Reasonable Doubts (24 page)

GIANNI

(Prequel Sample, Coming soon)

PROLOGUE - GIANNI

The bullet seared in his arm, so much he couldn't get a shot off back at him. His own gun stayed in his shoulder holster, unused. Teddy lay dead, a lucky head shot, so Gianni ran off to the car with a pocketful of cash and some stones and managed to drive it over the curb and out, before any cops showed up, but he knew they'd be there soon.

Fucking renta-acop
.
They aren't supposed to have guns.

It was a Saturday night and he and Teddy were supposed to do a quick, quiet job, breaking into a jewelry chain store, stealing the rocks and the cash, and leave. All the chain stores were set up the same and it was the third one they had knocked off this year, but some cowboy rent-a-cop showed up and started shooting just as they were finishing drilling the safe in the back room. Gianni looked in his pocket, maybe $500 from the petty cash, and a couple decent rocks from the display cases. The rest was garbage, except for the safe. In there would be uncut, untraceable stones and bars of gold and platinum, and maybe the week's cash haul- he would never know because they didn't get to crack it.

He drove slowly on the empty streets and knew he had to get off the road. Partly because the cops would stop just about any suspicious car, especially after the call went out. And partly because the blood was pooling in the driver's seat, and running all the way down his ass crack, a warm, sticky mess.

Teddy could have stitched me up
, he thought.
Poor Teddy. If the damn rent-a-cop hadn't started shooting, if he had called the cops that would have been it.
So Gianni would be arrested for burglary, wouldn't be the first time, and since they didn't hurt anyone, and the place was abandoned in the middle of the night, he maybe would have done 3 years. Maybe less with the new Lawyer Metcalf, he was a wiz so far for the guys.

Metcalf,
he turned the word over in his head, the word meant freedom, it meant getting away with it all, he repeated the word like a prayer.

Metcalf would be my next phone call if I didn't bleed to death in the car. He might even be awake right now. Tough as nails that guy, I bet he doesn't sleep. But with Teddy dead, this wasn't a three year burglary stretch now. This was felony-murder. Even if I didn't pull a gun, or shoot anybody, the fact that stupid cocksucker shot and killed Teddy meant I was guilty of murder for being there. Metcalf said something about if we intended to do the burglary, that intent is transferred to the murder or something, I don't know. He can talk, that's for sure.

Gianni knew that beating burglary and beating murder were two very different things.

The hospital was out, but he needed something, he needed someone to stitch him up. At a hospital, he would be in handcuffs before he ever saw a doctor.

Ask and you shall receive!

He slowed the car down, this was another chain store, but this one had drugs and bandages too.
One burglary and one felony murder, so why not another burglary?
His arm screamed in pain at him, and throbbed like crazy as he parked the car behind the store and tried to break in the back window.

CHAPTER ONE : TESS

The end of the month was the worst,- reconciliations for corporate. A lot of the drugs were controlled, like ketamine and morphine, - more than one employee had been fired for trying to take a vial of these, and they got a not-so-nice call from the police too. Even the antibiotics and other things were regulated, so all the amounts we had on hand at the end of the month had to be entered into the corporate computer system.

Lately, I would just write them down in my notebook and enter the data later at home or at Chris' apartment. Chris would distract me and play with my body while I worked and I would pretend to get upset and fight him off, but really I loved every minute of it. Once he even started fucking me from behind while I lay on his bed, entering the amounts. That was much more fun than sitting here at work, alone, well, mostly alone, the dogs and cats were still locked up in back, but most were asleep. Except this little guy on my lap. Mr Higglesworth, the Persian cat we were boarding for its owners. He was 20 lbs and looked like he should have a monocle, and a top hat and tuxedo, he was the classiest, most sophisticated animal I had ever had the pleasure to sit for. If I didn't get to work, I felt he might fire me or judge me and look down on me for screwing around. I rubbed his belly and he stretched out lazily, as if he was only letting me pet him because I seemed to enjoy it.

Chris was probably in his apartment right now, screwing around on the computer, waiting for me, but I hadn't decided if I was going to go over later or not.

Who was I kidding, of course I was, the man had an A+ dick game.

And was almost perfect in every way, except for that little thing he let slip on Tuesday, when I couldn't go meet him and his friends at the bar because there was no sitter for Bumpy.
"You know I probably would have married you already if it wasn't for that kid of yours."
He said it as a child, to hurt me, and maybe didn't really mean it, but he hadn't begged and apologized for saying it, for even thinking it, so I figured we were probably over.

I had three texts from him on my phone, “Where you at” and “Yo!” and “Yo?”. And I tried to ignore them, but I was sure I would call him once I got off, so I could get off.

Anyone who would make me choose between bumpy and them didn't deserve to be in my life, but it's tough to leave a cock like that and go back to meeting assholes at the bars. But a girl's got needs, sometimes you need to get fucked, and those assholes are the only option.

Mr. Higglesworth perked up his ears and rolled over and off my lap, running into the next room. When I looked up I saw the scariest man I've ever seen. He had huge jagged scars across his face, coming out of each mouth and up the cheeks. He was covered in blood from his stomach down to his waist and legs. He had a blank look on his face, as if surprised to see me, but he pulled a gun from inside his jacket slowly and pointed it right at me.

"Help me and you won't get hurt," he said and stared at me.

He was a wounded animal and my first instinct was to grab him and calm him, but having never had a gun pointed at me, a new instinct appeared, to run. I jumped out of my seat and ran for the door, I tried to pull it open and it was locked, I frantically tried to unlatch it, but by then his good arm was wrapped around my throat, for someone who lost that much blood, the strength in his forearms was impressive, my neck was between his bicep and forearm and he could have been snapped it like a twig.

