Deadly Blessings

by Julie Hyzy

  Too late.

  Ro stepped out from the trees into the open area, his weapon raised, its silver-blue metal catching a glint of the moon as he aimed our direction. The bright light from the fire danced shadows across his face and he blinked, several times, as though clearing his vision.

  He’d come in a different way than we had.

  “Nobody move,” he said.

  Nobody did. They might have been drunk, but it was early enough in the evening that they hadn’t wasted themselves into total oblivion, yet.

  Ro moved our direction, his attention rapt, keeping himself far enough away that he could keep us all in his sights. “You,” he tilted his head to the far group of kids, “all of you move to one side. Do it now. Do it slow.” He used the back of his sleeve to wipe at his eyes. Maybe some of the gas had gotten in them, after all.

  Four girls who’d stood at Eddie’s call, shepherded the blindfolded boys around the crackling fire to stand with the rest of us. They held the pledges’ arms and guided them, whispering to them as they moved. I could only imagine the level of fear those boys were experiencing. This was bad enough, being blindfolded had to be torturous.

  “You can’t kill us all,” I said.

  “Wanna bet?” he asked. “Back up.”

  He moved forward to pick up the propane tank. “This could be beautiful,” he said, his eyes glittering in the fire’s glow. “Headline material.”

  Over the high-pitched and harmonious notes of Bee-Gee voices, I heard another noise, machine-like. There were no farms nearby. And it didn’t quite sound like cars.

  Ro pointed to me and Sophie. “Get over here.”

  I told myself I could do this. I had to. My life, Sophie’s life and the lives of these innocent kids depended on my strength right now. I knew I would rush him. I knew I had to. And the inevitability of that knowledge seemed to suck away any fear. Not entirely, of course. But enough.

  I knew he was strong, and wily. I needed an advantage. But what?

  “Okay,” I said. I grabbed Sophie’s arm and edged along the line of kids who stood utterly still, watching him with wide-eyed and slack-jawed expressions of terror. I headed toward the trees where Sophie and I had come in. It was about thirty feet away from the nearest kids.

  “Over here,” Ro said.

  Sophie started to move but I pulled her back, behind me. “No.” I said, my fear making me brave. “You want us, you come here. Keep away from these kids.”

  His eyes flicked from the crowd to us. And I felt the ground rumble beneath my feet.

  “What’s that?” he asked, looking around. No one answered for a moment. Ro clicked back the hammer of his gun. Even I knew that was an ominous move.

  “Don’t know,” Eddie said. “The quarry company’s right past the trees. Sometimes they work pretty late.”

  “Okay. Get by the fire. All of you,” Ro shouted, as he moved toward me and Sophie.

  I eased to my left, making it look as though I was about to make another run for it into the woods.

  Ro made it to our side in three long strides. “Don’t move.” Pulling his walkie-talkie out of his pocket, he said, “Lisa. Deep in the trees. Follow the fire. Get here.”

  I heard answering static.

  The ground rumbling got stronger. I envisioned a massive bulldozer pounding past the forest, and hoped to God the operator would see the fire and head our way.

  “As soon as she gets here, the three of us are heading back to the cars. You understand?”

  I nodded. Then prayed for strength.

  Ro grinned. “Know what you can take to your grave?” He didn’t wait for me to answer, “That all these kids would be alive, if it weren’t for you, and I’m telling you right now, nobody’s gonna care about the two of you when they’re mourning all these dead kids. The newspapers are gonna think that the big explosion is what caused you to run off the road.” He smirked. “I’m tellin’ you. This is beautiful. Couldna planned it better myself.”

  I expected him to fall when I rushed him. To trip over the rail that I’d calculated had to be positioned right behind him. I expected him to take a quick step back and tumble. And I thought I could get the kids to run at that point.

  I faked a look of alarm over Ro’s shoulder, and shouted, “Emil?”

  The big lug didn’t turn, but his attention blanked for a crucial split-second. I hit him with everything I had, but he’d seen it coming. His empty hand grabbed me by the shoulder, taking a step back to steady himself with my added weight. But then he hit the rail, and lost his footing.

