BURNING INTUITION (Intuition Series Book 2) Page 13

  The screen door bangs shut and I flatten to the ground, watching his work boots stomp from one end of the drive to the other. He’s too chicken-shit to go much farther. His boots pause and then I hear the van’s door creak open. I get to my knees and find another spot to peek through.

  Yes. He’s sitting inside and his reaction is priceless. He looks at my note, crumples it in his fist, and then flattens it out. It’s like his entire face melted, cheeks drooping, jaw slack. His eyes flick from the paper to the street and back again, fingers shaking while he carefully folds the paper. He slips it into his breast pocket and looks over his shoulder before he slides out. When he closes the door, it doesn’t make a sound. One eye on the street, he punches numbers into his cell phone.

  “Brad. Are you screwin’ with me?” You can tell he’s trying to act tough, like a mobster, but his voice quavers more like a pussy. His eyes narrow while he listens to the answer. “You really don’t know what I’m talking about, do ya?” As if Brad can see him, he nods. “Okay then. Come pick me up at the beer store. You know the one, off St Mary’s.” He straightens his shoulders and walks out the driveway. “Right now.”

  Ha, what a loser. As soon as he’s gone, I get to my feet and saunter up to the door like I’ve just arrived. Ding dong, I push the doorbell and put on my innocent face. I practice my expression in the glass reflection while I wait. Eyebrows up, mouth open in a round oh. No, that might be too much. I try it again without the mouth and Nina opens the door while I’m standing there with my eyebrows up.

  “Oh, what a surprise.” I had to make up something fast but it came out weird.

  “Well, you rang the doorbell, why were you surprised that I answered?” Nina’s face is red, and she looks like her sense of humor was flushed down the toilet. I hate it when she’s no fun. I took care of her problem, what more could she want?

  “Never mind.” I put on my happy face. “Are you comin’ out, or what?”

  She sees me looking past her. “My mom is resting. I don’t want to disturb…” One eye puckers at the corner. She’s lying. “How long have you been out there?”

  I try the eyebrows up expression.

  She tilts her head.

  “I just got here. I saw your dad take off.”

  She puckers her brows. Is she suspicious?

  “Swear on a stack of bibles, I didn’t see a thing.” I hold out my little finger, like she did the pinkie swear thing with her sister.

  “You’re acting weird.” Her voice lowers. “Did you pop my dad’s tires?”

  “Maybe.” I do a victory gangsta strut on the step. “Don’t worry, he won’t bother you again.”

  “Are you kidding?” I don’t have to guess at Nina’s expression this time. She looks pissed off. “He came straight in and punched my mom in the face. I think he might have broken her nose but she won’t go to the hospital.” She pokes the middle of my chest with her finger. “You caused that!”

  Don’t touch me. “But now he’s read my note. He’s not coming back.”

  “What else did you do?” Nina’s whisper rises to a squeal and she shoots a glance over her shoulder.

  “Two words, black and mail.” I treat her to my most dazzling smile. “He ran out the driveway scared shitless.”

  “Whaaat?” Nina reels back. “I thought you were kidding!” She clunks down in a kitchen chair. “Oh, my God. What have you done?”

  She’s left the door wide open, an invitation. I step over the threshold. This is my first time actually being invited in but not my first time in the house. Once they left the door unlocked and I gave myself a tour. I know the layout and I know where Nina keeps her diary. I’m a superstar in it by the way, but I don’t think my eyes look like glimmering emerald pools.

  “You got any beer?” I open the fridge door far enough to see the lonely carton of milk in the middle of the center row. Aside from the milk, some ketchup and a half jar of jam, it’s empty.

  Nina jumps up and slams it shut.

  “You have to go!”

  Gawd. Her sense of humor really was flushed down the pisser.

  “Who is this?” While she was making a huge deal out of me looking in the fridge, her mom appeared from her bedroom. Her sister is holding the tail of her mom’s shirt.

  “Hi Lily.” Beth seems happy enough to see me. She drops the tail and does her cutesy pose. “Do you have any candy?”

  “Is this your friend?” With a washcloth pressed to her cheek, Nina’s mom acts like there’s nothing weird about having half her face swollen up like a pumpkin but I can’t help staring. “I bumped into the door. It’s fine.” Everyone in the room knows it’s a lie, but nobody blurts the truth. She extends her free hand to shake mine and we squeeze like anacondas. She’s trying entirely too hard.

  “I’ll go to the store and buy you a bag of ice, mom.” Nina looks at me pointedly. “We’re out of milk. I’ll pick some up for Beth and we’ll be back in a few minutes.” Sometimes the corner of Nina’s eye twitches when she lies. Today, it’s the whole side of her face.

