Blockbuster

by Richard H. Smith

  “Don’t shoot!” I yelled.

  I extended the gym bag in Samantha’s direction, causing several of the deposit bags again to scatter across the concrete. I desperately hoped the money was all she wanted. She lowered the gun, and I jerked my body to the left and sprinted away from the headlight beams, shielding myself in a shadowed area behind a trash barrel.

  The rain continued to come down hard. This would help too. Samantha’s vision had to be as blurred as my own. I risked looking around the other side of the trash barrel. Samantha had moved toward the deposit bags and was no longer pointing the gun directly my way. Good, she might take the bags and go.

  Behind and above me to my right, I heard a voice, clear despite the noise from the rain.

  “This is the police. Drop the gun!” I knew the voice. It was Riggs. He was standing at the edge of the roof and aiming his own gun at Samantha.

  “Drop it!” Riggs shouted.

  Another violent combination of lightning and thunder shook the air. The lightning hit something toward the back of the roof, but the force of it caused Riggs to drop his gun. It fell to the concrete. I prayed Riggs had not been hit.

  I kept quiet, protected by the barrel and ready to dart away at the first opportunity. She moved toward the nearest bag and picked it up as if to confirm what it was. With one hand, she placed each deposit bag in the gym bag, keeping the gun partially aimed in my direction. Still no movement or sound from the roof, and again I feared Riggs had been hit by the lightning. I readied myself to run, but Samantha had a good angle on me. I was uncertain how hidden I was and how good she was at handling a gun. I hoped she’d just take off with the money.

  I saw more car lights cut a reflecting path across the mall’s entrance. The car’s horn sounded several times. Samantha turned toward the sound as the car came to a stop right next to Samantha’s. The horn’s sound was deep, and I thought I recognized it. It was Spence. He had followed me.

  The driver’s side door opened, and a moment later, the passenger’s side door opened too. This seemed to confuse Samantha, because she raised her gun toward the car, but moved her aim from one side to the other, indecisively. Then she took a shot. I heard a cracking sound, the shattering of a car window. Was Spence hit? I couldn’t tell.

  I was about to charge at Samantha, surprise her from behind, and try to knock the gun out of her hand. But I hesitated when I saw the outline of Spence’s distinctive frame and hat on the passenger side of his car. He must have slipped out the other side. I heard a weird yell, the one I had heard months before, distinct and penetrating, despite the sounds made by the storm. Something flew through the air, just as Samantha took a second shot. She clutched her chest, her gun falling to the concrete. She remained standing for a moment, and then her arms fell to her sides. She went limp and fell backward.

  I ran to where she lay. Spence’s sickle had struck her right in the center of her chest, probably piercing her heart. Her arms shook. She seemed to be trying to lift them, to gather strength, her chest heaving for air. The car lights reflected in her eyes. She stared up at me, unseeing, her eyelids fluttering.

  Spence was now standing next to me. Rain spilled over the brim of his Stetson. He kicked her gun off to the side.

  “She’s a goner,” he said.

  “No kidding, poor creature,” I said.

  “Whoohee, she was a mean thing. Won’t right in the head.”

  “I’m glad you showed up, Spence. I swear she would have killed me. How did you do that?”

  He ignored my question. “Let’s ride this out in my buggy. I’ll call the police on my CB.”

  But I wasn’t thinking about Samantha anymore. “Spence, Detective Riggs is up on the roof. I think he might be hurt, maybe struck by lightning.”

  “He’s up there?”

  “Yeah. We’ve got to get up there.”

  “Better we call an ambulance on my CB first. Let’s go.”

  We moved fast over to the Buick. Spence slid inside and flipped the switch on his CB. He found a good channel and said, “Somebody get an ambulance out to the mall. Second deck, main entrance. We have an officer down. Make it fast. He’s on the roof.”

  After several repetitions because of the static, he got a clear reply.

  “We’re on it. Second deck, main entrance, over.”

  “Double time it, over,” Spence said.

  The rain picked up again.

  Spence looked at me and said, “Let’s move.”

