Shooting Scars: The Artists Trilogy 2

by Karina Halle

  “Well, where is it?” she shrieked. “You can’t hold out on me, Camden.”

  I raised my hands. “Whoa, calm down, okay? There’s a lot going on. There are the checks that we got from the casinos. I think they’re on Ellie.”

  “You’re lying to me,” she said, walking toward me. “They’re in the car somewhere, aren’t they?” She yelled the last bit. “You have them!”

  “Maybe, I’ll look,” I said, trying to placate her.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said. “And if they’re there, we’re depositing it in your account, today.”

  “Oh, so now there’s a rush?”

  She smiled quickly. “Now it’s legit. These kinds of transactions won’t make the bank suspicious. It’s just casino winnings, right? We can deposit the cash some other day. We’ll just be really careful with it.”

  I frowned, feeling strange about everything. Was she really afraid that I’d hide money from her? Didn’t she understand I was doing and risking everything to protect them, to provide for them, to do the best I could?

  Or maybe Sophia had a supremely fucked-up idea of what a family was all about.

  “Alright,” I told her. “Grab Ben. We’ll search the car and if we’re lucky, I’ll go deposit what we find.”

  She nodded quickly and grabbed her purse from the counter.

  “And the briefcase?” I asked, blocking her.

  She frowned. “It’s in my room. We’re not taking it with us.”

  “I’d rather we did. It’s safer on us than here.”

  I could tell she wanted to argue but maybe she figured it wouldn’t do any good. She gave me an agreeable sigh and then came back with the briefcase in hand. I let her hold onto both it and Ben, things I wasn’t allowed to touch.

  It only took a few seconds for me to locate three of the checks. They were in a metal box in the trunk, the place where Ellie carried a “spare life.” Unfortunately, one check was made out to Ellie, two were made out to Connor Malloy, and one was made out to Camden McQueen. They were all worth about seven thousand dollars each, which meant Ellie must have the remaining checks on her. I wanted to think that was a good thing, that she’d have money, wherever she was. But I had a bad, bad feeling that she wouldn’t get to use them.

  After I calmed Sophia down and told her that I could eventually deposit Connor Malloy’s check, once our new life was underway and I got some help from Gus, we headed off to the nearest bank branch that Camden McQueen belonged to. All I had to do was smile at the teller when she commented on my “lucky Vegas winnings” and that was it. The money was in the bank. It was a small amount in the grand scheme of things, but it was a start. And I hoped to god that was enough for Sophia to start showing a little faith in me.

  Yet, as we drove back to her apartment, she became more quiet and nervous. She was pretty much ripping her hair out as we pulled up to the tiny complex.

  I popped the GTO in park and stared at her earnestly. “Are you afraid that your brothers are back?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m just afraid.” Then she started to cry. Ben squirmed in the child seat we had outfitted in the back.

  “Hey,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to be okay? This shit sucks and I know I’m the last person you want to be running away with, but maybe things will all work out for the best.”

  “How can it?” she sobbed through wet, nasty tears. “How can you and I ever work?”

  I sucked in my breath before saying, “Maybe it can work if there’s love. If not for each other, at least for Ben.”

  This only made Sophia cry louder. I was never very good at being sappy. Good thing my job wasn’t writing greeting cards.

  I sighed and sat back in the seat, ignoring the fact that it was feeling more and more like my car when it very much wasn’t. I rubbed her back, despite her flinching from my touch.

  “I know you’re upset, but we’re almost packed. We’re about ready to go.”

  She sniffed but didn’t look at me. “Why don’t you start bringing your stuff down? I don’t want to take Ben back in there if we’re only going to rip this life away from him.”

  Fair enough. I nodded and left her in the car and took the car keys – the briefcase was in the trunk after all. I made my way up the stairs to the unit, the sun beating down on my back like a hot hand, and opened the door.

  I was wondering how Sophia would adjust, if she would ever adjust, if maybe we’d part ways in a few months after our new lives got settled and if she’d take Ben away from me again, when I stepped into the apartment.

