Deep Down Dead

by Steph Broadribb

  On the island, JT was crawling towards Boyd’s body. He reached it, grabbed the Glock from Boyd’s hand, and fired into the dirt on the edge of the jetty. The gators slithered back into the water.

  Carrying Dakota, I hurried off the boat and along the jetty. ‘It’s okay, baby. It’s all okay.’

  JT lay propped up in the dirt beside Boyd’s body. He smiled, more a grimace really, I knew he must be hurting bad. ‘Good job,’ he said.

  ‘And you.’

  Behind me, the boat creaked and groaned. I turned and watched as it sank beneath the water until the only clue it had ever been there was a trail of bubbles breaking the surface. Within moments the water lay calm. The boat, like Emerson, was gone.

  But Boyd still lay where he’d dropped. Not good. A body meant an investigation, and an investigation meant questions. I couldn’t have that. It’d be too hard to explain. Knew we couldn’t leave any trace.

  I stroked Dakota’s hair. ‘Sweetie, can you sit with JT for just a moment.’

  She looked up at me, still crying. Her eyes were pink-rimmed, her skin goose-bumped, even though she felt hot to my touch. I needed to get her dry and get her safe. But first I had to get rid of the evidence. ‘It’ll only be for a minute.’

  She sniffed, gulping back the sobs, and said in a quiet voice, ‘Okay.’

  I set her down beside JT. Wasn’t sure how to react when she snuggled up into him. He put his arm around her, and used his body to block her view of what I was about to do.

  Boyd wasn’t far from the water’s edge, but he was heavy. I tried to roll him at first, but it was too slow, too awkward. So I grabbed his legs and dragged him to the jetty, leaving a thin trail of blood behind us; there was nothing to be done about that. His eyes were open, staring off into the middle distance. I left them open and shoved him into the water.

  The gators got to him fast. Battled over his carcass. An arm, instantly severed at the shoulder, floated to the water’s edge.

  I turned away and walked back to Dakota and JT.

  Dakota looked round. Stared at the blood.

  Kneeling down beside my baby, I pulled her to me. ‘It’s over. You’re safe now.’

  She looked at me, tears streaming down her face. ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise,’ I said, wiping away her tears with my fingers. I looked at JT. ‘Can you move?’

  ‘With help.’

  Dakota trembled against me. I hugged her tight like I’d never let go.

  I nodded at JT. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  50

  It wasn’t easy. Dakota clung to me, soaked through and trembling. JT had gotten weaker. I supported them both as best I could, and we stumbled back through the swamp to the parking lot where we’d left the car.

  Had Emerson told anyone else of our meet? I didn’t know. What I did know was that the guy on the gate knew Boyd had entered the park with a woman and a child. If no one left, he’d get real suspicious.

  JT knew it too. ‘Put me in the trunk.’

  On one level that made sense. The guard on the gate hadn’t seen JT. But he had seen that Boyd had me at gunpoint. To have any chance of getting clear we needed to recreate that look. Three people in the Mustang: a man, a woman, and a child. Without Boyd, we were gonna have to bluff.

  I shook my head. ‘No, get in the back, behind the passenger seat.

  JT frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s dark. If you hunch down a little, you can pass for Boyd.’

  He nodded, smiled a fraction. ‘Bold.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Opening the door, I folded the seat forward and helped him ease through to the back seat. His leg was bleeding again, blood oozing through the duct tape.

  I carried Dakota around to the other side of the Mustang. Despite the muggy heat of the evening and the hot, clammy feel to her skin, she was shivering from shock. I set her down. She kept her arms around my hips, clung tighter.

  ‘Dakota, honey, you need to get out of those wet clothes.’ I picked up the rain jacket that was lying on the back seat of the car where I had left it earlier. ‘Take off your pants and t-shirt, and put this on.’

  She recoiled, pushing the rain jacket away. ‘Don’t make me, Momma. I don’t want to—’

  I knelt beside her, put my hands on her shoulders. ‘Sweetie, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t real important. We need the guard to believe we’re still Boyd’s prisoners.’

  She stared at me a long moment, her eyes flitting from me to the rain jacket and back.

  I forced a smile. ‘You don’t need to keep it on a minute longer once we’re out of the gate, but until then, I really need you to wear it. So we can go home.’

