And he was all wet. His face was sugar white and, he looked like he was having trouble breathing and Poppy didn’t want to think it, didn’t want to believe it could happen, but she knew right then that her Paulie was dying.
“Paulie… ?” His eyes focused on her, then down to the handle sticking up from his shirt. His fingers trembled as he touched it. He tried a smile as he spoke in a wheezy whisper.
“It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll be okay.”
Poppy tried to hold back the sobs but they broke through and she started crying. “Oh, Jesus, Paulie, it came out your back!”
He blinked. “It did? Oh.” He looked down at the handle and touched it again. “Help me get it out.”
“No! I can’t!”
“Poppy, it hurts so much. You gotta get it out. Please.”
“O-okay.” The last thing in the world she wanted to do was touch that handle, but if it was hurting Paulie…
She forced the fingers of both hands around the black plastic, squeezed tight, and gave a little pull.
Paulie stiffened and groaned.
“It’s stuck!” Her voice rose to a wail. “I can’t do this, Paulie!”
“It’s my only chance. Pull it out! Now!” Shaking, sobbing. Poppy tightened her grip and yanked the handle with everything she had. After some initial resistance, it suddenly came free and she almost fell backward.
When she straightened, Paulie was even whiter than before but smiling at her.
“Oh, that feels better.” But when Poppy looked at the wound she saw blood gurgling from the slit and running down Paulie’s sides.
Suddenly his whole body twitched and he looked at her. She could barely hear his voice.
“Maybe we should have left it in.”
And then he was gone. He didn’t move, didn’t make another sound; his eyes were still open and looking at her, but Paulie wasn’t there anymore.
No… that couldn’t be…
“Paulie?” she said. “Paulie?” Poppy dropped the knife and leaned toward him, arms out to hug him when something moved against her leg.
She turned. Mac was stirring. His nose was smashed to the side and he looked like he’d been hit in the face with a ripe tomato, but his eyelids were fluttering. He was coming to.
And right then Poppy knew she had to kill him. She couldn’t let the man who’d killed Paulie and wanted to kill Katie take another breath.
She looked around for her dumbbell and saw that it had rolled across the floor. She started to rise to retrieve it when she noticed the handle of the gun in Mac’s belt.
Yeah. With his own gun.
But as she began to pull it free, a hand grabbed her wrist.
Mac looked at her groggily. “No way, bitch.” Poppy got her other hand on the gun and yanked it free, but Mac still had hold of her wrist. And now he brought both of his hands into play, trying to twist it away from her. But Poppy wasn’t letting go. She knew her life and Katie’s depended on keeping it away from Mac.
Suddenly the gun went off and Poppy felt something whiz past her cheek. The sound was so deafening at such close range she jumped and almost lost her grip.
She glanced down and saw Mac’s finger against the trigger, then up to see him grinning at her, so sure he was going to win. Just to show him he wasn’t, Poppy gave the gun a vicious twist and it discharged again, the bullet nipping a lock of his hair as it went by.
Suddenly he wasn’t smiling. If he hadn’t just been coming out of being knocked cold, and if he hadn’t been struggling with someone who worked out a lot more than he did, he might have won already. But he was far from his peak and Poppy was right at hers, and she knew she had to get that gun fast before his bigger muscles and weight advantage wore her down.
She jammed her thumb inside the trigger guard, right on top of his, and pressed down hard while pushing the barrel toward him. Another shot, and this one nipped his shoulder before it smashed through the window. He winced and jumped as red began seeping through the hole in his shirt, and now his feet were kicking along the floor, looking for leverage against her. Poppy kept staring at him, not saying a word as they no longer fought for the gun, but for which way it would point, and he must have seen something in her eyes because now he was looking scared.
Finally his feet found something to push against and suddenly he was angling up, looking to topple her over and trap her under his weight. If he did that, he’d be in control. Poppy put all her strength into one last desperate twist of the barrel, lifting it and crunching down on the trigger.
The muzzle flash seared her chin as Mac gave a shout and lurched back with blood spurting from the right side of his head. His grip loosened and suddenly the gun was all Poppy’s.
She scrabbled backward on her free hand and feet and butt, and then sprawled there gasping, pointing the gun at him, ready to drill him again. But he didn’t move. He lay flat on his back, arms and legs splayed in all directions, his right eye all bloody, an expanding pool of red encircling his head.
Mac was dead. She’d killed a man, but that was okay. It wasn’t really a man—it was Mac. And he’d killed Paulie. And was gonna kill—
Katie!
Dimly, through the ringing in her ears, she became aware that a child was screaming. Poppy dropped the gun and ran into the guest room where she found her crouched white faced in a corner, hands over her ears, eyes squeezed shut, and her mouth wide open. She lifted Katie and held her trembling, quaking little body against her.
“It’s all right, baby,” she said, putting her lips against Katie’s ear and whispering. “It’s all right. It’s all over and no one’s gonna hurt you. Poppy’s gonna take care of you. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
Safe… Poppy realized that was the one thing they weren’t. How many times had the gun gone off? Three? Four? She couldn’t remember. But sure as hell someone was dialing 911 right now and saying Sylmar Street was turning into the OK Corral.
