Winter saw it hit the deck and skid under the pickup truck beside him, inside of which a heavy man sat, openmouthed, gawking.
Fending off her focal punch, Winter hit her in her jaw with all his force. As her head snapped back, his second blow smashed into her nose, and blood spurted from her nostrils. He pivoted and slammed his shoe into her ribs.
Winter heard automatic gunfire coming from upstairs.
Winter's blows had amazingly little effect on Marta. She recovered instantly and came at him using her knees like pistons, uppercutting into his legs and stomach and then launching herself to uppercut his chin, driving him flat on his back.
She leaped up and descended, her right heel slashing down at his face, but he caught her boot and swept her left foot out from under her. As she went down, he rose, still holding her boot, and brought his right heel forcefully into her ribs. She somersaulted backward, ending in a ballerina-like pose, facing Winter. She held one hand high in the air, the other in front of her-holding her leather cap out by its bill-like a street performer expecting him to toss coins into it. She sneered and slung the cap away, exposing the short, wide, twin-edge blade in her hand.
Winter was aware of more gunshots from upstairs.
The ferry started turning, heading back upriver.
When she lunged, Winter jumped back, but he felt the knife's edge against his vest as it laid open his leather jacket. She didn't hesitate before taking a second swipe. Avoiding the bade, he clipped her shoulder with the heel of his hand, knocking her off balance, and he slammed the heel of his shoe into the small of her back, shoving her to the concrete. She hit the deck, rolled back up onto her feet, and sprang at him, blade dancing in the air between them. Now weaponless and winded, he was at her mercy-backing up as she came on-and out of ideas. Reaching back, he snapped off a car's antenna and swung it like a buggy whip at her, cutting the air viciously.
“I am going to open you up and you are gonna see your insides come outside. And after I have killed you, I am going to kill that little bitch and-”
He hit her in the shoulder, and although it must have hurt her he knew the slashing antenna couldn't hold her at bay much longer. She was going to take a hit soon in order to finish him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Winter saw movement. Marta saw it too, and she turned her eyes toward the motion for a split second. A small body popped up across the car hood, a fire extinguisher raised high. Marta reacted, swinging her left hand up to protect her face. When the cloud of vapor enveloped her, Winter drove his heel into her shoulder. The blow sent Marta backward, her skull striking the steel wall with a brutal thud. She bounced off and landed hard on the concrete deck, twisted and motionless.
“You cold-cocked her!” a voice exclaimed triumphantly. Winter looked up, breathing hard, to see a smiling Faith Ann, holding the fire extinguisher at the ready in case another blast might be necessary.
“Weren't you supposed to stay in the car?”
She frowned, shrugged.
Winter lifted Marta roughly onto the flatbed Toyota truck filled with salvaged junk and cinched the open cuff to a steel bottle jack partly buried in a pile of steel scrap the rear of the truck. Picking up Marta's ceramic knife, he hurled it out into the waves.
The truck's driver, a fat man in overalls, was staring out through the open window at Winter. “You a cop?” the man asked.
Winter nodded, walked over, and picked up Marta's. 22 and his SIG Sauer.
“I used to be a law enforcement officer myself,” the fat man said, getting out. “I was a state prison guard for ten years.”
“Then you know how this works?” he asked the man, holding out Marta's gun.
“That's a Ruger. 22.”
“I'm a U.S. marshal, and I want you to stand here and watch her until I get back.”
“Hellcat, that one is. Sometimes small ones are like that. PCP, probably.”
“She's a professional killer. If she so much as looks like she might be trying to move, you shoot her. Can you do that? I'll be right back.”
“She ain't going to go anywhere chained to that house-raising jack. Weighs about as much as her. But, yeah, dang straight I can shoot her.”
“Stay back from her.”
“I'll be right here,” he promised, nodding at the. 22 automatic in his hand.
“Faith Ann, follow me,” Winter snapped.
