Carlene let go. Michelle snatched it up and smacked her across the face with the butt end. Just because she felt like it.
“I’m bleeding!” Carlene sobbed.
“Well, that’s what happens when you get stabbed, you stupid little bitch.”
“I’ll bleed out! I’ll die!”
And the world will be a better place, Michelle thought. “Shut up,” she said. “You’re not bleeding that much.” She stuck the pistol in the waistband of her pants, in the back. Even if it was a bad way to carry, Carlene couldn’t reach it.
She wasn’t sure what to do with the paring knife.
How the fuck was she going to clean up this mess? What should she do?
Caitlin was definitely breathing, at least, and over by the door, she saw Troy’s arm move, his fingers clench.
“What did you give them?”
“It’ll wear off in a few minutes,” Carlene said, sniffling. She lay on the floor, clutching at her side. Blood oozed out between her fingers.
“Where is it? Where are the drugs?”
“In my purse.” Her eyes flicked toward the door. A battered black cross-body bag leaned against the wall there. “Gary’s gonna kill you.”
“Gary can go fuck himself.”
She stared at the scene for a moment, at Caitlin’s unconscious form, her sweatpants pulled low on her hips, the wine bottle, the smashed wine glass. She shuddered. She had a pretty good idea what Carlene had planned to do.
Don’t think about it now, she told herself.
“All right,” she said to Carlene. “I’m going to give you a choice. I’ll call an ambulance, and the police, and you can get a ride to the hospital in cuffs. Or you can get the fuck out of here and take your chances on making it to a hospital on your own and tell them whatever bullshit story you want. You decide. Now.”
“I’ll go,” Carlene said. She slowly sat up. “Can I have a towel?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Michelle muttered. She went into the kitchen and found a dishtowel. She left the paring knife on the counter by the sink. “Here.” She threw it in Carlene’s face.
“I can’t stand up. You have to help me.”
“God.” Michelle grabbed Carlene’s hand. It was slippery with blood. She pulled hard, until at last Carlene was on her feet.
Carlene took the dishtowel and held it against her side. With slow, shuffling steps, she headed toward the door.
“One more thing, Carlene,” Michelle said. “You tell Gary I’m doing this as a favor to him. I figure it’s one less mess he’ll need to clean up later. You tell him that.”
Carlene nodded. She opened the door. Michelle watched as the door closed behind her.
Shuddering, she quickly moved to the door and locked it. Peered out the peephole. Watched as Carlene shuffled down the path, into the night.
Maybe letting Carlene go was another rookie mistake.
How long would it take for Gary to arrange something worse?
But getting involved with the police… she didn’t need that right now.
Not when she was trying to disappear.
Behind her, she heard a groan. Troy. His head turned to one side, then the other. His eyes opened. He rested his hand on his forehead. “Man… what? I don’t know what…”
“Are you okay?” Michelle asked.
His eyes seemed to focus. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
His eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “That girl… lady… she’d lost her dog. She…”
He stared at Michelle’s hand. Michelle followed his gaze. Her hand was covered in Carlene’s blood. She’d forgotten for a moment.
“Things got a little ugly,” she said.
“Sweet baby Jesus,” Troy murmured. He tried to sit up, sunk back down, apparently still dizzy. “What the hell?”
Caitlin made a noise, a small grunt. Michelle crouched by her side. “It’s okay,” she said. Caitlin didn’t respond. She was still out. Not surprising, given how much smaller she was than Troy. Michelle felt for a pulse at Caitlin’s wrist. Slow and steady.
Troy rolled onto his side, then onto all fours, crawling the few feet from where he’d been lying to Michelle and Caitlin.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Gone.”
“What did she do to us?”
“Some kind of tranquilizer gun, I guess. I didn’t really see. I ran out in to the kitchen and got a knife.” She held up her hand. “Her blood, not mine.”
“A tranquilizer gun? Are you shitting me?” Troy felt around the back of his thigh, flinched a little as he apparently found a tender spot. “This is insane.” He stared at Caitlin. “Should we call an ambulance?”
Would an ambulance mean police?
“I guess. How are you feeling?”
“Better. Still a little woozy. Got kind of a headache.” His eyes went a little wider. “Is that a gun?”
“Oh. Right.” Michelle took the little pistol from where she’d tucked it against her pelvis and laid it on the coffee table. “Not mine. That was hers.”
Now Caitlin began to stir. Her eyes fluttered open. For a moment she seemed to stare at nothing, her expression vaguely puzzled. Then it was as if something snapped into place, and her eyes grew wide with fear.
“It’s okay,” Michelle said quickly. “You’re safe.”
“Oh my god,” Caitlin managed, her voice cracking. “Troy?”
He leaned over, rested his hand on hers. “I’m right here. I’m fine.”
“We’re going to call an ambulance,” Michelle said. And while they were bundling up Caitlin and Troy, she’d slip away. She needed to bail, like Danny said. Not to try and fix this.
“No. No, I don’t… I’m just a little dizzy, that’s all.” She took in a deep breath and winced, put her palm on her ribs. “I feel like I got kicked by a horse there.” Caitlin slowly sat up. “What just happened?”
“I don’t know,” Michelle said. “She looked like the woman who tried to pick your purse at the conference. Remember? Maybe she’s some kind of stalker.”
At that moment, there was a huge bang, something solid crashing into the front door, then another as the door splintered and broke off its hinges. Bright lights, so light she couldn’t see. And shouting: “On the floor! On the floor! Now!”
Men in black, wearing helmets, holding rifles.
“Hands behind your head! Behind your head, now! Motherfucker! Get your motherfucking hands behind your head!”
Michelle hit the floor and put her hands behind her head. Something, a knee, pinned her down. She could see the armed men swarming around Troy, one of them lifting a baton, slamming it down.
“No!” Caitlin was screaming. “No!”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“My god, officer.” Caitlin sat on the couch, shaking and furious. Troy sat next to her, resting his head in his hands. “You could’ve killed him. He’s a victim here.”
“We apologize, ma’am. But we had a report that…”
“I don’t want to hear about your report. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Too bad, Michelle thought, because she actually would have liked to have heard about the report. She figured that Carlene had called it in, her last little “fuck you” to Michelle. But her guess was that this had been the plan all along.
Kill Caitlin. Make it ugly. Pin it on Troy.
Lucky for you, Troy Stone is going to save you a considerable amount of grief.
“Could’ve been worse,” Troy said, finally lifting his head.
The police sergeant, or captain, or whatever he was, shifted back and forth from one foot to the other.
They’d cuffed Michelle and Troy and kept them on the floor until Caitlin had managed to convince the police that they weren’t a threat. It took a while. The policemen with the big guns had left, replaced by several uniformed officers and a technician who took photos of the scene and Michelle’s bruised face, the abraded patch on her scalp, her bloody hand, which he also swabbed, along with a few samples taken from underneath her nails-evidence of the fight she’d said she’d had with Carlene. Another officer bagged the paring knife and the gun and a sample of bloody carpet. The knife and the blood were probably the only things that made her story remotely credible, Michelle thought.