is usually armed and is always dangerous.  We've never nailed him on anything other than a misdemeanor.  He inspires loyalty, and no one will ever give him up."  Ray took his cell phone out and punched in a number.  "Turn right here," he directed me and pointed with his free hand.  "Lewis," he said, then explained the situation in brief.  "Yeah, I know I shouldn't have her here, but I can't pass up the opportunity.  Wright's in the hood now, but he'll probably be on the move within the hour."  He listened.  "Not a bad idea.  I'll give her my cell phone."  He listened.  "Okay."

"What was that all about?" I asked.

He keyed a number on the cell phone but didn't press send.  "Just push
send
if things get out of hand.  Lewis will be here as fast as he can."

I took a few deep breaths and felt my heart rate slow.  I looked at my own hands on the steering wheel.  My knuckles were white against the black leather.  I picked up one hand at a time and flexed my fingers.  The leather glistened from my damp palms.

"Over there.  Stop a hundred feet this side of those guys."  He pointed to a couple of well-dressed young men, then stretched over and retrieved his service revolver from under the driver's seat.  I hadn't known it was there.  I should have guessed. 

I braked.  He jumped out, letting the door go behind him.  "Go," he said.  The door slammed as I accelerated.  Shifting into second gear, I roared past the two men.

In the rearview mirror, I watched one of the young men say something to the other guy and take off on foot.  Ray didn't pursue him, but instead jogged over to the remaining man.  I slowed to a crawl, slipping the car into first gear.  I used the clutch to edge along a few feet at a time.  The discussion looked heated.  An angry sneer captured Ray's face, but he kept his voice under control.  The only thing I heard was repeated biologically impossible instructions the man hurled at Ray.  I saw Ray's lips move again, but I couldn't hear.  Ray backed off and looked to see where I was.  He signaled to me to pick him up, which I did.

The young man yelled as we pulled away. 

I didn't catch all the words, but I could fill in the blanks.  "He's rude," I said as I shifted into second.

"He was very helpful.  Turn left." 

I swung around the corner.

"Stop here.  Wait for me to come out.  If anyone approaches the car, leave.  Go around the block and come back through.  Anyone gives you a hard time, run 'em over."

"Sure, right.  I do that every day.  Run people over."  I regretted asking to come along.

Ray disappeared inside a dilapidated building.  The sign over the door said beer and wine, but I couldn't tell if it was open for business or not.  I stayed on full alert in the middle of the narrow street, scanning the deserted street in front of me and checking the rearview mirrors every few seconds.

I heard yelling, Ray's voice saying something police sounding, more yelling, a loud crash.  Then there was silence.  After what seemed like hours, I checked my watch.  Five minutes had elapsed.  The banged up door opened.  I depressed the clutch and slid the car into first, preparing to escape if necessary.  I felt my heart pounding.  "Breathe, Sophia."  I took several deep breaths, trying to maintain my composure while thinking the worst.

Ray appeared in the doorway, sauntered over to the car, and climbed in.  "Let's go."

"What happened?"  I saw a bruise darkening on the left side of his face.  I set the car in motion, shifted into second, then reached over and touched the bruise with the tips of my fingers.  "What happened?"  

"The son of a bitch took a swing at me."

"More than a swing, I'd say.  Does it hurt?"

"Not now.  It will later."

"Did you learn anything?"

"I learned that some of the most unlikely people have martial arts training."  He laughed aloud.  "And, I confirmed our boys were sent on the job, and the main man has taken a little vacation."

"Ran out of town.  A guilty conscience maybe."

"Could be.  But I have a name and some details.  Plenty of stuff to throw at Jones and O'Ryan."

"Has O'Ryan fessed up yet?"

"No." He pointed.  "Turn right at the light."  After we were around the corner, he said, "But I expect he will.  The public defender is protesting his innocence while at the same time making noises about looking for a deal.  You know how it is.  My client isn't guilty, but it'll be hard to prove.  Wants to know what we can do for him.  Jones' PD is dealing, says Jones was the driver, not the shooter, and he's trying to get the charges reduced."

"You think the State Attorney will deal?"

"After we get it sorted out.  We want them to give up Wright, and we still need to know who took out the contract.  We won't find that out until we can put some heat on the big man.  Not even Jones is talking about that, says he doesn't know because it was an arranged job.  Whatever the hell he means by that."  Ray picked his cell phone off the dash and punched the send button.  He filled Lewis in, then hung up.  "He'll have every cop in the state looking for Gordon Wright within the hour."

I pulled onto the main street.  "Want to drive?"  I said, accelerating into traffic and shifting gears like a pro.

"No, I'm enjoying being chauffeured."  He looked at his watch.  "It's still early.  Want to do something?"

"I thought you were in a hurry to get rid of me."

"Why would you say that?"

"Gee, I don't know.  Maybe because of our quarrel."

"Sophi, we need to get over the past.  Unless you don't want to?"

