Deep Down Dead

by Steph Broadribb

  I knocked on the wooden counter. ‘You got a payphone?’

  The teen nodded. Still chewing, and without looking at us, he pointed towards the restroom on the other side of the store.

  ‘Thanks.’

  As I stepped away from the counter, the teen whistled. ‘You gotta be shitting me.’

  I turned, then realised he wasn’t talking to us, he was watching some kind of news bulletin. I peered at the screen. A neatly made-up news reporter was standing outside a shabby weatherboard ranch house. It looked real familiar. On the banner at the bottom of the screen I read: Multiple Homicide Fugitive At Large.

  The teen shook his head. ‘Found them folks up there in Yellow Spring. Shot ’em right in the head. Ain’t right doing that when they were tied. Couldn’t defend themselves. No honour in that.’

  True. No honour at all. Despite the humidity I shivered. Something was very wrong. I glanced at JT. His expression stayed neutral, hard to read.

  The teen turned up the volume.

  The reporter was in full flow: ‘… and so, with three dead and a fourth in a critical condition, if you see the fugitive Robert James Tate, call 911 and do not approach him. He is armed and highly dangerous.’

  Shit. We needed to get away from here, and fast. I took a step back.

  Too late.

  The teen turned and took his first look at us. ‘So where you folks heading?’ He stared right at JT. Then, for the briefest moment, glanced back to the TV, where JT’s mugshot was displayed with the ‘Call 911, do not approach’ message written below. He tightened his grip on the cell phone. ‘Don’t do anything—’

  JT flung himself across the counter, slamming both his fists into the teen’s face in a double-handed punch. The teen fell backwards, hit his head on the wall, and fell to the ground.

  I rushed around to the other side of the counter. Dropped to my knees beside the boy, checking for a pulse. Relief. He was out cold but breathing. Looked like his nose was broken, maybe his left cheekbone too. He’d be needing some ice when he came round.

  I glared at JT. ‘What the hell?’

  ‘He was calling the cops … or worse.’

  Dakota called, ‘Momma, are you okay?’

  I tried to keep my voice calm. She couldn’t know what had happened. ‘Stay over there, sweetie.’ I looked back at JT. ‘What the hell are you mixed up in?’

  He met my gaze. ‘Better you don’t know.’

  Shit. ‘That news report was from Yellow Rock Ranch. Did you hear what they said? Three people dead, one critical. And you’re in the frame for it. Tell me how.’

  JT shrugged. ‘I was with you the whole time, you know that.’

  ‘Someone murdered those men. Why?’ I clasped my hands together, tried to stop them shaking. ‘I tied them up. They couldn’t defend themselves. Now they’re dead.’

  ‘You didn’t pull the trigger.’

  I shook my head. Even before yesterday I’d had enough blood on my hands for them never to feel clean. ‘What is it with you and trouble? For ten years I’ve avoided this kind of shit. A few hours with you and I’m right back in it up to my waist.’

  JT stepped towards me. His hands closed around mine, fingers stroking my skin, his palms warm, comforting. ‘They weren’t good people. Nothing’s changed. You still need to get me back to Florida.’

  Wrong. Those dead men changed everything. My easy pick-up had been a little tougher than it should have been at the ranch. But I’d put it down to unprofessional rednecks looking to make money by piggybacking on my percentage. The crash had been a setback, but those things happened, especially on unlit mountain roads at night. But now three men lay dead, and a fourth was fighting for his life. Sure, I knew JT hadn’t done it. But whoever did shoot them was free and clear. Was maybe chasing us, maybe high-tailing it with loot from the ranch. Whatever the truth, I saw two options, neither of which would get me the bond money: I could call local law enforcement and let them take JT to jail, or I could cut him loose.

  I knew I wouldn’t cut him loose, but that wasn’t to say I wasn’t tempted. He’d saved Dakota’s life, and mine, less than twelve hours earlier. But he’d committed a crime, and he had to face the consequences. It was for a judge and jury, not him, to decide whether his actions were justified. So even with the gratitude I felt for his pulling us free from the car wreck, I could not allow the devil he had chasing him near my daughter.

  Shoving him away I said, ‘I’m calling this in.’