  We rushed past Samantha’s body and to the edge of the building.

  “Lift me,” I said.

  Spence cupped his hands together where I placed a foot. He hoisted me up to his shoulders and then raised me higher with his long arms.

  “Can’t reach, Spence,” I yelled.

  Spence seemed to grunt with pain, but he twisted his body and lifted me even higher. I just managed to grab the roof’s edge with my right hand.

  “I got it Spence. Got it.”

  I pulled myself up and over.

  The dark shape of Riggs stretched out several feet in front of me.

  I shouted, “Spence, get on your CB, again. Tell them to hurry it up.”

  Spence hustled back to his Buick.

  “Detective Riggs,” I called out. He lay face down in an inch of water.

  “Detective Riggs. It’s me, Nate Burton.”

  He didn’t respond. I knelt and turned him over. I felt his chest. Was he breathing? I placed myself so that my back protected him from the rain and started alternately pushing on his chest and blowing air into his lungs. There was a smell of something burned. The lightning must have hit him. “Detective Riggs! Breathe.” He coughed forcefully and gasped for breath.

  “That’s it. Breathe, man. Breathe, breathe.”

  He coughed again, this time spitting out water that he must have swallowed. I pulled him up to a sitting position.

  “That’s it, that’s it. Are you okay?”

  He said nothing.

  “Lightning hit you,” I said. I wanted to hear him say something.

  “Detective Riggs. Are you okay?”

  He needed to get to the hospital. I put my arm around his shoulder to give him warmth and to protect him further from the rain. Fortunately, the rain had eased.

  He looked at me and mumbled, “What happened? Where’s Samantha?”

  “Detective Riggs, you’re made of tough stuff. You’re going to be fine.”

  “Lightning?” I don’t think he knew what had happened. It didn’t appear to be a direct hit. The lightning may have arced over from the metal door of the roof entrance.

  “Yeah, and Samantha, she’s dead. Spence got her. With his sickle,” I said. “You should have seen it.”

  “Mr. Reeves?”

  “With his sickle. From about thirty feet. You can see.”

  The rain had let up even more. I helped Riggs up, and we both surveyed the bridgeway where Samantha lay, outlined by the car lights.

  Coughing out the words, Riggs said, “That’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.” He staggered and crumpled down to one knee.

  “You need a doctor.”

  A siren wailed in the distance. I hoped it was the ambulance.

  “A little dizzy. I’ll be fine,” Riggs said. I thought he might be in shock, or something close to it.

  Spence emerged from his Buick and looked up at us. I gave him a thumbs-up, though I was still worried about Riggs.

  Chapter Fifty

  “This way,” I said to Riggs.

  We exited through the roof access door, its encasement battered and charred from where the lightning had probably struck. We made our way down the stairs to another door opening near the mall entrance. I kept his arm around my shoulders, holding his wrist firm with one hand and the other grabbing his side.

  “How did you get up there?” I asked.

  “Security guard let me in. Parked in the lower deck.”

  “But how did you know?”

  “A hunch.”<
br />
  “You’re shaking,” I said.

  “My legs are rubber.”

  I was relieved to see an ambulance was already past the main ramp and heading to the bridgeway. We pushed through the mall entrance door.

  “Firebolt got you good,” said Spence, who stood waiting for us, water still dripping from his Stetson.

  “Apparently.”

  “You were fried. Can smell it,” Spence said, as he took Riggs’s other arm, placing it over his shoulders.

  I saw Riggs’s gun off to the side. I stooped and picked it up.

  “Here’s your gun,” I said, inserting it in his shoulder holster for him.

  “Thanks, I remember now,” Riggs said. “I was taking shelter in that access entrance, and I saw something, the lights from the cars.”

  Riggs was not looking good. His steps faltered again.

  “Still light-headed,” he said.

  “You need a doctor,” I said. I also noticed something about Spence, a swelling of red on his left side, smeared by the rain. He stumbled.

  “Spence, did you get shot?”

  “Grazed my side. Just an oil leak.”