  She nodded. ‘Okay, Momma.’

  I stroked her cheek. ‘Good girl.’

  As Dakota stripped out of her wet clothes, I reached into the Mustang for my carryall. I noticed JT’s breathing was laboured even at rest. He needed medical help, and soon.

  I unzipped the main pocket of the carryall and found my Bail Runner baseball cap. Dark navy, not an exact match for the black cap Boyd had worn, but good enough to give the illusion of Boyd’s silhouette. I handed it to JT. ‘Put this on.’

  He took the cap and pulled it on. I nodded, good enough.

  Dakota climbed on to the back seat. She looked petrified. I wished I could tell her everything would work out.

  JT must have seen my fear. He leant closer to Dakota, said, ‘When we draw up to that gate, keep close to me, kiddo. We’ll be out of here fast, and when we’re clear I’ll fix you up with one of my famous hot-chocolate drinks, how about that?’

  Dakota looked at him. ‘Will it have marshmallows?’

  ‘Sure, whatever you like.’

  ‘And whipped cream? I’m not allowed whipped cream from a can.’

  JT smiled. ‘I’m sure your Momma will say it’s all right this one time.’

  Dakota looked at me.

  I nodded. ‘Whatever you like, honey.’

  She gave a weak smile. ‘Okay.’

  I climbed into the driver’s seat, fired up the engine, and crept the Mustang towards the gate.

  A light was on in the gatehouse. I crawled the Mustang up to the barrier and stopped. Kept looking straight ahead, hands at ten and two on the wheel, just like I had before. Out the corner of my eye I saw the cabin door open and the security guard, the same guy as earlier, step out. Through my open window I heard the noise from the televised game. Hoped it’d been loud enough to stop him hearing the suppressed gunshots.

  I glanced in the rear-view mirror, caught JT’s eye. ‘He’s watching for a signal.’

  JT looked blank. ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What did Boyd do?’ His voice sounded weak, his words almost slurred.

  The security guy stopped on the porch, peering at us through the gloom. I needed for him to stay right where he was. Any closer and he’d realise that JT was not Boyd.

  JT had to do something. He was supposed to be Boyd, in charge. ‘Wave at him or something.’

  He did neither. Slumped a little more against the back seat, his head bowed, one hand gripping his injured leg. Shit. He was losing consciousness. He’d lost too much blood. That, and the effort to hike back from the feeding station, had dulled his instincts.

  The guard stepped off the porch. Took a stride towards us, then another. Ducked down a little, squinting past me into the Mustang. ‘You good?’

  I looked in the mirror. JT’s head was down. The cap pulled low so I couldn’t see his face.

  ‘He’s talking to you.’ I hissed.

  Nothing.

  I glanced at the security guy. He was still seven yards from us, and didn’t look too concerned. Not yet. I figured, with the distance and the darkness, he’d not gotten a good look at JT yet. We needed to keep it that way.

  Dakota wriggled closer to JT. Whispered, ‘Give him a thumbs-up.’

  At her touch, JT seemed to come round. He leant forward, wincing from the eff
ort, and stuck his hand out of my open window. Gave the guard the thumbs-up.

  The guy stopped a couple of yards from the car. ‘The boss say if he’s coming back to the office tonight or heading straight out?’

  JT shrugged.

  The guard ducked down, peering into the back. ‘You hear me? Did the…’ He paused and glanced towards the cabin as a huge cheer sounded from the television.

  ‘Didn’t say.’ JT said, his tone an octave or two higher, his accent less like his own and more like Boyd’s.

  I barely dared breathe. Dug my nails into the leather trim of the steering wheel.

  The guard peered once more into the car. Nodded. Then turned and hurried back to the cabin.

  Moments later the gate swung open. I fought the urge to step on the gas and gun it out of there at maximum speed. Instead I eased the Mustang through the exit and on to the highway at five miles an hour below the speed limit.

  What had seemed impossible an hour, hell, even a half hour ago, had happened. We’d gotten free. Dakota was safe. We all were.

  Now we needed to stay that way.

  51

  I took the turnpike back towards Clermont. Drove us within a half hour of CF Bonds. Couldn’t go home. Not yet. Emerson was gone, but JT was still wanted – by the Miami Mob, the cops. The Fed.

