Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery)

by Reinhart, Larissa

  “And here I was looking for a BMW, not a Jag. This is not my day, but I guess I’m getting my comeuppance.” I raised my face to heaven, waiting for my prayers to fall back toward earth and smack me in the head. “Lord Almighty, I swear I did not mean to agitate all these women with Todd’s nudity. If I had lust in my heart, I never meant for it to come out of my paintbrush.”

  “What is she saying?” said Yuri to Rupert.

  “Get in the car, Miss Tucker,” said Rupert, “Or Yuri might shoot you.”

  I edged toward Rupert’s door, then rounded the back of the car and ran. Every woman who has ever watched Oprah knows you never get in the car. Rule number one in a kidnapping or carjacking. I hated abandoning Max, but I hated more the thought of not reporting his location and my brains exploding over the back of the car. Or worse, giving up his location in fear of said brain explosion and watching his brains explode instead.

  Through the screen of the porch, I could see Miss David crouching behind a rocking chair. “Unlock the door,” I yelled. “Get in the house.”

  Behind me, I heard the slam of a car door and the cursing of Yuri. His gun cracked, but I didn’t flinch.

  Officially desensitized by violence.

  Miss David peeked out from behind the chair, then dropped back.

  “Get out of there,” I yelled, still twenty yards from the porch. “There’s a key in the empty PBR can on the windowsill.”

  She turned to look and reached for the beer can. The gun fired and shot through the window above her. The beer can flew from her hand and she dropped behind the chair.

  I didn’t risk a look over my shoulder, but could hear Yuri walking toward the house.

  “Open. That. Door,” I screamed.

  The can rolled toward the front of the porch. Miss David scrambled out from behind the chair. Yuri fired again. The screen tore off the door and the bullet thwacked the side of the house. Wood dust filled the air. Miss David screamed and ran back toward the chair.

  My Grandpa would be sore ticked about all these holes in his screens.

  “That chair is not going to keep you from getting killed.” My legs pounded across the weedy centipede lawn and hit the stepping stones to the porch. “Get that key.”

  She shook her head.

  Gasping, I pounded up the porch steps, grabbed the screen door, and ripped it from the eyehook latch. I pounced on the can and shook out the key.

  “Get up,” I wheezed and canted toward the door.

  Miss David screamed again and pointed. I imagined she pointed at Yuri, but I was too busy fumbling with the lock to look. I heard the gun fire. I ducked as splinters and wood dust from a shutter rained on the porch floor. I reached for Miss David’s arm and yanked her toward the front door.

  Yuri’s feet smacked the stepping stones before the porch. I pushed the lever on the door and shoved it open. Miss David fell inside. I catapulted over her. I heard the bang of Yuri’s feet on the wooden steps.

  “Close the friggin’ door,” I yelled.

  She pushed it shut with her feet. I lunged to turn the deadbolt, then grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the door.

  “Push stuff in front of windows,” I said and shoved her toward the back of the house. “No. Call 9-1-1.”

  Yuri’s gun fired. A bullet blasted through the wood above the door handle. Miss David screamed and ran toward the back bedrooms.

  I sprinted through the kitchen to the mud room and gun cabinet. The tall, wooden cabinet had drawers above and below a glass plated door to the rack. Grandpa kept it locked, but the key hid on a nail behind the dryer. Yuri’s gun fired again, hitting another window. I snagged the key, unlocked the drawers, and grabbed a box of ammo.

  My skirt had no pockets. Of all the times not to wear jeans.

  I folded my top up toward my bra, bound the loose material into a knot, and dumped some of the cartridges into the fold. Neither comfortable nor practical, but I ignored that fact and opened the cabinet door.

  Skipping over the Browning and Marlin, I grabbed the Winchester Featherlight, the rifle Grandpa had used for my deer hunting education. I knew this gun. Knew I could load and drop rounds quickly. Knew the recoil and my range.

  I tried not to think about why I might need to use those rounds.

  Taking a deep breath, I walked out of the mud room and through the kitchen. As I walked, I slid the bolt back and loaded the gun with three cartridges from my shirt. I lost two bullets to the floor from hands that wouldn’t quit with the shakes, but by the time I reached the doorway to the living room, the rifle was mounted on my shoulder.

