Iron Goddess

by Dharma Kelleher

  “None of your damn business.” Mama picked up the suitcases and strode to the front door, but Ralph caught her. Wendy panicked. She let go of Mama’s legs and ran out the door.

  “It’s that douchebag boss of yours, ain’t it?”

  “Larry’s giving me a ride.”

  “Ha! I’ll bet he is. You been fuckin’ him?”

  Shea backed away into the corner of the cabinets farthest from the door. “Daddy, let her go.”

  Mama escaped his grasp, pulled open the door, and looked at Shea. “Baby, please come with me.”

  Ralph dragged his wife back in and slammed the door shut. “You ain’t going nowhere, cunt, till I get some answers.” He threw her against the stainless steel fridge next to Shea, leaving a dent.

  She looked dazed but managed to stand. “I’ve taken your shit for fifteen years, Ralph Stevens. You don’t frighten me.”

  “No?” He pulled a butcher knife from the knife block and stepped toward her. “Scared now?”

  Mama stood taller, her chin high, and glared at him.

  Shea crouched on the floor beside her, wide-eyed. “Daddy, stop! Please!”

  “I ain’t gonna ask again, woman. You been sleeping with that pencil-pushing dick?”

  “I ain’t telling you shit, you no-good excuse for a man. It make you feel tough, beating up on women?” She looked down at Shea on the floor. “See what you got to look forward to, Shealene? Nothing but—”

  Ralph swung the knife, slicing open Mama’s throat, sending a spray of cranberry blood across Shea’s face. Mama crumpled and fell on top of her. Shea struggled to cover the wounds with her hands, but the cut was too deep and wide. Slick blood flowed through her slender fingers. Mama lay gurgling and gasping, eyes wide with shock until…until there was nothing left of her.

  Shea’s final memory of that day was looking up at Ralph’s blood-spattered grin. She didn’t want to believe he’d done it. He’d been her hero. But there he stood with the knife, gloating over Mama’s lifeless body. It was the last time she’d called him Daddy.

  —

  On the other side of the poppy field, the hillside grew rockier. According to the GPS, they were two miles from the road. Shea plodded in silence, lagging behind Wendy, who groaned and grunted with every other step.

  Shea remembered her fury watching Oscar hurt her sister, and her satisfaction hearing his cries as the knife pierced his neck. The darkness spread deep into her chest, a black hole swallowing up all light. Maybe they were more alike than she wanted to admit.

  After another mile, Wendy stopped on the crest of a hill and stared down at something. The rain had eased to a steady drizzle. The roar of rushing water drowned out the patter of the rain. Shea caught up to Wendy and saw what she was looking at.

  A ten-foot-wide stream raced down the mountainside, cutting across their intended path. During most of the year it would’ve been a dry wash. But now it churned with muddy water and debris. Even if it was only a foot deep, the current could knock them off their feet, carrying them downstream.

  “What now?” Wendy asked.

  Chapter 30

  Shea’s lingering anger at her sister left her reluctant to answer. She stared at the seething flash flood blocking their way. It was too wide to jump and too treacherous to wade.

  “Look for something we can use for a bridge,” Shea said.

  Paloverdes, covered in a nest of spiny green branches, hung over the gravy-colored water. Higher up on the bank, mesquites with twisted, gnarled trunks competed with columnlike sycamores for space among muddy chunks of granite the size of a motorcycle engine. A sycamore would’ve worked great if they had a way to cut it down—which they didn’t. None of the other trees were suitable for a bridge.

  Shea used a stick to loosen the dirt around a rock the size of a tire. Her fingers slipped under the edge, lifted up one end, then dropped it with a whomp. It must have weighed a couple of hundred pounds. “Gimme a hand with this.”

  Wendy had wandered downstream and was inspecting a pile of debris. “Just a minute.”

  Shea sighed. “Fine, I’ll do it my damn self.” Gripping the side of the rock, she dragged it to the flooded stream. With a deep breath, she heaved it into the water, three feet from the water’s edge. After a cannonball splash, it vanished beneath the murky water.

  “Fuck.”

