Hot Rocks (25 page)

sixty-four

The front door closed
behind Bruce as he and Gerald exited, leaving me staring at its flat panel. I heard a sound and spun to see James coming at me.

“You’ll pay for this, bitch,” he shouted, his wounded hand hanging by his side, his healthy one reaching for me. “Get’ er,” he yelled at Jamison.

There I stood, unarmed, the Beretta still in my purse. I swung my bag by its shoulder strap and felt a satisfying jar up my arm when it connected with James’ head. His bad hand swung upward but never reached its destination before his face connected with the floor. One glance at him made me glad I hadn’t taken the pistol out and had the foresight to bring a shoulder bag.

Jamison’s plunge in my direction took him straight across James’ body. “I got ’er,” he screamed as he tripped.

I yanked open my purse, intent on making sure there was no encore by either of them. I might not be so lucky next time.

A hand encircled my ankle, then my butt hit the floor hard. Sparks of pain rippled my spine as I watched my bag skitter under the couch. After an instant of confusion, I realized Jamison had recovered from his tumble and jerked me down. I rolled away and scrambled to my feet as he did the same.

We faced one another from a distance of about five feet. He held the advantage in height and weight and just plain orneriness. But he also had an injured hand. I hoped I was quicker and smarter.

He stomped toward me. “You gonna die. I ain’t leavin’ it up to the police this time.” His attitude shouted his superiority. He thought I was fluff, cotton candy he could toss aside.

If I couldn’t outwit that mental flyweight, I deserved to be taken out. I gave ground, keeping my distance, judging his step, watching his balance. He leaned forward, groping at me with his right hand, his left held out of danger’s way. I stepped into him and slammed my head upward, connecting solidly with his chin, using the upper part of my forehead. I hit him so hard, I almost went down, but managed to stay on my feet as I watched him fall. His unnatural position on the floor told me he was unconscious. He’d never make it as a boxer—glass jaw.

I turned back to James and nudged him with my foot. No response. That brought a smile to my face. Blood trickled from his right ear. The sight didn’t bother me at all. I figured we weren’t even yet. He still owed me for an attempted frame for murder. I looked around, then remembered seeing my bag slide under the couch. Kneeling, I reached and snagged the strap. Once I had it back in my hands, I retrieved the Beretta, swearing to never let it out of my sight again.

Feeling weary as my adrenalin flow slowed, I plopped into the straight-backed chair Bruce had occupied. With the pistol secured in my right hand, sweeping it between my two adversaries, I took out my cell phone with my left. Time to call the police, and let them take these guys off my hands. This time, the police would have to believe me.

A series of gunshots sounded through the front wall. What the hell? I ran to the window and peered through the blinds. I saw shadows, but that was it. The darkness was almost complete. The front door slammed inward. Spinning, I saw a body crash through, gun in hand, no one I knew. His head swiveled around the room. When he saw me, his pistol started coming up in my direction, a snarl twisting his face.

Instinctively, I fired, and his motion stopped. He dropped like he’d been hit on the head with a rock. Blood spurted from his chest.

A second body came through hot on his heels. I pulled the trigger again. Nothing happened. I looked at the pistol. The slide had locked back. Oh shit. What could I do? Damn Bruce for giving me a defective street weapon.

There was a moment of silence as the second young man stared at the first lying on the floor. Then he raised his weapon and pointed it toward me, a sinister grin spreading over his face. I could see his finger tightening on the trigger. It was one of those slow-motion moments. One that would end with my death.

“Easy, Santos,” a voice said, coming through the door. “You’ll get to avenge Rivera, but not now.” The new entry turned to me. “Well, Ms. Bowman, we meet again. Finding you here brings extra pleasure. Note that the circumstances are quite different. The pleasure will be all mine this time. You taught me an interesting game. Perhaps we’ll go some place and play it—play until you have holes through both breasts and worse. Of course, you may remember I was naked when you entertained yourself. You’ll be the same. Does that sound like fun?”

I didn’t want to believe what I saw—Tomasco standing in the living room. He and the young punk who had preceded him both held automatic pistols with the business ends directed at me. My guess was their weapons were more reliable than mine.

I lowered my worthless gun. “Good to see you again. You seem to have recovered from our last meeting. How’s your sex life?” Yeah, it might have been stupid baiting him, but I figured I had nothing to lose. May as well enjoy myself while I could.

