| |
Wilson felt the vibration of his phone, pulled it out of his pocket and answered the call. “What!”
“I need to see you.”
“Lillian, until you tell me where to find Juarez—the answer is no.”
“Wilson please,” she pleaded. “I think someone is after me. Somebody just tried to run me down.”
“Where are you?”
“Wilson, I’m scared.”
“Hello... hello?” He removed the phone from his ear and glared at the screen. The display was black. He put it back to his ear, “Lillian...”
Lillian’s words played in his ear like a broken record. “Wilson. I’m scared.” Scared... of what? Scared ... of who? Not Lillian. She was one of the toughest women he knew. He’d seen her take on men twice her size and come away with the victory.
He left his garage and went into the house to shower. He was still mulling over Lillian’s words.
He decided to drive over to her house.
He heard the blast of the fire truck horn as soon as it turned the block, headed in the same direction in which he was traveling...
Wilson fell in line behind the ambulance at a safe distance.
The fire truck was soon followed by an ambulance and several police cars.
He picked up his phone and voice dialed Lillian.
No answer.
He allowed the emergency vehicles to get in front of him.
They soon pulled in front of the building and stopped.
Vehicle doors flew open and organized chaos ensured.
Wilson parked his truck against the curb, got out, and closed the door. “What’s going on?” he shouted to Ted, one of the firefighters he knew from a local firehouse.
“Don’t know yet, heard it’s a woman down.” He turned to catch up with the others headed to the side of the building.
Onlookers were already crowding around the front of the building.
Wilson glanced down at his phone, hoping Lillian would’ve called him back by now. “God, if you’re real, please let her call me back.”
Placing his phone back in his pocket, Wilson watched as the paramedics placed a mask over the severely marred face of a woman. He tried to see past the blood and swelling to make sure it wasn’t Lillian. He knew Juarez could be ruthless and dangerous.
Wilson keyed in on several conversations taking place.
One woman with way too much lipstick asked, “Who said I was gossiping?”
“No one said you were gossiping Margie.”
“All I know is that she fell.”
His phone vibrated.
“Where are you?” he demanded. Wilson pressed the phone in closer to his head as he pulled away from the crowd to hear her better. “Lillian, where are you?”
He lifted his head, trying to see if he could find her in the crowd.
It was a struggle to hear her clearly. He heard her say his sister’s name and his heart took off racing. “Stay right there. I’m on my way.”
After about ten minutes of driving, Wilson parked off the road near the downtown furniture showrooms. One of the doors creaked open and Lillian jumped into his truck.
“Drive... drive,” she yelled, beating her hand on the dashboard.
“Lillian what’s going on? You mentioned Natasha.”
“I believe Juarez has your sister.” Her words spilled out of her mouth without hesitation. “He has a stash house off 5th Street. It’s a large white building with a church sign in the front yard.”
Wilson tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
A small compact car in front of them slammed on breaks, leaving them stranded in the intersection. The force of Wilson slamming on brakes caused Lillian to slide forward, hitting her head on the dashboard.
Wide-eyed she looked over at Wilson, “Do you think God is real?”
Before he could formulate an answer, Wilson heard the grinding of metal and the crunching of glass. An old van ran into the passenger side of his truck, sending it spinning around. He felt the shift in the weight of the vehicle as the wheels began to slide sideways. The truck lurched, the passenger side slammed with full force into a utility pole.
Wilson fought to open his eyes as the scent of gasoline thickened the air. With a trembling hand, he reached out to Lillian’s severely misshaped face.
Wilson pressed and kicked against the mangled door. Smoke began wafting through the cab of the truck. He jumped out and ran around to the crumpled passenger side of the truck.
“Hold on Lillian,” he said. “I’ll get you out.”
Wilson pulled the door. He gingerly wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her out. He stared down at her bloody face.
She opened her mouth to say something.
“Shh, don’t try to talk.”
Lillian began blowing blood bubbles through her nostrils. She murmured, “You’ve got to find her.”
Lillian exhaled her final breath.
He shook her arms with one hand. “Lillian no.” He gently patted her face. “Stay with me.”
People came from all around to try and help.
Wilson felt for a pulse, but there wasn’t one.
He found himself sitting on the curb surrounded by emergency personnel asking him if he knew his name and the date.