by JA Huss
Veronica is standing in her ripped-up fishnet stockings, her lipstick smeared, her cigarette dangling out of her mouth, and a bloody gash crossing her billowing white blouse at the waist, like a bullet just missed some very vital organs a few minutes ago.
I laugh again. "Ha! Shoot his ass, Veronica! Shoot him!"
And then shit happens so fast I can't process it. Veronica nods and I can seriously see her finger getting ready to squeeze that trigger when Jon pushes me to the floor and charges her. He hits her dead in the chest, knocking the wind out of her and kicking her ass at the same time, and the gun goes off.
Veronica screams.
My feet know what to do and even though I'm ashamed to leave Veronica there, I scoot around Jon before he can get back on his feet, dash through the door and book it down the stairs.
"Help!" I yell, but this fucking place is totally empty.
Jon is right behind me, only a few steps off actually, and I jump down an entire flight of stairs to the next landing, my exercise with Ford finally paying off, and I gain a few seconds on him. When I get to the first floor I head to the back where the crew should be packing the RV and the vans for our trip. I burst through the first security door and I'm pushing on the long silver bar that will open the second door and take me outside when Jon grabs my shirt and we both go down.
I don't even think, I elbow him in the nose, wince at the sound of cracking cartilage, and I'm back on my feet, stumbling out into the parking lot.
No one. There's no one. I stand there, stupid for a second, then focus on Spencer's truck.
I scramble over to the driver's side door, pull it open and launch myself inside. Jon's got me by the ankles, pulling me back out. And I know, if he gets me out of this truck, I'm dead. I kick out hard and crack him in the mouth with my sneakers.
I reach over and open the glove box, praying that there's a gun in here. I pull out a map and some bullshit papers, my palm searching. I feel the cold hard metal of the weapon, slide my hand around the grip, cock that bitch-ass safety back, then point it right at his face.
"I will blow your motherfucking head off, I swear."
He hesitates and I open the passenger side door, jump down and run back to the building. I'm keying in my code before he comes to his senses and realizes I didn't shoot him. I swing the door open again, running all balls out now, and then smack right into Ronin.
I mow him over and we go down together. Jon catches up, but now he's not worried about me, he's focused on Ronin.
And there's no fucking way this batshit-crazy woman-beater is gonna hurt my new friends.
So I shoot that fucker.
And the gunshot is so loud, it rings in my ears long after Jon falls to the floor, screaming.
Chapter Thirty-Five - RONIN
The smoke is still spilling out of the barrel of the revolver in Rook's hand and that psycho rapist is writhing on the floor, his knee blown out and blood pooling under his body. Rook and I are all tangled up and she's shaking uncontrollably as I try to move her aside and figure out what the fuck is going on.
Spencer comes barreling in from the back door, while Ford enters from the front.
"Yes," Ford says into his phone. "I need an ambulance, there's been a shooting at Chaput Studios… "
Rook gasps and looks back at me. I put a hand on her shoulder. "Keep calm, Gidge. I'm not fucking around right now, let me handle this." I hold out my hand. "Give me the gun."
She looks down at the gun, then over to her ex. He's moaning on the ground, blood is still spilling out at an alarming rate.
My little Gidget might've hit an artery.
I smile at that, then turn back to her. "Rook, look at me. We've got about three minutes before the cops get here."
She nods her head and hands the gun over.
"You are in shock, OK? Do not say anything. You are in shock. Do you understand me?"
She nods again.
"The whole building is wired, we've got it all on tape. But you are in shock, you will not make a statement until the shock wears off."
I get up and then pull her up along with me.
"Is he gonna die, Ronin?" Her voice is very small and shaky as the reality of what just happened sinks in.
"No, Gidge, we're not gonna let him die. Death is too good for that prick." I take her hand and walk her out the back door. There's people everywhere now. Elise and Antoine are talking to the crew, just getting back from breakfast. Elise is bordering on hysterical, while Antoine catches my gaze and rushes over babbling frantically in French.
