by JB Lynn
“I’ve got a really bad feeling about this,” Armani whispered.
“You worry too much.”
“Promise me you’ll be careful today, Maggie.”
“I’m going to the mall,” I told her, feeling a twinge of guilt as I used her to shore up my alibi. “The worst thing that could happen is that someone might spray me with perfume.”
“I hope you’re right. See you Monday, Chiquita.” She hung up.
“What was that about?” God asked.
“My psychic friend wanted to warn me that there’s going to be an explosion.”
The lizard swallowed hard.
“Last chance to change your mind. There’s still time for me to run you over to the hospital.”
God shook his head.
“Have it your way.” I lifted the lid of his terrarium and extended my hand.
He eyed my palm suspiciously. “Don’t forget. I have very sensitive skin and bruise easily.”
“Did I hurt you last time?”
“No, but that time you hadn’t recently threatened me with bodily harm.”
“Stop being such a wuss.”
Tail flicking, he climbed into my palm. I lifted him out of the terrarium and slid him into the pocket of my sweatshirt. “How is it in there?”
“Dark.”
As per Patrick’s instructions I drove to the mall, ran inside, bought a lip gloss, making sure to get a dated and time-stamped receipt, and then left the mall.
“I don’t understand how you stand such temperature changes,” the lizard complained.
“I don’t know how you can stand to eat live bugs.”
We continued this line of discussion for the entire eight blocks I had to walk, in order to meet Patrick at our prearranged rally point.
“He’s here.” I told God when I spotted the redhead sitting in a non-descript sedan. “Remember to keep quiet.”
Leaning across the car, he opened the door for me.
“Is this a cop car?” I asked. It had a distinct aroma of stale coffee.
“No.”
“Where’d you get it?”
He didn’t answer. In fact he didn’t say another word for the twenty-minute drive out to where Gary the Gun lived. I guess he was pretty nervous, too. That didn’t make me feel any better.
I tried practicing Alice’s stress-reduction breathing exercise. I didn’t feel any different. I fiddled with the four-leaf-clover necklace Leslie had provided. I didn’t feel any luckier.
Patrick didn’t speak until he parked the car in an empty office building lot around the corner from Gary’s place. “When this is over, there’s something we have to talk about.”
Noticing that his cheeks were slightly flushed and that he was having trouble making eye contact, my anxiety ratcheted up another ten notches.
“I know, I know, I owe you your cut.”
“It’s not that.”
“What?” I joked, trying to break the tension. “Are you trying to break up with me, Mulligan?”
He shook his head.
“Then what?”
“Not now.”
“Why not?”
“Now’s not the time. It’s personal.”
“So why’d you mention it?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t have. It was a mistake.”
I was thoroughly confused.
“We need to keep our heads in the game. Forget I said anything. You’re absolutely sure you can make the climb.”
“Positive.”
Reaching into the sweatshirt he wore, he pulled out a gun and handed it to me.
“Another Magnum.” I knew it wasn’t the same as the one I’d used on Cifelli. While I’d been waiting for him in the park I’d noticed that the barrel of that particular weapon was scratched up. This one gleamed.
“I figured it was what you’re comfortable with.”
I nodded.
Which was weird. I shouldn’t be comfortable with any kind of gun.
“What time does your watch say?”
“Eleven twenty-eight.”
He glanced at his own watch. “Okay, so we go at noon. That should give us both plenty of time to get inside. You remember the plan, right?”
“I remember.” Regardless, I was sure that God would remind me just as soon as we were out of Patrick’s earshot.
“Okay.” He reached for his door handle.
Trying to ignore the nervous churning of my gut, I followed his lead and felt for mine.
“Mags?”
I turned back toward him. My breath caught in my throat when I saw the intensity of his gaze.
“You asked me why I’m doing this.”
“And you said you felt responsible . . . but if you’ve changed your mind . . . I can handle it from here.”
“Rule Five.”
“Did I learn Rule Four?”
“Rule Five is: Trust your partner.”
I blinked. “We’re partners?”
“For this job we are. I promise you Mags, I’m not going to let you down.”
A balloon of panic swelled inside me. If he was counting on me . . . “I . . . I wish I could promise you the same.”
“Just do your best.”
“My best isn’t usually enough,” I confessed, ashamed.
“I’m not worried, Mags. I’ll know you’ll do great. The reason I’m doing this is that I like you. A lot. I’ve liked you since the moment I first laid eyes on you.”
“People usually get past that once they get to know me,” I joked weakly.
“People are usually fools.”
With that he jumped out of the car and jogged away down the road.
I just sat in the sedan watching him disappear. Endangering my own life for the sake of saving Katie was one thing. Risking his life . . . I wasn’t sure that was a gamble I was willing to make.
“You do know that in order for the plan to work you actually have to get out of the car,” God reminded me.
I knew he couldn’t stay silent forever . . . or even for an hour.
Grudgingly, I climbed out of the sedan. My legs were rubbery, but they carried me to the back of Gary the Gun’s property. Just as in the photograph Patrick had shown me the night before, his home, an old colonial, was flanked by large trees. My job was to climb one of those trees, get into the house through the second floor balcony door that was open, and get down to the kitchen undetected.