  His arms flailed out, and we went down.

  “Run!” I shouted to the group behind me. I pushed off Ro to stand, and shoved Sophie. “Go!”

  Ro rolled to his knees in an effort to scramble to his feet as my mind registered that the kids and Sophie had started to move.

  I started to go at him again, hoping to buy another second or two for the fleeing group, to give them the chance to go for help, when I felt someone grab my shoulders with a mighty tug.

  Eddie pulled me back so hard that we both fell to the ground, backwards. And in that moment, I knew why he’d done that.

  And Ro knew, too.

  But it was too late for him.

  It happened in an instant, but I could only replay it in my mind in slow motion—the disbelief on the big man’s face, his aborted attempt to raise his arm in an effort to shield his eyes from the bright beacon of light—his split-second-too-late comprehension and the one step he took forward, to struggle to get out of the train’s path.

  The brief scream, drowned out by shrill shrieking brakes.

  And the sound of life ending, with an almost insignificant slap and the splash of blood over me and over Eddie, as we sat on the ground, quietly sick, until after an eternity the rumbling slowed, and finally stopped.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Dan’s station, Up Close Issues, made it to the scene before Midwest Focus did. Of course. The news crew joined the slew of police officers, including a tactical unit, and a bunch of ambulances. Whoever made the phone call, had done a thorough job. The police arrived within minutes.

  Red and blue lights flashed silently through the trees, with eerie crime-scene menace, even though it was over. Spotlights shone in through every opening illuminating the campsite, making me blink each time I inadvertently stepped into the path of their beam.

  A sergeant came over to talk with me, his gentle manner so welcome that I trusted him immediately and nearly lost my composure several times as I explained as much as I could, as fast as I could. He spoke to a microphone perched on his shoulder, dispatching a team to round up Lisa and Emil.

  Later I found out that the two of them had apparently remained blissfully unaware of the skirmish taking place in the woods. Lisa had stopped following Ro, and waited by the vehicles. I could only guess that the campsite’s blaring radio had interfered with Ro’s walkie-talkie call to her.

  The sergeant’s name was Knight and as he walked me toward one of the ambulances, one of his officers sidled up. “Sarge, most of these kids are underage. And there’s beer all over the place. Turned up a bag of grass on one of them, too.”

  Sergeant Knight stopped. I tugged at his arm. “These kids saved my life,” I said. “That’s got to count for something.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Take them all down for questioning. Take your time with it. Get their statements, nice and slow. Give ‘em all lots of coffee. Okay? We’ll do breathalyzers on them. All of them. But, later. Got it?”

  The officer gave a nod and left.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Sophie had an oxygen mask over her face and a blanket around her shoulders as she sat at the edge of a gurney on the ground. She was fighting the techs who wanted her to lie down. When she saw me, she ripped the plastic away from her nose, running up and hugging me so hard I thought I’d lose my breath. “Alex, you are safe,” she sobbed, in Polish, “Thank you Jesus, Mary, Joseph.”

  I was fine,
but Sergeant Knight made me get checked out by the paramedics anyway. I sat at the other end of Sophie’s gurney while they took my vital signs and patched up my cut face with a temporary bandage. Eddie, being escorted to a police car, passed in front of me. I nabbed the hem of his jacket, displacing the tech taking my blood pressure. “Hey,” I said.

  He glanced down. “Hey.”

  “Thanks. I owe you,” I said, reaching for my purse to give him a card, realizing belatedly I didn’t have it. “Alex St. James. From Midwest Focus Newsmagazine.”

  His eyes lit up. “Cool.”

  “Yeah. You need anything, you call me, okay?”

  He glanced at his group of friends, all being herded into waiting cars. “I’ll remember that.”

  “Turned out to be a hell of a night for you guys, huh?”

  He laughed. “Yeah. Pretty funny. It’s Hell night.”

  I shook my head, not understanding.

  “Initiation night. Our fraternity. We call it ‘Hell Night’.”

