Repo Chick Blues (The Leah Ryan Series - Book One)

by Sharp, Tracy

  “They’ll shoot you on sight.”

  “I don’t think so. He wants me to suffer. He’s not going to rob himself of having fun with me before he puts me out of my misery.”

  “You think he’ll fall for it? He won’t buy me leaving you alone. No way.”

  I nodded. “Oh, I think he will. I’m counting on him thinking I’m just another dumb bitch. A crazy dumb bitch, but a dumb bitch nonetheless. And anyway, he knows I’d do anything for Jesse.”

  “I don’t know.” Callahan watched me beneath furrowed eyebrows.

  “Well it’s not up to you. It’s my brother he has. Christ knows what he’s done to him already. I’m not letting Jesse die. I won’t lose him--” I let the word “too” float in the air between us, but didn’t say it.

  “What about him losing you?”

  “He won’t.” The words sounded ridiculous to my ears. It was all I could say because the truth was that I just might die trying to save my brother. I couldn’t have Callahan screwing up the one chance I had of getting Jesse back.

  So I said it with more conviction this time.

  “He won’t.”

  * * *

  Everyone was in place less than an hour after the phone call. It would be a long wait, but if I was going to have back-up at all without Woodard or his men knowing about it, everyone had to be ready before the vampires came out to play. Neither Woodard nor any of his men were patient enough to come early and wait it out. I was almost one hundred percent certain of that. Of course, there was always that stray percent or two.

  I stood in the middle of the park as darkness gathered around me. The wind held the first hint of autumn’s chill and I tugged my jean jacket closer to my body. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I wanted to be holding my gun but I didn’t want to get Woodard’s back up just when he thought he had control of the situation. He was more likely to let his guard down if he felt no threat from me. Still, I crossed my arms and pressed my .38, which was strapped to my ribs, closer and enjoyed the feel of its reassuring weight. This was the gun Woodard would expect me to have. The one he’d tell me to toss to him.

  But I had another gun tucked in against my lower back. He might figure out that I had another gun and I realized as well that I may have to throw him the knife strapped to my lower leg. That was okay. I did have my snipers to rely on. I scanned the buildings, looking for evidence of any more of Woodard’s men.

  I’d heard shots ring out as I approached the park and I prayed that it was one of Woodard’s men who’d gone down. Jack and Patrick waited on the bottom floor of one of the abandoned buildings, ready to pick off Woodard’s minions the minute they stepped foot into the building. It was obvious he’d have snipers as well, scanning the area for my back-ups.

  The park was surrounded by run-down buildings. I wasn’t safe where I stood. The area was notorious for gang activity. I tried not to think of what went on behind some of the broken windows papered over with cardboard or covered with old blankets. A woman standing alone in the middle of the park would be considered free lunch. If several gang members decided to come strolling through the park at any moment in time, there was no guarantee that my friends could pick them all off. It could very well turn into a bloodbath, with Woodard disappearing or dying and me never finding my brother.

  I shivered and closed my eyes for a moment, willing myself to breathe. It was too quiet. I could feel eyes on me but I didn’t know if they belonged to friend or foe. I tried not to think of the possibility that Jesse was already dead and that this was all just a game for Woodard. Maybe he had a box seat up in one of those buildings, anticipating my gang rape and murder.

  Callahan and Will were around here somewhere. I didn’t know where they were exactly and I hoped that neither Woodard nor his men did. I kept my shoulders squared and my chin tilted upward, my hands opening and closing at my sides, seemingly of their own accord. Woodard was somewhere in the vicinity, enjoying the hell out of watching me squirm.

  I felt a sudden urge to bring both hands up and jab the middle fingers of each hand into the air, walking in a slow circle to be sure Woodard could get a good look. I shoved the urge down, knowing it wouldn’t really get me anywhere.

  So I started singing. I sang a piece of the first song that came into my head. It was Joan Jett’s Light of Day.

  I sang softly at first but then the frustration of the situation built and within moments I was singing at the top of my lungs.

