SIXTEEN

At nine o’clock, she was parked at the Sunoco station, headlights and engine off. The lights in 216 were on, the curtain drawn. A chill in the air, and no one out in the parking lot. She could hear muffled music behind one of the second-floor doors, knew it had to be loud inside. That was good.

She clenched and unclenched her fingers inside the gloves, the adrenaline working in her already. There was a sourness in her stomach, the acid taste of bile in her throat.

At nine thirty, a beat-up Dodge with a dented passenger door rolled into the lot, Jackson driving, Blue beside him. They’d left the motorcycles behind. Too recognizable, too noisy, for what they’d come to do.

They circled the lot slowly, then drove back into the service alley, parked beside the Dumpster, killed the lights and engine.

They’ll sit there for a while, she thought, keep an eye out in case it’s a setup, see if there’s anyone around who doesn’t belong. She saw the flare of a match inside the car, the glow of a cigarette.

She took a deep breath, held it, tightening her hips and stomach, gripped the wheel to steady her hands.

Just before ten, they got out of the car, stood there talking. A cat raced out from behind the Dumpster, crossed their path, and disappeared into high weeds.

When they moved into the light at the base of the stairwell, she saw Blue had a short-barreled revolver in his hand. He opened the cylinder to check the loads, closed it again, said something to Jackson. They started up the stairs.

She let out her breath. You should drive away, she thought. Go back to the hotel, get the rest of the money and your things, buy a train ticket, head north, head home. The smart thing. What Wayne would do. No percentage in staying here. But then there was the girl …

They came out of the stairwell onto the second-floor walkway, taking their time, being quiet about it. She’d wedged a folded matchbook into the strike plate of 216, so the door would open with a push. She wanted them inside the room. It would give her more time.

On the seat beside her was a manila envelope thick with cash—six thousand dollars in banded bills. She’d sealed it with rubber bands. The envelope went into the inside pocket of her dark zippered jacket. Then she reached behind for the aluminum baseball bat on the floor. She’d bought the bat and jacket at a sporting goods store on the way here.

She’d turned off the courtesy light, so the car stayed dark as she got out. She let the door close without latching, started across the lot.

There was a shadowed area between the motel wall and the Dumpster, and she waited there, picturing Blue and Jackson up in the room, angry, going through closets and dressers, realizing they were gone for good.

She heard the door open again, boot heels on the walkway above her. Fast, not caring about noise now. They came down the stairwell, Jackson in front. She saw the dull glint of the gun in his left hand, another revolver.

When he reached the bottom step, she moved away from the wall. Jackson said, “Hey, Blue, here she is—” and then he saw the bat.

He got his left hand up as she swung. The bat cracked into his elbow, sent the revolver flying across the blacktop. He doubled with pain, and then Blue was coming down behind him, pushing him out of the way, gun up.

She swung, aimed for the outside of his left knee, felt the impact all the way to her shoulders. The leg flew out from under him, and he went down hard. She swung at the gun, missed, and got his wrist on the backswing. The gun hit the wall, landed at her feet. She kicked it toward the Dumpster, turned to meet Jackson coming at her.

She feinted at his head. When he raised his right arm to block it, she checked her movement, dropped her shoulder and swung hard into his ribs on the left side, felt them crack. He bent, and she sidestepped and swung low, laid the bat across his shins. He cried out, went down.

Blue was on his knees now, crabbing toward the stairs to pull himself up. She brought the bat down on his right shoulder like an ax. He grunted, tried to roll away and cover up. Behind her, Jackson was moaning, “You bitch. You fucking bitch.”

She went back to stand over him. She was breathing hard.

“You touch that little girl?” she said.

“What?”

“I said, did you touch her?”

“Fuck you.”

“Wrong answer,” she said, and swung the bat across his left knee. He screamed, gripped his leg, rolled onto his side, rocking slowly back and forth.

Blue had worked himself into a sitting position, his back against the stairs. His right arm hung useless. He grinned, his teeth outlined in blood. He’d cut something inside his mouth when he’d fallen.

She turned to him, had to catch her breath before she could speak. “I’d tell you to stay away from those people, but it wouldn’t make any difference, would it?”

He shook his head, spit blood at her. She stepped back to avoid it.

“Didn’t think so,” she said, and swung the bat into his left ankle. He rolled, tried to cover his head, and she used the bat on his body twice more, then backed away, dizzy and reeling.

