Stella, Get Your Gun

by Nancy Bartholomew

  “Jesus!” I said, looking in the rearview mirror. “She’s actually standing in the middle of the street shaking her fists! She’s completely lost it!”

  Nina nodded. “Mrs. Cozzone has always been nuts. Didn’t you have her for catechism class?” she asked. “We were all going to hell if you asked her.” Nina peered into the side mirror and watched the spectacle. “I don’t think they should let lay people teach catechism,” she said. “It was worse than the nuns! Mrs. C was in and out of the psycho hospital the whole time we were growing up. And Father picks her to teach us catechism? I’m surprised there’s any Catholics left. You couldn’t pay me to go through all that again! No way. Not me. I’m a card-carrying agnostic now.”

  I shot a glance in her direction. “You saying you’re not Catholic anymore?”

  Nina rolled her eyes. “You saying you still believe in Santa Claus?” she answered, perfectly mimicking my tone.

  I was speechless. It was one thing to stop going to church, but to actually quit being Catholic? I didn’t know you could resign the Catholic Church. It was like joining the Mafia. You didn’t quit something like that; it was a lifetime commitment. The only way to leave those two organizations was feet first out the front door with six guys carrying you.

  “You know what your problem is, Stella?” Nina said, interrupting my thoughts.

  We were pulling into the driveway of Aunt Lucy’s house. Her ancient Buick sat smugly in front of the open garage doors.

  “Look,” I said, ignoring Nina. “Aunt Lucy’s home. Who’d have thought to look here for her?”

  “Like I was saying,” Nina continued. “You take every little thing so seriously! See, Aunt Lucy’s fine! No bogeymen are after her!” Nina turned in her seat and frowned at me. “Stella, you are so damn paranoid!”

  I walked away from her so I could lay my hand on the hood of Uncle Benny’s car. It was cool to the touch. Aunt Lucy had been home for hours probably. Of course it was the very place I should’ve checked first, but I thought Nina had covered that angle. You know what happens when you assume, I reminded myself.

  Lloyd hopped out of the car, planted his feet in the center of the driveway and started growling. A white panel van had pulled up to the curb, and the driver discharged two men in white jumpsuits. As we watched, they opened the back doors, pulled pump cans and various other pieces of equipment from the truck and started up the sidewalk to Aunt Lucy’s front door.

  “Who’s that?” I asked Nina.

  She shrugged. “God?”

  She could be so sarcastic. That was the difference between the two of us. For me, the glass was half full, even if I was a cop.

  “Funny,” I answered.

  I crossed the tiny lawn, cutting them off as they reached the bottom of Aunt Lucy’s stoop.

  “Gentlemen?”

  The lead dog was the shorter of the two, carrying a clipboard, which I supposed made it official. He looked down at the papers attached to it, then back up at me, a toothy smile plastered across his clean-shaved face. He reminded me of the Pillsbury Dough Boy only with muscles. His companion looked like Mr. Clean on steroids, huge, rock solid and devoid of any emotion.

  “Spaznatz Pest Control,” Top Dog said. “Here to do the monthly service. Mrs. Valocchi, I suppose?”

  “You don’t know?” I answered.

  This didn’t rattle the big dog. His smile stayed stuck in place. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m new.” He looked up at the front door, then back down at the papers on his clipboard. “Any trouble with those roaches this month?”

  “Roaches?” Nina shrieked. “I hate roaches!”

  I gave her a little smile. “Ah, but they’re all God’s creatures, Nina!”

  She gave me a fuck-you smile, which I returned in full before looking back at the pest-control guys.

  “Can I see some ID?” I asked.

  “Certainly.”

  Smooth. This guy was way too smooth. My guard was up, or maybe it was just well-deserved paranoia setting in. I waited for the men to produce plastic-coated badges, studied them, matched up the faces with the credentials and nodded.

  “Okay,” I said. “Just let me tell my aunt you’re here and you can get right to it.”

  I brushed by them, unlocked the door and stepped inside the darkened foyer. Lloyd continued to growl and when Nina dragged him past the two workers, he broke into a furious hail of barking and actually lunged at the guys with what seemed like intent to do grievous bodily harm.