  “WELL I GOT THROWN OUT OF WORK ON THE KOKOMO…”

  At first nothing moved, but after a moment, I saw Woodard step out from behind a dumpster, his body tense and his face alarmed.

  “DON’T ASK ME WHAT I’M DOIN’ ‘CUZ I DON’T KNOW, YEAH… ”

  “Hey!” he shouted. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “ONLY HEAR YOU WASN’T JOKIN’ WHEN YA WROTE ME THAT LETTER…”

  “Shut up, bitch!” His eyes were wild and seemed opaque as they shone out at me.

  “THINGS CAN’T GET WORSE SO THEY GOTTA GET BETTER…”

  “I SAID, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he shrieked.

  “WELL I’M A LITTLE HOT WIRED BUT I’M FEELIN’ OKAY, AND I GOT A LITTLE LOST DOWN ALONG THE WAY! BUT I’M JUST AROUND THE CORNER ‘TIL THE LIGHT OF DAY, YEAH! OH I’M JUST AROUND THE CORNER ‘TIL THE LIGHT OF DAY, YEEAAAHH!”

  Then I stopped. The park suddenly silent. Woodard stood about fifty feet away from me, panting and red-faced. Even in the purple dusk, I could see I’d really rattled him. My little outburst wasn’t part of the plan and it panicked him.

  “Well, well, well. Mr. Woodard. So nice of you to show up.” My voice was cheerful. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was certain that I’d finally really lost it. I’d gone over the edge. Nothing made sense to me anymore and I was lifted by a sudden courage usually only enjoyed by the delirious and the insane. "Care to join me in a duet?”

  He stood there panting, gun pointed at my head. I could sense rather than see his finger twitching on the trigger. “Are you on crack, you crazy bitch?”

  “Me? Ooooh no. You’ve got enough customers, don’cha think?”

  He glared at me. “Toss me your gun.”

  I hesitated for good measure.

  “Do you want me to kill your pussy-ass brother?”

  I reached into my jacket slowly and my hand found the gun. The urge to shoot him where he stood was overwhelming. But I bent down and placed the pistol on the ground, kicking it towards him. “Oh come on, now, Brent. Haven’t you already done that?”

  He blinked, shocked by my use of his first name. It was completely dark now, and Woodard was cloaked in shadow, standing away from the park lights. I squinted at his silhouette, trying to gauge his reaction. Trying to find out if my brother was still alive.

  “He’s not dead,” he finally said. “Yet.”

  “Prove it.”

  His laugh was high-pitched. He sounded tickled pink. “I don’t have to prove a thing to you. I’m the one with the power here. Not you. I could shoot you right now.”

  “Why don’t you, then?”

  He hesitated. “Because it’s not my style. You should already know that.”

  “Then stop yanking my chain, Brent. Let’s get on with it.”

  “You got any more guns on you?”

  “No,” I said, lifting my arms and shrugging.

  I felt his eyes boring into me.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said softly.

  I swallowed. “So what? I have another gun and I’m gonna shoot you with all your snipers watching me?”

  “I’m gonna have my friend frisk you. If he finds something, you’re gonna wish you hadn’t lied to me.” He looked over to the dumpster. “Ace! Put it back in your pants! Get out here!”

  After a long moment, which seemed to stretch on for eternity, a figure emerged from behind the dumpster. He stepped under the streetlight, tucking himself back into his jeans and zipping them up. I remembered him as one of Woodard’s pals and wondered what he
was doing there behind the dumpster by himself with his pecker out.

  But then he motioned toward the dumpster, hand facing upward, curling and uncurling his fingers in a “come here” gesture.

  There was a prickling at the back of my neck and my heart was thumping so hard I thought my shirt must be moving to its beat beneath my jacket. I waited, holding my breath. The thought of my brother behind that dumpster with that guy, being made to do what I thought was being done back there, made me want to gag.

  However, it wasn’t Jesse.

  It was a small, scrawny girl. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Her stringy brown hair hung in her face. She walked cautiously, hesitating, and her entire body was shivering.

  “Come here you little shit!” he shouted.

  She stood still, frozen and crying, her body shaking.