Tomasco smiled and stroked his chin. “I assure you my sex life is as strong as ever.” He glanced at his companion, then at James and Jamison. “Are these the lowlifes who stole my diamonds?”

“That’s what I’ve been led to believe. Bruce tracked them down for you.” Bruce? My spirits jumped. Maybe he’d rescue me. Then I remembered the shots I heard before the door burst open. Was that Tomasco and his gang versus Bruce, Gerald, and Lodo? If so, had they gotten away with the diamonds? If not, what happened to them? Were they sprawled across the grass in the front yard?

“Ah, yes, Bruce,” Tomasco said. “Your good friend. I hope you didn’t have a romantic interest in him. He’s permanently indisposed along with his two loyal companions.” He nudged the punk beside him. “Santos here is an excellent marksman.”

For the first time, I noticed he carried a tan briefcase in his left hand. So much for that avenue of rescue. I knew Bruce would not have given up the briefcase if he were still mobile. My last hope was neighbors who heard the shootout and called the police. If so, they should be here any moment. All I had to do was stall. Of course, in that neighborhood shootouts might be common enough that folks simply hunkered down and waited for the bullets to quit flying.

As if he read my mind, Tomasco said, “Don’t expect the police to show up. The people who live in an area like this don’t like cops and don’t want them around. And they won’t come in except with a SWAT team. It’s that kind of place.”

I believed him.

“Back to work,” he said. “These two on the floor. Did you handle both of them—or did your boyfriend do it before he brought me my briefcase?”

Brought him the briefcase.
Not likely. No way Bruce would have handed it over. But if he did, that meant he might be alive, which meant he could still ride to my rescue. Which meant I needed to stall as long as possible. “Yes. They’re my handiwork. And it was a pleasure. Hopefully, you’re next. Why don’t you put down the gun and call off your gangbanger? We can see what happens one-on-one.”

Tomasco laughed. “I see you continue to bluster no matter what the circumstances. Or you might be tougher than I thought. I’ll have to keep that in mind. However, I do not intend to allow you to get the upper hand again. Santos, take care of those two.”

The sinister grin returned to Santos’ face as he stepped to where James lay. He held his pistol a few inches from the back of James’ head and pulled the trigger. There was a sharp retort and what had been a head turned into mass of hair, skin, shattered bone and blood and brain. Then he repeated the act with Jamison. “They won’t steal no more, Mr. T.”

While I cringed, my stomach doing a complicated acrobatic routine, he giggled, leaving no doubt his sanity had disappeared long ago. “Can I do her now?”

“Well done,” Tamasco said, then looked my way. “No, not just yet. We’ll have some fun with her first. First, get those two out of here. They’re stinking up the place.”

Santos dragged Jamison from the room into the hallway, leaving a trail of gore along the way. Then he returned and did the same with James. My stomach wanted to add to the stench in the room, but I fought it and won.

“Now, Ms. Bowman, it’s time for us to leave,” Tomasco said. “Please take the lead position. And no tricks. I might not hold Santos off the next time.” He walked to the front door and waved me through.

sixty-five

A body slammed through
the open door, banging into Tomasco, knocking him deeper into the living room. His gun flew from his hand and landed at my feet. I stooped and grabbed it, but before I could take out Santos, he fired and the person who crashed the party fell. I pulled the trigger of Tomasco’s pistol, and Santos settled onto his knees, clutching his chest. Then he tumbled face first to the floor and lay still.

I turned back on Tomasco in time to see him in a crouch, ready to launch himself at me.

“Try it, and you’re a dead man,” I snarled. “And we both know it’s not a game this time.”

Tomasco relaxed, settling back on his haunches.

“Using your foot, push your buddy’s gun over here,” I said. “And please, please, try something stupid. I’d love to save the state the cost of executing you.”

He stared at the pistol a moment, and I could almost see the gears turning in his head. Could he grab it and make a play for me? Would I really shoot him? Then he looked at Santos who no longer moved although blood continued to drain from his chest wound. Apparently, my nasty personality won out because Tomasco reached a foot toward the gun.

“Move slow,” I said. “My hand is getting sweaty. My trigger finger might slip.”

Proving he was a good listener, he followed orders, and the gun slid across the floor toward me. Without taking my eyes off him, I picked it up and slipped it into the front waistband of my skirt. “Now, get up and sit in that chair.” I motioned toward the straight-backed chair that had been getting lots of use.

