Iron Goddess

by Dharma Kelleher

  “Just Willie and another deputy, far as I know. Never got the other guy’s name, but he was with Foster when they came in my room.”

  “What’d he look like?” Shea asked.

  “White, I think. Maybe Mexican. And bald. It’s all kinda fuzzy.”

  Mexican and bald? Must be Aguilar—good ol’ Deputy Commando. “What’d they say?”

  “Willie asked if I’d told anyone about what happened. Don’t remember much after that. Doc says I went into a coma.”

  “Sounds like they tried to finish you off.” Shea stared out the window at the nurses’ station. Dr. Patel was talking to someone just out of view. “And now Annie’s downstairs fighting for her life with a couple of Buzzkill’s detectives running around looking for me.”

  “Who’s Annie?”

  “My niece. Your buddies kidnapped her and cut her damn ear off.” Her chest tightened. “Oh shit.”

  At the nurses’ station, Dr. Patel took a few steps back and Detective Rios came into view.

  “Fuck! It’s that female detective.” Shea glanced around the room looking for a place to hide. In the bathroom? No, too obvious. Under the bed? No room. Cabinets? Again, too obvious. She would have to make a run for it.

  “Hold this for me.” Shea handed her Glock to Terrance, not wanting the weight and bulk of it to slow her down, much less get her in further trouble should they catch her.

  Shea slipped open the door and duck-walked around the other side of the nurses’ station. Her knees tightened with each step.

  “Ms. Stevens, stop!” Rios doubled back to intercept her. Shea charged full-out down the corridor, knocking over wheelchairs, carts, and other equipment in her wake, anything to put more distance between her and the detective.

  Shea made for the stairwell just past the elevator bay about fifty feet away. She pushed her battered body to its breaking point as she closed the distance. A tech rolled a patient on a bed out of an elevator in front of her. She veered left to avoid them, lost her footing, and slammed into the opposite wall, tumbling into a heap on the floor. Rios was on her instantly, cinching handcuffs around her wrists. Shea struggled to regain her footing, but Rios put a knee in her back, driving Shea’s face down on the disinfectant-scented linoleum.

  “Shea Stevens, you’re under arrest for the kidnapping of Annie Wittmann.”

  “Fuck you! I’m the one who rescued her.”

  “You have the right to remain silent—”

  Shea threw her weight to the side, rolling out from under Rios, then kicked the detective against the wall. Shea scrambled to her feet, but not before Rios drew her weapon. “Don’t move!”

  Chapter 38

  Shea narrowed her gaze at Rios a few feet away. “You fucking cops are all alike! You ask us to trust you. But y’all ain’t nothing but thugs with badges.” She took a step toward the detective.

  “Shea, don’t make me shoot you.”

  “You robbed my shop. You shot my employee.” Rage consumed her as she advanced. “You kidnapped my niece! You cut off her ear! You goddamn people are fucking sick!”

  Rios backed up until she reached the wall. “Shea, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you need to stop where you are.”

  “You gonna kill me anyway. Can’t leave any witnesses, right?” Shea pressed her chest against the gun barrel. “So fucking do it already. Pull the goddamned trigger.”

  Rios locked eyes with Shea. “Why would we kill you? What did you witness?”

  Shea trembled with fury, her voice little more than a growl. “Willie showed up at the ransom drop with Annie in his goddamn trunk.”

  “Willie? You mean Sergeant Foster?”

  “He’s the one who kidnapped her. Now you’re pinning it on me. Well, fuck you!”

  “That’s ridiculous. Why would Sergeant Foster kidnap a child?” There was a sincerity in Rios’ eyes that broke through Shea’s rage.

  “He’s making smack with help from a few Jaguars.” Shea’s head ached.

  “Foster’s working for the Jaguars?”

  “He ain’t working for them. This is a new scheme. They’re growing poppies in the forest, two miles east of White Juniper Road.”

  “That’s absurd. Foster’s a highly decorated officer with nearly ten years on the force.”

  “I saw Willie at the ransom drop. So did most of the Confederate Thunder. I’m the one who got Annie out of his trunk. I’m the one who brought her here.”