  And Yuri was gone.

  “Miss David?” I yelled. “Did you call 9-1-1?”

  I heard a rambling in her foreign tongue from a back bedroom.

  “Just stay back there.”

  Keeping my back against the walls, I moved toward the front porch windows. Otherwise intact, each window had a spider web of cracks spiraling from the bullet hole. Grandpa had secured the house with some nice double panes.

  I hoped Grandpa had insurance to cover bullet holes.

  Kneeling before a window, I peered into the darkness. The dome light in the stolen Jag shone on empty seats. The back doors were open. The headlights of the HMV and Jaguar still brightened the lane. The Jag’s beams spotlighted Rupert and Yuri dragging a body from under the Hummer.

  I yanked open the front door, yelled over my shoulder for Miss David to lock it, and flew off the porch. I stopped in the yard, wished I had night vision, and aimed at the dirt several yards away from the men.

  “Stop right there,” I yelled. “Get your hands off of him.”

  The rifle cracked, the ground exploded near the men, and I felt the wincing pain of recoil in my shoulder. Quickly, I slid the lever back to release the bullet and pushed the next round into the chamber. This time I aimed at Yuri’s body.

  Rupert and Yuri rose from their crouch, holding their hands up. In the lane next to the Hummer, Max lay unmoving. Behind the fence, goats screamed and brayed. I could hear them galloping in the paddock, stirred into a frenzy by the gunshots.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them. Police are on their way.”

  “Calm yourself my dear,” said Rupert. “We are carrying Maks to safety. He needs medical attention.”

  “Did Yuri shoot him?” I called, startled by the bite of pain in my throat and eyes. “Get away from him. Keep your hands up.”

  “I’m not dead yet,” called Max. “Get the Beretta from Yuri.”

  Keeping my rifle trained on the men, I slid-stepped toward them as they backed into the Jag. I reached behind Yuri and snagged the pistol he had shoved into his back waistband. My experience with handguns was limited to Uncle Will’s gun safety courses he made all the Tucker kids take. I checked the safety and shoved it into my skirt. Returning the rifle to my shoulder, I backed toward Max.

  “Artist,” he said, struggling to sit. “You impress me with your courage. And your fashion sense.”

  “Like the midriff look, huh?”

  I gave Max the Beretta to make him feel better and gently pushed him down. “The police’ll bring an ambulance. You shouldn’t move. I can tell you’re in a lot of pain.”

  Max gave me a hint of a smile, and I stroked his cheek. Behind me, I heard the gallop of hooves. Tater rushed toward me, braying.

  “Not now, boy.” I rose with the Winchester mounted, but held a hand out to Tater. He nudged his horns against my hand and took a hunk of my skirt in his mouth. “Where did you come from? Perfect timing as usual.”

  I shoved him off, and he bent his head to investigate Max’s prone body.

  “Leave the Bear alone,” I said to Tater, nudging him with my hip, and refocused on the men standing in my farm drive. “So who’s the great mastermind? You’re arranging fake hijacks to fill your gas stations with black-market food. What happened, Yuri? When the wrong driver didn’t stop in the designated place, did you follow the truck and shoot him?”

  “He pu
lled gun on me,” said Yuri. “Self-defense.”

  “He thought you were holding him up. That’s armed robbery.”

  “Idyët,” said Rupert.

  “What about Tyrone? Was that self-defense, too? You shot him in cold blood. I know Tyrone didn’t have a gun on him.”

  “Who is Tyrone?” said Yuri.

  “The witness. The guy hanging from the pole who saw you take off your ski mask after you shot the Dixie Cake driver.” My voice shook with anger.

  “Idyët,” repeated Rupert.

  “Yuri didn’t shoot witness,” said a female voice behind me. “I did. Put down your gun.”

  Forty

  “Elena,” cried Yuri. “You are here.”

  I spun around. Elena, the crabby SipNZip clerk, held a handgun that matched Yuri’s. “What are you doing here? You’re the shooter?”

  “Put down your rifle and give me Yuri’s gun.” She gripped her gun in both hands with her arms extended and legs planted. “I am master shot.”

  “You missed us,” said Max.

  “Let’s not agitate her. She did do a job on your Hummer. And Tyrone.”