He followed my instruction, giving me the space I needed to get to the person who had crashed through the door, probably saving my life. As I rolled him over, I groaned. It was Bridge. How had he found me, and why had he risked his life to save me? I’d never know. I checked his carotid artery—he was dead.

I felt tears welling up, but forced them down. There would be time for mourning later. Right now, there were other things to do.

Someone jumped through the open door. I spun, my finger tightening on the trigger. The place was beginning to resemble a shopping mall on Black Friday.

“Whoa, deary. Don’t shoot me,” Dot said. She had stopped and held her hands high in the air, a broomstick dangling from her right one. “Remember me? I’m on your side.”

I lowered my aim and turned back toward Tomasco, making sure he wasn’t doing anything to increase my rage. “You see the man your thug shot,” I said through clenched teeth. “One more reason I want to blow you away. He was one of the most gentle people you could have ever known. And you killed him. You might not have pulled the trigger, but you did it. You brought that animal here with you.” I raised the pistol and pointed it at him. “You have no right to live.”

All reason had left me. Bridge lay dead at my feet, and that picture was all I saw—well, not all. A grinning Tomasco was imposed in the middle of the image—the same Tomasco who had threatened to shoot my boobs off. My finger tightened on the trigger, squeezing on its own. I had no control.

Tomasco cowered. “No, please. I didn’t tell him to do it. I don’t want to die. I’ll help you. I’ll give you anything. Please.” He rose to his knees. “Here. The diamonds. Take them. They’re worth millions.” He shoved the case toward me. “I’ll get you more. You’ll have more money than you ever dreamed of.”

I didn’t want his damn diamonds or his money. There wasn’t enough in the world to stay me. I wanted his life. The bastard had to die. Rage had total control of me.

Dot grabbed my arm, pulling it down.

My first reaction was to hit her, knock her out of the way. But her diversion served its purpose. I reclaimed myself as reason reappeared.

“Hold it, deary,” Dot said. “He ain’t worth it. If you gun him down like this you’ll spend the rest of your life in jail. You deserve better than that. You got that doc outside, and he’s one hunk of man.” Keeping a death grip on my arm, she let out one of her witch’s cackles. “Besides, he’s mine. I’ll do him for you. I want him for Bridge.”

Before I could react, she grabbed Santos’ pistol from my waistband, spun, and pumped three slugs into Tomasco. His face went from pleading to surprise, and his hands reached upward. The look stayed there as he clutched his chest, then crumpled forward in slow motion. It was almost as if he continued to stare at me as his upper body hit the floor first, then his face. In that brief moment, he joined the others.

“Sorry, deary,” Dot said. “I needed to do that. I really did. Hell, I ain’t got no future no how. Bridge was all I had.” She handed me the pistol, then knelt beside Bridge and cradled his head in her lap. “Guess you oughta be calling 9-1-1. Bob and the doc might need some help outside with them three shot dudes. I’ll take care of my man. We won’t need you.”

sixty-six

Dot’s words jerked me
back to reality. Did she say David was outside? Yes, she had. I rushed through the open front door, leaving Dot inside with Bridge, tears streaming down her wizened face. In my last view of the room, she was stroking his cheek, her face inches from his. She cried as if her heart had imploded. And perhaps it had. Who can explain love? Certainly not I, but at that moment I knew I was witnessing it at its destructive worst. It has the ability to lift us to the heights or crush us into the depths. I hoped Dot and Bridge had shared the former because Dot suffered the latter now.

In the front yard, I found David and Bob tending to Bruce. I breathed a quick sigh of relief. Their postures said he was alive. Later, I would wonder why I cared whether he lived or died.

I expected another Valentine’s Day Massacre, and there were elements of it. Gerald sprawled on the lawn, obviously dead, his pistol beside him. It was a stupid thought, but I wondered if he managed to get off a shot. Lodo’s body was on the sidewalk, the pool of blood surrounding him all the proof I needed to know he was lifeless.

David knelt over Bruce’s upper body and Bob beside his lower. Stepping closer, I saw that David held Bruce’s hand on his chest while pushing down on it. Bob had strapped a belt around Bruce’s upper thigh and held it tight with one hand, his other hand pressing what looked like a red handkerchief a couple of inches below the belt.

The sight irritated the hell out of me. While I was inside with four killers, fighting for my life, they were in the yard playing footsy with another killer. What the hell were they thinking?