She had to get out of here.
But where to? She had no place to go. And she had no money. Paulie always took care of— Paulie! Oh, Jesus, poor Paulie was dead in the next room… She bit back a sob. She couldn’t think about that. She had to get Katie and herself to safety.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna move to a new place, a brand new place where nobody gets hurt. Okay? First thing you have to do is close your eyes.”
Katie didn’t say anything, but when Poppy looked, her eyes were closed. Maybe they’d been closed all along.
She carried her out through the living room, keeping her own eyes straight ahead and Katie’s turned away from the blood-splattered floor.
Once in the kitchen, she put her down on one of the chairs. “Stay here, Katie. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Katie sat unmoving, her eyes still closed.
Poppy hurried back into the living room and fought the rising nausea as she approached the bodies. Blood everywhere. She couldn’t think of anyplace she totally wanted less to be, but she needed money. And more than that, she needed the keys to the truck.
Without really looking at him—she couldn’t bear to see his slack, white face—she sidled around to Paulie’s body and knelt just outside the wet stain that encircled him. She reached toward him and pulled back.
Poor Paulie. She couldn’t even look at him. How was she gonna touch him? But she had to. No time to kneel here wringing her hands. The cops were coming, dammit.
Steeling herself, and only looking out of the corner of her eye, she forced her hands to pat his pockets. The front ones were empty. Biting her lip, she rolled him half over—so heavy!—and found his wallet, but no truck keys.
The money in Paulie’s wallet wouldn’t take her far.
She glanced across him at Mac. He always had lots of cash. She got up and approached Mac from the other side. Easier to go through his pockets. Only his head was bloody. And she didn’t give a damn about Mac.
She yanked out his wallet and sighed with relief when she found it loaded with
twenties and fifties, plus half a dozen Visa cards under as many names.
Okay. She and Katie had money. Now they needed wheels.
She spotted Mac’s keys on the floor near the gun. She reached for them, then thought better of it. She knew she wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, but she did know that the Jeep had been sitting out front when the shots were fired. Someone might have taken down the plate number. The truck would be better. Except for a couple of quick trips, it had been kept in the garage all the time.
She jumped up and ran into her bedroom and spotted the keys on the dresser. She snatched them and her little purse, and ran back toward the kitchen. Halfway there she dropped everything. A gun, a purse, two wallets, and keys—too much to carry. And she’d probably have to carry Katie too. No time to consolidate. She needed— She spotted Mac’s baseball jacket on the chair. She didn’t want anything that belonged to that slimeball but right now she couldn’t be choosey. She pulled it on and stuffed everything into the pockets. Then she scooped up Katie and headed for the garage.
“Come on, baby,” she cooed. “We’re getting the hell outta here.” As she opened the door between the kitchen and the garage, she heard Mac’s beeper go off again. Whoever wanted him was going to get old and gray waiting for a callback.
12
“You are sure you are calling the right numbers?” Carlos said.
Llosa nodded vigorously. “¡si!”
“I tried them myself,” Alien Gold said.
“Then why isn’t that hijo de puta answering? He has always called in before.”
“Maybe his beeper’s turned off,” Alien said, “or broken. Maybe the battery died.”
“But what about his voice mail?”
Gold shrugged. “Who knows how often he checks it?” Carlos was getting worried. MacLaglen should not be out of touch at such a critical time. It was very careless of him, and if Carlos knew one thing about MacLaglen, he was not careless. A bad feeling was growing in his gut: Something was wrong.
He pointed to Gold. “I want you to take Llosa and drive past his house.”
“Do we know where he lives?”
“I will give you the address. And I will give you another address, as well. But you must drive past and nothing more. Do not knock on the door, do not even stop the car. Comprende?”
“Sure.”
“Call me immediately if you see anything.” He watched them go, then turned on his back massager. His muscles were very tight.
Something was wrong… he could smell it.
13
The sun sat high and bright in a cloudless sky, but Poppy drove through a fog. She could barely feel her hands on the wheel. Like numb all over.
She pushed the panel truck to its limit along 95 North through Maryland and got about sixty miles an hour out of it. She wished she could go like a hundred, two hundred, but the last thing she needed now was to get pulled over by a cop. Sixty would do just fine.
She glanced over at Katie, belted into the passenger seat. She’d been a talkative little thing the past few days, but Poppy had heard barely a peep out of her since they’d left the house. Poor kid… she’d seen stuff today that no adult should see, let alone a six-year-old girl.
Soon as we get somewhere, Poppy thought, I’ll have to work on her. Bring her out. And figure out what to do with her.
Yeah. Soon as we get somewhere.
But where was she going? And what was she going to do when she got there? My next move, she thought. Good question. What do I do now? She wished Paulie was here. She wasn’t good at this sort of stuff, but Paulie’d know what to do.
The thought of Paulie started an ache deep in her chest. She remembered his funny laugh, his crooked smile, always trying to be a hard guy when he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. And now he was dead. She didn’t want to remember him like that, all soaked with blood, his face so pale, his dead eyes staring. She wanted to remember him in bed, doing wonderful things to her…
“Why are you crying?” Katie’s voice startled her. She wiped at her cheeks and her hand came away wet and stained with mascara.