He picked up the manila envelope, took the fire extinguisher from her, handed her the evidence, and opened the door to the Stratus. “I need to check on things upstairs. You will stay in the car this time!”
93
Faith Ann locked the doors of the Stratus, positioned the side-view mirror so she could see the fat man in coveralls holding the pistol and one of the unconscious woman's boots extending out over the side. Standing six feet away from the truck, the man with the gun seemed to be considering the woman lying in the debris-filled bed.
The notion that she had saved Winter's life warmed Faith Ann. Pushing aside her terror of Arturo and his murderous companion, she had crept from the car to take the fire extinguisher down from its place on the wall to help Winter. She wasn't sure what the chemicals would do to the woman, but Faith Ann knew that she was going to hurt him and she knew she couldn't let that happen.
She looked down at the soiled and battered envelope in her lap. Squeezing it, she felt the cassette tape inside and the sleeve containing the negatives.
She slipped out the tape and looked at the audio record of her mother's last minutes alive.
Faith Ann looked up, wondering how long it would be before Winter came back. The boat was heading for the Canal Street landing, the woman was locked up, and the man who'd killed her mother had to be arrested by now.
She thought about how many times since Friday morning she had believed it was all over, that she was going to die. But she wasn't dead.
Faith Ann put the envelope down in her lap, and looked at the mirror beside her. The fat man was still at his post, but he was looking at Faith Ann's reflection in the small side mirror-smiling and waving at her. She guessed being deputized by a U.S. marshal was a big deal for a scrap collector.
Faith Ann let her gaze drift to the side of the truck, expecting to see the woman's boot jutting out of the bed, but it was no longer in view.
She started to scream.
Before the man could turn, the woman moved in behind him and swung the steel bottle jack at him like it weighed nothing. The jack hit the man in the back of his head, creating a cloud of gore that spattered the rear window of the Dodge.
Faith Ann stopped screaming. She felt frozen in place as if some great weight was pressing her into the seat back. Her face twisted into a terrifying mask-the woman stood beside the door glaring in at Faith Ann. Faith Ann's fingers closed around the envelope on her lap. She watched the woman raise the jack. I'm going to die, Mama.
Faith Ann hit the horn, scrambled over the console, found the lock, and threw the door open. Mr. Massey was the only one who could keep her alive now.
Faith Ann was aware of something moving behind her, and then of being jerked off her feet. She hit the concrete hard, her left elbow cracking against the deck, sending a lightning bolt shooting up to her fingers. She realized that the woman had vaulted over the car to grab her. Before Faith Ann could do anything, the woman had Faith Ann back up on her feet, a leather-covered arm locked around her chest, squeezing.
“You gonna get wet,” the woman said.
Faith Ann flailed and kicked-she screamed-but it had no effect on the woman, who held the jack by its handle like a suitcase and laughed as she dragged her young captive toward the stern.
94
Winter arrived at the top of the stairs just in time to see Nicky come out a door followed immediately by a battered Adams. Adams said something, suddenly raised his gun, and pointed it at the back of Nicky's head. Based on Adams's surprised expression, he squeezed the trigger without producing the desired effect.
Before Winter could d
o anything, Nicky ducked, knocked Adams's Glock aside with his left hand, and swung his cane's heavy handle into Adams's skull. There was a sickening crack, and Adams crumpled to the floor, his face hitting so hard it bounced. Winter vaulted up onto the deck, met Nicky's eyes, then knelt beside Adams. “What the hell was that about? He was going to kill you.”
“I don't know,” Nicky said, still gripping his bloody cane. “We took Arturo out. Adams was wounded, and I was coming down to check on you, but I never heard him coming. I saw the gun coming up in the reflection in that glass. Christ, why did he try to kill me?”
The sound of a car horn honking from the downstairs level ended the conversation.
“Faith Ann.” Winter whirled, hurtled down the stairs.
Nicky lifted Adams's Glock, cracked open the chamber, and removed the piece of toothpick he had broken off in it minutes earlier in the wheelhouse to prevent the mechanism from firing.