  Something was different. Something was off.

  For the life of me, I couldn’t tell what it was, whether it was a smell or the fact that all the shades were drawn but I suddenly knew I wasn’t alone.

  I suddenly knew the reason why Sophia stayed in the car.

  I suddenly knew there would be no new life for me.

  Not if I didn’t act on instinct.

  Now.

  Before there was a shuffle, the sound of a gun’s cartridge being handled, and the exhale of breath, I ducked. A gun fired from somewhere behind the couch. My own gun was out of reach, tucked away in the car’s glove compartment. I had to improvise.

  I rolled out of the way and sprang to my feet in time to meet the face of one of Sophia’s brothers. He was the one I called sloppy seconds or “Not Vincent.” I was taller than Not Vincent and a fuckload angrier. Before he could fire again, I brought my elbow down between his eyes until I heard the crunch of cartilage. Then I struck him in the throat, driving his Adam’s apple in until he and his gun dropped to the floor. Out of my reach. I had no time to think or act before launching myself over the couch right before another gun went off.

  “Camden,” it was Vincent, his slimy, manipulative voice. “This can end now.”

  I kept my mouth shut. I had nothing to say to him, no bargains to be made. I heard him take a step closer, coming from maybe Ben’s room. In the distance there were a few cries, worried neighbors. This was going to all happen fast, before the cops showed up. Vincent was in a hurry. He planned to kill me now, make it look like I was a break-in. A domestic dispute. Perhaps Sophia would back his claim and the brothers would look heroic.

  “This bullet can go straight through the couch.”

  He was right. Fuck Ikea for making such flimsy furniture. I listened for the sounds of Not Vincent, trying to gauge if he was still a threat to me. He’d fallen so fast—had I killed him? I couldn’t hear him sputtering.

  Vincent went on, sounding breezy, apparently not caring that his brother was hurt or possibly dead. “I’m giving you a few seconds to tell us where the rest of the checks are. The checks with my money.”

  “You already have your money,” I grunted, trying to breathe in and out, trying to get oxygen into my brain. Think, Camden, think.

  “What Javier gave me was a bonus,” he said, closer now. Maybe just a few feet away. He was right behind me and he wasn’t pulling the trigger until I gave him the answer. “I still want what you dared to steal from me.”

  “Was all the money worth handing over your only sister and nephew to a drug lord?” I spat out.

  Vincent chuckled. “It was practically Sophia’s idea.”

  The room froze. It was hard to breathe.

  “Aren’t you tired of people fucking you over?” he went on.

  Apparently, I hadn’t been tired enough.

  My eyes fought through the disgust that had lodged itself in my chest and drifted to the floor. One of Ben’s toys, a robotic dog, was lying a foot away from me, half covered by the couch’s slipcover.

  “I don’t know where the rest of the checks are,” I said while my arm slowly reached over. My fingers curled around the toy.

  “You’re lying,” Vincent said. Now he was right on the other side of the couch. I could practically feel his breath. If he took one more little step, he’d be able to see me, hands on the robotic dog, my shoulder pressed against the co
uch back. He would see me waiting.

  Ready.

  “You couldn’t cash them anyway,” I told him. “They’re all in Ellie’s name.”

  “Then I’ll make her cash them for me.”

  That would have been a believable threat if I hadn’t known that Ellie was with Javier.

  “I’m afraid you’d have to go through another psychopath first,” I sneered.

  “You really are naïve, aren’t you, tat boy? What makes you think that wouldn’t be a problem? What makes you think this isn’t all part of the plan?”

  Plan? I shook my head, refusing to be riled up by him. He knew all the right buttons to push. “All of this for forty grand.”

  “Easy money gets you rich,” he said. The gun cocked.

  It was time to move.

  I pressed down on the button on the robotic dog’s back and flung it up and over the couch to the right. It barked as it went, loud and jarring and I hoped it was enough to confuse him. Flying robot dogs probably weren’t part of his “plan.”

