A Dark and Lonely Place (41 page)

“No, no, stop!” Laura screamed from the far side of the car.

“Put the gun down!” John shouted. “Stop it before you kill somebody!”

Still firing, Lonstein wheeled toward the sound of John’s voice and shot him in the face.

CHAPTER FORTY

T
he bullet slammed into John’s right jaw on an upward trajectory and lodged behind his left eye. Blood flew as he fell to his knees in the parking lot.

Lonstein, his smoking gun now empty, looked wild-eyed.

“You shot him!” Laura screamed. “You shot him!”

“Didn’t mean to, it was an accident!” Lonstein stared down at John, gasping and choking, on all fours. Blood covered his shirt. The envelope, now blood-spattered, lay beside him.

“Hand me those papers!” Lonstein waved his empty gun at Laura. “And give me that envelope!”

“No! Go to hell! Get out of here or I’ll kill you myself.”

He ignored her and rushed toward John and the envelope. Laura snatched her own gun from its holster at the small of her back, hidden by her denim shirt. “I
will
shoot you!” she said, her voice husky with rage and fear. She never wavered, her hands steady.

Lonstein stared, his face red, then turned to run. He took several steps, then dashed back to pluck his aviator glasses off the blacktop where the guard had dropped them, then fled to his car.

Laura snatched up the envelope, then half dragged, half carried John, bleeding and barely conscious, to the car. Grunting, she wrestled him into the passenger seat and fastened his seat belt. With no more shooting, passersby zoomed in like sharks. They pointed, stared, babbled on their cell phones. As Laura slid into the driver’s seat, she heard voices in the crowd: “It’s them! The ones on TV! In the newspaper!”

“It’s the cop who killed the guard at Dadeland!”

“Somebody shot him!”

“It’s John Ashley and Laura!”

She inched the car in reverse as bystanders closed in around it like a mob. The security guard, back on his feet, appeared dazed but unhurt. She tried to move the car forward, but people blocked the way, leering, pushing their faces up against the windows, staring at John and at her. She leaned on the horn, prepared to drive through them whether they parted or not, but suddenly, Lonstein’s silver-blue BMW hurtled forward, burning rubber, from the rear of the lot. He never slowed down. Bystanders scattered, ran for their lives. Laura seized the moment, floored it right behind him, and raced out of the lot in Lonstein’s wake.

“You’ll be all right, darlin’,” she repeated, again and again. Her voice trembled, as she willed it to be true. “You’re all right, John. Speak to me. Dear God, oh please, please, let him be all right.”

He groaned. “I can’t believe the son of a bitch shot me,” he muttered. “Did we get Eagle’s papers?”

“Yes, darlin’. We have ’em and we’re goin’ to the hospital.”

“No! No hospital!” he said vehemently, then gasped in pain.

“You’ve been shot. You need help.”

“No! Chained to a bed? Held without bond? Behind bars?”

“Alive!” she cried fiercely. “Alive!” She choked back sobs, turned off the Boulevard onto a shady side street, and pulled to the curb. No one in sight. Sirens sounded in the distance. She didn’t have much time.

She pressed her handkerchief to the wound under John’s chin and called Robby. “Please pick up, oh, please pick up,” she whispered, tears streaming. He didn’t. She inhaled a deep breath and steeled herself. It was up to her. Her small hanky was instantly blood-soaked and dripping. She wiped her nose and her eyes on her sleeve, tried to sound calm, and left Robby a message. “Emergency in progress. Please, call ASAP.”

She slipped off her denim shirt and pulled the sleeveless T-shirt under it over her head.

“Where are we?” he mumbled. He coughed and spit up blood.

“Just stopped for a sec, darlin’.” Wearing only a lacy bra from the waist up, she fashioned the T-shirt into a crude compress.

“I’ll drive,” he mumbled. “Need to get you out of here.” He fumbled, trying to unfasten his seat belt.

“And risk wrecking this wonderful car? Robby’d be furious, darlin’. I’ll drive. Want to hear some pirate radio?”

“I’d rather have whiskey for the pain,” he whispered.

“We’ll get you some soon, darlin’.” A patrol car zoomed by like a heat-seeking missile on the Boulevard, so swift, so close that it brought tears of fear to her eyes.

“Laura?” he moaned. “Damn. I can’t see you—”

She fought back a cry.

“—or nothing out of my left eye. Nothing. My right eye’s okay. Lemme see you.”

“Here I am.” She gently shifted him and pressed his hand to the soft compress on the wound to slow the bleeding.

