Wishful Thinking (29 page)

She pushed me harder knocking me over and got up.
 

“Sorry,” I said running a hand through my hair, “I panicked.”

“It’s cool, I appreciate the sentiment, but I can take care of myself. Let’s go.”

I see that.
 

“Stay close and no more chivalry.” She climbed out the window.
 

“Yeah, okay,” I hissed. Damn the bitch could make me feel bad about trying to save her life. Some girls might have liked that I risked my life, Summer would. Summer. What I wouldn’t give to bury myself in her right now. Wrap my arms around her, kiss the curves of her …

“Hurry up,” came Claudia’s voice interrupting my daydream.

“Right.”
 
I climbed out behind her. We followed along the perimeter keeping our backs up against the walls of the house, crouching whenever we came to a window––all one of them. When we rounded another corner, we stopped. There was a long driveway and parked at the edge of the driveway was a car I recognized as my dad’s.

Shit.

“That’s my dad’s car,” I said yanking Claudia back towards shadows and the wall. An awful feeling crept into my gut. What if the earlier gunshot had been for my dad? He could be …

I didn’t even hesitate and rushed from the shadows of the house toward the driveway, his car and whatever else was going on along that driveway.
 

“Dad,” I hollered coming into full view of car lights in time to see my dad kneeling before Joey. A different man held each one of my dad’s arms. Blood ran from his nose and bottom lip. He looked dead. Oh no.

“Dad,” I said again not thinking just running to him. My dad looked up. Relief washed over me, he was still alive. Joey looked up at me too a little surprised but his smile never faltered. Now the other two men were looking at me to and one of them pointed a gun at me.
 

“Shit!”
 

The most brilliant thing I could say was shit. Really? Guess we can cross poet laureate off my list of future possibilities. Of course, staring at the gun meant I didn’t have much of a future anyway. Shit.
 

“Junior,” Joey said and kicked my dad in the ribs, his gun remaining on my father, “you’re just in time to see your hero fall.”

The click of a gun cocking isn’t a loud sound. It’s actually quiet you almost have to strain to hear it, but when a gun is pointed directly at you or someone you love, well that clicking gets amplified. I barely registered another voice yelling, “Get down,” before that clicking.

There was a shot and I dropped to my knees and covered my head. Another shot, then another and still more shots, then my arm caught fire, two more shots, cursing then heavy breathing. My breathing. I was still alive. From my spot on the grass I saw Mr. Monroe running towards me followed by my gimping dad. My brain couldn’t even process how’d they gotten here so fast or how neither looked to have been shot. Worry was etched on both their faces. Why? They were alive, I was alive and then it hit me. Claudia.
 

Getting up made the fire sensation spread through my arm, probably scraped it when I took cover like a coward. I ran towards the spot where I’d left Claudia. She was there, her hand clutching the gun shook violently and her eyes were wide like she’d seen a ghost. Had she fired a shot? Hit somebody?

“Is it over?” Her voice was meek, her body slumped. Self-assured, cool and calm Claudia was gone.

“I think so,” I said.
 

Her arms dropped to her side and the gun fell from her fingers. She closed her eyes and tears came, a lot of tears. She collapsed to the ground crying. It was weird because I didn’t shed a single tear, didn’t feel even a tremor of nervousness or fear.
 

I knelt down next to her and enfolded her into my arms. She squeezed me tight, cried harder. So this is how she remained calm throughout our ordeal, she held it all in until the right time.
 

“Sweetie.” Mr. Monroe was standing next to us, hands braced on his knees huffing for breath.
 

Claudia pushed away from me and went into her dad’s awaiting arms. I didn’t wait for an invitation before squeezing the crap out of my dad which made him yelp. The burning sensation turned into a pulsing throb in my arm. That’s when I cried. Like a puss.
 

“Claudia, you’re bleeding,” Mr. Monroe said holding Claudia at arms length examining her.
 

On her shirt was quite a bit of blood. She lifted it exposing unmarred white flesh, “It’s not mine.” She caught my eye.
 

Dad pulled away from me and I looked him over.
 

“Junior,” dad said. His voice sounded worried. Why? Beyond a black eye, broken nose, and split eyebrow he looked fine.

I followed his line of sight to my right shoulder and saw a huge stain of blood. I looked back to my dad, “I’ve been shot?”

Mr. Monroe didn’t hesitate in rushing me to a nearby cruiser, a black dodge charger, and pushed both Claudia and I into the backseat before shutting the door.
 
My dad and Mr. Monroe didn’t climb into the front seats either. Instead another man, who looked like Mr. Clean, got behind the wheel.

“You’re not coming with?” After everything that happened I couldn’t stand the thought of being separated from my father another second. I also had a shit-load of questions for him.
 

“There are a few loose ends, but as soon as we’re done here we’ll meet you at the hospital,” Mr. Monroe said then he turned to the guy behind the wheel, “don’t use the lights but speed. We’ve informed local law enforcement but ...”

Mr. Clean seemed to understand Mr. Monroe’s unsaid thought, “Okay.”
 

“You guys are in excellent hands I promise agent Ojeda is one of our best.”

My dad leaned in, his hands resting on the car door frame. “I promise I won’t be long.”
 

There was so much sorrow and worry and concern etched in his eyes. “Okay,” I said.

He patted my cheek. A subtle gesture filled with so many unsaid words. I nodded and he pushed away from the door. Dad stood back to the curb next to Mr. Monroe watching us pull away before they turned and went back towards the house.
 

Claudia took my left hand and squeezed it tight. Another gesture which said more than words could. The agent driving watched us in the rearview, “Don’t worry we’ll get you to the hospital.”