  It worked.

  In one second the dog exploded into silver smithereens as Vincent shot it.

  In the next second I focused all my energy into a squat, my years of surfing at Long Beach finally coming into play, and with a giant groan I sprung up and out, my shoulder driving into the couch back. Ikea made flimsy couches but they were that much easier to move.

  I felt the couch awkwardly make contact with Vincent, his gun going off but up in the air, cracking a hole in the ceiling. I kept driving the couch forward until it knocked him down and was out of my way. He cried out and the gun went off again, this time whizzing over my shoulder and crashing through the window. I burst out the door just in time.

  I leaped down the stairs three at a time, my back feeling like a bull’s-eye, not knowing when Vincent was going to fire on me. The sunlight was so bright, so terrible and out of place after what I’d gone through.

  As I neared the car, I noticed it was empty. There was no time to process where Sophia and Ben were. For once, I wasn’t worried about them and I was proven right when I jumped in the driver’s seat.

  With my hand on the gearshift, I stared up through the windshield to the apartment. Sophia and Ben were standing a few doors down, huddled with a neighbor and watching me, watching everything. She was crying and playing the part. It sickened every bone in my bloody body.

  Against my better judgement I stuck my head out the window and yelled at her. “I’m coming back for him!” Call me crazy, call me whatever you will, there was no way in hell I’d let my son live with that devil of a woman. I would come back for what was mine.

  She held Ben close to her side and gave me a look of Oscar-worthy revulsion. “Over my dead body!” The neighbor, a round Latino woman, was watching our exchange with horror no doubt for the poor, ex-wife. That poor, poor double-crossing bitch.

  “We’ll see,” I said to myself, though I wondered if it was loud enough to hear, if it would come back to haunt me. I wondered if I meant it.

  I popped the car in reverse and peeled back out of the parking lot as Vincent came staggering out of the apartment, waving his gun around like he had a chance of hitting me.

  I was already gone before he could steady his hand. The GTO roared down the quiet sunny streets of suburban Los Angeles, and I wondered when the fuck I’d stop being a chump and if I’d ever get to see my son again.

  If I’d ever get my life back and take charge.

  But I had to.

  I wanted to.

  I was going to find Gus.

  And then I was going to find Ellie.

  And nothing, absolutely nothing, would get in my way.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ELLIE

  My escape artist skills had grown rusty. Which wasn’t really all that surprising since I’d apparently turned into quite the shit trickster as well. Whether I’d grown too confident and too cocky by driving that damn, damn car around or I was doing it, as Javier had suggested, because I wanted to get caught, I was obviously losing my touch. I decided that I’d become too cocky, because wanting the vile Mexican to actually find me was a whole other can of worms that I wasn’t about to dive into.

  Besides, I had bigger problems. Like getting caught right after I made a break for it.

  You couldn’t really blame a girl for trying.

  After Javier had left me in that rotten house to whatever business he did (strangling puppies was my guess), I spent the rest of the day devising a plan to escape. It probably would have been time better spent if I had thought about what Javier had propositioned me with but I was so certain I could get out of it that I didn’t even have to think about the “what ifs.”

  Another reason why I was losing my touch: a good con artist always examines all the scenarios, the “what ifs,” the multiple ways the game can play out. But I did none of that. Instead I observed the burly man on the other side of the front door and the smaller man in the black suit who was stationed by the French doors in the kitchen, guarding the way to the balcony like some bored bouncer at a club. I decided I’d fake out the smaller guard, maybe hit him over the head with something (he was smaller after all and the kitchen was full of blunt objects, even if all the knives were conveniently gone) and make a run for it. Once on the beach, I could book it down to one of the neighbors, providing he hadn’t paid off everyone on the sandy strip. There was a chance that he did. Javier didn’t just split from Travis without being extremely thorough.