  Rios lowered her weapon. “Where’s the girl’s mother?”

  Shea shook with anger, fighting back the tears, and glared at the detective. “Dead. Foster shot her.”

  Rios stood there, her gaze drifting, not saying a word.

  Would Rios believe her, or would she toe the blue line?

  “Let’s assume for a moment you’re telling the truth.”

  “I am.”

  “Fine. You’re telling the truth. You got any proof?”

  “Assuming Annie lives, yeah.” Shea thought about it. “Who filed the arrest warrant?”

  “Sergeant Foster.” Rios frowned.

  “Based on what evidence?” When Rios didn’t respond, Shea smirked. “Who was first on the scene at the shootout in Ironwood earlier?”

  “Foster called it in.” Rios took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But this is all circumstantial. Doesn’t prove anything.”

  Shea thought about mentioning Oscar’s phone showing calls to Foster, but she had other plans for it and couldn’t afford to lose it. “How much of your job I gotta do for you? Or maybe you’re working with him?”

  “You think I’m dirty?”

  “Foster’s working with Aguilar on this scheme. For all I know, you’re involved, too. Why else would you be so determined to protect him?”

  “I’m not protecting him. But if you want me to go to Internal Affairs, I need more than a wild accusation from an ex-con with a warrant out for her arrest.”

  “How about the fact that he’s the one who broke into my motorcycle shop? Or that he tried to kill my employee Derek Williams—twice. But don’t take my word for it. Go ask Derek. He’s recovering down the hall in ICU.”

  “All right, let’s talk to Mr. Williams.” Rios grabbed Shea’s arm and led her down the hall.

  “Can you take these damn cuffs off? They fucking hurt.”

  “I want to hear what your friend has to say first.”

  A couple of men in blue scrubs came down the hallway, pushing a bed. Several IV bags hung from a hook like a cluster of red and white jellyfish. A child’s choking cry drew her attention.

  “Annie!” Shea pulled away from Rios and caught up with the bed.

  Annie lay there, her face glowing with fever and streaked with tears. “Aunt Shea.” Her pitiful cry ripped at Shea’s heart.

  “What’s happening? Where are you taking her?” Shea asked.

  “To the OR,” replied one of the men pushing the bed, a startled expression on his face as he looked down at Shea’s cuffed hands.

  Rios pulled Shea backward, while the medical team continued with Annie toward the operating room. “Let them do their thing.”

  Shea wanted to run after them, to hold Annie’s hand and let her know everything would be okay. But nothing was okay. Wendy was dead. There was nothing Shea could do to help.

  When they entered the ICU, all eyes were on Shea as Rios perp-walked her past the nurses’ station. Shea stared at the floor, avoiding their gaze, until they came to Derek’s room. Rios slid open the door.

  Terrance stood up and stepped back when they entered. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s all right, T. I told her about Willie’s involvement in all this. She wants to confirm my story with Derek.”

  “Derek Williams?” Rios asked.

  “Yes.” Derek’s voice wavered.

  “Is Shea Stevens your employer?”

  Derek looked at Terrance, then Shea, and back at Rios. “They both are. They own Iron Goddess.”

  “Who shot you?”<
br />
  Derek glanced at Shea with a worried look. Shea nodded. “Tell her what happened.”

  “Sergeant Foster forced me to open up the shop, so he and some other guys could steal a bunch of bikes and stuff. I felt bad about betraying Shea and Terrance, so I smashed the front door to set off the alarm. That’s when Oscar Reyes, one of Foster’s guys, shot me.” He winced as he adjusted his position in the bed. “The next day, Foster and some other deputy visited me here. I told ’em I’d keep my mouth shut. They tried to kill me anyway.”

  “Why would Sergeant Foster do this?”

  “Got a heroin operation. Growing poppies. Needed money for equipment.”

  “Who else is working with him?”

  “A few of the Jaguars—Reyes, the guy who shot me, and another guy they call Tiburón. I don’t know any other names. He didn’t want people to know too much about each other in case one of us got caught.”