  “How about this?” Wendy was dragging the trunk of a young sycamore, six inches in diameter at its widest end. The bark had been worn off, leaving the bare ash-gray wood cracked and hollow in places.

  “Will it hold our weight?” Shea asked.

  Wendy put a hand on her hip. “You got any better suggestions?”

  The water was getting deeper the longer they scratched their heads.

  Shea shrugged. “Let’s try it.”

  They pivoted the sycamore trunk, extending the narrow end across to the opposite bank, and planted it in the mud.

  Wendy looked at Shea with a nervous gaze. “Who goes first?”

  “You’re the lightest by a good measure. I nominate you.”

  “Fine.”

  With knees bent, Wendy straddled the tree trunk and shuffled across. When she got to the middle, the log sagged and creaked. Water rushed over her shoes.

  “Damn, that’s cold.” Wendy continued on and reached the other side unscathed. “Your turn.”

  Shea tossed her the cellphone and put a tentative foot on the trunk. It drooped. She looked around again for anything else that might make crossing a little less risky, but there was nothing. As she straddled the trunk, it creaked and sagged under her weight. Chilly water soaked her boots, then crested her jeans, leaving her gasping. “Fuck, it’s like ice water.”

  “Quit staring at the water and c’mon!”

  “I’m coming.” Shea inched toward the middle. The tree sagged so much the water came up to her waist, numbing the muscles in her legs and bringing temporary relief to her road rash.

  Wendy reached out to her but Shea shooed away her hand. When she did, the log gave way with a loud crack. Her body plunged into the freezing water. The current pulled her under, tumbling and smashing her against rocks and other debris. Her arms flailed, struggling toward the surface. She pulled her head up for a second to gasp for air before the water dragged her down once again.

  Her shin smashed into something solid. A submerged tree trunk. She grabbed at it, but the wood was slippery. Before she could get a firm grasp, the current pulled her on, spinning her like a boat without a keel. Her hip slammed into a large rock. She cried out and got a lungful of water.

  Blindly, she reached for anything to grab on to and found a paloverde branch. She clung to it, even as spines dug into her hand.

  She planted her feet in a hole, pushing against the flow. Using the paloverde for balance, she pulled herself out of the river and collapsed on the stony bank. She lay shivering and coughing up water. Hypothermia threatened to pull her into unconsciousness.

  “You okay?” Wendy stood over her.

  “Am I?” Her mind numbed.

  “Anything broken?” Wendy’s eyes were red, like she’d been crying, but it was hard to tell with the rain trickling down her face.

  “Don’t think so.” Everything hurt. Shea’s hands were bloody from the paloverde branch. A scrape ran down the side of one of her arms.

  Wendy helped her sit down on a rock. “I’s afraid I’d lost you.”

  “Me, too.” Shea’s body quaked, teeth chattering like a Teletype machine.

  Wendy brushed something from Shea’s face and looked at her the way their mother used to. “We need to get this off you.” She grabbed the bottom of Shea’s shirt and pulled.

  Shea resisted. “What’re you doing?”

  “Your lips are turning blue. We gotta warm you up.”

  “By taking off my clothes?”

  “Trust me for once, will ya?”

  Shea gasped while Wendy pulled her shirt off. “Doesn’t feel warmer.”

  Wendy slipped ou
t of the windbreaker, draped it over Shea, and helped fish her arms through the sleeves. After a few moments, the worst of the shivering passed, though Shea’s teeth still chattered in spurts.

  “Better?”

  Shea nodded and looked at her shirt lying in the mud, stained with Oscar’s blood. After what he’d done to Wendy, why couldn’t she shake this brooding emptiness? She threw the shirt into the rushing water and watched it drift away in the current.

  “Can you walk?” Wendy’s words startled her.

  “I think so.”

  Wendy helped her up from the rock. Gravity slid sideways for a moment and Shea took a step to steady herself. When the vertigo passed, she said, “Let’s go.”

  They climbed the rocky bank up the next hillside. The physical activity helped warm her and clear the cobwebs from her head.

  At the top of the hill, Wendy stopped and pointed. “There it is.”