  If the point was to piss me off, it worked. Something inside of me broke loose. I could almost hear the snap inside my head.

  Then a figure emerged from inside one of the buildings. A female, staggering slightly.

  “Hey, hey!” she shouted.

  All heads turned to look at her.

  “What the fuck?” Woodard’s stared at her.

  “Hey, hey!” The girl said again, standing beneath one of the park lights. Her hair was bright pink, clearly a wig, and she teetered on four-inch, knee-high boots. Her black nylons were torn in several places and she wore a dirty, white half-shirt.

  It was Sharon.

  I blinked, my eyes moving back and forth between her and the young girl who was edging away, moving in the opposite direction of Woodard and his friend.

  “Get the fuck out of here you stupid whore!” Woodard screamed, pointing his gun at Sharon.

  The girl made a squealing sound and made a run for it.

  Woodard’s friend lunged for her.

  I didn’t think. I just grabbed my gun from my waistband and whipped it around. I aimed and fired.

  Woodard’s friend crumpled to the ground. He couldn’t go any further with half his head missing, so he had no other choice.

  I looked at the young girl was almost out of the park. “Run, baby!”

  She made it out onto the street and kept on running.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Four of Woodard’s men emerged from out of nowhere, firing at me as they ran toward me. I hit the ground, sand flying up into my eyes and mouth, firing blindly. Through gritty eyes I saw one guy hit the ground, then another.

  I saw Sharon’s gun come up and aim at the men. One of them fell. Then another. By then there were so many bullets flying, I didn’t know whose bullet had gotten him.

  More men emerged. These were gang members. Somewhere in the midst of the sandstorm, the blood and the bullets, the thought occurred to me that I should’ve figured that Woodard would have gang member back-up. He was most likely their drug connection in that area.

  A short, stocky man ran at Sharon from behind. I screamed to her but she didn’t hear me. I aimed at him and fired. I missed. He grabbed her, his knife drawn, and kissed her on the cheek as he brought his knife around to the front of her throat. He began dragging her across the park.

  Will came flying out of the building, his mouth shaped in a silent scream as he fired at the man, shooting him in the head. The man dropped, still holding Sharon, pulling her down with him.

  I saw Will run to her as I made my way toward the dumpster. I set about reloading my gun, trying to keep my hands steady and my eyes constantly moving. One of the gang members, a woman with a shaved head and tattoos crawling up her arms, spotted me and came running at me as I struggled to reload. My hands were trembling too badly and she was almost on top of me. I dropped the gun and reached for my knife, yanking up my pant leg and ripping it out of the sheath just as she stopped and stood over me with her gun drawn.

  She aimed straight at my face and I saw her finger squeeze the trigger as I lunged forward. I thought I felt the bullet whiz past my head as I sank my knife into her leg. She shrieked and dropped the gun. I grabbed it. Considered killing her, but left her there. If she didn’t bleed out she’d be okay. Maybe turn her life around. Maybe not.

  I scanned the mayhem and saw Jack dragging Woodard out of the park, firing at the remaining gang members. Only three were still standing. Patrick walked backward, picked off two. The other turned tail and ran. None of us was about shooting someone in the back. Even slimeballs who sell drugs to children or who are associated with scum like Brent Woodard. So that last one got away, running past the bleeding girl who was dragging herself across the grass, holding her hand out to him for help.

  Nice to know who your friends are.

  Callahan was walking toward her, his hand out to her.

  She grinned and reached around to her lower back. She pulled out a gun, aiming it square at his chest. He froze, gun at his side.

  I screamed and brought my gun up. Heard no other sound than the shots, one overlapping the other, as we both pulled our triggers.

  She fell back, eyes gazing at the star-speckled sky.

  Callahan stood still for a moment, a heavy sigh escaping him before he fell sideways onto the damp grass.

  My heart was in my throat as I watched Jack and Patrick help Callahan into the passenger’s seat of Will’s car. He was still breathing, but he didn’t have much time. His belly was covered in blood. He gave me a faint smile and waved weakly but his eyes were glazing over in shock. I swallowed hard as I watched Will bullet away from Cherry Street at top speed.

