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"Drop that gun. Drop it right now," Michaela demanded.
Tilda turned her head and stared wild-eyed at Mic, the hated woman from yesterday with the huge dog. Mic stood in the doorway of the barn, her Glock pointed at Tilda’s head.
Tilda threw her head back and laughed again. “Never, I will never drop this gun.” She fired just as Mic stepped forward, slipped on a piece of ice in the doorway, and fell on the barn floor. Tilda’s bullet missed Mic’s head by inches and smashed into the barn siding.
"Oh, tut-tut did the famous Michaela McPherson fall down and lose her gun?,” she sang, walking toward Mic, her gun in her hand. “You know, you really need to get a grip,” she said as she laughed at her own joke.
Mic stared at Tilda from the floor and their eyes locked. A moment later, the black rooster left his perch and moved closer.
Smirkowitz stood and walked slowly toward Tilda. He looked at her and said, “Stop, stop this, Tilda. This is wrong. This is insane."
Tilda cursed and scowled at him, fresh blood dripping from her face, her eyes crazed. "Shut up, Nicholas. You're a weakling. You were never worth my love, and I spent my entire life giving it to you, while I did everything you said." She cried angrily as tears spilled down her face and mingled with the blood and dirt on her clothes, “You’re not worth it.”
Smirkowitz took a couple of steps closer and reached out to Tilda. “Please, we’ve shared so much. Please don’t kill anyone else.”
Tilda gave him an innocent, beguiling smile and pushed him to the floor. Nicholas screamed as his broken body once again hit the hard ground. Tilda laughed at him and turned her attention back to Michaela who attempted to stand on a badly broken leg.
“Oh, what a shame,” Tilda scoffed. “You’ve broken your leg.”
Mic’s eyes searched for her Glock, but it was too far for her to reach. She held on to a wooden beam for support and attempted to pull herself up. She locked eyes with Allison who remained on the floor, paralyzed with fear.
“Hang in there, Allison,” Mic said softly. “Help is coming. Hang in there a few more minutes and this’ll be over.”
Allison blinked her eyes twice to show understanding.
Tilda was angered, incensed by the soft words Michaela offered as comfort to Allison. “Shut up, bitch. No help is coming, do you get it?” She again took aim at Michaela’s head.
An instant later, the rooster swooped again and sunk his spurs into Tilda’s white silk blouse, his body obscuring her view. He squawked loudly and bit her on the ear, and then took off again to the safety of his perch high in the rafters.
Tilda took her eyes off Mic for an instant, sighted the rooster and aimed. Before she could pull the trigger, her chest exploded and blood poured from her wound as she sank to the floor.
The noise was deafening and again, the barn was bedlam with the chickens squawking and screeching.
Michaela clung to the timber and looked toward the barn door as Dottie and Angel entered the barn. Dottie held her shotgun in her right hand. Angel ran to Mic and whimpered as he looked at her leg.
Mic patted him. “It's okay, boy, I’m gonna get it fixed.”
Angel licked her hand non-stop and gave her anxious looks as she continued to scratch his ears.
“Thanks, old girl,” Mic said, smiling up at Dottie. “You just saved my life.”
Dottie put on her best countess smile and beamed from ear to ear. For a moment, Mic thought she saw the young Dottie, perhaps Dottie at the age of thirty. The way Dottie looked in the picture with the Count Borghase that hung over the fireplace in her living room. Mic was confused for a second.
“I may be old, but I’m not useless yet right, Mic?”
Mic nodded, overcome with relief. “Nope, that was a pretty good shot, particularly for an old girl.” She winked at Dottie and continued. “But I was basically saved by a chicken, so don’t let this go to your head.”
Dottie shook her head and said, “Chicken, hell. That was no damned chicken. That rooster is huge, probably at least ten to twelve pounds."
Mic nodded and smiled as Dottie stood beside her and attempted to assist her to walk.