  “Lloyd, will you cool it!” I yelled.

  Nina smiled at the two guys. “Sorry. He’s been through a lot lately,” she murmured. “Let me go put him up. Wait here.”

  We closed the door behind the two exterminators and began our search in earnest. I walked through the downstairs calling my aunt’s name. The house was still. No lights were on and no one answered me. If she’d been home, there would’ve been the smells of dinner beginning to simmer on the stove. Aunt Lucy had her schedule and she always stuck to it. Dinner was served at five-thirty without fail.

  I looked at the clock on the living-room mantel. Four forty-five. Where was she?

  Nina and I exchanged glances. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

  I lifted my shoulders. “I don’t know. Let them in, I guess. And Nina, I may be paranoid, but just to be on the safe side, call the company and make sure this is regularly scheduled maintenance.”

  Nina nodded, shuddering. “Roaches! I can’t believe they had roaches! I’ve never seen a bug in here. Aunt Lucy keeps such a clean house!” She opened the front door and went to give the bug men the okay. As I searched the rest of the first floor, I heard the two exterminators enter the hallway and begin spraying.

  I was just finishing my search of the upstairs when Nina called. “Stella, could you come here for a second?”

  What now? I wondered. I dragged myself down the steps, wishing like hell for a clone of Super Woman, or a shot of caffeine.

  I found Nina sitting at the kitchen table, a huge pair of tortoiseshell reading glasses perched on the tip of her perky, upturned nose. She was studying the phone book and frowning.

  “What?” I asked.

  She looked up at me, held her index finger to her lips and motioned me over to the table.

  “I think you were right,” she whispered. “I don’t think they’re who they say they are.”

  “Okay. What’ve you got?”

  I stepped closer to the table and looked over her shoulder. Nina pointed to the phone book. It was opened to the page listing pest-control services.

  “There is no Spaznatz Pest Control company listed here, and this is the new book, too. Furthermore,” she said, raising her head to meet my gaze, “did you notice there’s no sign on the van? They don’t even have their names embroidered on their uniforms!”

  I felt a current of alarm run through my body. My throat tightened and my heart began trying to pound its way out of my rib cage.

  “Where are they?” I whispered.

  Nina pointed to the basement. “Down there.”

  I could hear them moving, tapping the walls and shifting furniture. As I listened, I heard the sound of wood splintering and knew without hesitation that I’d have to investigate. No one disturbed my uncle’s workshop; it was all we had left of him. I couldn’t wait for help or wonder what they were looking for; it was time to do something.

  “Here,” I said, reaching into my pocket and handing her my cell phone. “Go outside where they can’t hear you and call 911.”

  I reached into my waistband and pulled out the Glock. Nina’s eyes widened and every bit of color drained from her face.

  “Stay outside and wait for the cops,” I instructed. “I’ll keep them busy.”

  “But there’s two of them…” she began.

  I smiled and caressed the barrel of my gun. “Yeah, but I’ve got my little friend here, so that makes us even.”

  I didn’t believe they were unarmed for one second, but Nina didn’t need to
know that. All that mattered was her safety. I wanted her out of danger and out of my way.

  I stepped silently to the top of the basement steps, wrapped my fingers around the old milk glass knob, turned it and motioned for Nina to get moving.

  “Go! Now!” I mouthed silently.

  She stood up and moved to the back door as I turned toward the basement.

  “Hey, guys?” I called down into the dimly lit room. “I think I found a bug!”

  I began walking down the steps, my gun held out of sight and snug against my waist. I was aware that the sides of the staircase were open and there would be no way to take them by surprise. I could only hope they weren’t expecting trouble from me. Somehow that didn’t seem at all likely. As much as I hated to admit it, my best shot was to stall the intruders until the police could arrive and take over.

  As I continued down the stairs, I leaned forward, peering out in front of me. I could see a set of legs in white coveralls. Worse, I could see boots, dusty, black, alligator-skin boots, definitely not at all part of the standard-issue exterminator’s uniform, but very much like the boots I’d seen jumping out Uncle Benny’s office window. So Jake hadn’t broken in to my uncle’s study after all!