"She's OK, she's fine. Let us handle this, Antoine. You two were at breakfast across town, you never saw anything, so step the fuck back and just say I have no idea over and over until they get sick of asking you questions."
I open Spencer's truck door and sit Rook down on the passenger side. "Pay close attention, Gidget." She's scared out of her mind right now, so I lean in and kiss her on the head just as half a dozen Denver police pull in the back alley. "You're in shock, remember? Just stay quiet until I'm done talking."
I'm not the genius who perfected this plan.
That's Spencer.
I'm not the hacker who executed this plan.
That's Ford.
I'm the liar who cleans up the mess.
And my job starts now.
"Threatening text messages," I tell the cops. Because that's innocent, really. Easy. And you always want the job to be easy. "If you check his phone, you'll see he sent her text messages this morning, threatening to kill her, me, all of us."
The law about searching cell phones is iffy at best, so we needed a fool-proof way to make sure his phone would be checked on scene—no room for mistakes, no way to hide what he's got on there.
Jon is too smart to send threats by text. But Ford took care of that because sending threats, followed by Jon's genius plan of breaking and entering and attempted murder, means no search warrant is required to access the phone and look for that evidence.
And guess what pops up on the home screen of our friend Jon as soon as the cop swipes his chubby fingers to wake it up?
No really, just guess.
It's almost a giveaway, the Feds use this one all the time. Our version is a new take on the long con bait-and-switch, because we're super-awesome lying, hacking geniuses like that.
Possession of kiddie porn in this day and age is the equivalent of tax evasion last century. That's how they always got the bad guys back then, all those mobsters. Something stupid simple like claiming too many dinners on your taxes.
And let's face it, our boy Jon is one hundred percent guilty of pedophilia, right?
Sure, we set up the photos the cops are confiscating from his phone right now.
But this fuck deserved it.
And believe me, they'll find a whole shitload more at his apartment down the street. Not to mention a transaction, executed less than an hour ago, where he tried to buy more illegal porn, thinking he was purchasing a live cam peek at Rook.
I might love Ford right now.
Rook listens carefully as I talk, I can tell. But she keeps her head down and her mouth shut.
"Shock," I say again. "She needs a doctor. Maybe a psychiatrist. He damaged her for years—violent, horrific beatings. Torture. She's not capable of talking right now. We've got a team of lawyers here to make sure she's competent to give a statement."
That shuts down the questioning, because she's not in any trouble here, not at all. All they want is a way to dot the i's and cross the t's so everyone can get the hell out of this parking lot and go grab some lunch.
If you're stupid enough to break into someone's home and attack the occupants in Colorado—and Chaput Studios is most certainly Rook's home at the moment—you're gonna get your ass shot and the person who shot you will never be charged.
Make My Day, it's called.
Make My Motherfucking Day Law. That's what we do with losers like Jon in Colorado when they try to attack us in our homes.
&nbs
p; We shoot them. Most of the time we kill them, but Jon deserves his day in court and a very long prison sentence.
He so, so deserves that.
And Rook was definitely fearing for her life when she pulled that trigger. She was on the ground, he was coming at her, she was in her home, he broke in.
This is a clear-cut case. It's a textbook case, actually. The cops have no chance of charging her with anything, because we got every second of it on camera.
Of course no one was supposed to get shot. We could've killed him, but that would be way too easy. And not even close to the kind of punishment he deserves. We did underestimate that sick fuck a little because he baited us, got us out of the building chasing after a fake transaction down at Cookie's so he could make his move.
But I think Rook will be OK in the end. She didn't kill him either, she's not a killer, she's far too sweet for that. She only did what she had to do to protect herself. She should have zero guilt going forward.