  A hundred feet down a steep incline, a ribbon of pavement snaked through the forest. The rain had dissolved into a swirling mist.

  As they descended the hill, Shea’s knees wobbled like jelly. At the road’s edge, Wendy led them under a rocky overhang and pulled out Oscar’s phone. “Looks like we’re on White Juniper Road, about ten miles east of Ironwood.”

  “Don’t suppose you remember Hunter’s number at this point?”

  Wendy gave her a sly smile. “Never forgot it.”

  “You what? Why’d you let Oscar torture you if you knew the number?”

  “Because fuck Oscar, that’s why. He was gonna kill us anyway.”

  Shea shook her head in amazement. “Damn, the balls on you.”

  “A little something I learned from my big sister.”

  Wendy called Hunter. “Hey, it’s me. I need you to come pick us up. We’re sitting on the side of the road on White Juniper, ten miles east of Ironwood.” She paused for a moment. Shea caught distorted bits of Hunter’s response. “The Jaguars ran us off the road and took us hostage, but we got away. How long before you can be here? Okay, see ya then.”

  Wendy hung up. “He’ll be here in half an hour.”

  After their adventure with Victor and Oscar, Hunter was the last person Shea wanted to see. This was all his fault. But he was their only hope for the ransom money. “How’s your chest?” Shea asked.

  “Hurts, but I’ve survived worse.”

  “Worse? From who?”

  She stared at the pavement. “Guess.”

  “Hunter?”

  Wendy nodded without looking up.

  “Hand me the phone, I need to make some calls while we’re waiting.”

  Shea first called Jessica.

  “Shea? I’ve been worried about you. You weren’t answering your phone.” Her voice made Shea feel warmer.

  “Sorry, we had an accident. My phone got smashed.”

  “You okay? Sounds like your teeth are chattering.”

  “Fell in a river, but I’m all right.”

  “Shea, I have to tell you something. I called the cops. Told them you’d heard from the kidnappers.”

  “Dammit, Jess. Why?”

  “This whole situation has gotten way too violent. I’m worried about you.”

  Shea shook her head, not sure if she should be angry or relieved. “Well, what’s done is done. Did they come by and ask you questions?”

  “Worse. A couple of detectives from the Sheriff’s Office were here looking for you. They had an arrest warrant. What did you do?”

  “Arrest warrant? I didn’t do nothing. What are they trying to arrest me for?” Shea sighed. Was this about Oscar? Would Victor have dumped his body somewhere for the cops to find?

  “They wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Gotta be a mix-up.” Maybe Aguilar was trying to frame her. “Jess, is there someone you can stay with temporarily? A coworker maybe? Just until we get this all cleared up.”

  “Not really. I have a few friends at work, but I don’t have their numbers. Am I in danger?”

  “Probably not, but I don’t want to take any chances. I’ll call Terrance and see if he can put you up until this gets resolved.”

  “When will I see you?”

  “I don’t know. We’re making the ransom drop tonight. If all goes well, we’ll have Annie back, and I can clear my name with Buzzkill and his goons.”

  “Please be careful, sweetie. I miss you.”

  “Miss you, too.”

  Shea punched in Terrance’s number.

  “T? It’s Shea.”

  “Where are you? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”

  “Long story. Listen, I talked to Jess. The cops dropped by my house with a warrant for my arrest.”

  “Why would they want to arrest you?”

  “No idea.” Shea cupped her hand over the phone so Wendy couldn’t hear. “What happened with the ear?”

  “I have it. Not sure how long it’ll stay viable.”

  “Fuck,” Shea said. Annie’s scream rang in her ears.

  “What about you? Where are you?”

  “Middle of nowhere at the moment.”

  “You need me to pick you up?”

  “No. Hunter’s on his way. But there is something you can do for me.”

  “Name it.”

  “I’m worried about Jessica. I’m not sure it’s safe at my place. I told her she could crash at your place until we get all this business straightened out with the cops.”

  “No problem. Stay safe, Shea.”