  As Eddie headed off, Dan sidled up, pushing a microphone into my face. Not a television microphone, but one of those little mini-tape devices like mine before Bruno ordered Ro to demolish it. “Got anything quotable for me?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Covering the hottest story in the country right now.”

  “Get lost.”

  “Come on … you’re a celebrity. And I want the exclusive interview. Got something meaty for me?”

  I stared at him. The paramedics were finishing up, making me promise to get the cut looked at by a doctor tonight, pronouncing me otherwise fit, with only a slightly elevated heart rate. Yeah, well, I could have told them that. Sophie, no longer in danger of hyperventilating, handed back the oxygen mask. “No,” I said.

  “This is a great story,” he said, with a grin I didn’t understand at the moment. “We’re airing Friday. Devoting the whole show to it.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, as I stood up.

  But he was already gone.

  * * * * *

  “Bullshit,” I said.

  I winced. My outburst made my face hurt. The doctor at the hospital last night had warned me it would be tender for some time. He’d taped an enormous white bandage over some new goo that took the place of old-fashioned stitches and all but guaranteed I could walk away from this encounter unscarred. But between my bruised face and my aching arm from the tetanus shot he insisted upon, I was feeling pretty battered.

  Leaning back in his chair, Bass stared over his shoulder, out his office window; the view was nearly identical to mine. He shook his head, then turned back to us. William and I sat across from him, both perched on the edges of our seats.

  “How did they get their hands on it?” I asked.

  William spoke up. “Jeff,” he said. “He gave them both tapes. My video with Candy and your audio with Bruno.”

  “Little weasel,” Bass said, “comes to me this morning, after he hears about everything that happened yesterday …” A mental picture of Ro’s last seconds flashed before my eyes; I gave an involuntary shudder. “… and he’s crying and sorry that he’d left you there alone.” He picked up a pencil and tapped it against his blotter. “But the goddamn traitor had already sold us out.”

  “Jeff? Gave our story to Dan’s station?” My voice croaked. “Why?”

  William piped in, “Remember when I saw Dan skulking around downstairs? And I thought he was meeting with you? It’s just a guess, but I gotta believe he and Jeff were setting things up. But why Jeff would do a thing like that, I have no idea.”

  Bass leaned forward on his elbows, still tapping the pencil. His mouth pursed, as though he’d just sucked on a lemon. “He told me that Dan blackmailed him into it.”

  I shot Bass a look of skepticism, and remembered the snazzy car and snazzier neighborhood. I rubbed my thumb and fingers together, “Or maybe some under the table bucks?”

  “Could be, but I don’t think so.” Bass shook his head. “Not the way Jeff came crawling in here. He didn’t tell me what it was, but supposedly there’s something Jeff doesn’t want his wife to know. I dunno, maybe he’s got a woman on the side …”

  Or maybe a man, I thought, remembering snippets of our conversation and the deep voice in the background when I’d called him yesterday morning. Geez. Yesterday. It seemed like a year ago.

  “… whatever. Dan somehow got the goods on him and squeezed him for the Milla story.” Bass met my eyes. “He knew you hadn’t given up on it.”

  “You pulled me off of it,” I said, my voice raising in protest.

  “And see where it got you,” he countered. “Why the hell did you call Jeff anyway?” Bass asked, throwing his pencil down. “You could have been killed, you know.”

  I’d been biting the insides of my mouth to keep from an outburst I might later regret. My healing cheek shot out a zing of protest. “Where were you two when I needed you? Huh? I tried to call you. At least ten times.” That was an exaggeration, but the fury at them not being there for me, coupled with my still-tenuous hold on calm made my voice come out a strangled strain. “For crying out loud, I could have used a little help.”

  “You should never have moved without my okay. And you’re never gonna move without my okay again. Got that?”

  I didn’t answer. But I did glare.

  “We were down here,” he said in a softer voice. “I called William to the office,” Bass said. “I’d thought of a way we might be able to use the interaction with Candy at the hotel after all, and I needed him down here to work it out.”