  “What do you know about the kidnapping of Ms. Stevens’ niece?”

  Derek shrugged. “Nothing. Before the break-in, he talked about getting some of the money the Confederate Thunder was earning selling crystal. Didn’t say how.”

  “Convinced?” asked Shea.

  “I’ll put in a call to Internal Affairs.”

  “What about me?” Shea raised her cuffed hands. “You letting me go or what?”

  “I got a warrant for your arrest.”

  “It’s bogus and you know it. Once you take me in, there’s nothing to stop Willie from killing me. Not to mention Annie and Derek.”

  Rios’ face twisted in frustration. “I can’t pick and choose which arrest warrants I execute.”

  “Even if all the evidence points to the guy who issued the warrant in the first place? Just doing your job, right? Like all them Nazis.” Shea stared at Rios, who wouldn’t meet her gaze.

  “Dammit.” Rios pulled out her keys and released the cuffs.

  Shea let out a sigh of relief, rubbing her wrists. “Thank you.”

  “Understand, I can’t do anything about the warrant. Foster outranks me. So keep a low profile. But in the meantime, I will have IA look into these accusations. You got a number where I can reach you?”

  “My cellphone got busted, but you can leave a message with Terrance if you need to reach me.”

  Terrance gave Rios the number, which she wrote down in a notepad. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter 39

  With Rios gone, decades of repressed hurt and anger tore at Shea’s mind. The loss of her mother. Confused memories of Ralph’s trial. The violation of the break-in. The betrayal by Derek and Willie. And now the loss of her sister, after seventeen years of blaming her for something she didn’t do. Oscar’s blood on her hands. Shea couldn’t imagine ever being happy again. She didn’t deserve to be happy. In so many ways, she had become what she despised in her father: a violent thug hungry for revenge. And it had cost her. The one glimmer of light in the ever-increasing darkness was Annie. She alone was innocent.

  “I want to check on how Annie’s doing.”

  “She’s probably still in surgery,” said Terrance.

  Ignoring him, Shea walked back down the corridor to a nurses’ station near the double-door entrance to the OR. A young blond nurse sat at a laptop, looking up as Shea approached.

  “Uh…can I help you?” A cloud of concern crossed the nurse’s face.

  For the first time since she’d arrived at the hospital, Shea noticed her borrowed shirt was covered with blood. Its metallic smell blended with the scents of floral laundry detergent, body odor, and dirty water. “I brought my niece, Annie Wittmann, into the ER a little bit ago. They took her into the OR. I was wondering how long she’ll be in surgery.”

  “Let me see what I can find out.” The nurse picked up the phone and punched in an extension. “Hey, it’s Lucy. Can I get a status update on Annie Wittmann?” She nodded, thanked the person on the other end, and hung up. “They’re reattaching her ear. Dr. Sossaman says another four hours at least. They’ll be taking her to room 321 in the ICU after releasing her from recovery. You can wait for her there.”

  “Thanks.”

  Overwhelmed with grief and fatigue, Shea zombie-shuffled along the floor. Her boots dragged as if filled with concrete. The previous day’s events played through her mind like a TV rerun she half paid attention to. She was beyond crying. Beyond anger. Beyond pain. The darkness had enveloped her, leaving her an empty shell.

  “Shea?”

  Someone was talking to her. Or was it a memory? Wendy cowering from the baseball bat. The SUV closing in on the Mustang. Flipping. Spinning. The biting cold of the river. Numbing her, pulling her down, beating her into submission with rocks and debris and forgotten memories.

  —

  “Shea, you with us?”

  She looked out on a sea of faces, strangers sitting on wooden benches, hungry for salacious bits of drama. In front, Ralph sat at a table. The man in the expensive suit stood nearby with a smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Mama picked up the frying pan,” Shea said, trembling and trying not to remember Mama’s blood-smeared face and the blood streaming between her fingers.

  “The cast-iron pan?” asked the man in the suit.

  “Yes, sir. The real heavy one.” She glanced up at the judge wearing a robe the color of death. Would he figure it out?

  “And what’d she do with the heavy pan?”