  “Thanks, T.” She hung up and pulled out a damp business card from her wallet and dialed the number, hoping to get ahead of this nonsense with the Sheriff’s Office.

  A familiar voice answered. “Homicide and Missing Persons, Detective Toni Rios speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Detective, it’s Shea Stevens. Why’s there a warrant out for my arrest?”

  “Shea, where are you?”

  “Never mind where I am. What’s with the arrest warrant?”

  “The Beretta you were carrying when we picked you up matched several unsolved homicides. Where’d you get that gun?”

  Shea facepalmed. She’d forgotten about that. “Borrowed it from a friend.”

  “Well, if you want to clear your name, you’ll need to come down to the station and answer some questions.”

  “Fine. I’ll do that. Just can’t right at the moment.”

  “Shea, we’re trying to help your sister get her daughter back. I can’t help you get Annie back safely if you don’t provide me with the information I need.”

  “The kidnapper threatened to kill Annie if we got you involved.”

  “Annie has a much better chance of getting out of this alive if we’re working together.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t believe you.” Shea hung up.

  “You talking to the cops?” asked Wendy.

  “Just that female detective. Buzzkill’s got a warrant out for my arrest. Just trying to find out why.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “That gun I got off Hunter was apparently used to kill some folks.”

  “This surprises you?”

  “No, what surprises me is you married him.”

  “And I tried to leave him.”

  Shea scoffed. “And yet here we are waiting for him to pick us up.”

  “You got any better ideas?”

  “Nope.”

  “Hey, the other day you said I lied about something, that it was the reason you quit talking to me. What were you talking about?”

  “Ralph.”

  “Daddy? What about him?”

  “You testified at the trial he killed Mama in self-defense. You lied to protect that murderous son of a bitch!” Shea’s voice came out as a growl.

  “Are you nuts? I never testified.”

  “Like hell you didn’t. I remember all too well.”

  “You’re delusional. Why would I defend him? I loved Mama.” Wendy got misty-eyed.

  Was Wendy lying or choosing not to remember? Shea herself had bloc
ked out a lot about that time, but Wendy’s testifying to protect Ralph had burned itself into Shea’s memory. “Yeah, you loved Mama so much you went and lived with her murderer’s best friend.”

  “Monster and Julia were our godparents. They took me in and treated me like family. Woulda taken you in, too. But, no, you had to run away and steal cars for a living. Some upright citizen you turned out to be.”

  “Whatever.” Shea pulled the windbreaker tighter. “Keep protecting the club. That’s what you do.”

  “I’m telling you, I didn’t testify. Besides, even if I had, he still woulda gone to prison. End of story.”

  “Yes, he did, no thanks to you.”

  “You know, Shea, you think you got it all figured out. But you don’t. And it hurts me you think that I would have betrayed Mama like that.”

  “Never mind. Just drop it.” Shea closed her eyes and tried to think warm thoughts.

  Chapter 31

  Forty minutes later, Hunter arrived in his Bronco. Behind him rode One-Shot and Mackey on their Harleys, their hair soaked from the rain. Wendy handed Shea the rifle and climbed into the Bronco next to Hunter. Shea slipped into the back, holding the AK-47 next to her.

  Hunter turned toward Shea, eyeing the rifle. “Where’d ya get the hardware?”

  “From someone who don’t need it no more.” Shea glanced at Wendy.

  Hunter looked at her as well. “What the hell’s going on with your shirt? You look like a goddamn hooker.”

  Wendy shrank away from him, staring out at the rain, shoulders slumped. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

  “Hey, I asked you a question.” He grabbed her arm.

  Shea knocked his hand away. “Leave her alone.”

  He turned and threatened Shea with a fist. “You want some of this?”

  “Cut the shit, asshole. Wendy’s hurt ’cause of you,” said Shea.

  “What’re you talking about, hurt?” He turned to Wendy. “What’s she talking about?”

  Wendy rubbed the ruddy mark his grip had left, but wouldn’t look at him.

  “The Jags tortured her to get back the hex you stole.”

  “What’d you tell ’em?”

  “Nothing, I swear.” Wendy’s voice was almost a whisper.