He tossed Adams's Glock into the stairwell next to the dead transit cop, lifted his cane, and followed after Winter.
95
Faith Ann had only one thought. She still had the manila envelope and she needed to drop it so Winter would have it after Marta killed her, but she couldn't get her hand on it. Despite all her struggling, Marta's left arm remained locked across Faith Ann's chest. Faith Ann, a student of nature, immediately thought of a boa constrictor who had locked its muscles around its intended prey. The harder she thrashed, the tighter the grip around her became, crushing the air from her lungs. Her mind told her that in the face of such strength, any fight she could offer was hopeless, but her instincts were on autopilot.
As the woman carried her toward the stern railing, she spoke Spanish to her captive, cooing words into her ear that Faith Ann, who took Spanish in school, translated, and they were not terms of endearment. “Mono dulce… nina del infierno… mi demonio hermoso.” Sweet monkey… child of hell… my beautiful demon..
Faith Ann saw the bloody jack, shaped like a giant steel Hershey's Kiss, that the woman was holding by the handle the handcuff was hooked to. The fat man with the crushed skull lay on his stomach, fingers still clenched around the pistol Winter had given him. She was aware of Winter coming down the stairs and coming toward them. He will stop her!
She stopped struggling, fighting now just to get one deep breath. She was aware of being lifted into the air as the woman climbed over the rail. For a second, Faith Ann thought she intended to climb into the emergency boat suspended there. The roaring grew in her ears. As her vision darkened, her mind screamed for air.
Faith Ann saw Mr. Massey's lips forming words she couldn't hear, saw him holding his gun out so Marta could see it.
Now it is going to be all right. Now she will let me go.
Faith Ann felt the reptilian grip around her relax slightly, and she filled her lungs with as much of the delicious cool air as she could suck in. Marta tightened her grip and started screaming at Mr. Massey.
Any feeling of relief that being saved from suffocation had brought the child vanished as her mind filled with new terror. Marta tensed the coil around Faith Ann's chest again. Faith Ann saw a look of terror wash over Mr. Massey's features. Refueled with oxygen, Faith Ann struggled once again, but Marta's grip was law, and they tumbled together over the railing into the river below.
Faith Ann knew two things: The boat was moving away, and she was sinking in the cold water like a coin.
96
The sight of Marta Ruiz dragging Faith Ann toward the stern railing horrified Winter. As he descended the final course of treads, he kept his SIG Sauer aimed at the killer. He didn't have to look back over his shoulder to know that the scrap man was dead, that too many years stood between the time when he was a prison guard and the present. Winter cursed himself for misjudging Marta's strength-her level of threat. Even now, the jack's weight had her listing dramatically, but still she held the struggling child up between herself and Winter's pistol like a shield. A shot would be impossible.
His mind was calculating the situation, figuring the odds. This was a hostage situation-a grab bag of conflicting, self-interest-driven realities, probabilities, and variables-but far, far more than a mathematics equation to be worked out, for a child's life was at stake.
Winter was capable of putting a bullet into a very small target at close range, but this target was in motion and he needed a central nervous system hit, because if he only wounded her she could and would break Faith Ann's neck.
Knowing she had lost, Marta would want to escape. She would assume her partner was incapacitated: wounded, captured, or killed. She had no reason to harm Faith Ann, because the child was her only means of escape.
He watched Marta back into the steel railing and, using only her legs, go straight up to the top and drop, catlike, to the section of open deck behind it, Faith Ann imprisoned in her grip. She passed by the emergency rescue boat-a twelve-foot-long aluminum flat bottom with a thirty-five horsepower outboard motor.
Okay, Winter, now you can't shoot without risking her going into the river. Arresting her isn't your job. She has the upper hand. Just make her believe the truth-in exchange for Faith Ann, you will let her walk away.
Winter held the gun straight out to his side, knelt, and set it down on the deck.
“Okay, Marta, let Faith Ann go and I'll give you a pass.” Faith Ann's frightened eyes were locked on his.
