“Don’t be tardy, girls,” the teacher said as they entered. Cecily stared. Didn’t she notice they’d been fighting?
In the afternoon, after last recess, Tawni tried again. This time she brought six other girls and they all made a circle around Cecily. They chanted and jeered at her. “Now give me the watch, little bitch,” Tawni said. Cornered, another kid would’ve surrendered and handed it over but not Cecily. She slapped Tawni hard enough to make her screech. When Suzy Perry mouthed off, Cecily delighted in whirling around to smack her fat cheek with force. She never liked the snotty thing anyway. Gasping for breath, Cecily glared at them all. “Anyone else want a piece of me?” she said. “I’ll fight anyone who thinks they can take my watch – or me.”
No one spoke up. Heads down, they went away one at a time, quiet and almost sad. And from then on, none of the young bullies or smart mouths messed with Cecily Brown.
She’d fought hard for a watch – she’d do much more to keep Daniel from ending up in a puddle of blood. Bring it on, Johnson, just bring it on.
Cecily called ahead and reserved a rental car at the Branson Airport so when the plane landed, she had wheels. She hurried through all the checkpoints and claimed it. Within minutes, she headed through the evening traffic toward her place to retrieve the heirloom knife. At six forty five half the tourists in town were en route to dinner or a show but she worked her way through the congestion with more daring than usual. With the window rolled down, a hundred different aromas floated into the car, some aromatic and appetizing. Her stomach ached now, this time with hunger not nausea. Cecily couldn’t recall eating anything since dinner the previous evening but she wasn’t stopping now. Food could wait. By her reckoning, Daniel should’ve landed in Springfield around four-thirty, then spent another hour or so driving to Branson. Whatever he needed to do before he confronted Johnson Hamilton would take some time so Cecily hoped to be right on schedule. The sick bastard said twelve hours but she figured he’d wait a little. Killing Nia without an audience wouldn’t be any fun or provide any shock effect. Besides, he wants me and I’m going to give him what he asked for.
At her house, she dashed up, unlocked the door, and rushed inside. She located the knife Luz described within moments and stuck it into her purse. Cecily checked for any sign Daniel might’ve been there but when Cecily saw nothing to indicate he had been by, she left. Mental images of an hourglass running out of sand haunted her as she approached Pink Neon along the traffic-clogged Strip. As the line of vehicles inched ahead, she caught a clear view and saw the Ford Daniel drove parked in front of her shop. Although it wasn’t dark or even dusk, the bright pink letters glowed neon and stood out. Other dark sedans parked in the ice cream parlor next door’s lot and in other discreet places. Maybe he’s called reinforcements.
As far as Cecily could tell, Pink Neon wasn’t open for business and she strained to see if the lights were on but couldn’t tell. Some cagey instinct suggested she park in a lot two businesses north of her shop and advance on foot. Cecily moved with a shadow’s stealth, handbag slung over her shoulder, to the back of her shop. The rear door had been propped open with a cardboard box of unopened merchandise so she crept close but kept to the side, out of sight.
Her heart pounded so hard she swore she could hear the uneven beats. With trepidation Cecily peered into the room and saw Nia. Duct tape bound her cousin’s legs to the old straight leg chair she’d found in the storeroom when she took possession. Clothesline rope tied Nia’s upper body to the chair to reinforce the idea she wasn’t leaving. A knotted blue bandana had been tied in her mouth but Nia emitted angry noises despite the gag. Beside her, Johnson faced Daniel with a pistol gripped in his right fist. “Where is she?” he demanded as Cecily listened. “Where’s the bitch?”
“Cecily’s running late,” Daniel said in a voice so low and gravelly she hardly recognized it. His grim expression could’ve been carved into stone. “I thought we could talk while we wait.”
“She’d better show up.”
“She will,” Daniel said. If she didn’t know better, she’d believe him but as far as he knew, she remained in El Paso. He bluffed well but if Johnson figured it out, he’d be pissed. “So tell me why you took out Bradford.”
Johnson’s bitter laugh rattled like dry bones. “Who says I did what?”