  ‘Lori, I—’

  I raised my hand, signalling for him to stop. My mind was made up; talking wouldn’t help none. Stepping to the counter, I reached for the pimply teen’s cell. ‘I’ll tell them you had nothing to do with the homicides, I’ll make sure they…’

  I heard the squeal of tyres. Through the grimy window I saw a black car hurtling on to the forecourt. ‘What the—?’

  JT flung himself at me, knocking me away from the counter and on to the dusty concrete floor. The air rushed from my lungs. A dull pain vibrated through my left hip. I cussed under my breath. Tried to push JT away. But he was using his bodyweight to trap me. His breath was hot against my face. ‘Stay down,’ he growled.

  I heard the gunshot, close and loud. Held my breath. The store’s plate-glass window shattered. Behind me, Dakota screamed.

  17

  Fragments of glass rained down on us. I glanced towards the window, a large hole, maybe a foot from where we’d been standing, gaped open like a wound. Bullets thwacked into the wall, the roof, the floor. More glass shattered.

  ‘Jesus, fuck, get off me.’

  ‘Lori, don’t. These men, they’re real serious. They killed those boys at the ranch. Must’ve gotten the kid here to tip them off about us.’

  Shit, he was right. I remembered the face watching us from the window as we approached, the teen muttering into his cell phone as we entered the store. ‘Let me go.’

  JT released his grip and I wrestled out from under him. One thing on my mind: Dakota.

  She wasn’t by the candy. Keeping low, I ran along the middle aisle. I tried to keep the panic from my voice. ‘Dakota, you okay?’

  ‘Momma?’

  Her reply came from the other side of the display, I ducked through the gap between the toilet tissue and the breakfast cereals. Dakota sat a few feet ahead, her knees pulled tight to her chest, rocking back and forth.

  Tears ran rivers down her dirty cheeks. ‘What’s happening?’

  I said the first thing that popped into my head. ‘Bad men are trying to rob the store.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know, honey.’ A lie, of course. I knew what they wanted, I’d guessed it the minute I heard the first shot, but I couldn’t tell Dakota. The truth would only scare her more. They wanted JT, and if they’d tracked him to the ranch and killed those men, they were going to be a serious problem.

  ‘Lori?’ JT yelled. ‘I could do with some help.’

  I stroked the tears from Dakota’s face. ‘Stay here, baby. Don’t move.’

  She nodded. I forced a smile, then turned and hurried back to JT.

  A bullet hit the upper door hinge, ripping it away from the wood. The door swung drunkenly inwards, listing at an angle. Through the gap I caught a glimpse of them: a bunch of men, guns in hand, climbing out of the black car.

  JT was behind the counter, searching for weapons. Stores in remote country like this always had a gun.

  ‘They’re coming.’

  He put a baseball bat on the counter. ‘How many?’

  I glanced back to the doorway. ‘Four. Maybe five.’

  He nodded. Knelt beside the store attendant and searched him. Found a set of keys in his pants’ pocket. The guy murmured but didn’t wake. JT unlocked the cupboard beneath the till. ‘Jackpot.’

  He took out a sawn-off shotgun and three cartridges. I hoped it would be enough.

  JT held out the shotgun. ‘Take it.’

  I shook my head, grabbed the bat instead.

  H
e frowned, from confusion or frustration I couldn’t be sure. ‘It’ll be—’

  A bullet ricocheted off the metal sign above the store window, the next one hit the window again, tearing through the glass and ripping through the magazine display in the first aisle.

  Through the busted window I glimpsed two of the men: they were halfway across the forecourt.

  JT grabbed the shotgun. Not the easiest weapon to fire wearing cuffs, but a whole lot better than something you needed to aim real careful. He adapted fast, pressed up against what little of the cinderblock window surround was left intact, and braced the shotgun’s handle against his left hip. He held it steady, and fired one cartridge. If the kick of the gun hurt, he didn’t show it.

  The man closest to us dropped to the ground.

  A volley of bullets smacked into the window and the surrounding wall. JT hit the floor, and slid the store attendant’s keys to me. One of the keys had a Chevy logo stamped on the fob. ‘Get the kid and find some transport.’

  It was an order, like we’d gone back into the past and he was in charge. I nodded. No time to argue.

  Keeping low, I took the bat, and moved fast along the second aisle to Dakota. She was still rocking, her face tight against her knees, eyes shut.

