The Trophy Wife (36 page)

Rita went into the house, holding the storm door just long enough for Emily to catch it. They crossed a hallway with a linoleum floor and then walked into a sparsely furnished living room.

“Where's the telephone?” Emily demanded.

“In there!” Rita nodded toward the kitchen and Emily waved her ahead with the barrel of the gun. She went in slowly and hesitated near the door.

“All the way in. Get over there. By the stove.”

She did as she was told, clearing the center of the room.

Emily glanced around and spotted the door that opened to the basement steps. She circled around close to the walls, keeping as much distance as possible between herself and the other woman. She slipped the bolt, eased the door open, and then moved back into the center of the kitchen.

“Go downstairs into the basement,” Emily said. “And close the door behind you.”

Rita moved carefully, never taking her eyes off the gun. “Listen, I'm not the one who hurt you. I was just watching you.” Her voice oozed sympathy. Rita was a con artist for any occasion.

“I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to lock that door, call the police, and give them this address. Then I'm going to sit down and wait. But if either of you come up into the room, I'm going to do my best to shoot you.”

Rita was in the doorway. “What about Mike?” she asked. “Is he going to be all right?”

“You know what, Rita? I don't give a damn. And neither should you.” Emily reached across her and slammed the door shut. She reached for the bolt.

Suddenly she was slammed back against the wall, the pistol driven into her stomach so that it knocked her breath away. The door had snapped back, into her face, and right behind it came Rita, moving like an athlete. She grabbed the gun and
tore it out of Emily's hands, sending it skidding across the kitchen floor. Then she took Emily around the neck and began banging her head against the wall.

It took Emily a long second to react. As soon as she had closed the door, Rita had hurled it open from the other side. Before she knew what had hit her, she was being pounded. Her rage flashed and she swung her hands up inside Rita's arms, grabbed her face, and then pushed her thumbs into her eyes. Rita pulled away, screaming in pain, giving Emily the room she needed to hurl a roundhouse right squarely into Rita's jaw. Then she pushed with both hands, driving the shrieking woman back through the open door. But before she could slam it shut, Rita came charging back, this time with her head down. She flung Emily backward, away from the door and out into the kitchen. For an instant, they stood on opposite sides of the room, staring furiously at each other. Simultaneously, they saw the discarded pistol that lay between them.

Emily moved first and dove toward the gun. Her hand was reaching out for the weapon when her fingers suddenly pulled up short. Rita had leaped down beside her and caught the shackle chain that was dangling from her wrist. Emily tried to get to her feet, but Rita held the chain and pulled her back down to her knees. She twisted Emily over onto her back, took the length of chain in both hands, and began forcing the links down onto Emily's throat.

It was a struggle of strength for which Emily was poorly matched. Rita was up on her knees so that she could lean her weight across the chain. Emily was on her back, able to generate little resistance. The links were pressing into her flesh and against the hard edge of her windpipe. She gagged as she tried to scream. All the strength she could muster wasn't enough to back the chain off her neck.

Emily let go with her free hand, taking all of Rita's choking pressure. Instead of continuing the losing struggle, she swung the free chain and handcuff into the murderous face that was high above her. Rita struggled through the first blow, resuming her chokehold after it released for a split second.
But the second blow hit into her eye and she let out a scream. One hand flew up to her face, giving Emily freedom to swing another blow. This time the iron cuff tore across Rita's nose. Both hands went to her face, letting Emily grab the chain that had been pressing on her throat and quickly force it under Rita's chin. Their roles changed as Rita lost her balance and fell heavily from her knees onto her side. Emily spun around on the floor to open some distance between them. She kicked out viciously, leaving her opponent in a helpless ball. Then she scrambled to the gun, snatched it up, and struggled to her feet She stood wobbling for an instant and then fell back against the wall.

“Don't move,” she managed when Rita tried to lift herself to her feet. “Stay right there or I'll start firing. I swear to God, I will.” Rita settled back and sat on the floor. Emily stood watching her, the gun wavering as she panted for breath. From the corner of her eye, she spotted the telephone, mounted on the wall on the other side of the doorway. She began to slide toward it, keeping the gun oriented in Rita's general direction. Emily knew that she couldn't aim precisely, but she was sure she could hit her target at the close range between them. There was no doubt in her mind that she had the courage to fire and to keep firing until Rita was no longer moving. She eased past the open doorway.

There was a fraction of an instant when she thought she was aware of Mike, a sense of his presence or possibly the sound of his breath. But long before she could react, an arm swung around her neck. A hand reached across her and grabbed for the pistol. She tried to swing the gun at her attacker. A shot exploded in her face. There was a thud over her head as the bullet tore into the ceiling, sending down a shower of plaster. Then the gun was ripped out of her hand.

She flew forward, crashing into the kitchen sink. When she turned, Mike was a distance away, still in the doorway and leaning against the jam. His face was contorted in rage. A web of bloodstains trickled out of his hair and across his face. The handle of the gun dangled from his grip.

“Shoot the bitch,” Rita groaned from her seat on the floor.

“Yeah … yeah …” Mike promised between gasps for air. “But not here … down in the washroom … where the blood won't matter…”

He didn't bother to turn the gun in his hand so that he could hold the grip and put his finger across the trigger. Instead he stood away from the door jamb, wobbled for a moment while he found his balance, then stepped across to Emily and twisted her hair between his fingers. Without a word, he began dragging her to the open basement door.

She knew she should flail out with her hands or turn herself around so that she could aim a kick. Anything that would keep him from dragging her to her execution. But there was no struggle left in her. She had used up every bit of her strength and all her will to fight. She moved along meekly to the top of the stairs.

The telephone rang.