  Her mom studies me, and then goes to find her purse. She hands Nina a twenty. “Pick up something for lunch too.”

  “But you said we could—”

  Her mom gives her the look every kid knows. Don’t even start.

  Nina looks down and her jaw tightens. She heads for the door.

  Beth pats my pocket before we leave. I guess that’s her four-year-old hint for me to buy candy. Fat chance, brat.

  All the way there, Nina walks ahead of me, her feet stomping in her sandals. Is it possible that she’s still mad at me? “Hey, what’s wrong with you?” I break a twig off someone’s hedge and toss it at her back. She ignores me and keeps walking.

  At the store she bypasses the milk and stands in the aisle forever before she finally grabs two boxes of macaroni dinner off the shelf. Mac and cheese is good, why did she act like it was such a hard decision? She loads a big bag of ice cubes into my arms.

  “Carry this.” Those are the first words she’s said since we left the house. She turns her back and leads the way to the cash register.

  As soon as we leave the store, she ambushes me.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Her face squinches up like she ate a sour berry and doesn’t want to spit it out.

  “It’s a little thing called revenge.” I jut out my chin but she’s as tall as me so it doesn’t work as well as I’d hoped. “You can’t let him get away with it. You need to get him back for what he did to you.”

  She turns away and then swivels back to me. The squinchy face is gone but her eyebrows are still down. If I had to guess, I’d say she was confused.

  “He needs to pay.”

  “How are you planning to blackmail him?” One hand creeps to her hip. She’s coming around.

  “Already taken care of.” I do a smaller version of my gangsta strut but she’s not impressed. “All we have to do is wait for him to pay up.”

  “Tell me what you did.” The hand on her hip clenches into a fist but her feet stay planted on the sidewalk.

  “Fine.” I stop my foot shuffle and meet her eye. With one hand, I pull my knife from my pocket and flick open the blade. She should be impressed by my obvious skill but her eyes widen. Her pupils shrink to tiny dots. I close it and slide it back out of sight.

  “He punched my mom in the face for what you did.” She’s still angry but it’s not my fault he didn’t read my note when he was supposed to. There is no way I’ll convince her of that, so I go on to step two. The note.

  “He’s gonna pay me— us, and he’s gonna leave you alone.” It’s a brilliant plan. I hold my hands out, palms up. If it works for the guy on the commercial for Honest Jim’s pre-owned Cadillacs, it’ll work for me. Nina looks at my hands and wrinkles her nose.

  “What are you doing? You look like a traffic cop giving directions.”

  She made me feel stupid. And I hate feeling stupid. Why is she doing this to me? I put my hands down. I should practic
e that before I try it again. “I wrote him a letter to tell him I knew what he did to you and that he would have to pay or I would turn him in to the cops.”

  “You told him you’d report him?” Nina drops her grocery bag and the macaroni lands with a clunk on the sidewalk. “He’s going to kill you. And then he will kill us.”

  I hold my hands out again and this time it seems to work. “Whoa, whoa. I didn’t sign my own name for frig’s sake. I wrote it like it was from someone else, maybe a guy from work. I cut out the words from different magazines so it can never be matched to my handwriting.” I didn’t tell her that creating an entire blackmail letter with words cut from different magazines was a total pain in the ass. I gave up halfway through and printed the rest of it with Albert’s pen. I disguised my writing of course. He’ll believe it.

  “You cut pictures out of magazines?”

  Her face has that look again and I’m tired of her attitude. “Hey, I’m trying to help you out here. Maybe I should go.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t see that coming.

  She reaches for my hand. “Don’t leave me… um, don’t leave.”

  That’s better. I let her look in my glimmering emerald pools and she calms. “He’ll pay. I promise you. And when he does, you’ll have enough money to take your sister and get away.”

  “What did your note say?”

  “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.” This is not my first experience with blackmail. My grade six teacher Ms. Barker will never forget the fifty bucks she paid to keep me from telling. Seriously, it was disgusting what she was doing with the principal when I walked into his office that day. She made sure I passed her grade so she would never have to see me again.

  “What did it say?” Nina is like a dog with a bone.

  “Pretty much what I already told you. I know what you do to your kid. I’m going to turn you in if you ever do it again.” I recite like a shopping list. “If you pay me six hundred bucks, I’ll keep my mouth shut, blah blah you get the picture.” I don’t mention the part where I threatened to do to him what I did to his tires.

  “Six hundred dollars?”

  That’s the first number that popped into my head. “Don’t be greedy!” Why hadn’t I thought of asking for more?

  She shrinks back from me. “I need to get home.” She grabs the ice from my arms and hurries away.