“You’re the one who’s been following us aren’t you?” Claudia asked before I could.
 

“Security detail,” he lit up a cigarette, “after the break-in your fathers thought it best to keep a tail on you.”
 

“So, what we were bait?”

“Not exactly,” agent Ojeda replied taking a long drag.
 

“Do you mind,” I said.
 

“Oh, sorry, nervous habit,” he said and rolled down his window and threw out his cigarette. “Our information was good and we knew tonight was the night. See agents Miles and Taylor were on for tonight. Them and their constant piss breaks, stepped away for ten minutes. They should never have been trusted with such an important detail, but in the bureau everyone’s supposed to get a fair shake. Bureaucratic bull shit if you ask me.”

Agent Ojeda sped along not stopping at red lights but flying through them instead. Great I lived through a shootout just to die in a car accident.
 

Claudia stared out the window her viselike grip on my hand never wavering, it was my lifeline to reality right now. My pinch telling me this wasn’t all a dream.
 

It was all connected like I thought.
 

“Who is Mr. Vargas and why does he have it out for us?”

Agent Ojeda adjusted his collar looking at the pack of cigarettes on the seat next to him. “I don’t know. I was given only the details I needed to do the job, nothing more.”

☆

A flesh wound, that’s all it was. About six stitches and I’d be good as new though I’d have a pretty ugly scar there and I officially couldn’t play rugby for the rest of the season. Yeah, right. I’m sure bench warmer is an awesome position but it’s not for me. As soon as these stitches were out I’d be on the field again. I don’t care what the doctors said now, later I’d make them change their tune. After the last few weeks … all I could think was my opponents better lookout.
 

However, I was stuck in the hospital overnight for observation. Better safe than sorry bull is what the doctors said.

Claudia stayed with me the entire time I was being sewed up, we’d been silent since the admittance to the hospital. She didn’t have much to say nor did I. Between us I’m sure we had a million questions, but which one to start with?
 

For now silence was better, but she held tight to my hand.
 

When the doctor finished placing the last stitch the door opened and in walked Gimpy.
 

Shit.
 

Turns out Gimpy was actually an undercover FBI agent by the name of Moretti. Once the good doctor wrapped up, agent Moretti and agent Ojeda aka Mr. Clean separated us and took our stories down, Agent Ojeda took Claudia
 
leaving me with Moretti, though he knew more about my story than I did.
 

Agent Moretti filled in the facts of the case. Mr. Vargas was in critical condition and it didn’t look like he’d make it through the night. All those shots fired and only one person ended up dying on scene and he was one of Mr. Vargas’ men.
 

Then agent Moretti apologized as well for letting the situation get a bit out of control.
 

Mr. Moretti explained further, “Mr. Vargas’ sister was married to Buzz Malone a major player in the irish mob. Needless to say she introduced her brother into the business and when Mr. Malone died he took over. Though in honesty we believe he was responsible for Mr. Malone’s death though we could never prove it. We believe it was on account of revenge for Mr. Malone putting a hit out on his sister. It was only a matter of time before he went after you two.”

I stared at agent Moretti as he continued to talk. The pieces were lining up and I didn’t like what they were saying at all. I hoped Dr. Patterson’s schedule was clear for the next few years.
 

After agent Moretti finished up writing down my account he got up and wished me well, squeezed my good shoulder and said, “You did good, you were brave and you should be real proud of yourself.”

He nodded his head collected his paperwork and made his way to the door and stopped just as he was opening it, “Oh, by the way, they cleared your dad and he’ll be here shortly." And with that agent Moretti left.

A few seconds later Claudia came back alone. Her eyes were bloodshot, her shirt stained with my blood and her hair was in complete disarray. She looked weary. So did I.
 

She stopped at the side of my bed, her mouth a tight line. Without warning she climbed onto the bed, sidled up next to me and gave me a long hug.

When she pulled back her eyes were wet, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.”

She sighed and rested her head on my good shoulder. They say intense situations bring people closer, if that’s the case then I should just crawl inside Claudia like a parasite now.
 

“So,” I said.

“So,” she responded.

“Did agent Ojeda tell you anything?”

“No, he just asked for the facts and nothing but the facts please.” She brushed her bangs out of her face, “What about you, agent Moretti get interesting?”

“No just laid on the you’re-real-brave and you weren’t bait shit a bit thick.”

“Oh,” Claudia said, “Is it me or does agent Ojeda look like Mr. Clean and Moretti looks like a fat Steve Carell with gray hair?”

I laughed which made my shoulder ache. “Ha. You think he’s hairy?”

“We are totally going to be celebrities at Crestview now.”

“For a few days anyway,” I said settling back against the mattress, “hope this earns me some sympathy points with Summer, after the way I treated her she may never forgive me.”

“After she sees the stitches and hears the story you’re good as gold, lots of sympathy.”

“Do you think this time you could leave out the fact that you did all the ass kicking?”

“Trust me, you’re secret is safe with me, although it’ll cost you,” she said raising her eyebrows up and down.
 

“So that’s how it is? Okay,” I looked down at my shirt and drew an oval around my chest, “pretty sure there is some DNA here and I’m certain with today’s science they’ll be able to tell they were tears or something.”

“That’s downright cold.” She laughed. “If you ever tell anyone you saw me cry I’ll kill you.”
 

I laughed with her. “Did you know there’s a line for people who want to kill me. You’ll have to take a number.”

After we stopped laughing Claudia rested her head against mine and sighed.

“How do you do it,” I said, “I mean handle your dad’s line of work?”

“Same way you do, I don’t talk about it.”