  “Without me?” I asked. My shoulders gave an involuntary slump, and I hated that they did. Bass and William had met without me. Purposely. I didn’t have any idea why that fact should strike me so deeply, but it did.

  “I didn’t think you’d approve. You were so adamant about not using that damn video.”

  “Fine,” I countered. “You’re right, I wouldn’t have wanted to be here.” That was a lie. “But why didn’t you answer the phone? I called and called.” The hurt in my voice was obvious, even to me.

  “I shut the phones off.”

  “Why, were you afraid I’d find out? Afraid I’d come storming down here and mess up your plan?”

  “Yeah, something like that.” He had the decency to look embarrassed. “I know. Bad move.”

  The three of us looked three different directions, silent for a long moment, deep in our own thoughts.

  Bass broke in. “And here’s the bad news …”

  William and I looked up.

  “We’re left with no story.”

  “No story? Come on.” I said so angry I nearly jumped out of my chair. “We’ve got a huge story. Hell, I was part of it.”

  “Dan’s got Bruno.” William said.

  “What?”

  “An exclusive,” William continued. “His portion airs live Friday night.”

  “No,” I said, hearing the despair in my voice. “Can’t we do anything about this? Sue them? Something?”

  Bass shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do to stop them. And no way we can come up with an angle that’ll hold a candle to their story. Not with both tapes and this interview with Father Bruno.” He heaved a deep sigh, which went on pretty long for such a little man. “But, I’ve been in contact with the general manager at Up Close Issues all morning. They can’t do the story without your name coming up,” he looked at me, “So Midwest Focus is being named as affiliate for this feature and Alex St. James as Dan Starck’s willing collaborator. It’s something, at least.”

  My mouth fell open.

  “What did you ever see in that asshole, anyway?” Bass asked.

  I sat back, hard, staring out the window. “I have no idea.”

  * * * * *

  The three of us gathered in Bass’s office again, Friday night. We had two screens going at once. Tapes running to record both the hair care story on our station and the “Scandal in the Catholic Church” story a
t Up Close Issues.

  William and I sat next to one another on the sofa. The big bandage I’d worn for the first few days had been downgraded to three butterfly bandages. Bass sat in one of the wooden chairs and leaned forward, positioned between the two televisions, as though he could catch both programs at once. We’d turned down the sound on ours. Hell, we’d been there for the filming, we knew what it contained.

  But Dan’s was another story, entirely.

  He narrated the feature, conducting all the interviews himself.

  “God damn it,” I whispered under my breath.

  They were all there. Lisa, turning her head from the cameras, the bright lights shoved in her face, escorted on both sides by Federal Agents. Her pimping service evidently crossed state lines and she faced significant prison time if found guilty. The authorities were going easy on the immigrant girls, as long as they agreed to testify. From the sound of Dan’s report, most of them recognized the lifeline being thrown to them and were eager to jump on the opportunity. I talked with Sophie earlier in the week, and knew she’d agreed, too. She’d be their star witness.

  And Father Trip, bless his heart, had stepped up to work with the local girls, helping find them jobs. He’d called me yesterday to let me know that he’d already placed two girls in full-time positions. A long way to go yet, but he seemed determined.

  Emil held his head up as he passed through the media gauntlet. I wondered again if the slimy little guy hadn’t helped us by slowing Ro down enough to give us the chance to get away. Maybe I’d never know.

  During a commercial break, I let my gaze wander to the other TV. Tammy Larken onscreen. I turned the sound up. Gabriela interviewed her, woman to woman, on soft cushy seats instead of at the newsdesk. “Warmer,” the director had told us. “Makes the audience cozy up to the victims.”

  Sure.

  William had been right. Her story was intense. She’d been accidentally cut, jabbed in the neck with the point of sharp scissors. A tiny nick, but one that the salon didn’t treat properly. It became severely infected and required prescription antibiotics for nearly a half year. Tammy lost her job, and then her husband. She sued the salon, successfully, but what she really wanted, she said tearfully to the camera, was to have her life back.