No Gun Intended

by Zoe Burke

  “I don’t know. I’ve seen him only late at night, when I’m on that shift.” She checked her screen again. “Anyway, I have to go now. Bye.” She was dialing someone as she left us.

  “Annabelle, why don’t the police have someone stationed outside of Claudia’s door, for chrissakes?”

  “They can’t provide protection for everyone who gets mugged. It’s not like Claudia is a foreign dignitary or a mob boss or a movie star.”

  We finished our coffees and took the elevator to the parking garage. “I suppose we’ll have to do our own stakeout for Wesley Young.”

  Mom was about to open the car door. “Not tell the police? We should tell the police that he has been coming here.”

  I shook my head. “We’ll tell Mickey and Luis. I bet you the police will be happy to have two out-of-town policemen/PIs sit in the hospital hall for a couple of nights.

  “And you?”

  “I just might join them. I’d like to check in with Nancy and Phillip, though. See what they may have heard or seen.”

  We got in Mom’s car, a new light blue Smart car. “This is the doggone cutest little car I’ve ever seen,” I said.

  “Why are you talking like John Wayne?”

  “I guess these boots are made for talkin’.” I brought an ankle up to rest on my knee, which wasn’t easy in that car, and stroked my new gray boot.

  “Big mistake, that. Buying those for you.”

  We pulled out of the parking place and drove down the hill while I called Mickey.

  ***

  We met Mickey and Luis downtown at the bar at Jake’s Grill and ordered beers. They filled us in on their meeting with Monroe and Dawson about the previous night. The detectives were going to pay Greta a visit and find out more about Julius or Jules. The van hadn’t been located, though I hadn’t given them much to go on there.

  “Let’s say Greta killed Hank or got Julius to do it. Somehow she hears that Claudia needs a gun, so she arranges for the drop. Then we show up and she learns that the gun ended up with Annabelle. So Annabelle is kidnapped in order to get the gun back.” Mickey took a swig of beer.

  “Is this another way of telling me I should have kept my mouth shut around Greta?” I took two swigs of beer.

  “No. Well, I wish you had, and then hadn’t been kidnapped, but that’s not why I brought all of this up. It seems that things are falling into place. If the police find Greta and Julius, that part of the puzzle will be solved. I doubt that Loren Scranton is involved. Maybe he’s somehow obsessed with Sylvia, but we’ll put that to rest eventually…”

  “That weasly dickbrain,” Mom interjected.

  “So that just leaves us with Claudia and Wesley. And maybe we’ll see Wesley tonight, and then…”

  “Then we can have a normal visit!”

  “That would be very nice,” said Luis, and we all clinked glasses.

  Mine was a halfhearted clink. I wasn’t going to pin my hopes on any hail mary pass in the ninth inning.

  Chapter Twenty

  Back at home Mickey heard from Dawson that Greta was nowhere to be found. The billiards club only had a cell number for her, and she wasn’t answering. Probably because they found the phone stashed in a garbage can in the kitchen.

  I called the Bigelows at the hotel, but they didn’t answer, so I left a message.

  There wasn’t much to be done until we were to go to the hospital that night, so Dad suggested that we have an early dinner at 3 Doors Down, one of their favorite haunts. I wasn’t too hot on going out, but I insisted to everyone that I was fine and went upstairs to change my clothes.

  Mickey was lying on the bed. Dusty was lying next to him, her head resting on his chest while he absentmindedly stroked her back. “Dusty is a lot easier to get along with than Bonkers.”

  “The two of you look very content. I’m not sure that Mom and Dad allow her up on the bed.”

  Mickey didn’t shift his position. “I won’t tell, Dusty won’t tell. Our lives are in your hands.”

  I drew my fingers across my lips, indicating they were zipped shut. “When we get home, I think we should stay in bed for three days and order takeout.”

  “Sounds good. By the way, I think we should get a bigger place.”

  “Really? I love the apartment.”