“Don’t bullshit me.” Daniel’s voice cut through the noise with the sharp finesse of a bullwhip. “I heard you say admit it when you called Cecily. We might as well talk about it.”
“Okay, so I killed Bradford. You don’t know what an annoying asshole he was, mister FBI man. Bitch, gripe, whine and moan, that’s all he did, him with all his money, his business, his jewels and bitch eyes and he wanted to bitch. He had everything I’d want, all of it, and he didn’t fucking deserve anything. So I shot him, took the money and the jewels. I’d have taken the bitch too but she ran off to hillbilly land. So I figured I’d just drop a hint or two in the right ears, let her take the rap for it. Bitch eyes never liked me anyway. She’s too damn good to throw me a kind word or a kiss or a fuck once in awhile.”
From her hiding spot Cecily watched Daniel stiffen his spine, ramrod straight. “So did you use the Glock 17 you’ve got there for the job?”
Johnson stared and shook his head. Cecily guessed he must be stoned out of his head, maybe on meth. “You’re one dumb mother fucker,” he said. “Yeah, I did and I’m going to use it to kill you too. Can’t let you live now that you know the truth, man, so you gotta die. You should’ve let the bitch show up. She ain’t worth it and you’d walk away from this mess. It ain’t happening now. I’m going to kill you, then I’m going to fuck this bitch here ‘cause I can’t get ahold of the real deal, then I’ll send her on to hell too. Then I’ll turn up evidence so bitch eyes goes to jail for murder. Think maybe I’ll make it look like she shot the two of you, maybe found out you were two-timing her with this cunt. Three murder raps, she’ll go down.”
Daniel shifted position and something red flickered in his hand. Cecily gasped without noise, mouth wide open, when she realized it was a digital recorder. She’d thought he held a gun but it wasn’t. Oh, sweet baby Jesus in the manger on Christmas morning, he’s going to get himself killed.
When Johnson’s lips twisted into a horrible grimace, she realized he’d seen the recorder too. “You’ve been recording me,” he shouted. “You bastard, it’s no fun and no fair.”
He raised the Glock, aimed and fired. Daniel’s face never changed, even when the bullet struck his left shoulder high and crimson exploded in a huge splatter out of the tattered remnants of his shirt. Daniel held his feet but from where she stood, closer to him than to Nia and Johnson, Cecily watched fine pain lines form like cobwebs around his mouth.
She didn’t think about what she would do next or plan what to say, just did it.
Chapter Nineteen
Everything shifted in seconds from tense to intense. The bullet slammed into his shoulder with the force of a sledgehammer. As it tore through tissue, pain erupted with fierce fire and radiated outward but Daniel managed to remain standing although he wasn’t sure how. Although he’d been shot before and should know what to expect, it hurt enough to momentarily cripple his senses. He stood in place, stunned, aware he should react but unable to focus. A nasty burst of laughter from Johnson filtered through his momentary stupor. If he didn’t move, the bastard might shoot him again and impact greater damage. A flesh wound might be a literal pain but it wouldn’t kill him but a hit somewhere vital might.
“Gotcha!” Johnson brayed like a jackass. “Now give me the recorder, man.”
“iChíngate,” Daniel said, then repeated in English. “Fuck you.”
He thrust the device deep into his front jeans pocket and reached for his weapon in a back holster. As Daniel pulled out the pistol, two things happened. Johnson fired again and something vicious ripped hard into his left side, low. It burned deep into his flesh and hurt like a motherfucker. Almost before he could take
in the fact he’d been shot a second time Daniel stared in shock as Cecily burst into the room and approached Johnson.
“All right, asshole,” she said in a wild voice. “You wanted me, you got me. Now just what the hell are you gonna do with me?”
“I’m going to kill you, bitch eyes,” Johnson cried. “And watch you die.”
“Uh-uh,” she said. “Change of plan, mother fucker. You don’t mess with my people.”
She brought up a knife and he must be out of his fucking mind because he’d swear it was the old Comanche knife, the one his great-grandmother handed down through the generations. But it couldn’t be so he must be delirious or dreaming. Maybe Cecily wasn’t even really here although she appeared very real as she wielded the knife with a warrior’s intent. Like a trained assassin she thrust the knife under Johnson’s ribs and diagonally up into his chest. Johnson cried out, a wordless and terrible noise of surprise and pain before he lifted his weapon up one more time and pointed it in Cecily’s face.