Neither of the women saw Dr. Dude move quietly and pick up the axe that lay close to Tilda’s body. He secured it up behind his back with his good arm and started toward Dottie, his face a mask of hatred. Angel charged Dude, knocking him to the floor as the axe fell from his hand. Angel pinned Dude down to the ground as the man winced in pain and gasped for breath. The heavy, powerful dog sat on his chest, his eyes never leaving Dude’s face. Angel had saved Dottie’s life.
Dude writhed in fear as Angel remained on his chest, growling at him.
Mic laughed, “Thank God for great friends and hero dogs.”
At that moment the police burst into the barn.
Mic ordered Angel off Dude’s chest. She used her Glock to cover him.
Mic watched as Dottie walked over to Allison. She helped her up and said, “Come on, my dear, I’m taking you home to your mother and grandmother.” Dottie enveloped her in a bear hug.
Tears streamed down Allison face as she murmured, “Oh, Countess Borghase, I thought I was going to die.”
“Oh no, my dear, I’m glad you kept the faith. You knew Mic and I would save you.”
Allison clung to her, still sobbing as Dottie led her towards the ambulance into the care of the paramedics. “I’ll ride with you in the ambulance and your parents will meet us at the hospital, how’s that?”
Allison smiled up from the stretcher. “Thank you, Countess, and you too, Michaela. Y’all saved my life.”
Mic waved at her. ”You’re a brave young woman, Allison. Really brave.”
Slade entered and ran to her side, a pained look on his face. “Mic, are you okay? Your leg looks pretty bad.”
Mic had noticed the pain in her leg as the adrenalin rush faded. She felt sick and weak. “Yeah, it hurts,” she said as she began to sink to the floor.
Slade assisted her and motioned for a paramedic with a stretcher. He watched as they cut away Mic’s fleece-lined jeans. It was painful to look at her broken leg. It was a serious fracture with the bone exposed. Slade averted his eyes.
“Bad, isn’t it,” Michaela squeaked as they started an IV in her left arm and pushed in some morphine.
“Yeah, but we can fix it up just fine,” the paramedic assured her.
Mic squinted her eyes, “Don’t I know you?” She paused, flickering through the images in her mind. “You look familiar.”
The paramedic smiled and nodded, “Yeah, I saw you last night when we found the young woman in downtown Richmond.”
Mic nodded. “Yeah. Of course. You get around, don’t you? Long night for you, right?”
The man smiled and said, “Apparently, it was a long night for both of us, and it seems we both get around.”
Mic nodded and closed her eyes and as the pain medicine flowed through her veins. She opened them and looked at Slade.
“Don’t let Dottie tell you she saved my life... A chicken saved my life. It wasn’t her playing with her shotgun.”
Dottie leaned down and said, “Bullshit, Michaela McPherson. I saved your life and you damned well know it. So, ‘fess up, and we’ll leave it at that,” she promised. “And it was a rooster, not a chicken that helped.”
Mic shook her head. “I’ll never admit to that. I’m sticking to my story about the big black chicken, and that’s it,” she said stubbornly as she closed her eyes again and drifted off.
Slade laughed. “I hate to tell you, Mic. Dottie’s right. That wasn’t a chicken. That’s the biggest rooster I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” He paused for a minute and added, “And the meanest too, based on the damage on Tilda’s body,” he added as he glanced over at Tilda’s corpse.
Mic nodded her head as she drifted off again. Her eyes popped open and she said, “No, she didn’t,” in a weak voice.
“Now, ladies, there’s plenty of time for us to argue this one,” Slade said. ”Let’s get Michaela and Allison to the hospital, and you, Countess Dorothy Borghase, home to bed. NOW,” he added as she started to protest.
Dottie shook her head and said, “Nope, I don’t take orders from you either, Detective. I’m riding in the ambulance with Allison and then you all can take me home.”
Slade shook his head. “Okay, Countess, you’re the boss.”