Turn Me Loose (Paradise, Idaho)

by Rosalind James

  It wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working? “I know you didn’t expect all this,” she said, not willing to believe it, not able to accept that she’d read him so wrong. “This can’t have been what you signed up for. You thought it’d be easy money, and it’d be exciting, and it’s turned so bad. If you go to Jim Lawson and tell him what you know, it’ll help you, and it’ll end all this. Otherwise, you’re going to go to prison, and you have to know it. Accessory to murder, and all the rest of it. But if you give them up? The person who got you into this, and whoever’s writing the prescriptions, or however it’s happening? If you say what you know? You can make it easier on yourself, and your friends, too, and I know that matters to you. You can keep it from getting any worse.”

  The voice came from behind her, out of the darkness. “No. He can’t. And neither can you.”

  THE BOGEYMAN

  Rochelle whirled, and her right hand went to the soft leather bag that hung over her shoulder. She was groping, but he was already up the stairs.

  Shane. Who wouldn’t have recognized a lentil field if it had bitten him in the butt. The cold coming off him in waves.

  Not a bad boy. A bad man.

  He’d been in the house, and he’d come around the back. And he’d heard.

  He grabbed her wrist right out of the bag and pulled her back by it, then yanked it up, twisting it behind her back until she cried out. He reached inside her purse himself and felt around. And she saw the smile.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, pulling out her .38. “Too easy.”

  “No.” It was Lake. He was launching himself, and Rochelle was gasping, pain blooming in her shoulder, as Shane jerked her around by her wrist.

  It seemed like she saw it even before she heard the explosion. The dark spot appearing on Lake’s gray T-shirt, and then the barking report of the revolver. Her ears were ringing, and Lake was swaying, then sinking to his knees. Shane was kicking him on the shoulder, shoving him to one side even as he spun Rochelle around and shoved the gun into her ribs, under the arm he was still pulling back.

  “Didn’t you hear your hubby?” he said. “He told you to leave. Told you about five times. You’re divorced, you’re nothing but trouble, and he still wanted to protect you from the bogeyman at the bottom of the stairs. He even took a bullet for you. That’s what I call sweet.”

  “Go to hell,” Rochelle gasped. “I’m going to kill you.”

  “Oh, no. I’m going to kill you. Or, correction. You’re going to kill yourself. Came out to confront hubby, because he’s been supplying your sweet, stupid little sister with all that stuff she loves.” He made a tsk-tsk noise. “Things got heated, you being so protective and all, and you shot him. Oh, dear. What have you done? Murder One? Orange so isn’t your color. Only one way out.”

  Rochelle stared wildly at Lake. Sprawled on his side, a horrible sucking, gurgling noise coming from his chest, red blood bubbling from his mouth. Alive.

  “Whoops,” Shane said. “You’re a lousy shot, sweetheart.” He raised the gun again, and Rochelle flung herself sideways, heedless of the pain from her shoulder, knocking herself into him, kicking back with one heel at his shin.

  He fired, but the shot went wild, straight through the house, and she was still kicking. But he was yanking harder at her arm, and now, the gun was at her temple. The pain in her shoulder was making her gasp again, and the ringing in her ears was so loud.

  “Shit,” Shane said as light washed over them. Headlights, appearing then disappearing. Somebody coming up the road.

  Travis, Rochelle thought in despair. No.

  Shane had her down the stairs, the muzzle against her breast again, and she stumbled, crying out against the pain in her arm. Shane pushed her around her car to the passenger side, pulled the door open, and thrust her inside.

  “Into the car.” He was getting in right beside her, shoving her across the gearshift. “Start it up. Turn around. Head to the highway.” She hesitated, and he said, “Now. Or I’ll blow your head off right here.”

  The gun was at her head again, digging into her temple, and she turned the key with fingers that trembled with rage. At herself. At him.