  So I pulled into the Home-from-Home, a small motel a little ways outside Williamsburg. Parked up in an unlit spot just past the reception, I decided my next move.

  JT and Dakota had been asleep for the past two hours. Dakota had snuggled up against him, curled into the crook of his arm like a cat. He’d not moved away. Seeing the pair of them so close made me feel less uneasy now. Not happy, exactly, but heading closer to it than not. I figured after the past few days they both needed the comfort. We all did.

  Grabbing my purse, I slipped out of the Mustang, locked the door and pocketed the keys. I didn’t think I’d been tailed. I’d checked the cars around us real regular, and not seen any of them twice. Still, I wasn’t going to take any chances.

  The bottle-blonde on reception listened to my requirements, nodding and smiling in the right places: two rooms with a connecting door, ground floor, opposite side of the motel from the road.

  She took my last sixty bucks, handed me the keys to rooms twelve and eleven and asked if I wanted the key to the mini bar. I said that I did.

  I returned to the car. JT and Dakota were still sleeping. No sign of trouble. I got back into the driver’s seat and pulled round back. As I’d planned, the motel building shielded the Mustang from the view of the highway. I hoped that would be enough for us to stay hidden.

  Putting my hand on Dakota’s leg, I gently nudged her awake. ‘We’re at the motel, honey.’

  She blinked her eyes open, smiled. Almost immediately her eyelids began to droop. ‘Can’t I just stay here, Momma?’

  ‘No, sweetie.’ I reached across between her and JT. Undid her seatbelt. ‘It’s time you slept in a proper bed.’

  I got out of the car and folded the seat forward.

  Detaching herself from JT, Dakota shuffled across to the door and climbed out. She looked real sleepy, swaying as she stood. I lifted her into my arms, balanced her above my hip like I used to when she was a little kid, and grabbed the carryall with my spare hand. Took them both to room twelve.

  Pushing open the door, the smell of max-strength air freshener was the first thing I noticed. The second was the shabbiness of the room and the dated furnishings, like the before picture on some makeover show: pink-and-green-striped wallpaper, overwashed linens, a threadbare pink carpet. Didn’t bother me none. Not even the artificial scent of lilies, not that time. The room was clean, dry and, hopefully, safe. All things we needed right about then.

  I carried Dakota inside. Put the carryall on the bed, opened the connecting door and took my baby through to room eleven. It had the same fake lily scent and washed-out linens, but lavender walls rather than the stripes.

  Setting Dakota down on the bed, I wrapped the duvet around her. Kissed her forehead. ‘Goodnight, sweetie. I’ll be right in the next room if you need me.’

  She turned on to her side, pulling the duvet right up to her chin. ‘But, Momma, I didn’t brush my teeth.’

  ‘Don’t worry, honey. They’ll wait until morning.’ I stroked her hair. Switched on the nightstand lamp, so she’d not be in darkness if she woke in the night. ‘I’m going to be right next door. I’ll leave the door ajar, okay? You need me, you call.’

  She yawned. ‘Yes, Momma.’

  ‘Good girl.’ I kissed her cheek. Smiled. ‘Sleep tight, baby.’

  I walked back to the connecting door. Listened to the soft inhale and exhale of her breath as she fell asleep. Knew another night without brushing her teeth didn’t matter a damn. She was alive. That was all that mattered.

  JT was awake when I got back to the car. He’d folded the passenger seat forward and gotten himself propped on the edge of the back seat, ready to exit. Ready, but not able.

  He didn’t look good – his face was even paler and blood crusted across his jeans. When I touched his arm, his skin felt clammy. Bad signs, all three. Most likely meant the bullet was still inside his leg. Not clean, not a through-and-through. I’d need to do something about that, but first I had to get him to the room.

  I scanned the parking lot. Empty. A few doors down I spotted a chink of light visible through a gap in the drapes. All the other windows were dark. Good. I didn’t want to draw any attention. Needed to get JT out of sight, at least until I’d figured out my next move, maybe longer. ‘You ready?’

  He nodded, gripped the seat and the doorframe, and levered himself out. As the foot of his injured leg hit the ground he cussed, leant against the side of the Mustang, hands on the roof, breathing hard.