“Can see you now,” he muttered. “Love you too, girl, but this ain’t the time to take off your clothes.” He tried to laugh but grimaced in pain instead.

She kissed his cheek, his neck, his shoulder. His blood stained her bra, her hands, her chin. She couldn’t bear to see his pain. She shrugged into her denim shirt, buttoned it, then caught her breath as another siren howled nearby. A police car raced south on the Boulevard, half a block away, speeding to the shooting scene at the bank. A chill swept across her shoulders and down her spine. Thank God that cop didn’t turn onto this street, she thought. But one will. Soon. They’ll fan out. A police chopper will appear overhead. I have to get him out of here.

She called Katie, who answered. “Thank God you’re there.” Laura fought tears. “John’s alive, but he’s been shot.”

Katie gasped. “Where are you, girl?”

“In the car. Not far from the bank. I tried to stop the bleeding.” She sniffed and wiped her nose. “I have to get him out of this neighborhood. The police are everywhere, they’ll be all over us in minutes. He needs to go to the hospital but refuses.”

“Good sign.” Katie choked back a sob. “So he’s conscious?”

“In and out.”

“How bad is it?”

Laura turned away from John and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m scared. He’s in pain, hit on the right side of his face, under his chin. There is no exit wound.” She fought hysteria. “The bullet is in his head! And he can’t see anything out of his left eye.”

“He needs surgery,” Katie said coolly. “Has to go to the hospital. Did you get the evidence?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, hospitals must, by law, report all bullet wounds to the police. If you take him to the ER at Jackson, there will be delays. He will be arrested before he’s evaluated. It could take forever. He needs to go to Bascom Palmer Eye Institute. If there is any chance to save the vision in that eye, they can do it. They have an emergency room. They’re the best. Patients come to them from all over the world. If we can just get him there safely, he’ll have the best shot.”

“They’ll arrest him, Katie.”

“I know, darlin’. If it was simple, maybe I could handle it, or we could take him to some Little Havana clinic where they bend the rules. But it’s not simple. At Bascom he’ll be evaluated and in surgery before the police arrive.”

Laura heard an odd rhythmic thudding as Katie spoke. “I hate to see him arrested,” Laura whispered mournfully.

“So do I. But he’ll be alive,” Katie panted.

Laura now recognized the thuds. Katie was running. “And they’ll arrest me too.”

“No, they won’t,” Katie said breathlessly. “I’m getting in muh car now. I’m on the way. Stay calm, girl. I’ll take him into the hospital. I know someone there. I’ve worked with ’im. I’ll call ahead, tell ’im I came home and found my brother injured, his vision damaged.”

Laura heard the car door slam.

“The key,” Katie said, gunning her car out of the parking garage, “is to git him there before the police stop you. If not, he’ll go to Jackson, then sit in chains for hours without pain meds or treatment. You have to do this, girl.”

“But Katie, won’t you be in trouble too?”

“Why? He’s a family member. Haven’t seen my brother for a while, came home, found him injured, took him to the hospital. For all I know, he had a hunting accident or was robbed. That’s my story and I’ll stick to it, unless I thinka somethin’ better. Does Robby know?”

“I left a message.”

“Good. Here’s how you get to Bascom Palmer.”

She gave clear, succinct directions. “Don’t panic, girl. Focus on your cargo and driving carefully. Don’t get distracted tryin’ to reach Robby. I’ll find him. You just get John there safely. That’s your mission. I’ll meet you there.”

“We’re on the way,” Laura whispered. “If you hear anything on the news, call to tell me what they’re saying and where they’re lookin’ for us.”

She hung up and eased the car away from the curb.

“Who you talking to?” John mumbled,

“We’re goin’ to meet Katie. You’ll be all right, darlin’.”

“You don’t know your way around Miami,” he protested.

“No better time to learn, sweetheart.” She sounded calmer than she felt. The most direct route to Bascom Palmer took them back past the bank shooting scene. She used the avenue behind the bank instead of the Boulevard in front.

“Don’t let FHP or the cops stop us,” he mumbled, rocking in pain.

“Then I need you to help me, tell me what to do,” she said, hoping to keep him conscious and talking.

The bank’s parking lot was being cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape, amid a sea of flashing blue lights. Laura slowed down like other motorists and stared curiously. It would seem odd if she didn’t.

“Don’t speed, don’t get noticed,” John said, eyes closed, words slurred. “Stay in the middle of the pack, darlin’. Hunters go after stragglers that stray from the herd. Stay within five, ten miles an hour of the cars around you. Cops look for drivers traveling faster than those around ’em. Use the signals, don’t be aggressive, and never . . .” His voice trailed off. He’d passed out but was still breathing.