  Shea looked at Ralph, then at the man in the suit. “Um…” Her chest tightened. The air felt thin. She gulped for a breath and held it as if she’d never get another one. She was gonna get busted, she just knew it.

  “Shealene, what did your mama do with the heavy pan?”

  She closed her eyes. Mama gasped, blood-filled mouth moving like a fish out of water. Forgive me, Mama. Shea clenched her jaw and opened her eyes. “She hit him with the pan. Hard. Several times.”

  Ralph grinned at her from the table. It was the grin that always meant trouble.

  “You think she coulda killed him with that pan?”

  “Objection, calls for speculation,” said another man in a suit, sitting on the other side of the courtroom.

  “Sustained.”

  “Shealene, what’d your daddy say when your mama hit him over and over with the pan?”

  “He said, ‘Don’t hit me with that pan. You’re going to kill me.’ ” Ralph would never talk that way, but the judge wouldn’t know, would he?

  “Shealene, help me.” Mama’s eyes pleaded with her. Blood everywhere. Half her head was missing. Because it was Wendy’s head, not Mama’s. Because Wendy stayed with the club. And married Hunter. And had a little girl. Annie. The girl without an ear. The bloody ear in the box. And it was all Shea’s fault because she had believed the threats from the man in the expensive suit. She had lied. And then twisted it all up and blamed Wendy.

  Shea lay down on the ground waiting for the people to shovel dirt on top of her. The way they did to Mama.

  —

  “Shea, you all right?” Terrance’s skin glistened like liquid chocolate as he loomed over her.

  She looked around. She was sitting in a chair in the intensive care unit. Vitals monitors in the ICU rooms played a disjointed melody of beeps and alarms. “What happened?”

  “You wandered into the unit looking like something from The Walking Dead. Did something happen?”

  “I’m just tired. And hungry.”

  Terrance held up a Snickers and a bag of beef jerky. “Got these from the vending machine down the hall. Take your pick.”

  Shea grabbed the candy bar. “Chocolate.” She tore off the wrapper and bit into it. Her appetite woke like a wolf as she inhaled the candy.

  “Any word on Annie?” he asked.

  “Gonna be a few hours. They’re supposed to bring her down here.” She pulled her cracked phone from her pocket. “Wish I could check my voicemail. I’m expecting a call from Goblin.”

  Terrance took it from her hand. “You could alway
s call your number from another phone and check it that way.”

  “Yeah, didn’t think of that.”

  “Also, we could switch out the SIM card with a used phone I got at home. Should work.”

  “I don’t want to leave Annie here alone.”

  “Or Derek.”

  “Fuck Derek. I saved his life and it turns out he helped them rob us. Willie can have him. All I care about now is getting the bikes back.”

  “Can’t say as I blame you. You said Annie won’t be out of surgery for a few hours?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you say we go back to my place, get you cleaned up. You’re covered in blood and you smell like ass.”

  Something about his words struck her funny. Shea laughed in spite of herself. Not a chuckle, but a full-on belly laugh that wouldn’t stop, as if she were possessed. She gasped for breath between guffaws. Tears streamed down her face. “Smell like ass,” she said between howls.

  “Damn, I think that Snickers went straight to your head, girl.” Terrance crossed his arms and shook his head, managing a smile himself.

  “It’s ’cause I smell like ass.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Shit, I’m punch drunk.”

  Terrance lifted her up from the chair. “Yeah, and you smell like ass.”

  Shea convulsed into another laughing fit.

  “She all right?” asked a nurse.

  “I’m all right.” Shea walked toward the corridor getting control of her body. “I just smell like ass.”

  The amber glow of streetlights cut through the deep dark of the parking lot. No hint of morning yet on the horizon.

  By the time they reached Terrance’s truck, Shea had laughed herself out. She was exhausted, but the unexpected hysterics left her feeling better. She still felt sad about losing Wendy and worried about Annie, but the darkness had retreated for the moment.

  Inside the cab of the truck, Terrance pulled her Glock out of his waistband. “Next time use somebody else for a gun locker. They catch me with it, they’ll shoot first and come up with excuses later.”