  I wanted to go with Callahan. To make sure he would be okay. This was my chance with Woodard. We finally had him. This was my chance to find out where Jesse was. I couldn’t mess that up. My chest felt heavy, as if my heart were being squeezed. Callahan would be all right, I told myself. He had to be.

  If only I hadn’t been so stupid. If only I’d finished the girl off when I’d had the chance.

  It was becoming my mantra.

  If only.

  * * *

  We took Woodard to Jack’s shop.

  We figured it was safe to say that we hadn’t been followed. Woodard didn’t have too many friends left alive. It seemed that this cold, hard fact was dawning on him. He stared around, eyes wide with panic as Jack and Patrick dragged him around to the back of the motorcycle shop where there were all kinds of fun tools to play with. All sorts of noisy toys to cover his screams.

  Sharon and I had taken my Jeep and I was grinning a little crazily when I led Buddy out of the back, giggling when he hit the ground and stretched out his back legs. It had been a long wait for him while we were in the midst of our little gun and gang party.

  Sharon looked at me, lifting an eyebrow. “You okay?”

  “Oh, I’m better than okay,” I smiled widely. “I’m just peachy.”

  “Ooo-kay.”

  “You’ll see why in a minute,” I told her, patting Buddy’s head as she opened the door to the shop.

  When we walked in, Jack and Patrick had already tied Woodard to a metal chair. He was stripped of all of his clothes and he was shivering. I didn’t think it was from feeling chilly.

  His arms were tightly strapped to the arms of the chair with duct tape and his ankles were tied to the legs of the chair in the same fashion. His eyes flashed with seething hatred when he saw me but grew round with terror when they fell upon Buddy.

  I grinned, patting Buddy on the head again.

  “Get that thing away from me!” He tried to pull his arms free of the duct tape but they wouldn’t budge.

  “Good job, guys. Buddy’ll just have to chew the tape off when he finishes with the rest of him. It won’t be a problem.”

  “GET HIM AWAY!” He tilted his head back as he screamed at me, his mouth so wide and huge that it seemed it was all I could see of his face. He looked like a cartoon character the way he was yelling like that.

  Buddy’s back bristled and he snarled.

  “Now this is a Kodak moment,” Patrick said, turning on a band saw for b
ackground noise. “Don’t wanna disturb the neighbors with your hollering. They’re used to the normal sounds of the shop equipment, though.”

  “Damn, where’s a cop when you need one, huh, Woodard?” Jack stood behind Woodard and smacked him hard on the side of the head. “You got any more friends on the police force?”

  It was as if Jack hadn’t touched him. He was completely focused on me. “You don’t know what you’re getting into, girlie. I’ve got all kinds of friends in this town.”

  “Not anymore you don’t. Most of them are out of commission.” I started over to Woodard, Buddy close at my side. I stopped in front of him and knelt down, whispering low in Buddy’s ear. He responded by licking my face.

  “You think Finn was the only cop on the take in this city?” He giggled. “You’re in for a rude awakening. Finn only got caught because he was stupid. He couldn’t control his impulses.”

  “Well, you may have other cops friends, Sebastian. They’re not here to help you now.”

  Shock flickered across his eyes. “How do you know my name?”

  “None of your fucking business. Now I wanna know where my brother is. I’m done playing your little reindeer games. I’m going to instruct my dog to chew you up, piece by despicable piece, until you tell me where he is.” I leaned in and stared into his vacant, green eyes. They darted from Buddy back to me again. He was deathly afraid of Buddy, but he didn’t believe me. His mind was still working, trying to figure out where he knew me from.

  Patrick spread garbage bags on the floor around the chair.

  Woodard stared at him, his eyes as big as quarters. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Oh, you’ll see.” Patrick smiled brightly at him.

  I stared down at him, hatred consuming me. “You haven’t changed a bit since you were a kid. Still raping and killing females. You must be awfully threatened by us. That shit’s coming to an end, my friend.”

  He stared back at me, eyes narrowed. Then recognition dawned on him. “Holy shit! You’re that skinny little girl from juvie that kept burning herself with cigarettes.”