  “I don’t know, Spence. That’s a lot of blood.”

  Two paramedics scrambled out of the ambulance and ran toward us. One veered off toward Samantha.

  “She’s dead,” I yelled to them. “This man was struck by lightning. And he’s been shot. They need your help.”

  “I’m okay,” Riggs said. He was looking at Samantha, turning in her direction, as if he wanted to start doing his job. His eyes seemed unfocused.

  Spence then sank to the ground and held his head.

  “Get them to a hospital, quick,” I shouted. The situation had taken a scary turn.

  One paramedic lifted Spence by the shoulder and the other stopped heading toward Samantha and came over to help Riggs. Soon, both Spence and Riggs were placed on stretchers in the ambulance.

  I called out to Spence, “I’ll take care of your Buick. And your sickle.” I wasn’t sure he’d heard me. He already had an oxygen mask over his face. His eyes were closed.

  “Detective Riggs, I’ll come by the hospital later.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Can you please get them to the hospital—and fast,” I shouted at one of the men.

  He hesitated, glancing over at Samantha for a second. There was another siren in the distance, maybe two.

  “Right, let’s go,” he said to the other man, who was already moving toward the driver side of the ambulance.

  He slammed the doors tight, and they hauled off, lights flashing and siren blaring. I prayed to myself that they both would be okay.

  The rain picked up again. A second surge was about to hit and so I figured I’d wait in my car for more help to arrive. I first collected the gym bag—I wouldn’t be making the deposit tonight.

  I took another quick look at Samantha. Her hair had changed. It was wet and stringy from the rain—and dark. This was her natural hair. Yes, like Spence had said, she’d been wearing a wig at the theater. Her eyes, motionless, showed no life, all the hate gone from her. I felt a rush of pity for her. Spence’s sickle, thrusting up from the center of her chest, reminded me of the killing of the vampire in the Christopher Lee movie version of Dracula.

  Another lightning strike hit nearby as I ran to my car. I tossed the bag onto the passenger side and jumped in by the time the thunder arrived. The rain again came down in swirling gusts.

  I wanted to go to the hospital to check on Riggs and Spence. Riggs had appeared fine at first but looked bad now. Spence, he must have lost more blood than he’d let on. Like Riggs, he hadn’t responded to the last thing I had said to him.

  Then the rear side door opened.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  My heart slammed against my chest. A man wearing a baseball cap flung himself into the back seat. It was Samantha’s friend, Jesse Hooker. He held a gun.

  “You just keep still, real calm like, hands on that wheel—and I won’t have to shoot you.” He pressed the gun against my neck.

  “Okay, okay,” I said with as steady a voice as I could manage. My body shook and the pounding of my heart made a whooshing sound in my ears.

  The lights of an ambulance flashed off to the side as it entered the parking deck. I heard the distant shriek of another siren too. Police? Should I jump out of the car and run? No, that would be too risky.

  “You want the money?” I said. “Go ahead take it. It’s right here in the bag.” I stammered out the words, praying he wouldn’t shoot.

  “You shut your damn mouth and listen up. Cut the lights. Don’t try nothing stupid.” I smelled beer and cigarettes on his breath.

  I hesitated. He yelled in my ear, “I said cut the damn lights.” The gun press harder into my neck. Do what he says, you idiot. I fumbled for headlight controls, found them, and turned off the lights. I had an image of a bullet ripping through my neck, shattering my spine—bone, flesh, and blood.

  “Watch out with that gun. I’ll do what you say!”

  “Drive real slow over to that side exit, the one yonder,” he hissed. “Come on. Come on. Move it.”

  I released the brake, shifted into drive, and gave the car a little gas. I turned the steering wheel sharply to avoid the poles.

  “I can’t see,” I said. “Let me turn on the wipers.”

  “Go ahead, but keep moving. Head for the ramp.”

  I turned the wipers on, but it was still hard to see. I slowed.

  “Step on it,” Hooker said, the gun still jammed against my neck.

  “Okay, okay. Okay. I’m trying not to wreck this thing.”