  The truck was slowing now, preparing to turn into the driveway, and Rochelle backed up and swung the car around. If Travis got here while she was sitting with Shane? Shane would shoot him. She knew it.

  She lurched forward, her tires spinning for a moment before they bit, and then she was down the driveway just as Travis turned into it, out, and down the road.

  She caught one brief glimpse of Travis turning to look at her as they went past, saw the horror of recognition in his face, and then she was down the gravel road and leaving him behind.

  Don’t follow me, she prayed, even though she knew it was hopeless. There was no way Travis wouldn’t follow her. That would be like asking the sun not to rise.

  Shane wasn’t going to kill him, though, not if she could help it. She might have a gun on her, but she was behind the wheel of a three-thousand-pound guided missile, and she was going to use it.

  The seat belt warning was chiming away, and Shane said, “Put on your seat belt. Safety first.”

  He lowered the gun until it was pressed into her ribs, just beneath her arm, and she reached up with her left hand, pulled her seat belt across her body, and fastened it, because there was no choice.

  Which made her plan harder, but not impossible. This wasn’t the spot. The slope was too gentle, their speed too slow. Head to the highway, he’d said. Highway speed, a good enough downgrade? She’d find a way. She might be going tonight, but she wasn’t going alone. And if she could manage it, she was going to survive, too. All Shane had to do was miss.

  She put her foot down and got the car taking the curves of the side road as fast as she dared. She’d get him used to it, put some distance between herself and Travis. Maybe they could get to the highway before he caught up, and he’d choose the wrong direction. Maybe.

  She caught the flash of lights in the rearview mirror and forced herself not to move, not even her eyes. But Shane must have seen it, too, because he was swiveling around, the muzzle still pressing painfully into her side.

  “Well, look at that,” he said, twisting the rearview mirror around so only he could see it. “Do I dare to hope that’s the boyfriend? You’ve got just all kinds of heroes willing to take one in the heart for you, don’t you, sweetheart? That’s going to save me a whole lot of trouble.” He kept the gun tight against her ribs as he bent down for the purse that had fallen from her arm as she’d scrambled across the seats. “Cell phone,” he muttered. “My, you’re organized. Got a pocket for everything.”

  “Eat shit and die,” she said.

  “And, again,” he said, “that would be you. Let’s see now. Last call made? Ah, yes. Travis. How convenient.”

  The ringing came in over the car’s speakers, and as soon as it stopped, she shouted, “Travis! Hang up!”

  “Good idea,” Shane said. “If you want her to die right now.”

  “You’ll die, too,” she said, even as Travis said, “No.” Low and calm.

  “Ah, but will I?” Shane asked. Talking to both of them. “Turn left,” he told her, as conversational as if they’d been out for a Sunday drive, because they were approaching the highway. “So often, car accidents are survivable, aren’t they?”

  That’s it, she realized as she looked for traffic, saw nothing, and swung out across the lane. That’s how I do it, if it comes to that. Air bags and seat belts were one thing, but going under a semi? There was no air bag in the world that could protect you against that.

  Shane was talking again, though, and she focused. “So, Rochelle’s New Boyfriend,” he said. “Travis what?”

  “You don’t need to know my name,” Travis said. “Just think of me as the guy who’s going to kill you.”

  Shane sighed. “You don’t listen too well, do you? I noticed that with Lake the other night. But I bet you’ll listen to me better. I’m more persuasive,
don’t you think? Lake had such a good time being the leader of Dangerous Men. That’s what he called himself. ‘The boss.’ Like a title. Isn’t that about the stupidest thing you ever heard? He never even guessed that he was only there to take the fall for me. And now he has. Accessory to murder? Don’t make me laugh. He never even wanted to know. Never wanted to ask, even after I did him that great big favor.”

  “What favor would that be?” Travis asked.

  “Little Heather thought he should pay up, since he was the boss and all. Poor ol’ Lake didn’t know what to do. He’d never even nailed her himself, and here he was going to be in so much trouble. So I took care of it. I let him take his adorable little passed-out sister on home for me, too, get her out of the way, and I’ll bet he didn’t take advantage of that either. Pussy.”