  “Me, too. But it used to be just for me, and we could use some more room, maybe not right now, but eventually, so I think I’ll start looking for places when we get home.”

  Uh oh, I thought. He wants room for children. “That would be exciting.”

  “Plus, Luis and Ruby need a place to live. Maybe I can find a building that would suit all of us.…”

  Great. If we don’t have any kids of our own, we can share theirs until we do. “Mickey, um, it’s wonderful news about Ruby and the baby, huh?”

  He rolled over on his side and regarded me. Dusty sat up and yawned, then jumped down from the bed and sauntered out. “Sure. I’m happy for them.”

  Pregnant pause, no pun intended.

  “So, are you thinking that you and I…?”

  He sat up. “Babies? Uh, Annabelle, look, I never thought I would be a good father, and I have to say, if it’s really important to you to have children, then we can talk about it, but it’s never been something that I felt passionate about, and I’m not confident that…”

  He didn’t finish because I pounced on him and gave him a huge kiss. “Oh, thank goodness, Mickey. I was worried that you were one of those big family men since you didn’t have one yourself.”

  He smiled. “Neither did you, so I was thinking the same thing about you!”

  “We’ll be stellar as aunt and uncle to the little Maldonado.”

  We kissed again. “Do me a favor, babe.”

  “What?”

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “Mickey, I’m still sore and stiff, and everyone’s awake, and these walls aren’t very soundproof, and…”

  He put a finger to my lips to shush me. “All you’ll have to do is lie on your back and be quiet, and all I have to do is kiss you all over.”

  “All over?” I whispered.

  It was all over, not too quickly, and perfectly done.

  ***

  The restaurant was convivial, and my parents were greeted like regulars. We all seemed to be ravenous. Dad picked out a wine that we shared while eating hors d’oeuvres of potato fritters dipped in raclette cheese. I could feel our collective tensions give way to lighthearted conversation while we dug into our entrees. Matt the bartender and Zack our waiter kept the glasses filled and the banter flowing. I was starting to feel like I was having a normal visit.

  Silly me.

  We decided to splurge and have dessert. As our dinner dishes were being cleared away, Dad suddenly bolted up from his chair and pointed out the window. “Is that him?”

  We all whipped around to see where he was pointing. A man was standing outside the restaurant and peering in the window. He was short and fat and had blond hair.

  Mom put her hand on Dad’s arm. “No, dear, it’s not. Sit down, now. Take a breath.”

  We all laughed like this was funny, but the fact was, I had never seen my father so rattled, and it not only upset me, it infuriated me. Jeff Starkey was the best human being the world could ever find, and I couldn’t stand that I was once again bringing turmoil into his life.

  I excused myself and went to the ladies room. While I was washing my hands, my cell phone rang. I looked at the screen and didn’t recognize the number. I hesitated, but dried my hands and answered it.

  “Hello?”

  “Phil Bigelow here, Anna. Got your message.”

  “Annabelle. How’s Claudia?”

  “Just the same. It’s hard on Nancy.”

  But not on you? “Any news about the boyfriend?”

  “
Nah. He’s probably halfway to Syria by now.” He guffawed.

  “Mr. Bigelow, do you know if Claudia has had any other visitors?”

  “Wouldn’t know. Why don’t we get together again? See if we can hash out some details.” He chuckled.

  “Will you both be staying in Portland for a while?”

  “Well, Nancy’s here for the duration. I have a job, after all, so we’re driving up to Seattle as we speak. She’ll do some laundry, get some more clothes, all of that stuff, then I’ll fly to Miami and she’ll return here.”

  “Miami needs a lot of ball bearings, I guess?”

  “It’s a big business. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Are you related to Ringo? Because I never liked the Beatles, but, uh, I could be convinced that I was, uh, mistaken.”

  Never liked the Beatles? This guy was not only a slimebag, he was a moron.

  “Wow, Phil, didn’t you figure that out yet? My Dad, he’s really Ringo. Look closely next time.” He didn’t respond. “Thanks for the call. I’ll contact Nancy day after tomorrow. Bye.”