  I put my hand on her shoulder. She flinched. ‘Come on, sweetie. Let’s get out of here.’

  She looked up. Nodded.

  I grabbed my carryall and hurried towards the back door. I hoped it wouldn’t be locked. It wasn’t, but a pile of boxes had it blocked. I yanked them away, ignoring the cans of tuna spilling out of them, and shoved the boxes up against a crate of bottled beer. Dakota stood beside me, statue still, looking back towards JT.

  I heard more gunfire at the front of the store. Glanced round. Saw JT fire another cartridge. I heard a shout, not JT’s. Another man down.

  ‘Quick, sweetie.’ I grabbed Dakota’s hand. Opened the door.

  A bearded man was rushing at me, gun raised, firing. I leapt back into the store, pulling Dakota with me, using the door as a shield. The shots went wide. To my left I heard the bottles of beer shatter, felt liquid spray across the back of my legs, saw broken glass and cans of tuna scatter across the floor.

  Stepping out from behind the door, I swung the bat and brought it down hard on the bearded man’s gun hand. He dropped the weapon, staggered, recoiling from the blow, slipped on the loose cans and fell sideways on to the concrete. Seeing my chance, I let go of Dakota’s hand and rushed forward, kicking the gun out of his reach just as he regained his balance.

  Shit.

  I tried to get back to Dakota. Not fast enough. I gasped as he hit me in the chest, ramming me hard against the wall, knocking the breath clean out of me.

  Dakota screamed.

  He lunged for my throat, squeezed hard. I struggled, kicked at his legs. I could hear Dakota crying, guessed that if he overpowered me, he’d be after her next. Knew I could not let that happen.

  I thrust the handle of the bat forward and up into the soft tissue beneath his ribs. He groaned, let go of my neck, doubled over. I hit him again, and then again: his shoulders, his head. He went down, didn’t move. Bleeding but not dead.

  I had to get Dakota out of here.

  She stood just inside the door, staring at the bloodied man. Her whole body was trembling.

  ‘Don’t look at him, sweetie.’

  She kept staring at the man.

  I took her hand. Glanced through the doorway, checking our exit – all clear. Glanced back at Dakota. ‘Listen, honey. He was a bad man. If I didn’t stop him he’d have hurt us. Now we have to go.’

  She looked up at me. Nodded. ‘Okay, Momma.’

  ‘Good girl.’ I heaved my carryall over one shoulder, and with Dakota’s hand tight in mine we crept out back and around the side of the store.

  Parked over on the far side of the forecourt was a blue Chevy. An older model, but updated with alloys and a spoiler. I reckoned it had to be the teen’s ride. We made our way over to it.

  The two men JT had shot lay on the ground ten and fifteen yards away, not moving. With them and the guy I’d taken care of we’d accounted for three. But I’d seen at least four get out of the car, maybe five. We weren’t clear yet.

  I kept Dakota behind me as we passed the fallen men, shielding her view with my body. We reached the car okay. I unlocked it with the store attendant’s key and opened the passenger door. ‘In you get, sweetie.’

  Dakota climbed in. I closed the door behind her, moved around to the driver’s side, opened the door and dropped the carryall on to the back seat.

  A shotgun fired inside the store. I flinched. Dakota cried out.

  Four men confirmed.

  Dakota peered through the windshield. ‘Who’s that with JT?’

  I heard a crash. Turned. The store window was completely blown out. Inside two men were fighting.

  Shit. Three shots. Three cartridges. JT was out of ammo.

  I couldn’t leave him. He was still cuffed, disabled in any fight. If he died it would be my fault. Another life ended because of me. I looked at Dakota. ‘I’ll get him. Stay in the car, okay? Promise me.’

  She nodded. ‘Promise.’

  I hurried back across the forecourt. Through the shot-out window I glimpsed an athletic figure dressed in combat pants and a white tee, standing beside the candy display. I moved a little closer. Spotted JT. Inhaled sharply. He was on his knees in front of the man, a handgun pressed against his forehead.

  I crept closer. Hoped the man stayed looking at JT.

  JT glared at his captor. ‘We know what your boss did, and we’ve got the proof. He can’t buy himself out of trouble this time.’

  The guy with the gun laughed. ‘Big talk for a man all out of options.’

