CHAPTER TWENTY


I WAITED UNTIL about six-forty-five, when it was fully dark. It was the coldest night of the season so far, but was still above freezing. I pulled a heavier navy blue coat from the closet and checked the pocket for gloves. I didn’t bother with a hat.

After driving by Mrs. Hardy's house twice, I figured she was watching television in the living room, with blinds and curtains closed. I parked at the house next door, which let me get to the exterior stairs without having to walk by her front door.

Instinct said I should walk up the stairs on tip-toe, but that doesn't work well when you have on running shoes that have a thick sole. I settled for creeping, constantly looking around for someone who would snitch on me.

The lack of a storm door on the upstairs apartment meant one less entry point that could creak. The key was in my hand and I gently inserted it into the lock on the door handle and turned it. The knob rotated easily. I pushed open the door, walked in, and shut it behind me.

"Joe?"

"What the hell, Jolie?"

Oh boy, now what?

"Is anyone with you?"

"No." I followed Joe's voice to the bedroom. He was lying on the floor of the closet, which was about seven feet long and had pocket doors, which were open. There were jackets and slacks hanging above him. Joe didn't look good. From my purse I took a small bottle of water and a cheese sandwich. He almost inhaled the sandwich.

Joe lay back, and stared at the closet ceiling. He turned to me. "Why are you here?"

"You didn't have to give me the money for Michelle." I tried to get a better look at his face, but the only light was from a street lamp just outside the bedroom window. "I want to help you. Let me drive you to the police, or a hospital and they can call…"

"No!" Joe shut his eyes. "I had no idea they would do anything like kidnap a kid. I was holding onto the money because I knew he’d kill me as soon as I gave it to him. Kind of counting on his Kansas parole people to look for him here. They got that anonymous tip."

"He would have been back."

Joe nodded. "Probably, but I'd have been gone by then. Next place I go, I don't open a business."

"That's how they found you?"

"So they say. I put a different name on the business filing because I thought that would be an easy database to search. But it was too complicated to officially change my name or get forged documents, and they eventually found me with a Google search." He paused for breath. "Can you believe that?"

I shrugged. "That's how I found Belken's name."

"Crap."

"Joe, you can't stay here like this. A broken rib can puncture a lung. You should know all about that."

His smile was grim. "Yeah. But I don't want to go to prison. Or run into Belken."

"What exactly did you do?"

He looked at me.

"I'm not the police."

"You also aren't my wife. They can compel anyone except a spouse to spill their guts."

"Ah. How about if I tell you what I pieced together?"

He didn't answer.

"It looks to me as if you were supposed to be Belken's ride the day of the robbery, but someone in the bank tripped a silent alarm. You drove off, and Belken made it out with a bunch of cash. By the time the police picked him up, he'd ditched the cash. You left town with it."

Joe said nothing.

"What I can't figure is why he didn't name you, to help him get a reduced sentence."

"Without saying we're talking about me, Belken probably thought if he kept quiet he could get at the money later. But when he got out, he...couldn't."

"So basically, this person who isn't you stole money from a crook."

"If the person's partner hadn't been such a violent person, he might have turned it in. All he wanted was to get away. Even as desperate as I was, I shouldn't have agreed to drive the car. I mean, the guy shouldn't have agreed."

"Then why do it?"

He grimaced. "Lost two jobs during the recession. Bank took the guy’s house."

"Hmm. I'm no lawyer, but there wasn't any kind of warrant out for this guy. You never went to jail and didn't bug out on parole, like Belken. You, this guy, could probably negotiate a really small sentence. Maybe not even prison." I had no idea if this was true, but if Belken got three years and he was in the bank with a gun, it didn't seem that Joe would get that much.

Joe shut his eyes again. "The thing is, I've lied to cops here. I knew who shot me."

"Seems like the shooter would be in more trouble."

The voice from the doorway was harsh. "That's probably right."

Talbot Peters was taller than I remembered and no easy smile graced his face tonight. He also had a slight southern accent, more like what I think of as mid-South rather than the strong accent of Mississippi or Alabama. Talbot must have deliberately hidden the drawl when he talked to people in Ocean Alley. Except when Max heard him arguing with Joe.