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster. “Remember me, the damsel in distress—the one you’re here to rescue?”

David looked up. “Thank God you’re safe. Dot said she’d get you out of there. Do you have a baggie in your purse?”

“A what?”

“A baggie. A plastic bag. A candy wrapper. Anything I can use to close this hole.”

I took another look and saw blood between Bruce’s fingers and heard a hissing sound. My first aid training kicked in, and I knew what David was doing. He had to seal the wound or the lung would collapse. By applying pressure to Bruce’s hand over the hole, David could get better weight distribution on the chest. But at best, that was a temporary fix. He needed something that would cover the hole on the inhale and allow air to escape on the exhale.

Kneeling, I dumped my purse on the ground. A zip lock bag tumbled out with all the other paraphernalia. I used it for extra business cards.

David looked over. “Great. That’s perfect. Dump that stuff and give it to me.”

I did, and he grabbed it. When he lifted Bruce’s hand, I saw an ugly hole in his chest and the hissing sound grew louder. David slapped the bag over the hole, then replaced Bruce’s hand, and covered it with his own. “Where the hell are the EMTs? How long has it been, Bob?”

Bob looked up from his concentration on the thigh wound. “I don’t know. Seems like forever. Probably only a few minutes.”

“If they don’t show quick, we’re going to lose him. Beth, call nine-one-one again. We need that ambulance.”

Remembering the carnage inside the house and the other bodies in the yard, I nodded. Not only did we need the ambulance, we needed about a platoon of cops.

I quickly dialed and explained to the operator how desperately we needed the medics. I also told her there were multiple shooting victims. Then I placed a second call.

“Sly,” I said, after rousting him from bed. “I need you. And if you lined up a defense attorney, try to bring him along. I’m in deep shit, bodies everywhere with the cops on the way.”

All he said was, “Where?”

I gave him the address.

“It’ll take the better part of an hour to get there,” he said. “In the meantime, keep your mouth shut—shut tight. Don’t even open it to breathe. Do it through your nose only.”

“Thanks, Sly.” I closed the phone, then glanced toward the house. “Listen, you three,” I said to David, Bob, and Bruce. I didn’t know if Bruce could hear me, but I wanted him to know my words were meant for him also. “Dot was
not
here tonight. Do you understand? You have
NOT
seen her tonight.”

David looked at me. “Why? What’s the game? What happened in there?”

“Nothing you need to know,” I said. “Bridge and several others are dead though, and Dot had nothing to do with any of them. But you know the cops will go after her if they learn she was present. Easiest way to solve a case. Blame it on a homeless person, especially one with a murder conviction on her record. She won’t stand a chance.”

When I switched my view to Bob, I saw something in his eyes I hadn’t seen there before. Could it have been a new level of acceptance, maybe even admiration?

“I understand,” he said. “I haven’t seen her since she left the bar this morning.”

“David?” I said.

He concentrated on Bruce. “I’ve been too busy to know who was here. But, offhand, I don’t remember any woman other than you.”

“What about Bruce?”

David shook his head. “I doubt he’ll remember anything after the bullets tore into him.”

“Good,” I said. “Whoever shows up first, EMT’s or cops, keep them out of the house until I signal you.” I headed for the front door.

Dot sat as I had left her, Bridge’s head in her lap. She was smoothing his hair from his face, stroking his face. Her tears had stopped, but only recently. Tracks of wetness on her cheeks reflected the light of the room.

I sat beside her. “Dot. I need you to listen. Can you hear me?”

Her head turned slowly in my direction, and she nodded, eyes glazed.

“You have to leave. I want you to leave by the back door. Do you understand?” I tapped her on the arm. “Concentrate, Dot. This is important. You have to get out of here.”

“I can’t,” she said, a catch in her voice. “Bridge needs me.”

“I’ll take care of Bridge. He’s my friend, too.”

“And I have to tell the police about killing that man. What was his name again? Thomas? Something like that.”

“Tomasco,” I said. “And you didn’t kill him. His partner did. His partner shot him three times. He wanted what’s in the briefcase. They argued, then he shot Tomasco.”

She went back to running her hand through Bridge’s hair. “Poor Bridge. All he ever wanted was to be left alone—and to help me. And they killed him. What am I going to do without him? He was all I had.”

I expected more tears, but she must have been cried dry. Only a few sniffles punctuated her words.

“We can’t help Bridge,” I said. “But I know what he’d want. He’d—”