“No, querida, no,” Daniel said but his voice came out so quiet he almost couldn’t hear it and he didn’t think she did. A roaring sound filled his ears but he still heard the gun shot echo with incredible volume. He tried to reach for her as a blood red haze filtered his vision. Through it, he watched Cecily put a hand to her head and fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. Someone screamed, maybe Nia, maybe him and then darkness enveloped him, thick and unforgiving and total.
Darkness yielded to night and he grew aware of thousands of stars lighting up the sky. Daniel gazed upward with wonder. He knew this place, remembered it well although he hadn’t set foot here in decades. The Lyndon B. Johnson National Grasslands, acres and acres of open country, plains and prairie, lakes and water, all beneath a Texas sky bigger than God almighty to a little kid from Fort Worth. He inhaled a fresh outdoors scent and another familiar aroma. Whatever reason he’d come here, he wasn’t alone. The aromatic, powerful smell of unfiltered Lucky Strikes brought back memories and a sense of security. Daniel turned around toward the aroma and saw his dad.
Manuel Padilla smiled and patted the earth beside him. “Mi hijo, come sit awhile.”
Daniel sat down, cross-legged and touched his father’s arm. Beneath his fingers, it was solid and real. A deep abiding peace surrounded him and he let it wash over him as the tension, the anxiety and cares of life ebbed away. “Papa, it’s good to see you.”
His father nodded and smoked. He offered Daniel a cigarette but he shook his head because he’d never smoked but his dad wouldn’t know, he guessed. They sat in comfortable camaraderie for a long time. About the time Daniel felt all his burdens lift, he noticed something on the horizon. He squinted and tried to make it out. Something very familiar about it niggled in his mind and he thought it mattered very much but he couldn’t remember why. He struggled until the image became clear – Cecily’s shop on the Branson Strip, the name lighting up the night sky, brilliant and as pink as the name – Pink Neon.
Cecily. Memory poured into his soul and flooded his senses. Her very essence flowed into his body and he recalled everything, the way her nose turned up at the end, her sassy mouth, her tender hands, and the way she made love with him. Thinking of her made him very happy but it brought back the things which bound him. Daniel stared at the shop and thought it must be a mirage, here.
“It’s real,” his father said. “Or real for you, anyway.”
“What does it mean? Why am I here?”
Manuel placed his hand over his son’s. “You’re here because your body was very hurt. So you came to a place you once knew and loved. You came to me so I could guide you.”
An idea dawned, one Daniel didn’t like. “Am I dead?”
“No,” his papa told him. “You could have been but she pulls you back, the woman. This is your past but that is your future.”
He pointed at the image of Pink Neon on the horizon and Daniel sensed a tugging, a need somewhere in his midsection. Power drew him with a sense of rightness, something similar to the way the tide comes to shore or some animals mate for life. In the rushing wind sweeping across the open country he heard what he’d missed before – the sound of Cecily’s weeping.
“Go to her,” his father told him. “Vaya con Dios, mi hijo. Your time will come someday but this is not the day.”
Daniel shut his eyes and everything around him shifted. A sensation of hurtling through time and space seized him and he yielded to its’ pull. The stars vanished and although he experienced a profound sense of loss Daniel launched into the darkness from which he’d emerged.
One moment he soared weightless and with joy, the next he crashed hard into the confines of a body. Pain returned, dulled but undeniable. Awareness came in slow stages and with every detail he gained knowledge of his surroundings. Daniel ticked them off in a mental list – a bed where he laid prone, an uncomfortable tube in his nose, needles attached to his arm, intermittent beeps in the background – and realized hospital. Vague medicinal smells assaulted his senses and a sharp discomfort in his groin made him aware of a catheter. Someone spoke to him, urgent and very soft. With stubborn will he forced his eyes open and saw her. Cecily, alive and apparently well, something which made him exhale hard. Last he remembered, he heard a shot and then she fell. Something tight in his chest eased with the knowledge she remained alive and unharmed. Damn, she’s pretty.