  “Yeah,” Travis said, while Rochelle forced her hands, shaking with rage, to stay on the wheel. “A conscience can be a real liability, I hear.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Shane said. “And after I took care of the Heather situation for him, did he even ask me about it? No. Probably told himself she went to live on a farm. Well, she kind of did, didn’t she?” He shook his head. “Too dumb for the job, that’s what it amounts to. Put that on the certificate. ‘Cause of Death: Stupidity.’ Not to mention that he didn’t bother to tell me that Stacy was his ex-wife’s sister until halfway through that party. Don’t you think that was a serious omission? He deserved to die just for that.”

  “Pretty stupid of you to keep seeing her after that,” Rochelle said. “Maybe you aren’t quite as smart as you think you are.”

  She got a dig in the ribs with the gun for that. “Didn’t see her that much, though, did I? Kept her begging for it, did you notice? That’s always fun. Besides—risk is what lets you know you’re alive. And a cute little straight girl going over to the Dark Side? She was always so . . . shocked.” He laughed, and Rochelle wished there’d been a semi coming right now.

  They were at the top of the grade into Union City, the lights spread out below her, and she took the first curve and thought, Thelma and Louise style, if I have to.

  “What do you want?” Travis asked.

  “Well, let’s see,” Shane said. “Right now, I want to kill your girlfriend. And then I want to kill you. How’s that? Oh, and by the way? I want you not to call the cops. That’s what we’ll call a nonnegotiable demand.”

  SEIZE THE MOMENT

  Too bad he already had.

  He’d walked in from the showers tonight, opened his locker, pulled out his stuff, and finally noticed the voice mail from Rochelle. He’d missed her by ten minutes.

  Thirty seconds later, he was flying out of the gym, pounding through the parking lot to his truck, and throwing himself inside. Pressing the redial number and putting her on speaker even as he peeled out of the lot. No answer, and he’d hit the highway ten miles over the limit already and putting his foot down.

  “Hey,” the message had said. “I’m going out to Lake’s. I found out that he’s got something to do with those pills Stacy’s been taking, and I need to talk to him about it. And I know you’d say to wait and go with you, or not to go at all. He won’t talk if somebody else is there, though, and I need him to talk, and to listen to me. He wasn’t a great husband, but he was my husband, and we had some . . .” A breath out. “Some better times. I owe him this much, and he’s not going to hurt me. I’m letting you know, though. Points for that.”

  When he’d gotten to Lake’s house at last, had seen her car reversing and turning, he’d been weak with relief. She’d been there, she’d talked to Lake, she’d left. He was going to have . . . words with her, though. He was going to have serious words.

  And then he’d gotten closer. He’d seen that she wasn’t alone. And when he’d been level with her . . . he’d seen the gun to her head, and he’d seen who’d been holding it.

  He’d called 911, and he’d even remembered the name. Jim Lawson. Somebody he’d met. Somebody he could trust to handle this right.

  He hoped.

  Since then, he’d been concentrating on keeping up, because Rochelle was flying. On seeing where they went so he could tell Jim. He’d put Jim on hold so he could answer, and right now, he was wishing desperately that he could have patched Jim into the call.

  “So what will you do,” he said now, “if I call the cops? Purely as a matter of interest.” He still slowed down under pressure, but the calm had never come harder.

  “What will I do?” The voice came, happy and buzzed, over the phone lying on the seat beside him, and if Travis could have, he’d have reached right through that phone and strangled him. Just like that. “Let me make myself very, very clear. If I see a single blue light flash? If I hear a siren? If I get worried one single bit? I’ll shoot her right here. You’d better pray I don’t run across an ambulance.”