  I hung up before he could say anything else.

  I returned to the table and sat down. “I’ve been slimed.” I swallowed some wine. “Phillip Bigelow. Ick. He’s going back to Miami to deal with his ball bearings, while his daughter is in a coma. Meanwhile, he talks to me like he’s going to ask me out on a date.” I took another swallow.

  “Well, I certainly hope his balls find their bearings quickly,” Mom said brightly.

  Everyone laughed but me. Phillip Bigelow had soured my mood and to my mind, the only things to lighten it were the pinot noir and the exquisitely prepared chocolate mousse, into which I dove with my spoon, with abandon.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Mickey and I were sitting in Claudia’s hospital room, with the dividing curtain drawn so that we couldn’t be seen from the doorway. Luis was hanging out in the hospital entrance lobby. None of us knew what Wesley Young looked like, but Luis was going to text us if he saw anyone coming in that could be him. Both Mickey and Luis had gotten on the good side of Dawson and Monroe, apparently. They got the go-ahead to stake out Claudia’s room.

  Mickey had his gun in his shoulder holster. I assumed Luis was carrying, too. “Mickey, about my gun.”

  “Mmm. What about it?”

  “You know I don’t like it.”

  “You shot pretty well for your first time at the range.”

  “I’m pretty sure that will be my only time at the range.”

  “I’m not going to pressure you about this, babe. But I do think we should discuss it some more. Once we’re back in New York.”

  “Okay.” I found the remote for the TV and turned it on with the sound muted. “Aha! Overboard is on, with Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell. Ever see it?”

  “No. Good?”

  “For a light comedy, yup. Goldie Hawn falls off her yacht and has amnesia, and Kurt Russell convinces her that she’s his wife and the mother of his four sons. Then she wakes up, but they’ve fallen in love, so she gives up her upper-crust lifestyle for him and the boys.”

  “Sorry, it sounds stupid.”

  “It’s good stupid.”

  “Did you just call me stupid?”

  I laughed. “No, I mean it’s a good kind of stupid.”

  Mickey’s phone buzzed. He read the text.

  “Our Wesley might be entering the building right now.”

  We both stood up and positioned ourselves toward the head of Claudia’s bed and waited.

  Sure enough, the door opened and footsteps approached the curtain. A young man in a hoodie pulled it away and bolted out the door as soon as he saw us.

  We took off after him. I yelled, “Stop! We just want to talk to you!” but he kept running, and we kept following.

  Wesley, assuming it was Wesley, was clearly an athlete. He tore down the hall to the stairwell and flew down the stairs. I tried to keep up, but my body was still recovering from my last run through the woods in stocking feet, so I wasn’t up to my usual pace.

  Mickey was a step or two behind me, and I figured I was in his way, so I moved over and he raced by me. I continued down, round and round the staircases, ten steps each, then a landing, then ten steps, then a landing.

  “Wesley! We want to help!” I yelled. I could hear him still running. Finally I heard a door slam, then open and slam again. I was at the door ready to open it when I heard the shot.

  “MICKEY!” I screamed and ran out the door.

  Immediately I was tackled to the ground.

  “Stay down, Annabelle!” Mickey warned, his body covering mine.

  “Are you shot?”

  “No. Wesley. He’s lying on the ground over there. I don’t know where the shooter is. Just stay down.” He twisted his body a little to look around, but it was mostly dark; the outside lights of the hospital didn’t reach a very far. He reached up to jiggle the door handle, but it had automatically locked when it closed. “Damn it. Babe, we need to get away from the light here and into some dark spot so that we can’t be seen.”

  I nodded, trying to breathe normally.

  “Can you crawl?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay.” He pointed. “The corner of the building is just up there. Head straight for it and roll down that little embankment. See it?”

  I raised my head to look. “I see it.”

  “I’m going to run, while you crawl, in case the shooter’s there. I’ll get his attention.”

