Authors: James Henderson,Larry Rains
Perry wrapped the towel around the gun…clicked the light off. The light in the hallway spilled halfway in the room, casting Neal in shadow.
“Bye, Neal,” she whispered…and pulled the trigger.
KAPOW!
Tasha screamed. Neal crumbled. Perry stepped forward and aimed at the lump on the floor.
KAPOW! KAPOW! KAPOW! KAPOW! KAPOW!
Perry tossed the gun in the direction of the bed and walked out, closing the door behind her, the smell of cordite in her nostrils. Passing through the hallway, she threw the towel on the bathroom floor. She went into the living room and peeked through the curtains.
She heard movement in the bedroom.
Bumpy face fell off the bed.
The gun was too loud for someone not to hear…
too fucking loud!
No one was in the parking lot.
She removed the gloves, stuffed them inside the bag, tucked her hair under a baseball cap, held her breath, opened the door and stepped out into the night.
* * * * *
“Neal?” Tasha said. “Neal?” She crawled to him and ran her hand down his shirt. “Neal?” Under his back. “Neal?” Touching his face, she felt a sticky liquid. “Oh God! Neal?” She laid her head on his chest, listened for a second, and then shook him. “Neal!” He moaned. “You’re going to be all right, Neal. Stay right here!”
She crawled to the door, grabbed the doorknob and flung it open. Perry could still be inside the apartment, waiting for her. A chance she would have to take.
Entering the living room, she heard the front door shut. She tried to get to her feet, stumbled and fell forward, then crawled to the phone.
Bob answered on the third ring.
“Bob! Bob, go get my son! He’s at Perry’s house--go get him! Now, Bob! Oh God, please! Now, Bob!”
* * * * *
Though she didn’t dare look, Perry could feel curious eyes upon her. She briskly walked the length of the building, turned the corner and picked up her pace.
In her periphery she glimpsed a man coming out of his apartment, walking toward her.
Problem?
She kept her head down.
If he comes too close…
The man walked past her. She started south of Tasha’s complex, doubled back, strolled along the sidewalk near the pool and headed straight for the entrance. She resisted the urge to look behind her, somewhat confident no one followed.
Almost to her car when she heard sirens.
The police to the rescue. A little too late.
She walked past the Mercedes. At the end of the block she circled back, and just as she was getting behind the wheel three cruisers came flying down the street, bells and lights blaring. She removed the cap, straightened her hair in the rearview mirror and drove off.
Eleven-thirteen when she finally made it home. She could have made it sooner if she hadn’t driven around thirty minutes looking for the ideal lake to deposit the keys, Glock and cell phone.
Neal’s refusal to hit Tasha bothered her. He really loved her, acne and all, and he was willing to die for her.
Which he did!
Perry couldn’t understand it.
She clicked on the television. The local news might run a piece about the incident. After the sports anchorman concluded, she didn’t think they would.
Then the stiff-looking news anchorman said, “This just in. There’s been a shooting at the Woodbridge Apartments in Southwest Little Rock. Police are on the scene. No further details available. We’ll update you in our
Morning Sunrise
with Pat and Diane.”
“Shit!” Perry shouted. “What kind of half-assed news reporting is that?”
Shooting? Neal was dead. Wasn’t he? Hell yes! No way could he have survived six bullets, not with a nine…A twenty-two or a thirty-eight maybe, not a nine.
“I should have checked.”
What if…fuck what if! He’s dead!
She stepped out onto the front porch. A few of her neighbor’s lights were on, a dog barked somewhere in the distance, nothing unusual. She went back inside.
Can a man survive six bullets?
She remembered a news story about a girl who got shot in the head, was tossed from a bridge and survived to tell about it.
A crackhead, had to have been a crackhead. They don’t die easily. Neal was a pothead. Big difference. If somehow he did survive, he’ll be a vegetable. Who in their right mind would believe a cucumber’s word over mine? He’d have to spend the rest of his life waiting for someone to wipe his ass. Hell, he might enjoy that
.
If Neal went into a nursing home, the state might insist she compensate for his care.
I’m not paying for a damn thing!
Shit! And I’ll be stuck with his brat!
Derrick was upstairs sleeping off a good dose of roofies. Tomorrow when he woke up and everything was official, she’d explain what happened.
‘Derrick, sugar, I’m afraid I have bad news. Your crazy-ass mammy shot your sorry-ass daddy six times last night. Don’t worry, you can stay with me. I’ve always wanted a big-headed, spoiled-ass brat, and you’ll do just fine.’
Smiling, she went upstairs. After stripping off her clothes and preparing to enter the tub, she suddenly felt an urge to go check on the boy.
Perry opened the bedroom door, switched on the light and covered her mouth, muffling a gasp.
The boy was gone.
She dropped to the floor and peered under the bed. “Derrick?” She hurried to the closet, her daughter’s favorite hiding place. “Derrick!”
Where the fuck is he?
She checked every room upstairs and then ran downstairs.
“Derrick! Derrick, you better not be playing games with me!” Frantic, she flipped chairs and couches, threw keepsakes out of closets, scooted heavy furniture across the floor. He wasn’t in the basement, the pantry, or the garage.
How did he leave? He was drugged with enough dope to knock out a...
“That bitch! That funky, bumpy-faced bitch!”
She had someone break into my house and steal him. She knew I would be out…A low-down bitch is what she is…just low-down and dirty!
No matter how hard she tried to convince herself all was well, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
Perry couldn’t sleep, gave up trying to do so. Figured she might as well stay up and wait for the morning news. She sat there, on a black ottoman, naked, watching infomercials.
After what seemed an eternity to her, the morning news came on. The anchorman exhausted the first ten minutes drinking coffee, talking about everything except the news, and giggling with his co-host, a doe-eyed brunette who laughed shamelessly at everything the man said.
Perry watched anxiously during the entire thirty-minute program, wondering:
When are these silly sapsuckers going to mention the shooting?
They didn’t.
When the anchorman closed with “Have a great day,” Perry threw an ashtray at the television set.
Something’s wrong! Bad wrong! Call somebody! Who? The police? The morgue? The hospital?
She snatched up a phone…and lost her nerve.
There was a loud knock at the front door.
Immediately she righted furniture, and then went upstairs and grabbed a bathrobe. The knocking turned insistent, louder, interspersed with the doorbell ringing. She tiptoed to the door and looked in the peephole.
The fat white boy.
Chapter 28
“Good morning, Mrs. Montgomery.”
“Good morning, Detective. It’s rather early, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. Mrs. Montgomery, I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad news. May I come inside?”
“Yes. Please do. What’s wrong? What happened?”
Bob removed his Stetson and stepped in. “Mrs. Montgomery, maybe you should sit down.”
Perry’s lip trembled. “You’re scaring me. Is somebody hurt? My mother?”
“No,” shaking his head, “not your mother. It appears your husband was involved in a shooting.”
Perry screamed. “Neal! Neal! Ohhhhhhh! Not Neal!” She stumbled to a chair and collapsed into it. “Is…is…is he dead?”
Bob cleared his throat.
“Is my husband dead?” Perry shouted.
“Well, to be honest…” He stopped, scratched his nose. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Montgomery.”
Perry screamed again, louder, and rolled off the chair onto the floor. As she did, her robe opened, giving Bob another view of her private parts. He looked away.
“Mrs. Montgomery, we have a situation here…a very complex situation. If you would accompany me back to the station, maybe we can determine who shot your husband.”