Her cornrows dangled as Cecily bent forward, face in both hands, a look of despair. Although Daniel lacked much strength, he summoned up enough to touch her hand. She glanced up, startled, eyes wide and gasped. She took his hand and held it tight as she came to her feet. Cecily stroked his face with her left hand, standing beside the bed leaning over him. A few soft snuffles escaped from her mouth, the kind of sound someone who cried for a long time will make. A stray tear leaked and rolled down her cheek in slow motion.
“Sugar?” she said as she lifted his right hand to her cheek. The cool of her hand, her skin soothed his own heat and he realized he must be running a fever. “Oh, sugar, you scared me.”
Daniel struggled to find his voice, to dredge up enough energy to speak. “Don’t cry, querida,” he said. “I came back.”
Her red-rimmed eyes clouded and he realized she didn’t understand. Explaining required too much effort so he didn’t try. He’d tell her later about his experience. “Hush,” she told him. “I don’t know how much talking you should be doing. You’ve only been out of ICU for a few hours.”
He recognized he’d been hospitalized but ICU put a more serious spin on things. Daniel wondered how bad he’d been hit, worse than he’d thought. “Why was I in ICU?” he croaked.
Some water would help his dry throat. Hell, he could drink a full pitcher.
Cecily kissed his hand, the one she still held. Her face crumpled up and he thought she would start bawling again. “You were shot, twice,” she told him. “Your shoulder wasn’t too bad, a flesh wound and the bullet went through although it tore you up. But the second one didn’t exit and they did surgery to remove it. You almost bled out before the ambulance came and even here at the hospital, they weren’t sure you’d make it.”
Jesus, he knew it must’ve been dire if he almost died and visited his dad in some heavenly version of the grasslands but Daniel hadn’t expected a close call. Although curious how long he’d been in the hospital and where, he had priorities. “Yo soy sediento,” he told her, forgetting she lacked much Spanish. “Aqua, por favor.”
“You want some water, sugar?” Cecily asked. “I know that much Spanish, learned it on Sesame Street.”
She poured water into a foam cup and inserted a bendable straw then held it to his lips. Daniel sucked the cool liquid into his mouth with pleasure. “Gracias,” he whispered.
“De nada,” she replied. “Try to sleep, sugar. You need lots of rest.”
Fatigue drifted over him, heavy and pervasive. Their short exchange wore him out and his eyelids became heavy. He wanted to remain alert, to talk to Cecily and enjoy h
er tender little caresses but he couldn’t. “Are you staying, querida?” he managed. “I want to see you when I wake up.”
“Daniel,” she replied with the first flicker of a smile he’d seen on her face since he woke. “Ain’t nothing big enough to drag me away. Trust me, they tried. I’ll be here, I promise.”
Before he could try to say anything else, she put one finger across his lips then bent over and kissed his mouth, soft and light. “I love you, sugar,” she whispered.
He surrendered to the weariness and let sleep wipe out everything else. When he woke again, he came around easier and it took far less effort to open his eyes. Sunshine streamed into the room from the window. Until he saw it, he hadn’t realized it’d been night before. Daniel drew a deep breath and realized the canula wasn’t in his nose. Although he hurt, the pain no longer had as much edge but he knew when he began to move, he’d be very sore. Still thirsty, he thought he possessed more strength until he struggled to sit up. He waited until the wave of weak dizziness passed to focus on whether or not Cecily remained in the room.
She stood with her back to him, gazing out of the window. He noticed she’d pulled her cornrows back and tied them with a ribbon in a modified sort of ponytail. Daniel watched her for a few moments and then said, “Querida.”
Cecily turned and rocketed to his side. “Hey, sugar,” she said. “You look better, a little.”
“I feel better,” he said but he winced as he shifted position. “What’s the doctor say?”
Her grin lit the room brighter than the sunlight. “He says you’ll recover just fine. Soon as you feel up to it, there’s a long line of people waiting to see you. Your boss from Kansas City, he’s one of them.”
Pink Neon Page 22