  I laid the rifle on the ground and took the Beretta from Max’s fist to lie next to the Winchester. Tater bleated and nibbled at the Winchester’s walnut stock.

  “Kick them toward me,” she said. “Away from Maksim Avtaikin.”

  My Grandpa would whip my butt if the gravel scratched his Winchester 70 Featherlight, but I complied. I did have the gun-to-my-head excuse.

  “Where’s the BMW?” I said. “That’s your vehicle isn’t it? You’ve been following me? Yuri didn’t know about me, how did you?”

  “Shut up and sit next to Maksim.”

  The bullets inside my shirt clinked as I dropped to the ground beside Max. I laid my hand against his tensed shoulder.

  With his body pointed toward the Jaguar, Max couldn’t see Elena. “I could have taken care of this,” he muttered.

  I knew he wished we’d taken his gun-to-the-window approach the night she parked outside his house. “Bear, she wouldn’t have told us anything and Luke would have arrested you for threatening her,” I whispered.

  Max stared into the darkened sky, gritting his teeth.

  “Still don’t know how a SipNZip employee could afford a BMW,” I said. “You must be making money hand over fist from robbing. That’s all you are. A bunch of bandits.”

  “BMW was a gift,” Elena smirked.

  “From you, I suppose.” I cast a scathing look at Rupert.

  He grinned, held up a hand, and let it drop. “She’s managed her operation well. A reward. I have found women like Elena and Miss David more reliable than the men.”

  Yuri strode past us to Elena and tried to hug her. “Baby.”

  Elena shoved him away. “Not now. You let this `suka take your gun?” She spat on the ground.

  “I get the feeling you don’t like me,” I said to Elena. “Have you been planning to kill me or is this a spur of the moment decision?”

  “You identified Yuri in his picture. And you are very busy talking about it. I heard you in SipNZip and saw your fast car.” She pointed the gun at Max. “Plus you are meeting with this one many times. I watch you and decide I don’t trust you.”

  “You’ve been spying on the farm, too.” My skin prickled at the thought of Elena stalking my family. Tater nosed me, and I wrapped an arm around his scratchy neck.

  “You gave this as your home address on SipNZip application.” Elena’s gun didn’t waver as she spoke. “But you do not come to the farm often. Tonight I am lucky. I park behind barns and wait. Two birds at once.”

  “You are so good, baby,” said Yuri. “My hero.”

  Max’s hand grasped mine. “Tell her I already made deal.”

  “What deal?” I said and gave Tater a shove as he tried to bite Max’s hand. I angled toward his ear. “You didn’t make any deal.”

  Max turned his head and glowered at me. “I lied to you. I was leaving you here to meet agents.”

  Rupert slid from his lean against the Jag to crouch next to Max. “You already spoke to the agents? B’lyad.”

  “What agents?” I said.

  “The Special Agents with Department of Labor,” Max closed his eyes and forced the words. “They want Rupert, Rurik Agadzinoff. He owns conglomerate of gas stations. He puts illegals in stores. Fakes invoices. Products sold from black market. Hijacks trucks for products. I find out he is not real lawyer when IRS looks into my bingo.”

  “Zatk`nis,” yelled Rupert and slammed a fist into Max’s knee.

  Max’s body levitated with pain. At his scream, Tater reared back and galloped away.

  “Agents will get Rupert on tax evasion, money laundering, visa fraud,” Max coughed out a laugh and closed his eyes. “It’s too late. I gave testimony already.”

  “I thought you were worried about deportation,” I said, lying the back of my hand against the Bear’s cheek.

  “My visa is real,” his voice hissed from his throat. Max’s eyes fluttered opened and found me. “Filed illegally. Rupert paid off someone in Citizenship Immigration Service.”

  “The name on the folder?” I said. “Is that the C.I.S. worker who took the bribe?”

  “It’s not too late, Rupert,” said Elena. “We can still get away.”

  I looked up and found the barrel of the Beretta aimed at me again. “Yes, it is too late. The police are on their way. The Feds have already taken the SipNZip.”

  “No,” said Elena and pushed Yuri. “Get in car, Yuri. You, too, Rupert. I will take care of them.”

  “Find out where the files are first,” said Rupert.