“What kind of trick will you use? What deception do you have in mind? Shooting me when the child is out of the way? I know what a famous shot you are, Deputy Massey.”
“I'm not here as a cop, and I won't shoot you. You have my word on it. I won't try to stop you. I'll give you the key to the cuffs, and you can take that lifeboat. Your freedom for the girl, no tricks.”
She laughed.
“What about Arturo?” she asked.
“Your friend didn't make it,” Winter answered.
Winter was surprised at the change in her expression as she assimilated the news. Her black eyes glowed like hot coals, and her nostrils flared.
“Friend? Turo isn't my friend,” she shrieked. “I don't have any friends! Now you people have killed all I had in this world. Arturo was my heart-my baby brother. My Turo was the last of my blood. It was her! This little demon bitch has ended my world. This little monster must pay!”
In his years as a cop, Winter had never seen such an instant switch from laughter to fury before, such an explosive display of hatred.
“Let her go,” Winter pleaded. “She didn't do anything to you. You people killed her mother. This had nothing to do with her. Please, Marta, let her live.”
Winter saw that Marta was thinking, so maybe he could get to her. “I can't bring back your brother, but I can give you your freedom. Your freedom for Faith Ann. You have my word on it.”
“Words? Freedom?” she screamed at him. “What the fuck good is freedom without my Turo? I cared for him since he was two. I was his mother, his sister, his only friend. What the fuck do you know about freedom? You want to see what freedom looks like, Massey? This is freedom!”
And then she and the child went over the railing and were gone.
97
Faith Ann couldn't believe what had happened. The chugging of the diesel engine dimmed. She kept struggling, trying to break away, but this woman had no intention of sparing her. She would outlive Faith Ann, and when she did relax her iron grip it would be meaningless.
As they sank, both the cold and the pressure grew. Her ears popped. Faith Ann tried to bring up an image of her mother. She expected to see her any moment now, floating in the blackness, reaching out to take her to a better place. They would be together again. Faith Ann's chest felt like it would explode, and another, deeper darkness was closing in.
Don't breathe, Faith Ann, her mama told her.
Something brushed her and then squeezed her shoulder hard. Behind her, Marta started writhing violently.
Faith Ann's eyes were wide open but she couldn't see anything. She was aware
of the woman's steely grip. She felt something brush against her and she knew that she was moving, but whether it was up, down, or sideways, she could not tell. She felt as if she was being pulled upward by some force, but she could no longer hold her breath. Although she knew there was no air available-that inhaling so would kill her-she no longer had a choice.
I'm sorry, Mama…
98
Winter hit the water knowing instinctively that his only hope in the pitch-black cold water was to sharpen his angle of descent, increase his speed to close the distance between himself and the pair, and pray he would luck into them.
It seemed certain to Winter that he would miss. If he passed them by inches, he wouldn't know. Chained to the jack, the two had vanished from sight as if sucked under from below. His mind swarmed with doubts and self-incrimination as he kicked furiously and moved his hands before him. He had no way to know how deep he was when his hand brushed something; he clamped down on it and knew it was Faith Ann's wrist. The lack of movement in the appendage told him the child was unconscious. When he jerked the wrist, he felt Marta react to the grab-twist around to fight him, maybe just get a newer, deadlier grip. Marta was too late. Winter kicked away, heading for the surface.
Winter broke the surface first, let out a victorious yell, and jerked her wrist up hard to bring Faith Ann to the surface.
No!
It took his mind a second to digest the fact that the eyes he was looking at belonged to Marta Ruiz, as did the small wrist in his grip.
His mind filled with horror.
He released her wrist.
The police boat was bobbing beside them, a harsh spotlight illuminating her sneering face.
A cop beside Manseur aimed a shotgun down at the woman.
“Oops,” Marta said, taunting him. She raised her hands to show him that the handcuff and the jack were no longer there. “I think you forgot someone.”
Upside Down wm-2 Page 28