I started crying, "I have a baby, please don't hurt me,"

"I already said I wouldn't if you helped me, but running away is not helpful, now is it?" He whispered.

He turned me around from the door and pushed me forward to the back room. I heard him close the blinds and shuffle his feet after me.

I felt surprisingly calm, I could taste sour, metallic adrenaline in my mouth.

"You're a nurse right?" He asked when I turned to face him again, in the back room.

"Office manager, well I help out too," I looked down at my scrubs, but they were for show more than practical. Corporate uniforms to make customers feel we were a hospital, everyone wore them no matter if they answered phones or were nurses.

"You can try," he said and smiled, a goofy, half grin, because the muscles in part of his face must have been severed when he got those scars.

I took off his jacket, slowly, easing it off through his wincing in pain. It slid off and revealed enormous arms and pecs, and a washboard stomach.
If he wasn't covered in blood he would be damn sexy.

I got to work on him, and he never cried out, or showed his pain, "Much easier to work on than animals, they always try to bite when they're in pain," I blurted out, forgetting what was happening for a moment.

"I might too," he said menacingly, even though it was a joke, and I remembered exactly what this was. I was a hostage and trying to help a gunshot victim. He came alone, so who knows where the shot came from and if the person who shot him was still breathing.

I had him take off the gun holster, a thin leather thing wrapped around his chest, and then his white t-shirt came off with it.

"Can you stand up and follow me to the other room?"

"What for he asked," suspicious.

"To wash this off to see what's under the blood." The hole was obvious, crimson, near black blood, but I couldn't tell if or where it exited without cleaning it off. He followed without a word to the sink in the surgery room, and I ran the water until it was room temperature, and held his arm under, splashing the water over, cleaning the blood and ran some soap around and under.

"Clean through," he said before I had seen it, what I thought was the entry wound was the exit wound, he must have had his arm up when he was being shot at. The bullet entered underneath his forearm and exited on top. The entrance wound was a tiny little hole, like Bumpy's belly button.

I brought him back in the other room and sat him down on the examining table, and went to fetch the gauze to patch him up. It would be simpler than I thought.
Maybe I'll be home before the babysitter starts to get pissed off or demands overtime.
As I got the gauze out, I noticed his revolver was sitting alone, next to me on the counter where he had sat previously.

It was stupid thing to do, but I grabbed it and turned around, I pointed it at him, it was far heavier than I imagined in my hand.

"Are you going to shoot me or help me?" He asked when he looked up at me. I had the gauze in my other hand, under the gun.

"I don't know, what do you plan to do with me?"

"Nothing, like I promised twice already, if you helped me. Twice now you're the one to break that agreement." He looked at me coolly, not flinching at the gun pointed at him. I had never held a weapon, never mind shot one before.

"There's no reward for me, and you won't be any kind of hero, if that's what you’re thinking. But if you're going to shoot me, you have to look me in the eye as you do it, you can't shut them or look away when you squeeze the trigger, or else you'll miss. Trust me on that one. The trigger is real light in that, it's loaded and hasn't been fired yet, I promise that too. It's so easy to squeeze it, but you gotta look me in the eye while you do it, and remember how it looks for the rest of your life."

CHAPTER 2: GIANNI

Her arms were small and bare and deeply freckled. Her eyes were large and gray and somehow, in a way I had never seen before, also freckled, or at least exploding like a fireworks from the darkness of her pupil, a halo of gold dust.

She had put the gun down quickly enough, ashamed and sheepish and walked towards me with the gauze. But I could have kissed her for trying. A ballsy move. I also could have broken her neck for trying it, like I did the last person to point a gun at me, but the fight was out of her, for now at least. And it was too beautiful a neck to do any damage to it.

Her hands worked nimbly with the bandages, confident, but gentle too. I felt my cock harden as she ran her fingers over me, but that was the last thing I needed, to waste blood down there with all I had lost in the car.

"How old's your kid?" I asked.

"14 months," she said.

"What's its name?"

"Kendall, but I call it bumpy,"

"I was trying to guess boy or girl, but none of you answers are any help at all."

She smiled, "A girl, but yeah, I wanted to leave it a little mysterious for her teachers in school, and whoever else just sees a name."

"Mysterious." I hummed. "As a woman she'll already have plenty of mystery."

I tried to smile, but sometimes I forget how scary that is with my face. I used to joke around a lot, but losing the face muscles, no one can ever tell, and it's a pretty scary face now. I try to avoid mirrors, so sometimes I forget how bad I look.

She looked back at me, not sure if she should laugh. She seemed uncomfortable talking about the kid, so I let her off.

"You got any kids?" She asked.

"No." I answered. "I take care of my ma though, she's almost 75 and dementia, so sort of like a kid." She looked up and smiled weakly at me, those freckled eyes almost killed me.

A loud knock on the door startled us both.
That wasn't a normal knock.
It was that police BAM! BAM!, knock with the bottom of the fist. She looked up at me frightened, asking 'what should I do?' with those eyes.

“That's police, you have to answer it, but don't try to go back on our deal a third time. Three strikes is all you get.”

She nodded, terrified.

“You don't want to see anyone get shot tonight right or get shot yourself right? So don't do anything stupid.”

“What should I say?”

“That you're here working. Be cool, look tired and pissed off he's keeping you from finishing work and going home. Pretend he's me, but not as dangerous.”

She nodded, and still looked terrified, but I'll bet she could act cool. Women were natural actors. Make you believe almost anything they told you.

She turned to go and I noticed my blood on her shirt top, I grabbed the hem of her shirt real quick and pulled her back to me, “The blood,” I said and pointed to the spot on the front. A crimson mark shaped like Texas above her left hip, from when she leaned in close to me, bandaging me, and I studied those eyes.