MMMMMM! MMMMMM!
Mary found her train of thought before it derailed. Now what else had she seen on that show? One of those survival shows for girls, with reenactments and lipliner. What else was on that show? It came on Saturday morning, when she should have been at work, and again on Sunday mornings, when she should have been at church.
It showed how to survive carjacking, attempted rape, avalanche, if your car went in water, or quicksand, or if you were locked in a basement, a refrigerator, or a CAR TRUNK!
The Lexus curved steeply to the left, accelerating. An on ramp? An off ramp? Hurry! Then she remembered something else, another save-your-lifetime tip, and one that she was in an excellent position to do. And she even had the weapon of choice.
She started kicking backward, ramming her high heel against the blanket. Kick, kick, kick. She had to kick with both feet, since they were tied. Her stomach muscles protested, then screamed, then begged for mercy. She kept kicking, aiming for the taillight with the spike of her high heel. The Lexus was slowing. No! Were they there? Was he coming to get her? She kicked like crazy, fighting terror.
Yes! Mary succeeded in the first step. Kicking upward enough times to shimmy the tarp off one foot, leaving her high heel free, and lethal! She kicked hard! That one’s for Keisha! She kicked again. This one’s for Frank! She kicked harder. This one’s for Amadeo! She kicked hardest of all. Then she kept on and in the next minute heard a cracking sound at her heel. She was doing it! The taillight was cracking!
She kicked in a frenzy, heedless of the pain in her head, stomach, legs, or wrists. She could do it. She could save herself. She was going to live! She couldn’t see if light was coming through the tarp, she didn’t see the progress she was making. But she could hear it. One crack, then another. And another, the plastic cracking and giving way. If she didn’t electrocute herself, she could live! It was night. Couldn’t someone see a light being kicked out?
The Lexus was slowing, and she heard the sound of engine noise. HONK! HONK! HONK! Honking, right near her bumper! Someone had seen it! Someone was trying to tell the driver! He knows, stupid. Call the cops! Call 911! She kept kicking, determined. For Keisha! For Frank! For Amadeo! Kick! Kick! Kick! She kicked like her life depended on it, because it did. The taillight had to be demolished. She pictured it, cracked, its bulb smashed to smithereens. She could feel cool air on her foot. She had broken through! She could have fit her foot through the hole if it had been free! Still she kept kicking.
HONK! HONK! HONK! Suddenly, the Lexus took off. She lurched violently to the back of the trunk and stayed there. The honking sound got farther away. No! He was going to get away! Get the license plate! Call the cops! Kick, kick, kick! Her foot was wedging in the place where the taillight was. She squeezed her toes to keep her high heel on. She’d kick through the metal! She was determined!
MMM! MMMM! MMMM!
And in the next minute, she heard it. Sirens! Far away. Getting closer? Yes! They were coming! Cops! The Lexus shot away in response. They were going to have to chase him. He wasn’t going down without a fight, not with her in here. Mary kept kicking. Still kicking. Trying to yell. Trying to stop crying.
don’t kill me don’t shoot the trunk please I’m in here I’m in here
The sirens blared louder and the Lexus hit top speed, barreling down the expressway. She rammed her heel into the back of the trunk and got stuck. The Lexus careened left and right. HONK! HONK! It was the Lexus, honking. She couldn’t hear anything but road noise and sirens. Fresh air swept into the trunk through the hole. Mary kept trying to wedge her foot out of the taillight well so she could keep kicking.
I’m alive in here don’t shoot the trunk don’t shoot the
There were more sirens, louder now. They were chasing the Lexus, full court press. She could imagine it like it was on TV. Cops, NYPD Blue, every cable channel had its high-speed police chase. And now, she was in one. Mary was finally in the television. She almost laughed.
If I live, I promise I’ll get a life.
Sirens were all around them now. Left. Right. Directly in back. They were racing ahead together, careening this way and that. The cops had to be surrounding him, at warp speed. Would they shoot her? Would they crash? This was worse than before! Mary kept kicking so they would know she was still alive. Suddenly the Lexus took a sharp right turn, almost ninety degrees.
Everything went crazy. The Lexus pinwheeled around and round. Wheels squealed. Sirens blared. Mary screamed. Cried. The Lexus spun out of control, then it spun slower and slower. Mary hiccupped. Vomited. It filled up her throat. She couldn’t breathe. Help! Help! God!
The Lexus was slowing its spinning.
I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t
CRAK! CRAK! CRAK! Gunfire! Right near the car! The cops weren’t going to shoot her, but he would! He wanted her dead! CRAK! CRAK! CRAK! CRAK! A fusillade of gunfire thundered in her ears. There was no oxygen. She hiccupped and hiccupped. And finally, shuddered.
CRAK! CRAK! CRAK!
Forty-Four
The examining room was white, ringed with institutional cabinets in regulation beige, and barely large enough to accommodate The Flying DiNunzios, two uniformed cops, Detective Gomez, his partner, a nurse, and the doctor.
Dr. Steven Weaver was an incredibly handsome, blond plastic surgeon, and the little rainbow pin under his red-embroidered name was the only indication he was gay. It took him an hour to carefully tweeze the glass from Mary’s forehead and seventeen stitches to close the wound, and he was just finishing up. Mary hardly felt his touch, much less any pain, owing to the miracle of Percocet and her sheer happiness at being alive, tempered only by the fact that the Lexus driver had been shot to death during the police shootout, when he’d returned fire.
So he’d had a gun. He was going to kill her. Now he was dead.
Mary wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Shaken. Upset. Surprisingly, not that good. Any death was awful, and the man had died taking valuable information with him. How would the cops link him to Justin Saracone now? They’d have had a chance if he’d been taken alive. On the other hand, part of her wasn’t completely unhappy. He was evidently a hired killer, and he’d have gone on to kill other people. Not to mention that he had tried to kill her.
And would have succeeded if it weren’t for cable – and a good pair of heels.
“Okay, let me take one last look.” Dr. Weaver stepped back, eyeing his handiwork with a smile. “The stitches are at the hairline. When they heal, you won’t even be able to see the scar.”
“Thanks a lot,” Mary said, though she could hardly hear over the background noise of her mother praying. A novena was in progress. The hospital had called her parents because she’d been stupid enough to list them in her wallet In Case of Emergency. They stuck together at the edge of her bed like conjoined twins, fused at their brown car coats. They wept, prayed, and felt faint in a continuous loop. They needed comfort, help, and medical attention. As touched as Mary was by their love, they were honestly the worst people to have around in an emergency. Thank God Judy was on the way.
“HE’S ALL DONE, MARE!” her father shouted. Of course, he’d rushed to the hospital without his hearing aid. Daughter-in-emergency-room was his best excuse yet. “YOU DID GREAT, KID! JUST GREAT!”