  I turned my attention back to the danger at hand and looked for the other man, Mr. Clean. I couldn’t see him, which meant he was probably behind me, nosing around Aunt Lucy’s laundry nook. I was caught between the two men, leaving me no way to corral them into one manageable position without drawing my weapon and being obvious.

  “A bug?” the phony supervisor repeated. “Where, ma’am?”

  His voice was politely cool and impersonal. Who were these guys and why were they here? What was everybody looking for in Uncle Benny’s house?

  I heard furniture move behind me and the quiet sound of a spray pump. Mr. Clean was continuing to play out the part of bug man somewhere in the back corner of the basement.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It looked like a large triangle with six feely things poking out the top of its head.” I looked at the man’s feet. “Nice boots. Buy ’em around here?”

  He smiled, but it was a quick smile that disappeared almost before I caught it.

  “Won them in a card game,” he said evenly. “Now, where’d you say you found that bug?”

  I turned, checking out Mr. Clean’s whereabouts, and found him standing in front of the paneled wall. Behind him I could see splintered paneling, pried off the wall with a screwdriver.

  I reached behind my back and brought out the gun without being conscious of anything other than the slight movement of the man in front of me. The feel of danger raised the hairs on the nape of my neck.

  I swung the gun back and forth between the two, as I stood on the bottom basement step.

  “All right,” I said, motioning with the gun toward the ruined paneling. “Who the hell are you guys and what are you doing here?”

  Mr. Clean had a buzz cut and wore brand-new high-topped sneakers. He stood coiled and ready, like ex-military, like someone accustomed to tight places and tense situations. Neither man’s face betrayed any emotion, not fear, not anger, not hostility.

  The phony supervisor moved, just barely, but enough for me. I fired and the Glock exploded in the contained space, hitting my target at the top of his right arm. The impact blew him backward into Uncle Benny’s worktable.

  He screamed, grabbing his arm as blood began to stain his immaculate white jumpsuit. I whirled back to face Mr. Clean. He was gone, nowhere to be seen, and then, suddenly he was back. Moving. He rushed the stairs, reaching behind his back for something, probably his gun.

  I fired in his direction, caught movement in my peripheral vision and knew his partner hadn’t been wounded badly enough to keep him from coming after me. I backed up the stairs, spraying cover as I went, and praying I could make the top landing before they started shooting.

  A bullet whistled past my head, narrowly missing my left ear and crashing into the door frame. I dived through the opening, rolled and slammed the thick wooden door shut. I reached across and shot the dead bolt home.

  I turned and ran for the back door, hoping the police wouldn’t waste time getting to us, and bumped right into Nina. She was standing on the back porch, her face a pale, ghostly shade of white, her eyes huge, dark orbs of panic.

  “Your battery’s dead,” she whispered, holding the cell phone out to me. “Should I call from the kitchen phone?”

  “Shit, Nina!”

  We both turned and looked at the basement door. They were coming, pounding up the stairs toward the kitchen.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “Look, I’ll cover the door while you run past. Grab the phone and call, quick!”

  Nina gulped and nodded. I shielded her as she slipped inside the kitchen, darted past the basement door and dashed to the telephone. I turned my attention to the door again as I saw her pluck the phone from its receiver on the wall and punch in the numbers.

  The men were at the top of the stairs now, but silent, probably standing on either side of the doorway and plotting their next move. I thought about what I would do in their situation, made sure I was out of the line of fire, and then lifted my gun, training it on the narrow opening.

  Nina was yelling into the phone, too hysterical to make sense. “The bug men aren’t real!” she screamed. “They’re going to kill us! Help!”

  None of this information was going to be as useful as our address, or even the words “home invasion.”

  I turned to tell her this, but at that moment, the door frame exploded. The exterminators had eliminated Uncle Benny’s dead bolt.

  “Nina, run out the front door!” I cried.

