“Back away,” the man said again. This time he put his free hand into his jacket and withdrew a gun to punctuate his imperative. He pointed it at the boy, his arm extended fully, his eye looking expertly down the barrel of the pistol. “Now.”
The boys stumbled back a few steps, their hands raised. Then they turned and sprinted back in the direction from which they’d come. If they’d had tails, they’d have been tucked between their hind legs, Sally thought. She wouldn’t miss them, but she wasn’t thrilled to trade for the guy with the gun.
He pressed the pistol to her forehead, right between her eyes. As the gun came toward her, she could see straight down into the round hole of the barrel, into the abyss. “You’re getting in the car,” he said. “Any trouble and you’ll be dead.”
“Why?” she asked. It came out without thought. He pressed the gun harder into her face, and Sally felt the metal digging painfully into her skin. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll get in the car.”
If there were people around, Sally couldn’t see them. In all likelihood there were people looking out their windows, watching. Maybe someone had even called the police, but they wouldn’t arrive in time. And when they went from door to door, asking for information, no one would tell them anything. That was the code. Lie or die. Talking to the police was a sure way to get killed; everybody understood.
The man with the gun eased the pressure on Sally’s neck and pulled her up so she could regain her balance. He kept enough of a grip on her, though, that she couldn’t break free. Even if she could have, she had little doubt that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her. Something in the man’s eyes made that clear; he was for real.
He led her around to the driver’s seat and pushed her in, making her crawl across the front seat. As she was getting in, another car pulled up. It was the sleek BMW sedan Lissa Krantz drove. The lawyer pulled up behind the van and got out. “Sally?” she called. Her voice was full of strain. “I was afraid I missed you.”
She was walking around the front of her car, toward them. Sally was still only halfway into the front seat, the man standing over her. She looked up at Lissa, and flashed a pleading look. Just at that moment, the man turned toward Lissa and pointed his gun at her. “Get back in your car,” he said.
Sally could see Lissa stop, shocked by the gun. “What the fuck is going on?” she asked. She wasn’t moving back to her car.
“Get back in your car, now!” the man yelled. It was the first time he had raised his voice or showed any emotion. At that volume, he sounded like pure evil, and Sally was sure that Lissa would back away and get into her car. She was wrong.
Lissa reacted without hesitation. She rushed the man with the gun, ducking her head low and leading with her shoulder. She looked like a mini-linebacker taking a run at a quarterback. She must have surprised him, because he failed to react in time. One shot rang out, but it was after Lissa had driven her shoulder into his chest and it went high and wide. He was thrown back into the door, which rocked unsteadily on its hinges. Lissa continued her attack, throwing her small fists into the man with determination, though little effect. “Run, Sally!” she yelled.
Sally hesitated for just a moment, and then struggled to get past the man. It was no use, though. He had regained his balance, and he pushed her down, wedging her in the door. Then he turned to Lissa. His first blow struck her on the side of the head, and it stunned her. She didn’t fall, but the expression in her eyes changed, glassing over as she stood up straighter. He hit her again, this time in the stomach, doubling her over as she cried out. The third blow was to the top of her head, with the butt of the gun, and it put her down. She crumpled to the curb, lifeless.
Sally screamed, “No!” and reached out to her, but he grabbed her arm and hoisted her up. He was remarkably strong, and she thought for a moment he’d broken her arm. If he had any such thought, it gave him no concern, and he shoved her into the van.
His gun was pointed at her; his finger was on the trigger. “Over,” he ordered her. “Now.” His voice had regained its equanimity, and he slid into the front seat, almost on top of her. She slid over and sat in the passenger seat. The car was still running and he dropped the transmission into reverse, hit the gas, and backed into the street. Sally gasped as they bounced over the curb, thinking that they might have run over Lissa’s unconscious body lying next to the car. As he put the van in drive and pulled away, though, she could see her lying there, apparently still in one piece.
He pulled out and sped up, his gun still pointed at her head. He drove fast, and turned down two side streets with confidence before slowing to a pace that wouldn’t attract attention.
Twice she glanced back behind them, hoping to see someone following them. There was no one there, though, and as they pulled farther and farther away from the neighborhood, the adrenaline began to wear off.
Only then did she begin to fathom how much trouble she was in.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Where’s Lissa?”
Kozlowski was standing in the doorway to the back office where he spent most of his time holed up. He was leaning against the doorjamb, his polyester slacks straining against the muscles in his leg, his secondhand-store jacket flapped open, revealing his shoulder holster and gun. A caricature of himself.
“She went to pick up the girl,” Finn said. “Why?”
Kozlowski shook his head. “No reason.”
“You guys got a date to register for china patterns this afternoon or something?”
Kozlowski looked confused. “What?”
“ China patterns. That’s what people do when they decide to get married, right?” Finn said. “They go out and they pick out china patterns? Silverware, too. New towels, sheets, crockery, the whole shootin’ match.”
“Fuck you.”
“How about hot plates? Either of you guys got a hot plate?” Finn waved his hand, dismissing the concern. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get three or four once you register.”
“We’re not doing that,” Kozlowski said. He sounded definitive.
“You have to. A marriage isn’t legal without a china pattern.” Finn shook his head. “I didn’t see it coming.”
“Really? Someone with your sensitive feminine instincts? I’d have thought you knew before we did.”
“That’s good; I like that.” He looked at the older man; Kozlowski shifted uncomfortably. “Marriage,” Finn said.
“Marriage,” Kozlowski repeated. He shrugged. “We’ve been together for over a year,” he said.
“I know, that’s what I don’t get. Seemed like you guys had it all figured out; like you guys had what everybody else is looking for. You really want to risk screwing it up?”
“I love her,” Kozlowski said.
“Of course you do. So why do you want to risk losing her?”
“I risk losing her by marrying her?”
Finn nodded. “Lissa? Yeah, you risk losing her by marrying her. She’s not the marrying type. Neither are you. You might’ve been once, when you were younger. If you’d gone a different way, you could’ve settled down with some strong, silent Polish girl and had a dozen kids. Not now, though.”
“Maybe you don’t know us as well as you think you do.”
Finn laughed. “I know you better than that. I know you both better than you know yourselves.”
“This gonna be a problem?”
“Not for me. Not unless you guys screw it up. I need both of you here. I don’t want either of you thinking you can get out of your commitments to me by getting married to each other.”
Kozlowski shook his head. “We won’t screw it up.”