Val climbed inside the rear of the delivery truck, the barrel of Stevie’s gun poking into her back. Her right hand ached where he’d kicked her, and she wondered if he’d broken any bones. Yet another part of her body that hurt.
She considered making a break for the front, attempting an escape out the driver’s or passenger’s side door. But the gun at her back convinced her that could be one of those Uncle Val-type fatal mistakes she didn’t want to make. Better to wait until Stevie made a mistake of his own. Which he would. She felt sure of it.
Once inside, she took in her surroundings with a few quick glances. Piles of rolled-up blankets and tarps filled half the floor on the passenger side of the van’s eight-food-wide cargo area. On the driver’s side, various tools and equipment lined the wall, secured by straps and bungee cords. A spare set of overalls sat folded behind the driver’s seat, next to a pair of sunglasses and a pile of what looked like fake hair. Underneath those, a suitcase-type of thing lay on its side, also strapped down.
Wait. Not a suitcase. A different type of case. One she’d seen during her training at the police academy. A gun case, used to carry weapons that the user would have to assemble before using.
Weapons as in long-range rifles favored by snipers.
Frustration and fear surged through her. She’d so convinced herself that Tank was the shooter that she walked right into Stevie’s ambush. He’d killed so many people, mostly women. He’d feel no remorse over shooting her.
And Gil, she realized with a shiver.
Stevie climbed in after her and closed the doors, keeping his weapon aimed at her the entire time. With both of them inside, the space seemed tight.
Like a phone booth.
An idea formed in her mind. All she needed was an opportunity.
“Move those.” He waved at the piles of blankets and plastic tarps with his free hand. “To the passenger seat.”
“Move them yourself,” she said, showing more bravery than she felt.
With unexpected suddenness and violence, he smacked her cheek hard with the gun barrel. She fell against the wall of the truck, catching herself partway down with widespread arms. Blood trickled down her face, wetting her lips and chin, its coppery taste making her stomach churn.
“Move the fucking blankets! And the tarps.”
She struggled back to her feet and scooped up the blankets. Ignoring the ache in her right hand, she tossed them up to the front. He pointed with the gun again, and she grabbed a second smaller pile, and threw those up front as well. Reached for one more, and paused when she spotted a man’s head, mostly hidden behind a blindfold and a gag.
Then she did a double-take, and her heart nearly stopped.
“Gil!”
Gil’s only response: his head lolled to one side.
“Tell him,” Stevie Ray said, “what you started to say out there on the street.”
“Let me make sure he’s all right.” Val descended to one knee.
Before her knee touched the floor, Stafford pushed her back, rougher than he needed to. “He’s fine. He can hear, too. Can’t you, Kryzinski?”
Gil grunted and tried to say something. “Vll?”
“Gil, it’s me,” Val said. “Are you hurt?”
“Shut it.” Stevie pushed the tarp aside, exposing Gil’s body down to the knees, his arms bound behind his back, under the full weight of his large frame.
Stevie pointed his weapon at Gil’s head and glanced back at Val. “Hand me that case behind you.”
“Me?”
“Who the fuck else? Him?” Stevie barked out a hollow laugh. “Come on, stop wasting time.”
She grabbed the gun case, considered throwing it at Stevie’s head—
“Easy.” He pointed the gun at Gil. “You don’t want this going off by accident, do you?”
Val, trembling, set the case on the floor and slid it toward Stevie. He’d have to take his eyes off of her to access its contents. She’d get her chance.
Or not.
“Open it.” Stevie spun it around with his foot, its handle facing Val.
She hesitated.
“I said open it!” He pounded the heel of his boot into Gil’s chest. Gil gasped in pain. Stevie readied his foot for another downward kick.
“Wait! I’ll do it.” Val took a deep breath, undid the latches, and popped open the case. Sure enough, the stock, barrel, scope, magazine, and accessories for a semi-automatic rifle lay arranged in foam cut-outs inside the case.
It also contained another tube-shaped item, often referred to as a “silencer,” a popular misnomer. It lay nestled in a cut-out that appeared cruder than the others—as if carved after the fact by an inexperienced hand.
“Give me the suppressor,” he said.
Val froze. He’d only want that for one reason. “No.”
His eyes grew wide, rage building on his face. He pointed his gun at her. “What did you say?”
She shook her head. “Get it yourself. I’m not helping you.”
He swung the pistol at her again. She ducked, and the barrel glanced off the top of her skull. It still hurt, though, and knocked her onto her ass.
However, it also revealed an important tell. A half-second before he swung at her, both this time and the time before, he squinted and his mouth puckered a bit. Not a lot. But enough.
While she got back onto her feet, Stevie pulled the case toward him, grabbed the suppressor, and screwed it onto the barrel of his pistol. He pointed the weapon at Gil’s head again and removed the blindfold. After Gil blinked open his eyes, Stevie continued, “Now tell him. Tell me. Tell us both what you were about to say outside. About who you love.”
Val nodded. “Of course.” She could play this game. She turned toward Gil, who struggled to breathe on the floor. A gash in his head seeped dark, sticky blood. “Gil.” She swallowed hard to keep from puking. “You and I have lived a wonderful few months together, haven’t we?”
Gil nodded, wincing.
“I wouldn’t trade our time together for anything.” She edged closer to him. And to Stevie.
“Stop fucking around,” Stevie said. “Tell him!”
“You know,” Val said, lowering her voice, “what I look for in a man. Strength. Loyalty. Courage.”
“I can’t hear you,” Stevie said. “Speak up!”
Hmm.
“There’s one thing I’ve searched for.” Val let her voice grow softer, raspier. “All my life.”
“Dammit, speak louder!” Stevie fumed, stepping closer—as expected. Leaned in, but kept the business end of the suppressor pressed against Gil’s throat.
“I know you’ve tried so, so hard…” Her voice cracked, lowered to a faint whisper, her eyes welling with tears.
Stevie leaned in closer, gun still pointed at Gil’s head.
“But now that I’ve met Stevie,” she said, still at a whisper, tears flowing, “I’ve found what I wanted.”
“Say it,” Stevie said, his voice raspy and rough. “Tell him before he dies!”
“What I’ve discovered, at long last…” Val turned toward Stevie. She wanted to see his face in this final moment. “What I need now more than anything is…”
Stevie’s eyes widened, his lips curling into an evil smile.
“What I need, more than ever, is love. And finally I’ve found it. I love you, Gil, now and forever.”
Stevie’s mouth opened in surprise, and he seemed to choke for a second. Then he squinted, and his mouth puckered—
The weapon, still in Stevie’s right hand, flew at her head. This time, she was ready. Thanks to Tank’s lesson at the dojo and her fights at the MMA gym, she’d gotten exactly the training she needed for this moment.
As the pistol swung toward her, she ducked and batted his elbow with enough force to push his entire arm careening over her head. The momentum twisted his body around, as Val expected, facing away from her. Squatting on her right leg, she hooked her left leg in a tight arc, planting her heel on the back of Stevie’s knee. His leg jerked forward and he stumbled, most of his weight supported on one leg.
With her leg already in position, she smashed her foot into the side of his exposed, weight-bearing knee. It responded as she’d hoped—with a crack and a loud “pop,” the satisfying sounds of tearing tissue and breaking bones.
Stevie screamed and fell face-first onto the floor. His weapon bounced off the wall. Val jumped on his back, grabbed him by the hair, and pounded his head hard on the floor. Then again, again, and yet again, each time eliciting another painful howl. Then she snatched the pistol and smacked Stevie with it in the temple.
His body went limp, and his screaming stopped.