  I waited for him to get his shit together.

  He exhaled hard. ‘Well, damn.’

  Following his gaze, I spotted the hand-sized patch on the back seat where the leather had been stained red-brown by his blood.

  He shook his head. ‘Never could keep a car nice, now could you?’

  ‘Never could.’ I smiled. ‘Want some help?’

  Without the adrenaline of earlier, his six foot three of muscle was harder to support. JT tried as best he could, but his leg was a dead weight. With my arm around his waist, and his arm resting over my shoulders, we struggled to the room in a blood-splattered imitation of the three-legged race.

  Inside, I locked the door, put the security chain across and closed the drapes. JT flopped on to the bed.

  ‘I need to get a look at that leg.’

  He nodded.

  Opening the carryall, I pulled out my washbag and found my nail scissors. Reached for the seam of his jeans. ‘Hold still.’

  ‘Don’t. These are the only pants I’ve got. Can’t leave tomorrow with none.’

  True. I looked at the bloodstain. It stretched from mid-thigh to knee, along the outside of his leg. Just above the wound, a thick layer of duct tape, my emergency tourniquet, had begun to peel away from the denim. ‘If I pull them off, it’ll hurt like a bitch.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He unbuckled his belt and leant back on the bed. ‘Do it.’

  I snapped the duct tape, then gripped the waistband of his jeans, and eased them across his hips. Wasn’t the first time, but this sure was different. No pleasure, only pain. I tried to be gentle, but there is no nice way to peel a pair of blood-drenched jeans from a man. Give him his dues, JT clenched his jaw, and for the most part stayed silent. Cussed only once, as the denim pulled away from his wound, yanking off the crusted scab that’d formed between the material and his skin.

  The leg didn’t look good. The bullet had gone in clean enough, but it’d lodged low in his thigh muscle. What with all the hiking and travelling we’d done, it’d gouged out a deep well of pulpy flesh. ‘I should get you to the emergency room.’

  He propped himself up on his elbows. Glanced at his leg. ‘How bad?’

  ‘Bad.’
/>   ‘You’ll have to do it.’

  ‘That right?’ Getting a bullet out of muscle ain’t so easy, especially without proper equipment. If I took him in, the cops would get him a medic. They’d fix him up right; less than an hour from booking and he’d be done.

  But we’d be done too, and I wasn’t real sure that was something I wanted. Didn’t feel ready to hand him over, not after all that had happened, all that I’d learnt these past three days.

  Still, something had to be done. The bullet had stayed bedded in his thigh since Boyd shot him more than eight hours before. JT was lucky it hadn’t already gotten infected. The longer it stayed in his flesh, the higher the risk. So if I wasn’t taking him in right then, and he was refusing a hospital, there was only one thing to be done; I’d have to get the bullet out.

  JT nodded at my carryall. ‘You got your kit?’

  ‘It was in the truck.’

  We both knew what that meant. No proper kit always led to two things: mess and pain. Both were real undesirable. Neither could be avoided.

  ‘What else you got?’

  Not a whole lot was the short and honest answer. But that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He’d trained me to improvise when necessary. Right then, it was our only option. ‘Give me a minute.’

  First step: Assemble your kit.

  I tipped the contents of the carryall on to the bed. Sifted the useless from the possible, looking for anything that might help me dig out the bullet. I had the nail scissors, sure. To them I added a wodge of cotton pads, a single stocking and a travel sewing kit. As far as improv went, all could be put to a purpose. Thing was, we still needed something to extract the bullet.

  ‘Problem?’ JT said.

  ‘Are there any tools in the Mustang?’

  ‘In the trunk there’s a jack, maybe a wrench or something.’

  Stepping across to the window, I lifted a corner of the drapes and peered outside. Clear. The Mustang was the only parked car nearby. I moved to the door, glanced at JT over my shoulder. ‘Don’t move.’

  He shrugged. ‘Wasn’t planning to.’

  I loped to the car, popped the trunk. The carpet covering the spare was stained with JT’s blood. I thought about how Boyd had been planning to hand JT over to the Miami Mob, and how our deal with Ugo Nolfi didn’t seem to have been relayed to Old Man Bonchese. Wondered what he’d do when Boyd didn’t show with JT.