by Kieran York
He raised both his phone, and his aim of the gun. The gun was aimed directly at my head. I saw him begin to pull the trigger.
I had few options. One would take precision, and if it didn’t work, Summer and I would die. We all would die.
I was within four feet of him. I needed to act quickly. He continued squeezing the trigger. I shot the place near his lower wrist in the hand holding the phone. If the bullet hit the target I’d aimed for, his wounded hand would open. In my other hand, I swung the lacrosse stick as I dived toward the place I hoped the phone would land. As I vaulted horizontally, my arm rolled and the stick’s mesh pocket was directly under the falling phone. I’d caught it. My dive had also thwarted Ryder’s shot from hitting me. Placing the stick and mesh pocket carefully on the ground, my gun arm aimed back in his direction. When it was trained on his weapon, I saw him move his pistol, pointing toward the phone that was now on the ground.
I heard gunfire spurting around me, over my sprawled body. I screamed. I felt the scream from Summer, although she was gagged, I knew it was there. When I stood, I saw the bomb squad rushing toward us. I pointed at the phone and warned them of the time-bomb. Quickly, they began dismantling the explosives. While another team of technicians worked on removing the vest, Summer’s eyes clamped tightly shut.
The bomb disposal unit was in full armor, and was working diligently.
I went to the side of Ryder. I knelt on one knee. “It didn’t need to end this way,” I said.
He coughed out blood and uttered choppy words. “You bitch, I could have beat the death penalty. My dad would have saved me. I’d have beat the charges. You said I was too young to get the death penalty.”
“I lied, you little punk. The time on the evidentiary security tape was date-stamped. It was after midnight. It was your birthday when you killed Pixy. Your twenty-first birthday, chum. If you live, you’ll be charged. Your pal will pull a deal, and testify against you.”
My glare down at him told us both that I wouldn’t bother to ask why he killed Pixy. Or why his brutality, his hubris, his wicked heart, had harmed others. I knew that his answer would be simple. It was what he wanted to do. And he did everything he wanted, got everything he wanted, and expected everything to be his. Without remorse and without contrition, Ryder’s actions were all about his satisfaction and his pleasure.
Now, he wanted to leave me with words that would forever bring me pain. He uttered, “I laughed when I was killing her. I got a kick out of seeing her die.” Our glowering at one another was fierce. He continued, “I hate you.” He struggled, blood was rushing from his mouth. He’d been critically shot by three police snipers. And there was a wrist injury that was my contribution. He sputtered, “I hate…”
“I hate you, too.” My next words were not heard by him. “Ding, ding – the final round, you sanctimonious, rabid coward.” The medics had done all that they could. It was over. He was gone. I felt sorrow for his victims. And regret for his evilness. Telling a dying murderer that I hated him was all in this day’s work.
I went to Summer’s side and I knelt beside her as the bomb squad labored to extricate her from the explosive-packed vest. She continued to tell me to get back. I continued to tell her I was there, and staying. Carefully, they detached the bomb. It was then taken to the disposal unit. The unit was then driven to the center of the lot.
One team member lifted the phone and began unpeeling the layers of instruction that were meant to kill Summer and me. They hoped they could disarm that part so that the bomb could then be safely dismantled before it exploded. One technician said he didn’t like fireworks. I believed that was to lift the spirits of victims that had been tied to a death by a bomb.
Within three minutes, we watched as the bomb detonated. The force lifted the disposal vehicle from the ground. I shivered thinking what it might have done to Summer, and all the responders. And me. Three very important minutes.
When untied, Summer stood. Because of the tape restraints on her legs, she stumbled into my arms. “I got you.”
“This is a role reversal,” she teased. “I usually rush in and save you.”
“I was feeling a rush of payback.”
“Glad you selected today. I almost lost it when you made that dive with the lacrosse stick. That’s what I call excellence athletic aplomb.”
“Who knew I could have been a champion lacrosse player?” I joked. Or maybe, I conceded, it had been lucky reflexive training.