Minutes later, he opened his eyes and picked up where he had left off. “This is a perfect car. It’s why Robby picked it. Flashy, tricked-out cars attract cops, not nondescript, ol’ family cars like this one. Robby’s good.”

“Yes, he is, darlin’.” She found the entrance ramp for State Road 836 and merged into the heavy westbound traffic stream. Her heart stopped as a highway patrolman swung into her lane behind the two cars following her.

She watched him in her rearview mirror. He’s going to pull me over. Her mind raced. What should I do?

The Twelfth Avenue exit was coming up fast. She saw the name, Bascom Palmer Eye Institute, on the building. So near, yet so far. The trooper made his move, gunned his engine, roared past the two cars between them, and cut into traffic directly in front of her.

“John,” she began. “I think we . . .”

His head lolled forward. “Wha, darlin’?”

The trooper stomped his gas pedal, hit his siren and blue flashers, then accelerated across three lanes of traffic, headed due west, and disappeared in a sea of brakelights.

Her knees weak, Laura breathed a sigh of relief. “Nothing. We’re almost there.”

Her cell phone rang. “Ah see you. I’m coming off Eight Thirty-Six right behind you,” Katie said, her voice tense. “I’m ’bout six cars back. Pull up just before the entrance. I’ll come up behind you and we’ll switch cars. I’ll drive John up to the door in the Camry. You take his gun, his phone, his wallet, those evidence papers, and all your belongings with you and drive my car back to the Sea Spray. See you there. Hold on a sec.”

She came back on the line moments later. “Slight changea plans. Robby’s right behind me. Musta drove like a bat outta hell. He’s parkin’ in the lot across the street. When I get John out of the Camry, Robby’ll drive it back to the Sea Spray. When I leave the hospital, I’ll drive Robby’s car home.”

Laura hated to leave. John made it easier.

“Katie’s here,” she said softly. “You may need surgery and this is the best place. They’ll give you something for pain now.”

He frowned, dazed. “They’re gonna arrest me, Laura. Get out of here, now, before . . .” He gingerly explored his sightless eye with his fingers, as if to determine whether it was still there. “Lonstein,” he murmured, bewildered. “What the hell did Lonstein . . . Why? Don’t let go of that envelope, darlin’. Now go! I have always loved you, girl.”

“I have always loved you more, John. We’ll be together soon, I promise.” She heard running footsteps come up behind her. It was Katie.

“You did it, girl! Now go, go, go,” she urged. She hugged Laura and pressed into her hand the keys to her Chrysler convertible. “Sure you’ve got everything? Go! He’ll be in good hands now. I’ll call you, quick as I can.”

Laura went, after a last look over her shoulder.

Katie turned to her brother, slumped in the passenger seat. “John,” she demanded, “what the hell happened?”

He looked up and blinked, still pressing the blood-soaked, makeshift compress to the gaping hole in his chin. “Cut myself shaving.”

“Told you to toss that damn straight razor a long time ago.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Who else would be here? What happened?” she demanded again.

He paused. “Don’t want you involved.”

Robby appeared from nowhere, out of breath, fire in his eyes, his face pale. “Who shot you? Who did this, John?”

“Lonstein. Showed up dressed like Tom Cruise in
Mission Impossible,
saw a bank security guard, panicked, pulled a gun, and started shooting. When I yelled at him to stop, he shot me. Don’t think he meant to, he’s just stupid.”

Robby sighed and tightened his lips. “They’re saying on the air that you, Laura, and an unidentified white male tried to rob the bank and were thwarted by a security guard.”

“Goddamnit,” John mumbled. “None of that’s true.”

“I know,” Robby said grimly. “This piling on has got to stop.”

“Get out of here, bro,” John murmured. “Go. Don’t want my shit to rub off on you.”

“I’ll be back,” Robby said. “When you see me, look surprised.”

Katie had disappeared into the emergency room and emerged moments later with a wheelchair. Robby helped John from the car into the chair. As Katie rolled him into the ER, she glanced back and made eye contact with Robby. He nodded, slid into the Camry, and drove off. Moments later, he pulled into an abandoned gas station, changed the license tag on the Camry, then used peroxide, cold water, and a sponge to clean up the blood as best he could. Alone, he lost his cool when he saw how much John had lost. “My brother,” he repeated again and again, his voice cracking as he scrubbed. He tossed the baby seat, air freshener, sponge, and peroxide into a Dumpster, then drove north.