  I should have mulled on that observation a little bit longer. At around five in the evening, when the sun was low in the West and the shore looked fuzzy with light, I had knocked on the kitchen door. Through the glass, I could see the short man ignoring me so I rapped again and stared at him impatiently until he turned to look.

  I made the motion for him to open the door, all while keeping a heavy pestle from a pestle and mortar set nestled in my hidden hand like a police club. Finally he opened the door and gave me an expectant look.

  “Hi,” I told him, all smiles. “I don’t know if you realize this but I’ve effectively been kidnapped.”

  His face remained frozen except for one brow that rose.

  “And, well, I was wondering if you had it in your heart to let me go,” I went on. This was a long shot, playing to a man’s sense of decency and morality. As if he’d chose that over going against Javier’s orders.

  As I expected he shook his head ever so slightly. His focus was at least on me. I chose that moment to scratch behind my ear with my free hand and let go of a quarter I’d kept hidden in my fingers. It was like a magic trick gone wrong, but the point was that he wasn’t expecting a shiny quarter to fall out from behind my ear and clank down on the floor. His eyes followed it and before they had a chance to look back up at me, I’d raised the pestle and smashed it down into his temple. The sweet spot.

  He cried out, much louder than I was expecting and grabbed his head. I saw a flash of red but didn’t have time to dwell on it. I pushed him down and to the side and then jumped up onto the balcony railing. Without hesitating I leaped down, falling a whole story but landing with a clump onto the soft sand below. A sharp pang shot up from my left ankle, my weakest one, but I ignored it and started running.

  At first it felt like quicksand, like one of those horrible dreams where you’re trying to run but can’t. Only this was no dream. I made it as far as the property edge where a row of flax separated Javier’s property from the neighbors, flax I’d once planted because it looked tropical and pretty, when I was tackled from behind.

  I face-planted into the sand as arms went around my legs and brought me down. I kicked out, trying to hit the assailant but it was too late. The person was now straddling me across my waist, preventing me from flipping over or fighting. I bucked, I tried, but they were too strong.

  I violently turned my head, cheek burning against the grains of sand and peered up. His face was in shadows caused by the setting sun behind him, but I knew it was Javier. … and
he was smiling. I could always see that flash of white teeth.

  “Get the fuck off me,” I said, sand coating my lips as I spoke against it.

  “I don’t think so.” He sounded smug in his simplicity.

  “What were you doing, waiting for me to run?”

  “Yes,” he said with a cock of his head. “I wanted to see if you’d learned anything.”

  I tried to move again, to throw him off with surprise, but his legs were like steel.

  “I learned that your chances of escaping diminishes quickly after the first twenty-four hours of kidnapping,” I told him with a grunt.

  “I heard what you said to Felipe. You think this is kidnapping?”

  I glared at him with the one eye. “You are so fucking delusional.”

  “Oh, I believe you are the delusional one, my angel. I never threatened you with force. You didn’t have to come with me into the car. You chose me, Ellie. You chose to leave him and his lovely family. This was your choice.”

  “Then let me go,” I spat out. “You don’t need me.”

  “Of course I need you. Please tell me you didn’t spend the whole day trying to think of silly little ways of escaping instead of giving me an answer.”

  I ignored him and his mind-reading ways. “Let me go, Javier. If you’re not keeping me here by force, then you’ll get the fuck up and let me walk away.” My voice shook a little.

  He grew silent and I could hear nothing except the waves and hushed Spanish in the distance. It sounded like his henchmen, somewhere nearby watching the scene, keeping an eye on their boss to see what he was going to do next.

  What he did do next surprised me if not them. He cleared his throat and said, “Fine.”

  Then he got to his feet and stepped away, dusting the front of his pant legs and adjusting his suit jacket. Same scuffed wingtips as earlier. He waved out his arm toward the street, as if highlighting the way to go.

  “You are free to go, Ellie Watt. I cannot keep you here if you don’t want to be here. I thought you were someone else. I suppose I was mistaken. Even I can make mistakes.”