Tempted by Trouble (24 page)

My hands reached out to break my fall, but it was too late.

My first fear was that the police had been waiting on me. Another blow came down on my shoulder and added to my agony. When I moved, three more blows came in rapid succession, two to my left leg and one to my lower back. The animal instincts inside of me took over and I growled, struggled to get up, and prepared to rush and tackle my aggressor. Then another blow assaulted the muscle in my right leg, put pain right above my knee, and that pain spread up and down in rapid waves. I battled the pain and moved, but that agony erupted like a volcano and I met the ground with unbridled force.

My attacker backed away and waited. Angry words were said but all sounds were a distant hum. I kept growling and struggling to roll over and get to my feet. I’d never been in the ring like my father had, but I was my father’s son. My mind screamed for my body to get up, but pain held me down. All I could see was the silhouette that was dominating me. The shape of a woman and miles of wild and incensed hair were all I could see.

 

 

 

 

Abbey Rose lorded over
me, an aluminum baseball bat in her hand.

She said, “All day, since you kidnapped me, all I’ve wanted to do was kill you
.”

I made it up on my good knee and pressed on, moved through the pain, became Atlas standing up with the world on his back. Before I could struggle to my feet she was standing no more than three yards away from me. She was close enough for me to stumble and tackle her, close enough for me to grab her and slam her on the ground, but I saw why she was so bold. She had dropped the aluminum bat, but she was brandishing a gun. It wasn’t a big gun, but it was a gun. That didn’t lessen my anger.

I looked up at her, her porch light on behind her head, its light coming through her mountain of hair. There was enough light from the streets to reveal her face as an outline of anger and horror.

A sharp pain took me back down on one knee. I reached inside my jacket and she aimed the gun like she was ready to shoot me in the center of my face. She was afraid, but she held the gun like she’d had training. I took out a golden business envelope that had been folded three times. Lips tight, I slid the package toward her, then raised my hands. Her full name was written across the face of the envelope.

She asked, “What is this?”

“That . . . the things I took from you, the insurance card and your license, everything is in the envelope. Along with five thousand dollars, enough to cover getting your German-made SUV fixed.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“God, you have me hurting bad. I’m in pain.”

“You’re in pain? After what you did to me, do you think I care? You’re in pain? Good, so now you know how I feel on the inside. I’ve been suffering and crying and trying not to lose my mind all day. The damage you did to my truck is nothing compared to the terror I’ve felt all day. The damage you did to my truck is nothing compared to what you have done to my soul. I have relived the experience in my mind all day long. Do you understand?”

Abbey Rose aimed the gun at my chest and I put a hand up like my flesh was bulletproof. She came around me and patted me down like she was looking for a weapon but stopped when she felt the outline of my wallet. She took my wallet and opened it up. She took out my driver’s license.

She read my name. “I know who you are, I have your address in Detroit, and I know what you did today. I know why you were running. I know why all the police helicopters were over the bank.”

I shifted in my pain. “You hid in your yard and you waited for me until three in the morning?”

“I’ve been jumping at every noise since I came home.”

“With a damn baseball bat? What, are you crazy?”

“You came to hurt me. Or worse.”

“Do you think I’m dumb enough to walk up to your front door if I was coming to hurt you?”

“You fired a gun at me. You fired a gun at me two times.”

“I saved your life. If I didn’t pretend to shoot you, the people I work with would’ve killed you.”

“
Did you hear me?
You traumatized me in ways that I can’t begin to explain.
I’ve spent every second since you ran into the back of my SUV . . . every second I have been living in fear.
”

“I just wanted to pay you for your damages and get my father’s fedora.”

“
I don’t care about your father’s fedora.
”

Her voice remained low and intense, but it trembled with anger, fear, and the desire for revenge.

She said, “I had no idea what you were going to do to me. I had no idea. Do you have any idea what that is like? I knew I was about to die, but I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know how long it would take. But what scared me even more were the horrible things I imagined you would do to me.”

“I’m not a rapist.”

“How would I know that?”

Her anger was palpable. She wanted revenge.

Face bruised, nose bloodied, distressed, and down on my knees, I grimaced at Abbey Rose.

“I’m sorry. Those simple words are all that I can offer. That’s all I can say.”

“You took me hostage, put a knife to my neck and threatened me, fired a gun at me twice, and all you can do is throw money at my feet and say that you’re sorry, as if that could erase what’s happened?”

I could see the bottomless pain in Abbey Rose’s eyes. The light hit her eyes and what I saw was like looking inside a movie projector. I saw myself getting inside her SUV and knocking her books and coffee cup to the side, pulling out the Mexican switchblade while her heart beat like it wanted to explode inside her chest. I heard her begging me not to give her a horrible death as sirens and helicopters sounded all over the city of fallen angels.

She said, “Move and I’ll shoot you.”

Abbey Rose had on blue UCLA sweats and runner’s tennis shoes.

She backed away and disappeared inside the house, but she was back within seconds. She had my father’s fedora in her hand. She tossed it at me and it landed near my feet. She kept her eyes on me, then tucked the bat underneath her armpit and squatted, picked up the envelope and moved into the light, read the front of the package, read her name and the two-word message, then paused before she stuffed it inside her sweats at the small of her back.

Abbey Rose didn’t say anything for a long time.

She whispered, “Close your eyes.”

“I’m not closing my eyes.”

She clenched her jaw and came a step closer. “One way or another you’re going to close your eyes. So do it your way, or do it my way, and if you do it my way, you’ll never be able to open your eyes again.”

She had the gun. She believed that she was in control, that she held my life in her hands.

So with reluctance, I closed my eyes.

