Angel Down

by Lois Greiman

  He chuckled. The sound was not friendly. “I’m wondering what kind of reward is out on you.”

  She shook her head, stunned that he had arrived at that conclusion so quickly. “None.”

  “So your friend was shot for no good reason?”

  “I didn’t say he was shot.” Did she?

  He chuckled. “You just happened to be carrying a gun and tromping through the wilderness. Probably for sport. It’s all the rage in…” He paused, looking her over. “Wisconsin?”

  “Listen, if you’ll help me get him to a doctor, I’ll pay you.”

  He tilted back the fedora and raised his brows. “How much?”

  “Five hundred dollars.”

  He shook his head. “You’ll have to do better than that ‘cause I’m willing to bet that whoever’s looking for you will. Who is it, by the way? A jealous lover? Le policia?” he asked then shook his head. “But maybe it doesn’t matter. A blond-haired beauty in this South American cesspool…” He smiled. The expression was icy. “What would that be worth to the cartel?” He stepped forward. She backed away.

  “Don’t do this.”

  “I gotta tell you, babe,” he said and jiggled the pistol a little. “These third world bastards don’t much care if their women come to them with bullet holes.” He shrugged. “They’re probably perforated in the end anyhow, but that’s not my problem, is—”

  “I’m CIA!” she rasped. “Touch me and you’ll have the full force of the United States government on you like a pack of wolves.”

  He stopped in his tracks. “CIA?”

  “IOC Division.”

  “IOC? Really?” His eyes were wide and as round as marbles.

  She nodded.

  “That’s fantastic. ‘Cause I’m Superman,” he said and throwing back his head, laughed out loud.

  Maybe it was the raucous sound of his amusement that caused her to break. Maybe it was the pain in her leg or the fact that Durrand lay—possibly dead—in the undergrowth that made her snap.

  But whatever the reason, she rushed him.

  He jerked up the gun’s muzzle and fired.

  Chapter 26

  Eddy plowed her shoulder into Timpany’s belly. He fell backward with her on top. The pistol flew from his hands. She snatched it up, rolled sideways and jolted to her feet, aim dead-center on his chest.

  He jerked to his knees then rose more slowly, gaze steady on hers.

  “Superman,” she rasped. Her voice was shaky, but he didn’t look so solid himself. “I guess I didn’t recognize you.”

  He licked his lips. He’d raised his hands near his shoulders. His fingers were spread. His white vest had a streak of green near the waist. He’d lost a button. “Well, I don’t...” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t have my cape.”

  “You’re a jerk,” she said and steadied the weapon.

  “No, I’m not.” Somehow, he managed to sound honestly affronted. “You didn’t think I was serious about that stuff did you?”

  “What stuff is that? The stuff where you were going to give me to drug runners to be raped and murdered? Or the part where you were going to shoot me first?”

  “Both. I was just joking,” he said and attempted a smile.

  “I gotta tell you…” She was breathing hard and her knees felt noodly. “I don’t think you’re going to make it in stand-up.” She motioned toward the jungle. “Get going.”

  Sweat had appeared on his forehead but he turned away, walking stiffly. “What are you going to do to me?”

  She didn’t answer. They’d just entered the edge of the trees. “Turn left.”

  “This is all just a big misunderstanding. We’re going to laugh about it later.”

  “So you weren’t really planning to have me killed?”

  “Killed?” He chuckled. “No! I—” He stopped abruptly when he saw Durrand stretched out beneath the shiny leaves of a corkwood. “Jesus!” His tone was squeaky. “Is that your friend?”

  She was almost tempted to ask him how many wounded men could be strewn along the side of Highway 78, but she didn’t have the energy required.

  “Pick him up,” she insisted.

  “Are you kidding me?” He turned jerkily toward Durrand. “He weighs like…twice as much as I do.”

  “Luckily, you’re a superhero. Be careful of his wound.” She nodded back toward the aqua colored vehicle. “Put him in the backseat.”

  He opened his mouth as if to argue, but she tightened her fingers on the pistol’s grip and widened her stance.