  “Well,” Travis said, “you might think it’s a great idea to shoot somebody who’s driving sixty miles an hour. Can’t say I would.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” he heard. “I’ve actually got a plan for that, but you can watch and see. As for shooting her? I was thinking in the heart, but you know—she’s got such spectacular tits, I kinda hate to ruin them. Her head doesn’t excite me too much. Guess I’ll do it there. And then I’ll wait for you and shoot you. How does that sound?”

  Travis’s hands had tightened on the steering wheel, and now, he loosened them deliberately. Shane was trying to goad him. Time to goad right back, get him off balance. Give Rochelle a chance.

  “You’ve forgotten,” he said. “You’re doing that because a siren’s headed your way. And how’s your, what? Murder-suicide? How’s it going to look then? What was that Rochelle said? Not quite as smart as you think you are, are you?”

  He needed to get off the phone so he could call Jim back, and he needed to do it now.

  “Like a tragic love triangle, that’s what,” Shane said. “It’s a sad moment for a man when he finds out his girlfriend’s still banging her ex, isn’t it? Could even drive him to murder. Not to mention that I will have won. Can’t put a price on that.”

  Travis considered pointing out that it would be pretty hard to do the “tragic love triangle” deal if the cops showed up and found you standing next to two dead bodies, but he didn’t. He’s batshit crazy, he thought. He’s not going to listen. So instead, he said, “What? You’re breaking up. I can’t hear you.” And then he picked up his phone and hit the button to call Lawson back.

  Rochelle had reached the bottom of the grade. She hadn’t driven off the road, and she hadn’t driven under a semi. Blame her optimistic nature, or a survival instinct bred into her by generations of dirt-poor farm workers doing what they had to do to make it through to tomorrow. Her left hand had come down under cover of darkness as Shane talked to Travis, had searched, and had closed around something small, something she’d forgotten she even had. Something she needed.

  “Well, that’s sad,” Shane said when the phone went dead. “I was kinda enjoying Boyfriend. Take a right. We’ll take a romantic drive along the river.”

  “My car’s going to run out of gas pretty soon,” she said. “Sadly for you, I only started with a quarter tank.”

  “Thanks for telling me, sweetheart. You know what you haven’t asked me yet?”

  “No, what’s that? Seems like you’ve told me everything. Boy, do you love to talk. Boring as hell, too.”

  “Tough girl, aren’t you? Makes me sadder than ever that I never got you and Stacy together.”

  “Dream on.”

  “And now I never will,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Life’s just full of tragedy. Which brings me to my point. Let’s see. Lake’s dead by now, and you and Boyfriend are going to be dead real soon, too. Almost all my liabilities. The cops can put everything on Lake, wrap it all up in a bow, and off I go to start my next adventure, because I was barely a bystander.”

  “Maybe I didn’t ask you because I don’t care. What do you want me to do
, admire your criminal mind?”

  “Well, it’d be nice. Not many guys could pull off running a whole enterprise and not having anyone know they’re doing it. I don’t even have to worry about distribution.”

  “Do tell. So I can admire and all.”

  He smiled. “This is like in the movies, huh? Where the killer confesses everything, and then he’s captured? You wearing a wire, sweetheart? How well does it work underwater?”

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” You’re not going to be captured, she promised him with everything she had. You’re going to be dead.

  There was still traffic on the road, this close to the city. The river was a dark expanse to their right, here below the dam. To the other side was nothing.

  “Well, I’ll tell you,” Shane said. “Just because we’re passing the time and all until I seize my moment.”

  No, she thought, because you can’t stand that I said I didn’t care and didn’t want to know.

  He was still talking. Of course he was. “Carpe diem, that’s what they say. Seize the day. And that’s me. Your hubby between me and all those weakest links, and a bartender in Spokane taking care of the distribution a nice safe hundred miles from me. Big sports bar? Simplest thing in the world to hand over a bag of pills with somebody’s drink and have them add a fifty-dollar tip. No biker gangs, no unreliable college students to manage. No muss, no fuss. Pretty much genius.”