"How, how did you get in here?" I asked, as my stomach did its version of a back flip. Did I lock the door? I didn't lock the door!

Joe came to a full sitting position. He had to hold one hand over his ribs to do it. "Barry, she doesn't know..."

"Talbot," the bank robber said. "I need to be through with Barry Belken. Too many people looking for him."

Joe and I said nothing. Peters spoke again. "You had more money, Joe. Where the hell is it?"

"You need to let Jolie leave. She doesn't need to be here."

"Sure," he sneered. "Let her go so she can call some of her buddies in the police."

Morehouse would not call me his buddy. Especially now. "I could wait an hour, and then make an anonymous call saying a man at this address needs medical care."

Peters' laugh was loud and rough. "Oh, he won't need medical care."

I was suddenly aware that Mrs. Hardy's television must have been turned off. I hadn't registered that I was hearing it up here until it was quiet. She might have heard Peters. Please let her call the police. Don't let her come up here!

"Where’s Benji?" Joe asked.

"The bitch ran off after we let the kid go."

"Don’t hurt Benji, Barry," Joe said.

"Forget her. You got your own problems." Peters drew a gun from his pocket.

"She stood by you, and then she turned her life around. You need to keep away from Benji."

Belken-cum-Talbot gave another harsh laugh. "Benji's always been able to take care of herself."

Almost to myself, I said, "She was the pig."

"Shut up!" Talbot pointed the gun at me and I recoiled.

"Where's the rest of the money, Regan?"

I made an involuntary whimper.

"Shut up!"

I'm not sure I could define a crazed expression, but I recognized one now. And I could do nothing to stop him. I didn't even have a mobile phone. I promised myself that if I got out of this I was going to have at least two of those phones that didn't require a contract. I'd always have a replacement phone.

Joe's voice was raspy. "Peters, listen to me. It's gone. I put it into my business."

"Wrong answer," Peters roared. "Do you know how damned nasty prison is? Always with a bunch of sweaty men. The crappiest food you ever ate. I spent three years there, Joe. I’m going to get paid for that."

"How about some profit-sharing for future years?" Joe asked.

Profit sharing? This isn't a Chamber of Commerce meeting.

"You don't have any future years."

"What if..." I began.

"I told you to shut up!" Peters looked at me and I cringed.

"Get on your feet, Regan. The three of us are taking a ride."

"You have a car?" I asked, hoping to spot a hole in his plan.

"Sometimes. Tonight we're using yours. Going someplace real quiet."

Joe struggled to his feet. I wondered how he'd gotten here. Mrs. Hardy's house was several blocks from the area the police had barricaded on C Street. However, once Joe was on his feet he was steady.

My thoughts raced. He wanted to go someplace quiet to kill us. I had to figure out a way to draw attention to us when we got outside.

Peters waved his gun at me. "You first, girlie."

I walked through the small living room and opened the door that led to the stairs.

"Don't run away now. Wouldn't be a party without you. You wanna party with me later?"

I thought I was going to throw up. Somehow, saying no did not seem like a good thing. "Depends on the kind of party."

"Good answer," my captor said.

I was on the top landing. Why aren't there any cars? At this time of night, E Street was usually really busy. I'd gone down a few steps when it occurred to me that maybe the police were keeping people off of E Street. Maybe they knew we were here. Please God, please God.

A beat-up Ford pick-up turned onto the street. It sounded as if the driver considered a muffler optional equipment. It also meant my hope for a police rescue was probably a pipe dream.

Joe was behind me, and I assumed Peters was after him. I didn't look. Why am I calling him Peters?

The pick-up was almost even with the house when three men popped up from the truck bed, each pointing a gun in our direction.

"Put it down, Belken!" It sounded like the FBI agent.

I crouched on the step.

"Stand up, bitch!" Belken roared.

The gunfire was incredibly loud and seemed to go on forever. I had my hands over my ears almost immediately, but it didn't decrease the sound. And the smoke. So much smoke from the guns.

The sound of splintering wood made me look up. Barry Belken was covered in his own blood. Some of it had splashed on Joe, who was sitting on the step behind me.

Belken had let go of his gun, which was clattering down the wooden staircase. His arms were raised and spread out, as if he was a kid about to make an angel print in the snow.

He fell very slowly.

I leaned over the railing and threw up.