The temperature had plummeted and was in the upper forties. Over an hour went by before I heard Abbey Rose move around. By then I was in pain and cold from head to toes. Jackie would wake up soon, drunk and in custody, kicking and screaming.

I whispered, “You still there?”

Her voice trembled. “How does it feel?”

“Cold. Fingers are numb. Everywhere you hit hurts bad.”

Another moment passed.

She asked, “Is there a reward for your capture?”

I didn’t answer.

“I hope there is. God knows I could use the money. And the publicity. I could be on CNN or even
Oprah
talking about how I trapped a despicable creature in my front yard. I captured a dangerous man all by myself. How does that sound to you,
Dmytryk from Detroit
?”

After that she said nothing. It felt as if thirty more minutes passed.

Abbey Rose snapped, “I’ve had enough of this. I’ve had all I can take of you.”

“What does that mean?”

“Leave. I want you to leave my property. I want you out of my life.”

Fury rose in her voice and I imagined that same fury was in her body language.

And that fury had probably moved from her heart and rested in the hand holding the gun.

It took me a moment to open my eyes and adjust to my surroundings. If she was ready to give me my freedom, I wanted to hurry and seize the moment before her mood changed. But I couldn’t get up without falling flat on my face. My legs were in severe pain; every muscle tingled from the cold and lack of circulation. After three hours with nothing supporting my back, standing up was torture. My body ached and my sinuses drained as the cold air hugged me. I didn’t have the energy to raise my hand to wipe my face.

She asked, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you rob banks?”

“Sounds like you’re asking for a thirty-second job pitch.”

“Why do you do something so . . . disgusting?”

It took me a moment, because for a moment I didn’t know where to start. Part of me wanted to remain silent, but the other part of me, the part that needed to talk through the pain, took over. I talked like I was on the stand at my trial, twelve of my peers staring at me through unsympathetic eyes, my words strong and intent, but at the same time filled with dignity and not begging for mercy because I accepted my life for what it had become.

Abbey Rose said, “Your wife.”

“What about her?”

“You robbed banks for your wife.”

“I did it for us.”

“But she asked you to?”

“She saw it as a viable option.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you do something like that?”

It strained my neck to turn, but I glanced back and saw Abbey Rose had lowered her gun.

“Is your wife with you?”

“No. She left me. I haven’t heard from her for the last six months.”

Lights were coming on in the houses in the neighborhood. Car after car passed by.

I said, “You’re a writer.”

“Part-time.”

“What else do you do?”

“Why?”

“You know all about me, so I was asking.”

“I was a teacher. But after nine years, I lost my job when our wonderful governor cut the budget and sent thousands of educators to the unemployment line.”

“I’m sorry to hear that hard times have come to your front door.”

“So the money you brought me, I really need it. I just don’t know if I can keep it. That wouldn’t be right to do. This is probably stolen money. This is dirty money.”

“I borrowed four from a loan shark and the rest came out of my pockets.”

Abbey Rose stood. Her features remained outlined, but the heat from her eyes illuminated her anguish. It was the second time that night I looked into the eyes of a heartbroken woman. Abbey Rose shook her head like I was the saddest thing she’d ever seen.

I said, “I’m sorry, Abbey Rose. I’m sorry for everything.”

Her frown was strong. “I can’t believe you actually came to my home.”

“With honorable intentions.”

She watched me for a moment. “Your bruises—”

“Don’t worry about me. Whatever I received, I deserved ten times over.”

“You’re lucky. I was aiming at your head, but you ducked.”

“My father was a boxer. I guess that I inherited some of his natural instinct.”

“Either way, you’ll need medical attention.”

“I don’t have insurance, so I’ll have to buy a Band-Aid and rough this on my own.”

Abbey Rose told me not to move, then she went inside, locked her screen door, and vanished inside her home. A few moments passed before she opened the door and handed me a white bottle. I looked at the bottle, could make out CVS PHARMACY across the top, heard at least twenty pills rattle, but my eyes were too watery to read the smaller lettering on the label.

“What’s this?”

“Vicodin.”

“This won’t be necessary.”

“Take them,” she said. “And go.”

“You haven’t called the police?”

“Not yet. I should have, but not yet.”

“But you have to.”

“You’re a criminal.”

“It’s been a bad day. My friends were shot. One of them was killed.”

“He was a criminal and he received what he deserved.”

“Maybe. But he was a family man. He had a wife and kids. My other friend was shot too, and he had a family as well. All they were trying to do was take care of their families.”

“What about the family of the security guard who was shot?”

“He’s a hero too.”

“Stop searching for empathy. I have none for people like you, not after what you did.”

“I panicked. I was afraid. Things went bad and got out of control.”

“How could you do something so heinous? You sound and dress very smart. You’re very educated, I can tell that. I want to know what it’s like to do what you have done. I saw the news. I saw them interviewing the people who worked at the Wells Fargo. One girl was crying so hard she couldn’t talk. You’ve ruined the lives of over a dozen people.”

I coughed and wanted to spit but swallowed. More coughs came before I licked around my mouth and tried to see if I tasted blood. I couldn’t tell how much damage she had done.

I dropped the bottle of Vicodin Abbey gave me inside my coat pocket, then fought to my feet and found my balance before I slipped my fedora on my head.

I limped to the gate, looked back, and said, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Am I safe?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are your friends going to look for me, come back to my home and . . .”

“They have no idea who you are. They don’t know your name. You’re safe.”

“How do I know that you’re not lying to me right now?”

“I’ve sacrificed everything to protect you. I lied to the people I work with. If it falls apart, it’s me they’ll kill. They don’t know. And they have no way of finding out. You’re free. No matter what happens to me this morning, you’re free. I’m the wanted man.”