  “Mickey, that doesn’t sound like a good idea…”

  “No discussion, babe. Ready? On three. One, two, three.” Mickey leaped off of me and ran while I crawled. My knees and elbows were not happy, scraping along the cement walkway, but I got to the edge where there was a grassy decline, and I propelled myself over it, rolling down into Mickey’s arms.

  There were no shots.

  Mickey pulled out his phone and speed-dialed Luis. “Side of the building, Luis. Wesley was shot. Can you get to us?” He hung up and moved to squat in front of me. “Stay low, babe. We’re okay.” Then he called 911 and gave them our location.

  Luis came around the building in a crouch. I could make out his silhouette and saw that his gun was drawn. Mickey loud-whispered his name, and Luis scurried down the hill to us. “Are you both all right?”

  “Yes,” Mickey answered.

  “What about Wesley? Is he alive?”

  “Don’t know. He doesn’t seem to be moving.” Mickey indicated Wesley’s prone body with a nod. “Not even sure it’s him, though it’s a good bet. We should wait for the police.”

  “I agree with you. We do not want to be the next targets.”

  So we sat and waited the few minutes for the police to arrive.

  Three squad cars pulled up to the side of the hospital, their headlights blazing across the back expanse. Wesley’s body was in full view, stretched out on his stomach like he was ready for a massage.

  Mickey and Luis put their guns on the ground and shouted out to the police. One officer came over to us and told us to stay put until it was safe.

  I watched two officers approach Wesley. One of them knelt beside him and checked his pulse on the side of his neck. The other cops were fanning out across the parking lot.

  Still no shots.

  A couple of guys in scrubs brought a gurney. Once the police gave them an all-clear signal, they rolled it up to Wesley and opened up a box that I figured was an EMT’s kit.

  They bent over Wesley.

  Mickey and Luis and I were silent, watching.

  They pulled a backboard off the top of the gurney and laid it next to Wesley, quickly sliding it under him. They picked him up and placed him on the gurney and hustled it back into the hospital.

  “He’s not dead, right? They wouldn’t have handled him that way if he was dead, right, M
ickey?”

  “Right.”

  I was so relieved I stood up without thinking, and that’s when another cop turned his gun on me and yelled “Freeze!”

  I threw my hands up in the air, lost my balance, and fell backward down the hill, flashing on Goldie Hawn when she took a tumbler off that yacht.

  At least I wasn’t going to wake up to mothering four boys. Ever.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  It was another excruciatingly long night. A million questions, asked and answered, over and over again. At least Dawson and Monroe stood up for us—well, for Mickey and Luis. There was some kind of guy-magic going on there. Monroe still bugged the hell out of me. He had kept sizing me up, trying to stare me down. Little did he know that I was the champion of staring contests. I might be freaking out inside, but I’m not going to look away first, nosiree bob. What did I have to do to stop being regarded as a loose cannon criminal girl from the big city, all about guns and backpacks and putting girls in comas and getting kidnapped by thugs who probably just wanted me to teach them my trick pool shots anyway, and…?

  “Babe.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re muttering to yourself.”

  “Sorry. It’s Monroe. He’s so irritating.” We were alone in the hallway, waiting for Luis.

  “He’s okay. Just not your style.”

  “Hmm. I forgot to ask you, Mickey. Did you find out from Monroe and Dawson about us getting stopped twice, and that cop knowing my name?”

  “Yeah. The police had your dad’s license plate number with your name, just as a if-you-see-this,-keep-an-eye-out sort of thing. Not an APB.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel SO much better.” I rolled my eyes.

  Mickey put his arm around me. “Like it or not, you’re connected with a murder, and now with Wesley Young getting shot…In fact, I’m reconsidering spending so much time with you myself. Seems very dangerous.”

  I elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

  “Ow! See? You can’t be trusted!”

  I rolled my eyes again.

  Luis walked down the hall toward us and we stood up. “All finished?”