  I pressed the pedal, and the car sailed over the top of the ramp, gliding to the left and scraping the side of the concrete. I flinched, anxious that the gun might fire accidentally, relieved when it didn’t. The gun slipped away from my neck as Hooker caught his balance.

  The front bumper slammed against the road at the bottom of the ramp, tossing us both up into the air.

  “Watch what you’re doing, fool!”

  “You told me to step on it,” I said. “And I can’t see!”

  “Turn them lights on and shut up. Keep going.”

  I felt for the light switch and turned the lights back on. Again, I felt the gun against my neck. It was small, but it felt like a twelve-gauge shotgun.

  The rain picked up even more, but with the lights on, I managed to steer toward the main road, which was a straight shot. Through the rearview mirror, I made out the distant, blurry shape of a second vehicle, probably a police car. It sped across the parking deck to the bridgeway, still lit by the headlights of the cars. But I wouldn’t be getting any help. I was on my own with this crazy, drunk bastard.

  I plowed through a sheet of water collected at the intersection of the main road.

  “Go left,” Hooker said.

  I turned, trying to avoid swerving off the road.

  “You’re Jesse, right?” I said. Now that we were on a straight section of the main road, the driving was easier. I altered my accent to one slightly more Southern. He removed the gun from my neck, relieving some of the tension and fear I felt.

  “You worry about the damn road.”

  The window glass had fogged up. I veered to the right, hitting gravel.

  “Watch where you’re going!”

  “I need to open the fresh air vent. Look, it’s fogging up.”

  “Do it.”

  I opened the vent and put the fan on full blast. The windshield began to clear. “See, that’s better,” I said.

  “You talk too much. Keep going,” Jesse said, but he seemed less angry. I focused on the road as the wipers did their best to clear the windshield. The wind hurled small branches and debris across our path. We were in a more rural area now, and the canopy of tall pines on either side of the road whipped about. I thought of the scene in Psycho when Marion Crane, the woman played by Janet Leigh, encounters a heavy rainstorm as she escapes with the stolen mo
ney. Unfortunately for her, she was forced to make a stop—at the Bates Motel—the place of her infamous murder by Norman Bates. Where were we heading? I had to be ready to act if I got the opportunity. I had a sudden image of my dead body resting on a slab in the morgue. I didn’t plan on having my life get snuffed out by this lunatic.

  Neither of us spoke for half a minute while I focused on the curving centerline of the road. The rain eased up a bit.

  “Are you some kind of chink?” Hooker asked.

  “Well, my mom was Korean.”

  “Ko-rea, I knew it. I knew it. I told Lucille you were a chink. She didn’t believe me.”

  “You’re a smart guy, Jesse,” I said, hiding my resentment. So he used her real name. They must have known each other for a while.

  I had to do something. When we got far enough away, he might kill me. I felt more and more sure of it. Could I drive off the road? I didn’t have my seat belt on, but neither did he. I liked my chances. If I slowed, I could turn sharply, and then dive out and run like hell.

  “That bitch was crazy. I wasn’t going to get myself killed by lightning.”

  “That’s what I mean. I thought you were smart. You were in the car?”

  “Damn right I was.”

  The flattery seemed to be working. I laid it on thicker. “I figured you for someone who paddles his own canoe. Smarter than me too. And Detective Riggs, he got hit on the roof.”

  “He got hit? I knew it. I thought that was him,” Hooker said with a laugh and lifting his face. Glancing at the rearview mirror, I saw the skin peel away from his jumbled teeth, reminding me of the Jaws poster.

  “Yeah, Jesse. Don’t know if it was a direct hit though. I think it jumped from the roof entrance. But he was fried for sure.” I stayed friendly, like we were buddies.

  “He was dumb to be up on that roof,” said Hooker.

  “How did you get mixed up with Lucille?” I asked. He didn’t reply. “She was the one who killed Bullock, right? I didn’t take you for someone who would kill somebody.”

  “Who are you? Jesus Christ?” Hooker said, as if I had accused him of something.

  “I didn’t mean anything,” I quickly added.