  I glanced back at the Chevy. Dakota was still inside. Still safe.

  Looking back at JT, I knew I had to get closer, much closer. I crept along the outside wall to the gap where the door had been. Eleven steps. The sound of my breathing hissed loud in my ears.

  Inside the store, the man with his back to me said, ‘Last chance. Where is he?’

  JT stayed silent.

  I hoped that he’d seen me. That he was ready to react. Leaning down, I picked up one of the Furre Baby toys, which had rolled from the collapsed display into the doorway. I pressed its belly, and as the electronic squeaky voice said, ‘You’re cute!’ I threw it into the store in the direction of the counter.

  The gunman spun around, fired two shots into the toy.

  JT leapt forward, planting his shoulder into the gunman’s legs. As they sprawled on to the floor, I sprinted along the aisle.

  I reached them in ten strides. Shoved my taser into the side of the gunman’s neck and pressed the trigger. The fight went from him instantly, his arms and legs flailing. It wouldn’t last long, but it would be enough time for us to get away.

  JT was already on his feet. ‘You came—’

  A scream.

  Outside.

  Dakota.

  I whipped round, sprinted for the doorway. ‘Baby?’

  Only one man lay on the ground. The second wasn’t dead; he was bundling Dakota into the black sedan. I could hear her screaming, crying, calling my name. Another man was in the driver’s seat. The engine was running.

  ‘No!’ I hurtled across the forecourt.

  They’d had us fooled.

  Not four men, not five. Six.

  JT was beside me. He grabbed the handgun from the dead man’s body.

  The car pulled away. I ran behind it, yelled for them to stop. Watched Dakota’s hands clawing at the window. Saw the tears streaming down her pale face, her blue eyes wide with terror.

  As they swung towards the exit, they were picking up speed.

  JT raised the gun, fired at the car. Missed.

  The black sedan accelerated away. Disappeared from view.

  ‘Dakota?’ I was frozen to the spot. My lungs felt about to explode. My legs felt like jello. I’d failed to rem
ember JT’s fourth rule: Don’t make assumptions. I’d assumed the driver had gotten out of the car. That the two men JT had shot were dead. One wasn’t. He had taken my baby.

  ‘Lori. Come on,’ JT yelled.

  I didn’t move. Couldn’t. ‘She promised to stay in the car.’

  He grabbed my arm, tugged me towards the store attendant’s car, half threw me into the passenger seat. Fired up the Chevy’s engine and floored the gas pedal. ‘We’ve got to catch them.’

  18

  I don’t know how long we chased them, half a day, an hour, a minute; time had lost its beat for me. Dakota was gone. Taken. And I had let it happen.

  The mountainside flashed by, JT jerking the car around the twists as best as his cuffed wrists would allow. Didn’t do no good. However fast or long we drove it wasn’t enough. We didn’t catch them.

  I sat. Numb. Slumped in the passenger seat. Staring out of the windshield, past the dream-catcher hanging on a frayed blue thread from the rear-view mirror, scanning the highway ahead. Still empty.

  We reached a crossroads. Saw no sign of the black sedan in any direction.

  JT took a right. Glanced at me. ‘You should put on your belt.’

  I heard him, but didn’t respond. Put my belt on, he’d said. How the hell did that matter? Then I realised the beeping noise I’d been listening to since we’d started the chase must be the car’s seatbelt warning. I didn’t care.

  I glared at JT. He looked calm, his gaze focused on the highway. He held the bottom of the steering wheel, his movements minimal, controlled. But that hadn’t stopped the plasticuffs biting into his flesh. His wrists were bleeding, blood dripped from them on to the denim of his jeans. I didn’t feel bad about that; couldn’t. If I’d not gone back for him, if I hadn’t left Dakota in the car, then she’d still be with me. ‘We’ve lost them, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So why the fuck are you still driving?’

  He frowned, said nothing. Accelerated.

  Bastard.

  Adrenaline fired through my body; fight or flight, attack or chase. I wanted to run, to scream, but I was stuck in this car, with him. Damn son-of-a-bitch. Whenever he was near, the people I loved got hurt: first Sal, now Dakota. His silent act wasn’t mysterious; it was plain infuriating. I raised my voice. ‘Where the hell are we going?’