  “If you don’t quit whining, I’m going to shoot you in the leg.”

  “I won’t be able to carry him if you do that.”

  She tightened her lips. “It’d be worth it just for the satisfaction. Pick him up.”

  Squatting, Timpany shoved his arms under Durrand and struggled to rise, but his legs were shaking before his burden had cleared the ground. He settled the lax body back down, already puffing. “I can’t do it.

  Eddy scowled, worry scratching at her soul. Time was running out. “Grab his arm,” she said.

  “What?” He was still panting.

  She repeated the order.

  He complied.

  Keeping the pistol pointed at Timpany, she picked up Durrand’s opposite arm. It was shockingly heavy.

  “Okay, we’re going to drag him to your car.”

  “For real?”

  “Pull.”

  Even with the two of them, it was not a simple task. But at least it was downhill. By the time they reached the Thunderbird, Eddy’s legs felt shaky. “Open the door.”

  He glared at her. “If he gets blood on my seat you’re going to wish you’d never met me.”

  “If I shoot you in the leg, you’re not going to feel so great about our relationship either.”

  He opened the door, looking sullen.

  “Get him inside.”

  “Can’t do it alone.”

  “Swear to God, I’m going to pop you just for the fun of it.”

  In the end, Timpany managed to do as ordered. Durrand lay on his back, legs bent, feet on the floor.

  “Okay.” Eddy fidgeted, motioning with the handgun. “Now, get out of here.”

  “Get out of here? Are you kidding?” Timpany shook his head. “I can’t leave the Bird. Cesar will kill me if I leave the Bird.”

  “Who’s—”

  “My boss!” He looked upset enough to burst into tears. “He owns the auto dealership.”

  “I thought the car was yours.”

  “Yeah, well I didn’t think you were going to pull a gun on me and make me drag your big ass boyfriend around like a sack of…” He shook his head then set his jaw. “That car isn’t going anywhere without me.”

  “I’m not going to hurt it.”

  “Are you nuts?” He swung one miserable hand toward the vehicle. “Your oversized friend is leaking like a sieve. And what if he dies in there? I’ll never get that stink out.”

  She stared at him. “Are you serious? You’re worried about the smell?”

  “I mean…” For a second, he tried to look empathetic. He barely even managed human. “It’d be the shits if he died.” He cocked his head, gazed at Durrand for a second, then raised his brows and examined her. “What is he to you anyway?”

  “I’ll leave the car where you can find it,” she said.

  “You two an item or what?” he asked and stepped toward her.

  “Stay where you are.”

  “Listen, I’m not sure how much you know about Colombia, but it’s basically a backwater swamp where macho men have pissing wars. It’s not safe for a woman alone here. If he dies—”

  “He’s not going to die!”

  “Sure. I know. But if he does, things could get rough. Hey, I’ll give you my cell phone number.” He was pulling a stack of cards from his vest pocket. “Call me if you need to buy a car or something.”

  “Didn’t you threaten to sell me about five minutes ago?”

&nbs
p; “I told you I was just kidding,” he said and stretching his arm out as far as he could, handed her his card.

  She took it for lack of anything better to do then backed away.

  “Thank you.”

  “Yeah. Just… Just be careful with the Bird.”

  She glanced through the window. A pair of keys hung from the ignition. A topless hula girl danced on the dash. “I’ll be—” She began. Just then something stung her eye. She stumbled back as business cards fluttered past, but he was already wrenching the pistol from her hand.

  She swung toward the car without thinking. Yanking the door open, she dove inside. A bullet skimmed her arm. She shrieked, slammed down her lock, and turned the key. The engine roared to life as the gun’s chambers clicked repeatedly.

  “Empty? It’s fucking empty! Are you kidding me?” Timpany shrieked, but she was already peeling away, gravel flying in her wake.

  Chapter 27

  “I’m out,” Jairo said and slapped his cards down beside the kitty on the table…table being a euphemism for the upturned wooden crate that had once been used to transport poultry…kitty being an almost unidentifiable pile of oddball objects that might have had a modicum of value at some point in history.