She leaned against me as we walked toward a squad car where someone would be taking our statements. I told her about Rachel being invited to N.Y. Summer grimaced.
The investigator motioned for me to sit in his car. My statement was first, and I hurried. I saw one of my best friends, a sister, nearly killed. I saw the man that wanted us both dead as he died on the ground. Too young to die. Too young to kill. Coddled, spoiled, saved from prosecution. Justice was purchase on Ryder’s behalf. But not this time.
I covered my eyes. I recalled the old saying about battle fatigue. You need to return to the battlefield for your soul. When my eyes opened, I glance back toward the scene of our life-death engagement. I wondered if during the battle there was anything else I could have said that might have diffused the carnage? Ryder’s determination not to take prisoners had been made when he set the time-bomb. He signed off on killing. Yet, I would struggle for my soul for a very long time. No matter what the outcome of this showdown, there would not have been a triumphant outcome. It was not victorious.
Looking across the parking lot, I saw Rachel’s BMW. Rachel had been restricted from driving, but she had driven to us. The three of us hugged. We tried to make certain that Rachel’s hugs were soft. She was squeezing way too hard. But her secret was safe. Summer and I wouldn’t tell Hanna. We weren’t squealers.
Tom had called. He was at the Hodges Palace. The place was a treasure trove of evidence. Although he knew that there would be no trial, everyone had to have evidence. Tom had tried to comfort John Hodges. Losing a child is unimaginable, he commented to us. Then he told us that John had claimed it was his own fault.
“What could I say to that?” Dejected, Tom asked. “It wasn’t the time to tell him the truth.”
“There was nothing you could have said,” I answered.
“That’s all I had. Nothing. His son raped and brutalized at least half a dozen women. It looks like we’re going to have some hits on DNA for the Fort Lauderdale murder. And when his blood sample hits the database, who knows how many he’s killed or raped.” Tom hesitated. “And the team found explosives hidden around Hodges Mansion. They’ll probably be linked to your friend’s attempted murder. All kinds of things. John bought him out of his ‘predicament’ each time. As it escalated, John continued to blame everyone but his son. Or maybe he was just cleaning up bad press that might have tarnished his reputation.” Tom sighed.
“Ryder wasn’t done killing.” I thought of his dying words.
Tom’s voice was flat, lifeless. “Ryder would have continued killing. But maybe if his dad would have left him in the holding tank. Allowed justice to help make corrections. A taste of punishment often redirects kids. Maybe Ryder would have changed. Maybe Pixy would be alive.
“And it is possible that John was continuing to be an accomplice in aiding and abetting his son’s crimes.”
Tom agreed, “I believe John was an accomplice.”
“Tom, Ryder implicated his father. He claimed John had his plane waiting. And new identities for both Ryder and Javier.”
There was a long moment of silence. “I’ll get someone on that now,” Tom answered. “Homicide offers up all kinds of culprits. Fatherhood should offer direction and comfort. Not this. John’s kid killed an innocent young woman.”
“Pixy brought us laughter and joy. She would have been watched her cartoons about a seahorse named Ripple. She would sell shells, and roses. And her silver medal might not have been stolen.”
Tom was choking up, but he cleared his throat so
no one would notice. “We found her medal in Ryder’s sock drawer. Stashed in a corner. I retrieved it. It’s been taken into evidence, but the case is nearly officially closed since Ryder’s death. It’s going to be a closed case very soon. We’ll talk with you about where your Team thinks it should go.”
“To a place where everyone can see it. A place where brain injury, and other traumatic brain disabilities can be studied, and one day cured. A place where help will be given to everyone with similar afflictions.”
Tom must have been shedding a tear, just as I was. “I need to go. A couple of investigators have some questions,” he stated.
I leaned back on the car, waiting for Summer to finish her statement. Rachel had stayed near her. When I saw Rachel and Summer coming toward me, I knew Summer was spent. “Let’s get out of here,” Summer said. She shivered for a brief moment. “This has been a terrible day.”
“We captured a killer.”
