She rounded the corner, then glanced at her watch: 9:41. If the boys had gone in as soon as they got the text message, and assuming there wasn’t any problem-which there wouldn’t be, couldn’t be-they’d be back out in a few minutes. All she had to do was get the car started and be waiting for them. Her purse felt heavy, the weight of the pistol in it, and knowing it was there heightened the thrill.
The rental car was parked in shadows, and she couldn’t see inside. It was possible that they had lost their nerve, that they were waiting for her. And if they were? Would she tell them to go inside? Or would she do as Mitch had, and try to let them off the hook?
She didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. Ten feet from the car she could see that it was empty. She walked to the driver’s side, her body alive and raw.
Something crunched behind her. She looked over her shoulder. A car was pulling into the alley.
Her thoughts scattered like marbles. There was a split second when she could have ducked out of sight, but then the headlights were on her, dazzling. Her mouth went dry and she had a childish urge to turn and sprint. The car was big, and rattled as it pulled in behind the rental.
Shit. Behind the rental. They were blocked in.
Be cool. You have to be cool. Who was it? The cops? An employee? The guys Johnny was meeting with?
It didn’t matter. Moment of decision-get in the rental and ignore whoever it was, or make a stand? What would she do if she had nothing to hide?
She turned and stepped forward, one hand shielding her eyes, the other up in a half-greeting. The car was a beat-up whale of a Cadillac. The door opened, a figure stepping out, leaving the engine running and the headlights in her eyes. A man, medium build. Alone. She swallowed, said, “Hey, you’re parking me in.”
The figure stepped to one side, and she got a better look at him. A pasty guy, thin, with black hair gelled into a pompadour. He wore an expensive-looking motorcycle jacket and had a hand tucked in his back pocket. He stared at her for a moment, eyes trailing up and down her body. A new fear joined the ones she already had, that fear no woman ever got too far from, especially alone in a dark alley, wearing a dress.
“What are you doing back here?”
His tone scared her a little, but she forced herself to cock her head, said, “Excuse me?”
“Dressed pretty nice to be hanging out by the Dumpster.”
The humidity in the air seemed to be clinging to her. Something about the guy reminded her of biting into metal.
“I’m waiting for my boyfriend,” she said.
“Your boyfriend.” The man shuffled forward, glanced in the rental car. “He work here?”
“Yes.” She stepped back, nothing too obvious, but not wanting him closer. Who was this guy? Not a cop. He could honestly be looking for a place to park. But he’d left the Cadillac running. Besides, wouldn’t a normal person just have apologized, moved his car?
Unless he was hitting on her. A ridiculous possibility in a dark alley, but you never knew with guys.
“What’s his name?”
“Whose?”
“Your boyfriend.”
She thought about saying Alex, or Johnny, or making one up. But then she remembered what she would do under normal circumstances. “None of your business.” She put a hand on one hip. “Look, how about you move you car so I can get out?”
“I thought you were waiting for your boyfriend.”
“I mean, maybe you could park somewhere else?”
“I got a better idea,” he said, and stepped forward.
“I TOLD YOU NOT TO MOVE,” Mitch said, and leveled the gun right at Johnny’s head. His heart was slamming against his ribs. Alex was on the ground, moaning, blood between his fingers. How hard had Ian clocked him?
There wasn’t time to worry about it. “Put your hands on the desk. Do it now.”
Johnny stared at him. “Do you know what you’re doing, kid?”
Very consciously, Mitch slid a thumb up and cocked the hammer back. Johnny’s eyes went wide, and for a moment, Mitch had a terrible urge to pull the trigger, to feel the thing kick against his hand. “Now.”
Slowly, Johnny raised his hands and put them on the pressed-wood desk. “All we have is the money from today. Take it and get out of here.”
“Tape him.”
Ian didn’t move, just stood over Alex, staring down.
“Hey! Tape him.”
“What? Right.” Ian slid the gun into his waistband, pulled a flattened half roll of duct tape from his back pocket.
“You move, you make any trouble for my friend, and I’ll shoot you right now. You get me?”
“You’re making a mistake, kid. You know who I am?”
“Yeah. You’re the guy getting fucked.” He was every bad guy in every movie ever made, and it felt great. He stepped sideways to keep a clear shot as Ian moved around the desk.
“Put your hands together.” Ian pulled an edge of tape up, then began wrapping it around Johnny’s wrists.
“Make it tight.” Mitch waited till Ian had four or five loops around Johnny’s hands, then let his eyes dart around the office. A small space, maybe eight by ten, with a cheap desk, a couple of chairs, some filing cabinets. A swimsuit calendar on the wall, a Budweiser mirror. There was a big black duffel bag beside the desk.
“Kid, you’re about to be in shit you have no idea how deep. Walk out of here now and we’ll just forget this happened.”
“When you’re done with his hands, get his mouth.”
Ian nodded, wrapped the tape another half dozen times, then ripped it. “Sit back and shut up.”
Think, think, think. You cannot afford to miss anything. The safe was on the wall, closed. The money had better be in that bag, or else it was going to get complicated. He’d check in a minute. Alex moaned, said, “My eye, you fuck!” Mitch ignored him, stepped forward, yanked the phone cord out of the wall. Johnny was glaring as Ian wrapped loops of tape around his head. He wasn’t a threat anymore. Mitch uncocked the gun, carefully, then slid it behind his back. He took the tape from his own pocket, kneeled by Alex.
“Put your hands out.”
“Oh, Christ.”
“Put your hands out.” He tugged at them, wishing he could ask Alex if he was OK, whisper some comfort, knowing he couldn’t do any such thing. Alex resisted at first, then gave in. His face was a mess, a gash pouring blood into his eye. Mitch winced, then forced himself to tape Alex up, hands and feet, then tore a six-inch strip and covered his mouth, hating himself for it, not seeing any choice.
When he rose, he saw that Ian had Johnny secured. So far so good. He strode over to the side of the desk, picked up the bag. It was heavy. He unzipped it, stared inside.
So this was what winning looked like.
Johnny started bucking, making noise against the tape. Mitch grabbed him by the shoulders, shoved him out of the chair. He landed heavy, the chair skittering away to hit the back wall.
“First, we’re not here for today’s take. Second, don’t disrespect the Cubs.” Mitch leaned over him. The guy glared at him from the ground.
Remember last week, asshole? When you told me how much your shirt cost? He smiled, then pulled his leg back and kicked Johnny in the gut, hard. Air blew out his nostrils, and his face went red.
It felt great.
“I GOT A BETTER IDEA,” the man in the leather jacket said as he stepped forward. “How about you tell me what you’re really doing here?”
Jenn’s pulse ran frantic. This wasn’t just some random creep. Not under these circumstances, not with that hair, that car. And especially not the way he was acting. There was only one explanation that made sense. This was the drug dealer Johnny was buying from.
Which changed everything. Their plan had been based on the idea that Mitch and Ian would be able to get in and out quickly enough that the dealer wouldn’t have arrived. That’s why she’d sat inside to let them know the exact moment Johnny went to the office. Add to that the fact that they hadn’t guessed he would come to the back, and it had seemed an acceptable risk.