Patrick had been convinced Gary would be in his kitchen. Apparently, besides being a first-rate hitman, the guy considered himself to be a gourmet cook.
“It looks awfully high,” God said. “You do know I usually only climb about twelve inches at a time, right?”
“It’s not that high.” But it was. “What? Are you afraid you’re going to get altitude sickness or something? It’s a tree, not Everest. But if you want, you can wait in the car.”
“Put me down. You can follow me up,” he offered. “I’ll scout out the best handholds.”
“Okay.” I carefully placed him on the ground, not wanting to bruise his sensitive skin. I had no doubt that if I did, I’d never hear the end of it. He scampered ahead of me. “Just remember,” I warned on a whisper. “We both have to be quiet.”
He scaled the tree, disappearing within seconds.
Leaning against the trunk, I took a moment to collect myself. I knew I had to do this. If I didn’t, my family was in danger, I could go to jail, and I’d never collect the money I so desperately wanted for Katie. Now, on top of everything else, Patrick was counting on me.
I wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten the impression I’m count-on-able. I’d come from a genetic line of less-than-dependables. And yet his faith in me had seemed pretty unshakeable.
“Do my best,” I muttered, finding my first handhold on the tree.
For a moment I imagined I was six again, making my first attempt to clamber up the tree behind my aunts’ place.
“Just do your best, Maggie May,” my dad urged, hoverin
g below me with outstretched arms in case I should fall.
One of the reasons I love to climb so much is that I didn’t learn on my own. I was taught. I wasn’t alone.
I wasn’t alone now either.
I heaved myself upward. Yup, I was climbing a tree so that I could take out a contract killer before he got me or those I loved.
If my best wasn’t good enough, a whole lot of people could end up hurt or dead.
Chapter Forty-One
I WAS HUFFING AND puffing like a beached whale by the time I reached the level of the balcony.
God raised a finger to his lips, a mocking reminder to be quiet. I was trying, but the climb had been more difficult than I’d anticipated. Plus, I’d shredded the skin on my left palm. It stung like a bitch.
Gingerly, I swung myself from the tree to the balcony, taking care not to bump into the glass door that was propped halfway open. Gripping the railing, I took a minute to catch my breath.
I glanced at my watch. 11:45. I had fifteen minutes to get down to the kitchen. That meant I had at least ten minutes to kill.
The lizard tapped on my sneaker. I crouched down as low as I could.
“I’ll go make sure he’s in the kitchen,” he whispered.
“Be careful,” I whispered back. He scampered inside, and I settled in for my wait. Taking out the shiny gun Patrick had provided, I examined it carefully, making sure it was loaded and the safety was on. I could practically hear him coaching me. Breathe in, focus along the sight, and as you exhale, you’re going to squeeze the trigger.
That lesson in the barn seemed like it had taken place a lifetime ago. I’d been a different person.
It’s personal, Patrick had said. I’d been so caught up in my worries, I hadn’t given much thought to what it was he wanted to discuss, but now, with nothing to do but wait and think, I found myself wondering what he’d meant.
Assuming we both lived through the day, I had sort of thought this would be the last I’d see of him. That’s how I’d want it if I was him. I’d been nothing but trouble from the moment he’d met me. Still, his saying he wanted to have a discussion of a personal nature seemed to indicate he thought we had some kind of future.
It caught me off guard when I realized how much that possibility pleased me.
God scuttled up to me.
I bent down to listen to his whispered report.
“I’ve got good news and bad news.”
I rolled my eyes. Of course there had to be bad news.
“The good news is that just like Patrick said, he’s in the kitchen, watching the Food Network . . . blasting it really.”
I waited for the bad news.
“But . . . he’s handling knives.”
I nodded. I had figured that if we did indeed catch him in the kitchen, there was a good chance he’d have cutting implements within reach.
“And . . .”
My stomach flipped nervously. There was more?
“He’s wearing a chef’s hat.”
I couldn’t see how headwear was a problem.
“And nothing else. I didn’t want you to get distracted by his . . . um. . . . uh . . .”
I’d never seen the little guy at a loss for words. “Nudity?”
He shook his head. “Tumescence.”
“Huh?”
“Apparently cooking is a turn on for him. Literally.”
It took me a beat to figure out what the hell he was talking about. “Oh. O. . . . h.”
“I didn’t want your attention to get diverted by his—”
“I got it.” Of all the weird conversations I’d had lately, I was pretty sure this one took the cake.
“I just want you to be prepared.”
“Forewarned is forearmed.”
“Exactly.”
“Ready?”
I nodded. It was a lie. About the only thing I was ready to do was throw up.
God led the way.
I followed, skirting around the balcony door and entering Gary the Gun’s house. Even from up here I could hear the television blaring downstairs.
Running ahead of me, the lizard disappeared around a corner. I surmised, from the tangled sheets on the bed, that this was Gary’s bedroom. I aimed the Magnum at the pillow, pretending his smirking face was on it. I pretended to pull the trigger.