Summer glared. “We aren’t going to be eliminating any more crime at my expense. That was too flipping close,” she grumbled.
“And I’m not volunteering anymore lungs,” Rachel teased.
“You aren’t really considering leaving the Team, are you?” I asked.
“I’m overly cautious of packing a gun, that’s not good. And since being shot, I’m really gun shy now. Being a P.I. takes courage.” She looked away. Both of her shoulders lowered. “I don’t have what it takes.”
“We need you, Rachel,” I countered. “You’re the calm that settles us down. You direct us, and no one is better at analyzing situations. Please reconsider.”
“We both want you at our sides,” Summer blurted.
“What can I tell Hanna?” Rachel asked.
“Rach,” Summer shook her head, “you can’t up and leave us. If Hanna loves you, she can stay here. Tell her that.”
“She’s healed me, and she needs to go on.”
“But you don’t need to leave,” I disputed.
“I don’t need to, and I don’t want to,” Rachel relented. The three of us hugged. “Let’s go home. We are the Team!”
Rachel threw her car keys to Summer. “Don’t put a scratch on my BMW. Wait, I’m coming with you, she called to Summer. I can watch your driving for you.”
I knew Summer’s eye would roll. And they did.
My smile was curtailed as I watched them drive away. I could have lost either one of them. The power of sharing life. That alone is often treacherous. It involves that L word - loving.
Loving. I had to be on the side of love. For the opposite is hatred. And too many lives are lost to hatred. Sadness weighed me down. For there had been loss for so many. I planned to call Evan. I’d tell her about the events of the day. I’d ask if she would be returning for Pixy’s services. We needed to cheer one another. That would be nice.
Once in my car, I drove to a secluded shore. Perhaps to search for my soul. Retracting my convertible’s top, I looked out at the sky.
A bank of clouds moved gracefully across the sky. I thought back to one of the days when I sat beside Pixy on the warm sands. She had pointed to the sky. A sky looking similar to today. She said in her broken speech, “White shells fall. Through clouds. They come with water. I find cloud shells.”
I had remembered her words, because so many times they had gone through too many thought sieves and been disbursed through the caverns of her mind. But this conversation made sense. “Yes,” I had answered.
Pixy had grinned that irresistible wobbly grin of contented bliss. “I pick shells like flowers.”
“They are like flowers, Pixy,” I had said. “No two shells and no two flowers are like.”
“I different.” She slapped her chest. “I different.”
“No one is more wonderful than you are.”
“I pick flowers like shells, too.” She had then hopped up, grabbed her bag of shells, and wandered away. I saw her walk about two hundred yards. She turned back to me. She had forgotten to wave.
Remembering that day filled my heart with gratitude. I’d met and known a silver medalist. But more importantly, I knew Pixy. I looked out, and up to the sky. The clouds were shells today.
I waved.
Epilogue
Two Weeks Later
What would Pixy have thought of this festival that was designed to honor her. She would have been her gleeful, giving self. My glances around, full circle, spotted dozens of people I knew. The elite and elegant were here. The ragged beach bums were here. But Evan Finch wasn’t here.
Checking every direction, my spirit dropped. I’d only spoken with her a couple times since I’d called to tell her about the death of Ryder – the man that had placed a bomb in her car, and nearly killed her. With memories like that, I couldn’t blame her if she never returned. But she had mentioned that she was going to attempt to be at Pixy’s service. She also warned that because previous commitments, and of weather delays, she might not get out of the airport in time.
I was disappointed. She wasn’t there.
Florida’s spacious sunshine was lighting up the area. The center plaza was filled with those wanting to pay tribute to Pixy – Silver medalist, Lacey Wyatt. Her service had statements by the mayor, the woman running for governor, several of Pixy’s friends, and finally Glenda Perrault. Glenda knew this cause was important to Trevar’s Team. She went all out.