  “He’s bluffin’,” Shepherd said and kept his eyes on Gabe. “You can always tell ‘cause he gets that dumb-ass innocent look on his face.” Shep coveted the plastic rat Intel had bet. Gabe was sure of it. It would go nicely with his rubber chicken and flying bat. “I’ll raise you one slightly used wool sock and—”

  Ten feet away, Abdul Wakil Ghafoor burst through the door.

  Instincts sharpened like stilettos had Gabe grabbing the bastard by the throat. His fingers tightened.

  “Don’t!” someone begged, but he was sworn to protect his squad, to—

  “Durrand!” It took him a moment to realize Ghafoor’s voice was a little feminine. Longer still to notice he sounded like Edwards. By the time he was fully conscious, her face was a frightening shade of gray.

  He loosened his fingers with an effort. She coughed and stumbled backward.

  His surroundings came into focus by slow increments. The room was small, dim, curtains pulled. They were in their humble hostel in la Candelaria. Not a single assailant was in sight.

  Holy hell! His hands were shaking. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

  It wasn’t until then that he realized a plastic tube was protruding from the cephalic vein in his left forearm. An IV bag hung from the headboard, and his left shoulder was bandaged.

  Guilt flared through him like a guided missile. “You okay?”

  “Lie down.” Her voice was raspy.

  He shook his head and twisted to stand, but she pushed against his chest.

  “Lie back before you screw up your fluids.”

  He eased onto the pillow. Not because she told him to. And certainly not because he was too weak to resist.

  “How long was I out?”

  She rubbed her throat and cleared it. Her expression was kind of pissed. Maybe she wasn’t the kind of woman who liked to be strangled after saving some jerk-off’s life. “Three, maybe four hours.”

  Holy shit! he thought but kept his expression bland, his tone neutral. He’d learned long ago to put his emotions in another compartment. The Army was top flight on teaching stoicism. “How’d you get me here?”

  “Stole a car,” she said and shaking two tablets from a plastic bottle, handed them over. He wondered if the tremor in her hands was merely to remove the tablets or if perhaps she was a little disturbed that he’d tried to off her. “Take these.”

  “What?”

  “Ampicillin. I found them in your duffle. Along with everything else known to mankind.” She shook her head at his excess. She wasn’t the first to think he took the Boy Scout maxim too far. “Do you really think we need firecrackers? And what’s with the chloro—”

  “You stole a car?” He wasn’t sure if she had misunderstood his question, or if she was avoiding the subject intentionally.

  “Yeah, well, I was going to carry you here but I thought someone might get suspicious if they saw me piggybacking you down the Central Trunk Highway.” She lifted an open can of 7-Up. She’d lucked out finding a store that sold American beverages. “Drink this. It’ll help restore your pH.”

  He took the soda but didn’t lift it to his lips. “Where’s the car now?”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re a crappy patient?”

  “My sister,” he admitted. “Sarge.” He scowled. “And every nurse I’ve ever met.”

  “You strangle them, too?”

  “I usually try to refrain.”

  She laughed. He was pretty sure the sound shouldn’t make his heart flip over. Especially since she looked like hell. If he didn’t know better, he would think that someone had taken an eggbeater to her strawberry shortcake hair. There was a streak of blood across her hand, and a stripe of mud traversed a jagged course from her cheek to her opposite eyebrow. But that was nothing compared to her clothes.

  “What happened to your shirt?” he asked.

  She glanced down, lifting her brows when she spied the left sleeve hanging precariously from her shoulder. “Tough day at the office.”

  “What happened?” he asked again and noticed for the first time that a scratch marred the creamy skin of her upper arm.

  “Take your meds and I’ll tell you.”

  He nodded. Strangling her, hadn’t made her more cooperative, after all. Maybe compliance would.

  He popped the pills into his mouth. The soda felt strangely soothing and abrasive at the same time. He drained the can in a matter of seconds and set it on the cheap laminated bedstead.

  She nodded, looking impressive. “I bet you were a big hit at frat parties.”

  “Your shirt,” he reminded her.

