I waited for ten thousand hours, although really it was less than an hour. I stopped crying after about ten minutes, and even the muscle memory of the jolt the bottle gave when it connected with Vee’s head began to fade, so that I couldn’t tell if I was still feeling it or if I was just imagining I was feeling it. The gun heated up in my hand where it rested on my lap.
You may think I’m crazy when I tell you that I started to talk to Vee then, out loud. I know it seems crazy, but just wait until you’re in my position and see how crazy it is. So I started talking on any old thing, about how Quinn and I had fallen in love, about how we had fallen in hate, and all of the violence of that nonviolent confrontation. I talked about Clotilde. Talking about Clotilde, I almost cried again, but I didn’t. I’d promised her so much and I had failed at everything every step of the way. I still loved her more than anything, which is maybe why I stayed away from her as much as possible. That’s what I told Vee, at least, although I don’t know if it was true. I reminded myself that all of Quinn’s money was going to provide for Clotilde, that that was what really mattered. (You see, I wasn’t crazy. I knew exactly what I was doing.)
Then somebody banged on the front door and my thoughts froze. They banged again, with more violence.
It had to be Browne. He’d given Vee his key and I had the other. If I had to let him in, it would ruin my plan. I could still frame him for Vee’s murder; he’d be the number one suspect. But he had the police in his pocket, and he probably knew how to dispose of a body without it ever getting to the police. If I wanted to protect Clotilde’s money, it had to be both of them.
I stumbled to my feet, as he pounded again, shouting this time, “Vee, you better open up.”
I approached the door, the gun lowered in my right hand.
“I’m going to beat your ass black and blue if you don’t open this door this second!”
This was good, I thought. People would be able to say they’d heard him threatening her. I stepped up to the door and put my eye to the spy hole.
Browne was very close, his face distorted by the fisheye lens into a bulbous cheek with retreating features. Another man stood behind him, squat and overweight, bald except for a bushy hedge along the sides of his skull. Two people was no good. What was I going to do with two people?
They talked, and then Browne yelled one last time, “You better be ready for the beating of a lifetime, woman!” and the two of them stalked off.
I stood there, my eye still to the spy hole, calculating, trying to decide if I should go after them, or wait, or disappear altogether. My chest felt tight and I gripped the gun in my fist so tightly that my fingernails dug into my palm.
Before I’d reached any decision, the two men were back. Browne had a key in his hand, and was reaching for the doorknob.
I jumped back, and hurried into the bedroom, resuming my position crouched to the far side of Vee’s body. All I could do was stick to the plan and improvise along the way.
The door banged open, rattling the mirrored closet doors, and Browne called from the living room. “Vee! You better have been taking a shower—” He cut off. “Where’s the champagne?”
I could hear him moving around, but the sound was muffled. Perhaps he was in the kitchen.
“Vee! Get your ass out here. You better not have taken my champagne.”
I waited. My heart was pounding again, the pulse rising from my stomach right through my neck, and with each beat the pain in my head swelled. I had the safety off, and the gun cocked.
“I’m going to kill you...” He trailed off as he flipped the light switch and came in. I’d been sitting in the path of the light from the bathroom, so fortunately the overhead light didn’t blind me. “What the—?” Browne said, and took a fast step towards me, his hand going for the holster under his arm.
I knew I wouldn’t have two chances, so I shot him, right in the gut, because that’s where Vee would have shot him. The blood spread on his shirt immediately, and I shot him again in the same place, and then a third time.
He still staggered towards me but his hand never found his gun. I hurried to my feet, standing stock straight, still awaiting an attack, waiting for the other man to come in from the living room.
Browne tripped past me, and leaned over Vee. “What in the hell?” He looked down at himself. Some of his blood was spilling onto the carpet, some even onto Vee’s legs. “Bastard.” His voice was strained, not at all the strong man he had been at lunch, or even a minute ago. The room smelled. It could have been feces, or it could have been rotting meat, and of course there was the gunsmoke.
The other man still hadn’t come in. There was no sound in the suite.
I watched Browne with no words. I needed to be certain he was dead, and I needed to get out of there. Even if his bodyguard hadn’t responded, I didn’t want to push my luck that the shots hadn’t alerted somebody else.
He sank to a knee. There was still no response. I’d have to take my chance. I wiped the gun on Vee’s blouse, stooped, and set it against her hand.
Browne watched me do it. He was completely white. I stood up, and as I did, he fell onto his side next to Vee. His eyes looked at the ceiling, but focused on nothing. The wounds in his stomach were still oozing, and there was a sucking sound there as the blood spread on the carpet, pooling under Vee’s hand closest to him. His breathing was shallow, and I was satisfied.
I walked away without looking back, and into the living room, my hands empty, unprotected. There was no one there.
I crossed to the door, and stepped into the hall. I looked back in the direction of the elevators, and there, halfway down the hall, was the squat bald man. His face crumpled into a question and he paused mid-stride, before he started to run towards me.
I turned, and crashed through the fire door, as he yelled behind me, “Wait!”
I took the stairs so fast that I tripped halfway down to the next landing, skidding down several steps without falling. I hurried on, already at the eleventh floor landing before I heard the fire door open above me.
“Hey! You!”
I kept going, my steps echoing in the enclosed space.
At the next landing I looked up, but there was no one above me. I pushed on, not even wondering where the bald man had gone.
I burst into the heat of the night, which felt, if anything, hotter than the stairwell. My chest burned, my throat was dry, and my knee kept shooting spikes of pain up and down my leg with every step. I needed to get away fast, which meant a cab, and the only guarantee for a cab was the cabstand at the front of the hotel. I didn’t think about an alibi or witnesses or anything at all other than the need to get away, to run for my life.
I rounded the corner, and ran towards the doorman, waving at him as I approached, and then I recognized the car idling in front of the hotel as Browne’s, the one Vee and I had used to go back to Joe’s house and set it on fire.
“Good,” I said, between breaths, going right for the driver’s side door. “Mr. Browne said the car would be ready.”
I got in before the doorman could respond, and as I turned the key, the bald man pushed his way out of the revolving door. He’d decided he couldn’t handle the stairs and taken the elevator.
“Hey! Hey!”
The engine turned over, and I pulled away with a jerk before getting into gear, rounding the corner just as the light changed, taking George Street uptown.
Most of the downtown traffic was gone. I raced up to Washington Hill, but I knew I couldn’t go to Great Aunt Alice’s—they would know how to find me then—so I continued on past the monument, all the way up past the university, past even Underwood where Quinn and Joe had lived, and was almost at the city line when my mind slowed down enough to realize I couldn’t leave the city just yet. I still hadn’t met with Palmer, and I needed to be certain that the money was going in the right direction.
I’d have to wait until morning.