Mike froze. His grip on her hair relaxed and his labored breathing seemed to stop. Rita, who had been trying to pick herself up, hesitated with one knee still on the floor. Emily looked at the phone as if she expected it to begin talking.

It rang again. Mike looked from Rita over to the phone and then back to her again. He listened and with a quick jerk of his head ordered her to answer it. She moved quickly and lifted the handset during the third ring.

“Yes?” There was fear in her voice. She listened for several seconds. “Yes,” she said again and then listened in silence for half a minute. “No. No need to repeat anything. I understand.” She put the phone back on the hook and then stood and stared at it as if she expected it to ring again.

“What?” Mike demanded.

“We have to let her go. Then we pick up the rest of our money.” She and Mike stared at each other.

“Fuck it,” Mike finally managed. “We owe this bitch.”

“We let her go tonight and we pick up five thousand tomorrow,” Rita corrected.

“No. We finish her so there's no witness. And then we get our asses out of here. I'm not leavin' her to have the last laugh on me.”

“She'll be laughing at both of us if we've been through all this and don't have anything to show for it. And her remembering us won't mean a thing. Sooner or later they're going to open that van and figure out who we are.”

He turned the gun in his hand and then pushed the muzzle against Emily's cheek. “I don't want to leave her behind. It's too dangerous.”

“And I don't want to walk away from five grand. That's just too stupid. Look, we drop her off tonight and as soon as they see she's okay, they tell us where to pick up the money.”

“There won't be any more money!” He shouted at her.

“Not if they don't get her back. That was the deal and that's the way they're playing it. You said there were probably some heavy hitters behind this. I don't think it would be safe to cross them.”

Mike shook with frustration. Then he took a deep breath and screamed. “Ahhhh!” He shook his grip on Emily's hair as if he hoped to tear her head off. Then, when his venting was over, he flung her through the open cellar door. She grabbed the banister and spun with the momentum of her own weight, but managed to keep her footing. When she heard the door slam above her, she slumped in defeat on the bottom step, back in the room she had escaped.

M
IKE WAS SUDDENLY SUSPICIOUS.
“Rita,” he said in a stage whisper. She came out of the kitchen wiping her hands in a towel. “Ya ever see that guy before?” He was standing close to the front window and the jerk of his head indicated that she should look outside.

She reached for the curtain, but Mike grabbed her hand. “Just look! Don't let him see ya!”

She squinted through the dusty lace curtains. “The guy with the cap?” She shook her head. “I don't think so. Probably someone from the factory.”

“Now? It's past midnight. No one is going to the factory.”

She looked again and watched as the figure continued around the corner. “Let's not get jumpy. We'll be out of here in an hour.” She went back to the kitchen and ran some water into a pan. Then she called, “I'm taking a washcloth downstairs so she can clean herself up a bit. And I'm bringing her down some old clothes.”

“As far as I'm concerned,” he called back, “we can dump her just the way she is now. You think anybody is goin' to give a damn?”

“Just watch the top of the stairs,” Rita told him. “I want you nearby in case she has some other tricks she wants to try.”

Mike shuffled into the kitchen. He hated the thought of Emily going free. They were already set up for kidnapping charges and he had added rape and assault. There was no longer sentence waiting for them if they just buried her behind the house. He wasn't sneering at the extra money. He just didn't think it was worth giving her the chance to point him out from the witness stand.

But Rita had made one point that had registered with him. Some crime boss might be behind the kidnapping. He had
stuck his neck out for a shot at an extra fifty thousand. But he didn't want to cross anybody big just for the satisfaction of putting the crazy bitch away.

Rita came up from the basement. “No more trouble from her. She's sitting down there sucking her thumb. Never even moved while I washed her off.”

“Did you have to dress her, too?” he asked sarcastically.

“No, she's doing that herself. In slow motion.”

He walked back into the living room. He and Rita had been pacing around the house since they had packed their things into the stolen car. They had spent the whole evening waiting for 1:00
A.M
., when they were supposed to take Emily out to a public school parking lot and leave her bound and blindfolded on a bench. Mike moved to the edge of the window and for the hundredth time, glanced out through the curtain. There was another man crossing under the streetlight.

He pulled back, afraid that he might be seen. He waited an instant and then leaned out again. The man was still there and he didn't seem to be going anywhere. He had walked out of the light and down to the corner of the brick factory building. But he was still standing in the shadows right where the other one had disappeared.

Mike eased over to the side window and looked across the empty lot to the cross street. It seemed as gloomy as always—another industrial building with trash piled on the street outside. This one had windows across the second story. The lights were out and there was no sign of activity. He went back to the front window and found that the second man he had seen had also disappeared. “Take it easy,” he told himself. He went back into the kitchen for another glance at the clock. 12:20. They didn't have to wait any longer. What difference would it make if they dropped her off a half hour early.

It was just by chance that he saw another figure crossing to the back of one of the houses down the street. Auto headlights from a car turning at the farthest intersection panned across the open lots. They silhouetted the form of a man running from the street.

“Rita!”

She turned instantly and came up next to him at the kitchen window.

“There's somebody out there,” he said, again whispering as if to keep a secret. “I saw him movin'.”

“Probably lives in one of those houses,” she answered. “I saw people down there before.”

He hurried back to the living room. Through the front curtains, he could now see both of the earlier men at the corner of the factory building and a third man walking toward them. He went to the side windows. A car was parked on the street in front of the darkened industrial building. He caught sight of a person moving from the car to the building and then of a steel door swinging open. In the dim light behind the door, he could see other people inside.

“Christ!” he called out as he pulled away and ran back into the kitchen. “There's cops all over the place.”

Rita looked at him, her eyes a wide open question. “You sure?”

“Look for yourself,” he told her. “You have any more bright ideas?”