Glenda was a show-stopper. She knew infomercials, fronting one of the country’s leading cosmetic companies, and how to twist the hearts of the Palm Beach moneyed. She had pledged to contribute ten million to begin the new wing on the hospital. She also pledged that she was going to coheres all of her associates and friends to also support this cause. She’d told me that another major contributor was a woman named Dana Cross-Inge. Trevar Investigators had anonymously kicked in our entire bonus. And Glenda said there was a huge donation that would be enough to start digging the new center’s foundation, and provided for money to get it built. When I asked for a name, she grinned and told me she’d release the information later.
Glenda vowed this center would be one of the leading medical foundations in the world. For both research and rehabilitation. It would be for those with disabilities from traumatic brain injury. Above the entrance would be a glassed cabinet holding Pixy’s her silver medal.
This wing of the hospital would be called the Pixy Center.
The entry to the ward would have a statue of Pixy. Glenda had a beautifully drawn watercolor sketch – spec for the statue. It was Pixy, with her floral harem pants, fitted t-shirt, and short-brimmed porkpie hat. Arms lifted and extended, just as if she was going to begin a handstand, or perhaps a flip. At the base of the bronze would be an imprinted plaque with shells, roses, and her name. Names.
I gave Glenda the thumbs up sign when the painting spec was unveiled.
Our Trevar Team comments had been read by one of the officials. The Team’s motto was to keep as low a profile as we could. Being investigators, we didn’t like being seen any more than we had to be.
Mingling, I spotted Lefty. We chatted, then he said he needed to go. Had something to do and then get back to his houseboat to have a cool brew. The crowds made him nervous. Me too, I’d confessed. Chief Powers was busily chatting with one of the commissioners. We traded waves, and smiles. I had a chance to thank Aubrey, Felipa, Ross, and Lefty for their help. Naturally, when I saw Doc Hanna, I hoped that Rachel had made the right decision. We were pretty hard on the heavy-handed doctor. Then there were the managers of the restaurants, grills, and bars. I’d made a point to thank them for information.
I saw Rachel and Summer chatting with Officer Jill Timoteo. I’d only seen her in uniform, and so didn’t recognize her until I saw her turn and smile. While thanking Jill, I noticed both Summer and Rachel acting a little constrained. Finally, Summer blurted, “Trev, did you know Jill wants to become a detective?”
“I didn’t,” I replied. “Jill, I’m sure you’ve got enough background, and years to get on the department�
�s list.”
Rachel corrected, “No, Beryl, she wants to join our team. Well, when I suggested it to her, she said she was interested.”
“Really?” It was registering, but I didn’t have a feeling for what my partners might be thinking. “Is that true, Jill?’
“Yes, absolutely.” She paused. “I mean, I know the three of you work great together. Maybe I could moonlight until we both decide.”
I glanced at my partners. “We can talk it over, and let you know, Jill. And you can think it over.”
“That would be great.” Her smile widened. She turned and walked away.
Summer tugged at my arm, and whispered, “Look, we can use another woman on our team. We were short-handed on these cases. And you know, after all this publicity, we’re going to be in demand.”
Rachel’s nod of agreement was given. “Beryl, I shouldn’t be in the danger zones. I know that now. Guns. I was shot, and I don’t want to be a target. I can be dispatch, interrogate, paper chase, and I can do all the office tasks. But there’s a fear element. I’m probably not going to ever again be a street-worthy investigator. And we need another soldier.”
“Let’s give her time to think about it. She’d be walking away from a good career. I’m high on her, as you know.”
Continuing to look for Evan Finch for a while, I finally gave up. I told my partners that I wouldn’t be going to all the galas planned in nearly every bar in town. They guessed that I needed time by myself.
Before returning to my car, I saw Mandy Jewel talking with Glenda Perrault. I gave Mandy a hug, and thanked her for saving our skins when Ryder was chasing us.
Glenda looked perplexed, “You two are friends?”
“Definitely,” I answered. I told the story of Mandy saving us.
When Mandy was called away by another group, Glenda said, “I didn’t know you two are friends.”
“When I was a youthful, broke attorney, I used to help spring her women from jail. I got to know her, and liked her.”
“Mandy’s the surprise donor. She kicked in twenty-five million.”