The paramedics find Veronica swearing and enraged upstairs and she comes out of the building with her arms around two men as they help her hobble across the parking lot to an ambulance. Her fishnets are a bit ragged from her struggle, she's missing a stiletto, and she's got a trickle of blood running down her side. But her hair's still in place and her cigarette's still hanging out of her mouth. Jon's strapped to a stretcher, ready to be loaded into the ambulance when Veronica passes by. Her fist darts out and she whacks him in the nose. "Bastard," she spits.
You have to love Veronica. You have to. She's like a live-action cartoon character. She's the real-life Jessica Rabbit.
Spencer is a bit shaken that Veronica ended up being involved and he hovers over her as the medics check the flesh wound just above her waist. He's got a weird strained look on his face.
Personally, I think those two are made for each other, but Spencer's not a relationship kinda guy, so Veronica's sorta out of luck.
We could not have planned this part better if we tried because Veronica sucks up attention like it's a precious commodity. She's got the entire parking lot filled with medics and cops twisted around her little finger as she moans about her injury. They all take turns lifting up her shirt to check her flesh wound—scrape really. That bullet scraped her as it flashed past her waist.
Spence catches me watching and smiles at me from across the parking lot, then shoots me with his finger. "We're still road trippin'? Rook? Ronin?"
I look over at Ford. He's busy with the lawyers now, explaining with his hands, smiling, and even laughing a little. The way he always does when things are nearing the end and he knows we just pulled off the perfect job. We're gonna get away with it. Again.
"You wanna stay home, Rook? I think even Ford will understand if you flake on this deal."
She finally lifts her head and looks me in the eye. "You set all this up?"
I nod. "Well, I came up with the general idea, Spence made it real, and Ford hacked the shit out of that loser all summer trying to get him to take the bait. Of course, I didn't know he had access to the building or I'd never've left you upstairs. I'm so sorry it ended wrong, it was only supposed to be a virtual crime."
She gets a little misty-eyed and I hug her close. "It's over now, OK? It's all over. He's going away, he'll never walk right again, and he's gonna spend a very long time being some thug's prison bitch."
"Thank you," she says in her most serious and sincere voice. "Thank you."
"Any time, Gidge. Any time. Oh, I almost forgot. You might be exactly four hundred and fifteen thousand dollars richer." I laugh as the number rolls off my tongue. "And it might be sitting in non-traceable off-shore bank accounts. Because we might've stolen all his money while we were at it. Serves him right since the only reason he got caught is because he tried to steal yours. Paybacks are always a bitch."
Chapter Thirty-Six - ROOK
Elise, of all people, is driving the RV up to Sturgis. It's only a six-hour drive, so not a very big deal. But just seeing her tiny hands clutching that huge-ass steering wheel makes me laugh.
"What's funny?" she asks me as she blows past a slow car on the highway. There's hardly anyone on this road. Not many people live up this way. Not many would want to.
"You," I say. "You constantly surprise me, Elise."
A loud roar from the back signals a winner of the current hand of poker. It's just us in this RV—no camera crews allowed. Ford's orders. It's just me, Elise, Spencer, Ronin, Antoine, and Ford. Just us.
My new family.
I cannot even explain how great it feels to think of them this way.
Elise winks at me and then eases the massive vehicle back into the right lane and slows down a little. "I keep everyone on their toes, Rook. If I wasn't here, the whole place would fall down."
I believe that, too.
I chat with her like this for the entire drive, occasionally spotting some wildlife I never even knew existed in the US. Like antelope. Who knew? The cops kept us occupied most of the day yesterday, so we just decided to head out early this morning instead. We still have time to settle in before our show tomorrow. Spencer said he changed his mind about the final painting, he didn't even show Ronin.
I never knew what the original one looked like, so I could care less. This summer I've been sexy Elvis, a cyborg, a slutty hitchhiker, a slutty beach girl, a slutty Catwoman-ish thing… well, just insert slutty in front of all the rest… Fifties waitress, roller derby girl, motocross rider, the tattooed woman—that was cool because Spencer painted me up to match him—rodeo queen, tied-up BDSM rope girl, superhero, go-go dancer, policewoman, mermaid, snow leopard, soccer player and a whole week of slutty lingerie models.