  No answer from Nina. Another blast of gunfire from the pest-control impersonators. I kicked the kitchen table over onto its side, took cover and fired two rounds back, keeping the goons at bay for the moment. I turned to look for Nina as a stream of liquid arced over my shoulder, missing me and landing in front of the shattering door. Nina stood behind me, clutching a bottle of liquid in both hands and squeezing as hard as she could, oblivious to her vulnerability as a target. What in the hell was she doing?

  “Okay!” she cried. “Let ’em get past that!”

  “Get out of here!” I screamed.

  Nina had a maniacal glint in her eyes and she was actually grinning. “Uh-uh,” she said. “Blood sticks with blood!”

  “Yeah,” I said, firing back in the direction of the basement doorway. “Well, brains splattered all over the kitchen is still a damn mess, so better a one-headed mess than a two-headed disaster, honey! Get out of here and go get me some help!”

  A burst of gunfire erupted again from the basement doorway. I shoved Nina back toward the dining room as a figure charged out of the doorway and into the kitchen.

  I prayed Nina made it out of the house before a stray bullet caught her. I eased back behind the table and hoped I could get a clear shot off before the two men got into a good firing position.

  “Aaaahhh!”

  The scream echoed through the kitchen, followed by a loud crash, swearing and a second loud thud. I peeked up over the table edge. Behind me Nina giggled.

  “Told you,” she crowed. “Go get ’em!”

  I reached down and pulled a fresh clip from my ankle strap, dropped the old magazine and popped in the fresh ammo.

  “Floor wax?” I asked.

  “Fucking A!” Nina answered.

  In the distance I heard sirens.

  I jumped from behind the kitchen table, ran to take cover behind the butcher-block cutting island in the center of the room and surveyed the sight on the floor in front of me. The two goons were down, struggling to stand, and finding themselves unable to get their footing, but they were both still armed.

  “Adapt and overcome, boys,” I murmured softly, taking aim. One shot, one gun jumping out of Mr. Clean’s hand and sliding across the floor out of his reach.

  “Want me to get the other one the same way?” I called out. “Or would yo
u rather toss it yourself?”

  The boss looked pained. Mr. Clean glared at him as the Pillsbury Dough Boy tossed his gun across the room to land beside the other weapon.

  I rose up slowly from my position behind the island, the Glock trained carefully on Mr. Clean’s crotch.

  “Don’t think I’m stupid enough to assume a couple of sweethearts like you would come to the party with only two guns. Keep your hands out on the floor in front of you where I can see them.”

  I heard Nina run to the front door as the sirens screamed to a stop in front of the row house. The front door opened and I heard Nina call out to the advancing officers. My victims heard her, too, and their shoulders slumped in a grim acknowledgment of their impending arrest.

  I smiled down at them. “Don’t feel so bad, gentlemen. It’s just one of those times where it doesn’t all go like you’d planned. Some days you’re the windshield, and some days you’re the bug.” I chuckled. “Funny, huh, you being pest-control imposters and all? Bug? Windshield? Get it?”

  They got it, all right. A second later, Detective Poltrone burst into the kitchen, weapon drawn and held out in front of her ample, Kevlar-covered bosom. Her face was flushed, her hair wildly out of control, and the run in her pantyhose had widened into a river of ladders, but to me, she was suddenly a welcome addition to my team.

  She stood there, staring at the two men lying on the floor in the pool of liquid wax, then looking over at me and the Glock I still held trained on my captives. Behind her came most of Glenn Ford’s on-duty police force, all with weapons drawn and fierce frowns on their faces.

  “Put the gun down!” Poltrone demanded.

  “Cuff ’em first,” I said.

  “She said drop your weapon!” A young recruit stepped out from behind Detective Poltrone, his weapon now centered on my chest.

  I regarded him with all the cool distain I could fake and raised one eyebrow. “And I said I’ll wait until they’re secured, thank you. I’m not deaf, little man, just very cautious.”

  “Drop it! Now!” he yelled.

  Detective Poltrone reached out one hand and slowly turned the young boy’s weapon away from me and toward the men lying on the floor.