I could do this. I could kill the son-of-a-bitch threatening everyone I loved. A sense of calm filled me, settling my nerves and stomach. I followed after the reptile, ready to do my job.
Gary the Gun’s home was not what I’d expected. Not that I’d given much thought to what the devil’s lair might look like, but I certainly hadn’t expected it to look so . . . normal. Then again the only other killer’s home I’d been in was Patrick’s sparse apartment.
Glowing Thomas Kinkade prints lined the walls. Yes, the Prince of Darkness was apparently a fan of the Painter of Light. I was surprised they were prints. You’d figure with the kind of money he was probably pulling in he could afford an original or two. He seemed particularly fond of Main Street scenes. Personally Kinkade’s idyllic view of the world, with its shimmering highlights and deep pastels, makes me want to retch.
I noticed that the furnishings looked like they’d been pulled piece-for-piece from a Pottery Barn showroom. Apparently Mr. Tough Guy was also Mr. Gullible Suburbanite.
The noise from the TV grew louder as I approached the stairs. God peeked through the railing slats, and waved me forward, indicating that the coast was clear. Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was 11:56. I disengaged the safety of the gun and moved toward the stairs.
Suddenly the lizard streaked toward me. “Doomsday is coming!” He shouted.
I made a shushing gesture. All I needed was for Gary to hear the lizard vocalizing and leave the kitchen to check out the noise.
“Doomsday is coming,” God whispered.
“So I’ve been told,” I whispered back. “You’re the one who told me—”
“Doomsday is here.” He covered his eyes as though the sight were too much to behold.
Just so you know, Doomsday arrives with a low rumble, sort of like thunder rolling in the distance.
It was behind me. I almost dropped the gun. The insistent rumble grew louder.
I turned slowly.
I gotta admit that Doomsday wasn’t exactly what I expected, but it sure as hell scared the crap out of me.
Seventy pounds of growling bared teeth and coiled muscle glared at me. The Doberman pinscher looked as though it was about to attack.
“Nice doggie,” I whispered.
“Give it a donut! Give it a donut!” God urged in a panicked whisper. He had insisted that I put the three stale crullers in my pocket before we’d gotten out of the car at the mall. I’d told him that if I hadn’t eaten them when I bought them, I wasn’t going to eat them today. He’d argued that they might come in handy. I hadn’t seen how the practically-fossilized paper weights could be of any use, but I’d compromised and taken one with me.
Slowly, so as not to startle the animal waiting to tear me limb-from-limb, I pulled the baked good from my pocket. “Nice doggie. Would you like this?”
It stopped growling and sat down.
I handed it over, making sure not to lose any fingers in the process. The mutt wolfed it down and then looked at me expectantly.
“I’m sorry. I don’t have any more.”
It growled.
“If I’d known you were going to be here, and you’d be hungry, I would have brought more.” As I spoke, I brought the gun up and leveled it at the dog’s head.
No doubt the gun shot would alert Gary to my presence, but if the animal made a move for my jugular I wouldn’t have a choice. The prospect of shooting this dog made me queasier than the idea of shooting its owner. “Please don’t make me shoot you,” I begged.
In response it snarled at me.
“What?” It sounded as though the mutt had said something.
“Doing here what?” Despite the gut
tural growl, I heard a high-pitched, breathy woman’s voice. If this dog had a soul, she was a blonde along the lines of Anna Nicole Smith.
“What am I doing here? Is that what you’re asking?”
“I told you their grammar is terrible,” God grumbled.
She growled at him.
“If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all,” I said. I smiled at the dog, trying to ignore the fact that I was scared to death of her. “I’m Maggie and this is Godzilla. What’s your name?”
“Doomsday,” she replied.
Armani really needed to work on these predictions of hers.
“We’re not here to hurt you, Doomsday.”
“Leave the guy hurts before.”
I looked to God for a translation. “She said, Leave before the guy hurts you.”
I nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate that advice, Doomsday, I really do, but I can’t leave.”
She cocked her head to the side and looked at me quizzically. “Hurt Doomsday are you?”
“She wants to know if you’re going to hurt her.”
Realizing I still had the gun pointed at her head, I lowered it to my side. “No, sweetheart. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Lying down on the floor, she crawled over to me on her belly and licked my sneaker.
“Oh look, you’ve made a new friend,” God drawled with all his annoying superiority.
Ignoring him, I bent down and stroked the top of the dog’s head. Her coat was softer than I expected, silky almost.
“Mean guy. Take home me?”
“She wants to know if you’ll take her home. Apparently Gary is mean to the creature.”
“Who could be mean to such a sweet girl?”
She rolled over, inviting me to rub her belly.
“I’m not sure my apartment complex even allows dogs, otherwise I’d—”
“Hey Dog Whisperer, you’re going to be late,” God reminded me.
I glanced at my watch. Twelve o’clock on the dot. “Oh crap. Doomsday, I need you to stay here. Stay.”
There was a crash in the kitchen.
Patrick must have already been there, and I was late.
Without waiting for the gecko to tell me if the path was clear, I ran down the stairs, through a sitting room, and straight into the kitchen, failing to register that the TV had been muted, which meant there was no noise to cover my approach.