Let me tell you, painting fishnet stockings—the worst. It took the entire day.
But even though I'm still real nervous about the final painting and the show tomorrow night—this has been the best summer of my life. No matter what happens to me, no matter how things go after this is over—whether Ronin and I make it or not—no one will ever be able to take away what we created together this summer.
It's very special.
I start to get excited as we get closer because there's lots of other RV's on the road now, plus all the bikers. They come out of nowhere, all of a sudden. One minute we're on this desolate highway in Wyoming, and then, bikers everywhere. All of us heading to the same place. I notice a few motocross racing team transport trucks. "Is there a motocross race here this week?" I ask Elise.
"Yeah," Spencer answers from the seat behind me.
I look back at him.
He winks because he must remember that I told him my first boyfriend was a motocross racer back in Chicago. Wade. My first love. And then his mom got spooked and sent me away so I couldn't ruin his charmed life and promising future with my pathetic one.
I shake my head to clear the sad memories. "Just asking, Spencer. I was pretty big into it when I was a kid."
"Yeah, good thing, too. Otherwise I'd be teaching you how to ride that beautiful Shrike Rook bike tonight."
I smile and secretly kiss him in my mind for not telling on me in front of Elise.
We ease into the campgrounds about an hour later. It's all pretty primitive, but since we're headlining a show, and Spencer needs a private place with access to water in order to paint me, we get to stay in the executive cabins. The big luxury is that it comes with a bathroom.
The whole day just flies by with all the settling in. The campground is a madhouse and we're still a few miles outside Sturgis. Ronin and I turn in because I have to get up at three in the morning so Spencer can start painting.
Ronin pulls me up to him in the bed, wrapping his arms around me and kissing my neck. "How you doing, Gidge?"
I turn so I can see his face. "You know, not anything like I should be. I don't understand how I could've shot someone yesterday and today, I'm just camping up in Sturgis like it never happened. And the weirdest thing, Ronin? I could care less. What's that mean?"
He tucks a wayw
ard strand of hair behind my ear. "It means you're gonna be just fine, Rook. You owe that guy nothing. Not one second of remorse or sympathy."
"Yeah," I sigh. "That's what I figure too. I'm just gonna forget about it, Ronin. I'm just gonna let the past go, move forward with you."
He squeezes me. "You make my heart happy right now. So totally and completely happy. I see a lot of things in our future."
I smile into his chest. "What things?"
"Good things, Gidget. Good things."
We cling to each other, but not in a desperate way. We cling to each other and fall asleep in a way that makes us feel complete.
And when stupid Ford comes pounding on our cabin door at 3AM, I wake up feeling complete as well.
"OK, Rook, last painting."
Ronin and Ford went to the campground general store to get coffee for everyone, so right now it's just Spencer, me, and a three man film crew in his cabin. He's moved the beds out of the way to give us room, and he's got the music going. I'm pretty sure no one in this campground but Ronin and I bothered to go to sleep, because the party is still raging outside. It's loud as fuck and if I wasn't such a heavy sleeper, that might've prevented me from getting some shut-eye. But as it happens, I can sleep through the Sturgis rally no problem.
"Are you gonna tell me what it is?"
"Nope!" he says, grinning like a teenager. "You'll just have to discover it as I go."
He gets his airbrush out and a smoky gray color goes on first. I watch patiently as he winds the paint around my body in ribbons. He switches to another airbrush so he doesn't have to keep cleaning it between colors and sprays on some black, blending it together. After that there's more gray, some shades lighter, some shades darker, and white to bring it all together. Even though he's only done background colors, it already looks amazing.
Ronin and Ford come back with the coffee and take a seat on the couch to watch, but even with the caffeine and the roaring sounds of motorcycles outside, not to mention Spencer's airbrush, neither of them last long because Spencer is building the scene in a really cryptic way to keep us all guessing.