  “I met a guy. Greg Timpany. American, actually.”

  He waited.

  “Turns out he didn’t really want to give up his car. Or…” She wobbled her head a little, juggling semantics. “His boss’s car, actually.”

  Gabe’s gut cramped up. He should have never brought her here. Not when he wasn’t one hundred percent. Maybe not even then. But he drew in a deep breath. “Where’s the vehicle now?”

  “My guess? A bordello. Maybe on Carrero 16.”

  He stared at her.

  She cleared her throat. “Timpany has probably retrieved it and gone looking for entertainment.”

  It took him a minute to absorb her words, longer still to surmise the implications. He managed to gain his feet a split second later. “How did he know where to find it?”

  “I called him.”

  A couple hundred questions stormed through his mind, but there was no time to voice them. “We ruck up in five minutes,” he said.

  “What?”

  “We’re leaving.” He glanced around. “Get your stuff together. All the medical supplies. Ditch the water. We’ll sterilize what we need on the way. But don’t—”

  “We’re not going until your blood pressure’s back up.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, heart beating like a drum in his overtaxed chest. “Mission accomplished.”

  “Listen…” she said and spread her hands in front of him as if she were warding off an angry bull. Her fingers looked ridiculously dainty. Goddamnit, he should never have brought someone here with such ludicrously tiny fingers. “He’s not going to turn us in.”

  He inhaled slowly. He was a patient man. There was an entire platoon of men who would attest to that fact. “You said you stole his car.”

  “Well…technically, yes.”

  “Then you told him where to find it.”

  “Yes.”

  So many goddamn questions! “How’d you know how to contact him?” he asked and tossed a pair of khakis into his duffel. A spasm contracted his back at the movement.

  “He gave me his card.”

  He turned toward her, wasting precious seconds as his eyebrows jerked toward his hairline. �
��Planning to have drinks later on?”

  Her cheeks flushed, making him wonder if he was near the mark. Holy fuck. He tossed a map at his bag.

  “Listen, I don’t know why he gave me his card.”

  He stared at her guileless eyes, her Barbie doll body. “Probably a mystery that’ll never be solved,” he said and turned toward the items that remained strewn across the lone chair.

  He could feel her frown on the back of his neck.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  He drew a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder at her. “What makes you think he won’t tell the authorities?”

  “He promised he wouldn’t.”

  His gut cramped up as he scanned her tattered clothes again. “Was this before or after he attacked you?”

  She pursed her cherry blossom lips. “He doesn’t know our location.”

  “Where’d you leave the car?”

  “I parked it by la Parque Independencia.”

  He thought about the map he had poured over two nights before and shook his head, bemused. “How far away?”

  She shrugged and checked his fluids. They were two-thirds gone. “Three miles. Maybe four. Sit down.”

  He sank slowly onto the bed, mind churning. “You ditched the car and walked here?”

  “Ran mostly. But no one saw me. It was dark. Lie back.”

  He did as ordered. The mattress felt ridiculously lovely beneath his achy muscles, lumps notwithstanding. But he felt as rigid as a rifle. “This Timpany guy…was he—”

  “Just be quiet. Relax.”

  Relax? Was she kidding? He hadn’t relaxed since 2001. “Sure,” he said. “I’m just a little fuzzy about the chain of events.”

  “You can defuzz later.”

  “Humor me,” he said.

  She gave him a peeved look. If she were any cuter, she’d be a carny prize. Three direct hits and you win a Jenny with a y Edwards doll. “Take these and I’ll give you a rundown,” she said and held up a trio of multi-colored capsules.

  “What are they?”

  “Pain meds.”

  “I don’t need ‘em.”

  “Oh. You don’t like drugs, GI Joe? Okay.” She nodded. “I guess Shepherd will just have to work out his own problems then.”

  She looked too sweet to be so manipulative. Huh. Wrong again. He held out his hand. She dropped the pills onto his palm. A glass of water followed. He drained that too then set it beside the empty soda can before starting to list off the order of events. “We reached our rendezvous at 1400 hours.”