She looked back at Jackson. He was still on the ground, whimpering, tears on his face. She tossed the bat away. It clanged and rolled on the blacktop. She pulled the envelope of cash from her pocket, dropped it near Blue’s head.

“My part of the deal,” she said. “You’re paid off. No need to come around here anymore.”

She found the revolvers, unloaded them, dropped the shells into a storm drain. The guns went into another drain twenty feet away. Still breathing hard, she walked back to the gas station, Jackson crying softly on the ground behind her.

Back in the car, she tried to steady her breathing. Then she felt the hot rush coming up, got the door open just in time, and vomited onto the blacktop.

*   *   *

When Claudette opened the door, Crissa said, “Get your things together. We’re leaving.”

Haley was asleep on one of the beds, fully dressed, stuffed squirrel held tight. Roy sprang up from where he’d been sitting in a corner chair, said, “What happened?”

She ignored him, said to Claudette, “Call your sister. Make sure she’s home. We’re going there tonight.”

“Why?”

“Not a good idea to stay around town right now. Better we get moving.”

“What did you do?” Roy said.

She looked at him. “What you should have.”

“Oh, shit,” he said, “oh, shit,” and sat back down again.

Claudette hadn’t moved. “Did you kill them?”

“No,” Crissa said. “But they won’t be back on their bikes for a while. Don’t fight me on this. We need to get going.”

Roy had his head in his hands, looking at the floor. “I could have taken care of it. I could have.” He looked up at her. “You really did it this time, didn’t you?”

Crissa looked at Claudette, said, “Make that call.”

“It was all settled,” he said. “We had a deal.”

“They didn’t come to deal,” she said. “They came to kill all of us, take whatever money they could find.”

“You don’t know that.”

To Claudette, she said, “Up to you whether he comes or not.”

Claudette looked at Roy.

“Wait a goddamn minute,” he said. “What do you mean, it’s up to her?”

“You can stay in town, all I care,” Crissa said to him. “But I wouldn’t advise it.”

“Don’t listen to her,” he said to Claudette. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“I settled your debt,” Crissa said. “You want to stay around here, be my guest. But in a day or two, they—or more likely some friends of theirs—are going to come around looking for payback. And they’ll be looking for you.”

“Payback? Why?”

“You want to take him along,” she said to Claudette, “we’ll take him. But my advice is don’t.”

“And what the fuck am I supposed to do?” he said.

Haley stirred, opened her eyes. Claudette sat beside her, stroked her hair, didn’t look at Roy.

Crissa took an envelope from her jacket pocket. “There’s a thousand in there.” She tossed it on the other bed. “Enough to get you away from here. Plane, train, bus, whatever. If you’re smart, you’ll leave Florida.”

“A thousand? I deserve a lot more than that.”

“You’re lucky you got anything. Take it and be glad.”

“Claudette, don’t let her do this.”

She looked at him now. “I’m sorry, Roy. But she’s right. I’ve been thinking about it since all this started. We need to do what’s best for Haley. She needs to be safe.”

“She is safe. She’s always been safe with me. What are you talking about? I’d never do anything to hurt her.”

Haley sat up. Claudette put an arm around her. “I’m sorry, Roy. I am. But maybe being apart is best right now. For a while at least.”

He stood. “She put this in your head, didn’t she? Turned you against me.”

“It’s more than that, Roy. It has been for a while.”

Crissa watched him, ready to get between them if needed.

“I can’t believe this,” he said. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“The room’s paid for the night,” Crissa told him. “You can stay if you want. But tomorrow morning, first thing, you need to get moving.”

“This isn’t right. We’re a family. We should be together.”

“A little late for that,” Crissa said.

“This is fucked.”

“Maybe down the road, it’ll be different,” Claudette said. “But right now, Roy, we both have some things we need to take care of. On our own. You know that, too. Then maybe later…”

Crissa let that sit, said to Roy, “Take the money or not. It’s up to you.”

Haley was curled against her mother now, still holding the squirrel.

“You should get a coat for her,” Crissa said. “It’s getting cool out.”

Roy picked up the envelope, opened it, looked at the bills inside. “So this is it,” he said. “After everything I’ve done.”

“I’m sorry, Roy,” Claudette said.

He closed the envelope, looked at Crissa. “This isn’t over.”

“You better hope it is,” she said. “For your sake.” Then to Claudette, “Make that call. I want to get on the road. We’ve got a long way to go.”