"I don't know.  I'm afraid of being involved with you again.  It never works out, then I feel used and abused."

"This time it'll be different.  I promise you."  He ran his hand over the side of my face and into my hair.  "I told you I miss you.  I know how much I screwed up.  I love you.  I always have."

I hit the brakes and swerved to miss a little old lady crossing the street with her wheeled walker.  She didn't seem aware of how close she had come to rolling into the next life.  I pulled to the side, stopped, opened the door, and stumbled out of the car.  "You drive."  I wobbled around the back of the small car, holding onto the side for support. 

We spent the rest of the day walking hand-in-hand through Metro Zoo, and he spent the night in my spare bedroom.  I told him to go home, that I'd be fine, but he refused.  I knew he believed someone was out to get me.  None of the creeps we saw during the day looked familiar to me.  Someone else had to be involved.  I wondered who.

29

It was close to eight when I woke the next morning.  Sunshine snorted then stretched on the pillow on the other side of the bed, and the house was quiet.  I knew I would find Ray's bed on the other side of the house empty.  He was long gone.

I slipped on a robe and wandered to the kitchen.  He had brewed coffee and left a note on the counter telling me he fed Sunshine and let him out.  It said he'd call me later.  Fine with me.  I had every intention of going to the beach.

I stared at my coffee—it looked very strong
—
then decided to give Vanessa a call.  The last time I saw her, she seemed in need of a break.  Besides, it would give me a chance to have a look at her in a bikini and observe most of her body for bruises.

Vanessa answered on the first ring.

"Hi, Sophia.  You crossed my mind a minute ago."

"Great minds," I replied.  "Want to go to the beach for a while?  Time is running short.  Soon it will be shore-to-boardwalk with school kids."

"Sounds good to me," she whispered.

"You have a sore throat?"

"A little, I guess.  I don't really know."  She sipped and swallowed.  "What do you hear about the investigation into Barry's murder?"

"Not a whole lot.  Now that he's dead, I'm not involved.  Ray only pulls me in when they need someone close-up and personal."  I tasted my tepid coffee and stuck out my tongue.  Ray must have left early.

"Don't you know if there's a break in the case or not?"  She persisted.  Her voice sounded stronger with a bit of an edge.

"There is one thing.  They have the guys who did the original shooting in custody.  Now they’re trying to discover who paid them in the first place."  Conveying the harmless information didn't matter.  The arrest was a matter of public record or would be soon.  "Don't say anything about it to anyone until it comes out in the paper."

"Of course not."  I heard her swallow again, then a rubbing sound suggested she covered the receiver with her hand.  I heard mumbling.

"Vanessa, you alone?"  I wondered if Craig was there.  I hadn't run into her at work over the weekend.  That was unusual because she worked almost every weekend.

"Sure, just clearing my throat.  The sunshine will do me good."  She hacked and coughed, sounding contrived rather than congested.  Then she continued.  "I've been thinking.  It makes sense to me that Amelia is the one who took out the contract."

"It's a possibility."

"We know she was about to lose everything.  I remember her telling me about an insurance policy."

"When?"

"In the beginning, when we talked about my finances.  She asked if I needed mortgage insurance and who'd take care of the payments if I became ill.  She said her husband took care of those things for her.  Then she told me he purchased a large insurance policy."

"That's my understanding as well.  She commented about the insurance and said she could only afford to take care of him if he died.  He hadn't left enough money in the business to take care of himself in the event of illness."

"Don't you think that gives her motive?"

"It could.  But people say all kinds of things when they are under stress.  Who knows?"  I emptied my coffee into the sink.  "You dislike her intensely.  You're not the best judge."

"Don't you think I have reason to dislike her—and her dead husband for that matter?"

"Well, I . . .  Listen, you have to do business with her until your townhouse closes.  It's about time you set aside your hatred.  It's wasted energy, and you're going to make yourself sick."

"That just makes me madder.  Every time I talk to her, and it seems like almost daily now, it's always something. 
Now
she says that
maybe
we can get it closed next week.  She's selling her agency to the guy down the street from her, and he'll handle the rest of the deal."

"That's Mike Wiley, and it's a good thing for you.  He's reputable at least and will straighten out the mess Hutchinson made for you."

"I hope so."  She didn't sound hopeful.

"What's wrong?  It'll work out."

"I hope so."

"Has she set a date for the closing?" I said.

"Next Tuesday, but it's tentative at this point."

"See?  That's good.  Then we can get you moved and settled, and maybe you can get your life back on track."

"Yes."

"Have you heard from the handsome broker again?"

"No."  Her tone ended the subject.

"You ready to go soon?  The day is beautiful, full sunshine, a gentle breeze.  I'd like to get to the beach and home before the early afternoon sun gives us skin cancer."

Might as well get moving, I thought.  The conversation stalled.  I'd continue it when we were face to face, and I could see her expressions.  Something seemed amiss.

"Sure, pick me up in an hour."

"Okay, an hour it is.  Want to meet me somewhere?"