  Rupert rose, kicked Max in the ribs, and scurried to the car. I glanced toward the house, wondering what had happened to the 9-1-1 call. Then realized my sheriff’s department wouldn’t careen into the driveway with sirens screaming and blueberries spinning if they knew we were replaying the Shootout at the O.K. Corral. They knew the farm and how to approach us.

  Maybe they were watching us now, waiting for their opportunity to move in.

  Or maybe Miss David had been too freaked out to call 9-1-1.

  I found Max’s hand and squeezed. Unless a sharpshooter had a bead trained on Elena, it didn’t really matter.

  He tugged on my hand. “Get me a gun,” he mouthed.

  How in the hell did he think I could do that? The Beretta and Winchester still lay on the ground on the other side of Elena. She held a sleek and scary piece of metal pointed at us. However, her focus was on Yuri, still standing behind us and giving Elena a litany of his love and devotion. Or pointers on how to kill us and what to do with our bodies. It was hard to tell in a foreign language and the Jag’s lights shown on his back so I couldn’t see his face.

  I dropped Max’s hand and inched toward Elena. Come on Cherry, I thought, what’s the difference if she shoots you from a few feet compared to one yard? Cops do this every day.

  Well, maybe not the cops in Halo, but I found my risk-taking brain cells easily fueled by pep talks.

  The sound of small hoof beats galloping across the grass-lined clay distracted Elena for a moment. Rupert leaned out the window and yelled at Yuri to hurry up his dissertation on love. Or death. The giant, white goat sailed into view just as Yuri finished with a rude gesture at Rupert. Startled by Tater’s reappearance, Elena tipped up her pistol.

  I pushed from my squat, launching myself at the guns. Elena spun around to face me. I scooped up the Beretta and underhanded it toward Max. The chunk of metal thumped the ground. Elena yodeled a string of curses and pointed the gun. Tater leapt at my accessible form sprawled on the ground and landed on my back with a kidney crushing blow. Elena fired. And another gun fired.

  And then it really went to hell.

  What sounded like an army of vehicles roared into the lane. No sirens or lights, but they sprayed gravel and dirt all the same. Some went right and left, tearing across the farm yard in different directions and ripping through the r
atty remains of Grandma Jo’s azaleas. Spotlights blazed and flashed.

  My back felt broken. I lost focus on anything but pain.

  Forty-One

  It took two men to get the heavy goat off me. Then I had to continue to lie face down in the gravel while the EMT made sure my spine hadn’t really been snapped before they could roll me over and put me on a cart. Luke knelt at my side, holding my hands and wiping my face while I bawled for that stupid goat who loved to ram my truck and chew my clothes.

  “I let him out of the pasture,” I sobbed, “just to spite Pearl. And look what happened.”

  “He took your bullet,” said Luke. “I’m not sorry.”

  Which made me cry harder.

  “Tater’s tough,” Luke’s voice dropped to apologetic. “He’s hurt, but alive. Please don’t worry about the goat, darlin’. Let’s get you fixed up first.”

  I pushed up on my elbows so I could watch the EMTs loading Max into one ambulance. I blew him a kiss and he sent me a tired smile. Elena went into the second, while I waited for the third ambulance to arrive.

  Rupert and Yuri had already been deposited in police cars and whisked away. The Department of Labor’s Special Agents had gleefully snapped up Rupert, while our boys in brown had stolen Yuri to the Forks County Jail. Miss David left with one officer from each department.

  “Miss David said she stayed with Agadzinoff because she thought he’d protect her from deportation,” said Luke. “Her real name is Natalya Davidovich. She worked as the middle man between Rupert and the crooked Citizenship employee.”

  “Rupert said Max abandoned her.”

  “She didn’t look abandoned to me,” said Luke. “She looked like she enjoyed living in Buckhead.”

  “You’re so cynical. I think she loved Max and he cared for her. Someday maybe he’ll tell me that story.”

  Luke cocked a strong look at me. “What was with the kiss blowing thing?”

  “We thought we were going to die together. The man is in pain. Max and Tater saved my life.”

  “Judging by the bullets jiggling around your bra, I think you did plenty to help him.” Luke pulled on my shirt’s knot, causing the remaining two bullets to spill onto my skirt. He watched them fall and glanced back at me. “Next time I go hunting, would you carry my ammo for me?”