Poppy sniffed and stifled the building sobs. Can’t go to pieces now. Got to hold together for Katie.
“Because I’m sad, Katie.” How did she say this? She didn’t want to start answering questions about lovers and death. “I… I lost a very dear friend today.” She felt something touch her. She looked down and saw Katie’s little hand patting her forearm.
“That’s okay. I’ll be your friend.” And that only made Poppy cry harder. I’m a basket case, she thought. I’ll kill us both if I don’t get off the road and pull myself together.
Somewhere north of Baltimore she spotted a GAS-FOOD-LODGING sign before the Edgewood exit.
She’d never heard of Edgewood and figured maybe that was good. Who’d look for her in Edgewood, Maryland?
She hit the Exit 77 ramp and the first place she came to was a Best Western. A Denny’s and a McDonald’s occupied the opposing corners.
Perfect.
She pulled into the parking lot, turned off the engine, and sat there, unable to move, feeling like she suddenly weighed a couple of tons. She felt so totally alone, so unsure. Was stopping here the right thing? What would Paulie do?
He’d probably say. Get off the road, park the truck around back, and hole up until you’ve made a plan. Don’t go running around without a plan.
Okay. She’d make a plan. But first she’d have to like figure out how to pay for the room. Cash or credit?
She opened Mac’s wallet and went through the credit cards. All those different names—James King, Eric Coral, Francis Black, Steven Garter, Jason Rattle, William Boa… stolen cards or real accounts with phony names?
Weird, she thought. All snake names. That couldn’t be a coincidence. And she remembered what Paulie used to say about him—“a real detail guy.” Not the type to get caught with hot plastic. Probably a good bet they were real accounts.
Good. She’d rotate them and save her cash. Mac sure as hell wouldn’t be reporting them stolen.
“How come your face is all black?” Katie said.
Poppy glanced in the rearview mirror. Her cheeks were a mess of black smears.
“That’s mascara. I kinda like to pile it on.”
“How come? And how come your lips are all black too?”
“Because I use black lipstick, silly.” Poppy wondered at all the questions, then realized that Katie had never seen her without a mask until this morning.
“And how come you got earrings in your face?”
Poppy glanced in the mirror again. She barely noticed the diamond stud in her left nostril and the fine silver ring through her right eyebrow anymore. Nobody she hung out with gave them a second thought. Hell, most people she hung out with were pierced a lot more than her. A lot more.
But they did make her stick out in the straight world. She’d never minded that before. Liked to flaunt it, in fact. Thumbing her nose at all the uptights.
But the last thing she wanted now was to stick out. The rings had to go.
But not all of them.
“Want to see another?” She pulled up her shirt and showed Katie her pierced belly button. “What you think of that one?” Katie made a face.
“Eeeuuuuw! How come—?”
“That’s enough questions for now. Let’s go get us a room.”
“We’re staying here?” Her eyes lit up. “Oh, goody! I hope the bed’s got Magic Fingers!” And Poppy did something she’d thought she might never do again. She smiled.
14
“I think we’ve got trouble.” Alien Gold had said he was calling from a parking lot in Falls Church. His words made Carlos’s back muscles bunch.
“Tell me.”
“Nothing doing at his house. We drove by twice and didn’t see anything unusual. But it looks like the shit’s hit the fan at the second address.” The Falls Church house. Carlos squeezed his eyes shut. He knew it!
“What has happen
ed?”
“Cops all over the place. Looks like it might have been a raid or something. Couldn’t get a good look.”
“Our friend’s car… the Jeep?”
“Couldn’t tell you. I mean, what with all the squad cars, the ambulances, the EMS trucks, who could see? We passed by and did a typical rubbernecking thing, but the cops on the street kept us moving. Did see a body, though.”
“Was it?”
“Couldn’t tell. Wrapped head to toe in a sheet and rolling toward the meat wagon.” Mierda! This could be disastrous. But he could not let Gold or Llosa know he was upset.
“Return immediately. We must make plans.” He hung up and drummed his fingers on his belly. He had contacts down at D.C. police headquarters. He would contact them and find out exactly what had happened in the Falls Church house.
Worst case scenario was that MacLaglen was dead. That meant his treacherous little tape would soon be on its way to numerous federal agencies. And that meant that Carlos would be on his way to the private airport where he kept his new Gulfstream V.
MacLaglen alive and in custody would be almost as bad. MacLaglen had a lot of pride, but he would be facing grievous charges. How long before he struck a deal to give up the one who had hired him? Carlos guessed he’d last about a day. MacLaglen in custody would also prompt a hurried trip to the airport.
But what about Maria? If Carlos had to run, he’d never be able to return. He might never see his Maria again. So she’d have to come with him—like it or not. He’d have Llosa grab the perra and drag her out to the plane.
But where could he go? Colombia would be the safest as far as extradition was concerned, but extradition was only one of his worries.
After all, he had failed. Either through his damned tape or his confession, MacLaglen would expose a plot by the drug cartel to assassinate President Winston. Attempts to put la compania out of business, either by a frontal assault or by legalizing its product, would intensify.