"No, come here.  Can you?  My car is still out of service."

I parked in front of her apartment building an hour and fifteen minutes later.  I'd stopped to buy a six-pack of soda for the cooler, discovered I needed gas, and poked along.  The strange car from the other day was nowhere in sight.  Maybe I was wrong about Craig moving in.

Taking advantage of the opportunity to exercise, I walked the three flights to her apartment, then peered into the apartment through the screen door. 

"Van, you here?"  I tried the door.  It opened.  "Van."  I called out, louder this time.  Maybe she had the same idea and went for drinks.  She often supplied the soda for our little trips to the beach.  "Van."  Again no answer.

I remembered her comment about the car and decided to go in and look around.  It wasn't like her to leave the place open, but she had been acting a bit unusual.  If Craig had forced himself back in her life full-time, she had cause to act unusual.

I dropped my bag and car keys on the kitchen counter.  Something didn't feel right.  I wanted to see if a man inhabited the apartment.

The living room looked tidy.  Van had arranged the meager furnishings to their best advantage.  She'd been replacing her old furniture with things she liked, taking time to acquire good pieces at low prices. 

Seeing nothing wrong, I decided to check out the bedroom.  I knew if she came home and found me snooping around, she'd be pissed.

"Van," I called. 

That's when I heard a moan and a rubbing sound.  I hurried into the bedroom and didn't see anything at first except the king-sized bed centered on the wall to the right and the usual furnishings.  The duffle had disappeared from the floor near the dresser.  I glanced into the bathroom.  Empty.  The signs of a man in residence gone.

Still searching, I hurried around the bed, not seeing see her at first.

Van lay crumbled in the corner.  Nursing intuition told me she hadn't been there long.  Blood seeped from her wounds, but little soaked her clothing or the carpet—yet.  I missed the assault by, perhaps, ten minutes—the time it had taken me to stop for soda. 

She wore a swimming suit under an ankle length cover-up.  Had her intent to go to the beach enraged her attacker?   

I knelt next to her and touched her face in the only spot that didn't look battered and swollen.  She withdrew even further into the corner.  A long gash next to her right eye dripped blood.  Her left arm bent at about thirty-degrees between the elbow and the wrist, and her left leg lay at an unnatural angle as well.  Several smaller wounds required stitches. 

"What happened?"

"Craig."  A murmur.

"Craig did this to you?"

She didn't respond.

That was why she covered the mouthpiece and why she whispered.  Craig had prompted her conversation.  I had given her an excuse to deny his presence by suggesting she had a sore throat.

"Van, I'm going to call 911.  Don't move."

She opened her left eye and looked at me.  Recognition flickered. 

"He's not here.  The car is gone.  It looks like all his stuff is gone, too."

"Craig did it."

"I know."

"Craig did it," she said again, her voice almost inaudible.  She shivered. 

I held her cool, damp right hand a moment as she went into shock.  Time to get moving. 

First, I called 9-1-1.  Then, supporting her neck, I eased her down so her head lie on the same level as her chest, pulled the quilt off the bed to cover her, and raised her good leg on a couple of pillows.  It was as close to a shock position as possible under the circumstances.  I didn't know about other injuries, and I didn't want to risk moving her.  I'd keep her warm and wait with her. 

I called Ray. 

He said, "I'm on my way, but it'll take a few minutes.  You're out of my jurisdiction.  I'll call Tamarac while en route."

I sat next to Vanessa on the floor to wait for help to arrive.  I squeezed her hand.  "Sweetie, help is on the way.  Hang in there."

The paramedics arrived first.  I heard the male voices outside the door and saw Van shudder and pull closer to the wall.  She looked terrified.  This appeared to be the worst beating he'd ever given her.  So much for faith, I thought, going out to meet the medics.

I watched from a distance as they applied a neck collar, coaxed her from the corner, and fitted splints to her broken limbs.  With the use of a slim board, they lifted her onto a stretcher, then paused to inspect her for other obvious injuries.  Healing bruises covered her arms and legs, and a huge swollen, purple mark distorted her abdomen.  Her belly went rigid when they touched her. 

"Internal injuries."  The taller of the two paramedics said.  "Let's get moving." 

From bits of overheard conversation, I surmised her blood pressure was low.  They needed to hurry.

As Ray pulled into the parking lot with two Tamarac patrol cars following, the medics whisked her out the door.  When I leaned over the balcony and waved, he signaled me to stay put.  He'd talk to the paramedics and get a look at Van before coming upstairs. 

I hung around the apartment while the cops talked and added the small amount of information I could.  At noon, I grabbed her keys and locked the door, following Tamarac's finest to the parking lot. 

Ray and I headed toward the hospital in our separate vehicles.  The Tamarac detectives would be there, attempting to get a statement from Vanessa.  I decided to stop by my house and change clothes.  Van was safe, and I didn't want to arrive at the hospital in my swimwear and skimpy cover-up.  The side trip wouldn't take long.