  Well, shit. Be like that. I turn on my heel. I have no idea what the hell is wrong with her. I should keep the blackmail money for myself.

  It’s time to get paid. I suck in my gut and hide behind the utility shed at the park. Daylight is fading and all the brats went home hours ago. It’s deserted. It’s not long before a white van pulls in and headlamps round the corner, splashing light where I had just been standing. I tuck my feet sideways so they don’t stick out. I am invisible.

  When he gets to the trashcan shaped like a rocket ship, he stops and sits in his van with the engine running. I keep still but nothing happens. The minutes pass and my legs shake from the effort to keep my body sucked to the wall. Is that why he’s stalling? Is he trying to wait me out?

  I’m a panther in stealth mode. My taut muscles uncoil, controlling my slow-motion descent to the ground. Finally, I’m flat on the grass, the earthy smell of the recently mowed lawn in my nostrils. On my belly, I become a soldier wriggling under barbed wire.

  I get to the edge of the grass, right behind the van and shimmy sideways until I can see his face in the side-view mirror. At the wheel, his expression is bland, a zombie waiting for the apocalypse. Is he afraid? Planning something? Has he called the cops?

  The possibility hits me like the cold water bucket at the splash park, sucking the air from my lungs. Is there a S.W.A.T. team out there right now? I swivel my head slowly, very slowly, and check the shadows. Nothing moves out there. No men surround me. Maybe there is a sniper five hundred yards out, the crosshairs of his scope trained between my eyes, waiting for me to make a move.

  I hold my hand out but there is no red dot. I check if there is a telltale laser beam pointed at my body. Nothing. I ease sideways and check again.

  I’m clear. You’re clear. We’re all clear.

  No, that’s not commando lingo. That’s from the hospital show I saw last night. What the hell? My mind is playing tricks on me and I’m confused. Am I overexcited? Dammit! Why is Nina’s dad sitting there?

  He’s not stupid enough to call the cops. They would find out what he did to Nina, and to his wife. Anger boils in my guts and growls up my throat. I slide my hand into my pocket, fingers searching for my knife. Get out of the goddamn van and give me my money!

  The thought has scarcely entered my mind when the backup lights blaze into my eyes and he hits the gas. I blend my body with the nearest fence, my head vulnerably exposed. The van careens toward me and the back bumper crashes into the post.

  I’m buffeted like the wind shakes a caterpillar on a blade of grass. The shock rattles my bones as if I’ve been hit by lightning. The treads of a brand new rear tire miss my face by inches before he slams it into drive and pulls forward. The van races to the other end of the parking lot and stops with a squelch of rubber. My brain screams at the red brake lights.

  I’m stunned and my limbs won’t obey. The view under the streetlight blurs and I can’t keep my head up. I rest my cheek flat on the ground and a puddle of drool drips from the corner of my mouth. Is he going to back up and kill me now? Is this how it ends?

  Through the blur, I’m aware of his door opening. One foot hits the ground and then the other, like he’s testing the water. He’s in motion, heading for the trashcan. He drops a plastic bag inside. He doesn’t glance right or left, just keeps his head down and hurries. Back in his van, the shifter grinds into gear and his brand new tires squeal when he drives away.

  It occurs to me that he didn’t see me at all. He panicked and his collision with my fence post was a coincidence. He did it. He delivered my money. I won. A lazy smile creeps to my lips and my returning confidence helps me ignore the saliva drizzling down my face.

  I lay there for five minutes, maybe five hours. I can’t be sure. I might have slept. It’s dark when I open my eyes, and mosquitoes are feeding on my exposed skin. The parking lot is empty.

  I roll over and pull myself up using the busted post. My feet swim beneath me and I drop to my knees. Holy shit. I have a headache from hell. I pat down my limbs but I’m pretty sure that nothing is broken. I just need a second and I’ll be okay.

  When my head clears, I step from the shadows and stick my arm into the trashcan. On top of a mound of garbage is the white plastic bag. I grab it in my fist, the square corners of the bills inside reassuring. There is money in it, lots of money. I grab it and run, my steps weaving for the first block. I don’t stop to catch my breath until I reach the street where I parked my car.

  I freeze in the middle of the road. I’m sure this is the right street, but where is my blue car? The only one here is a black Mustang, but it’s parked in my spot. It’s a sweet ride. I peer through the window at the keys dangling from the ignition. I definitely didn’t hallucinate the lucky rabbit’s foot key chain. This is the same car I stole. How could I have made such a mistake?

  Another image seeps into my head. Me, moments after I stole the car. I was adjusting my seat so I could reach the pedals and looked up to see someone jumping out of my way. I give my head a shake because my memory must be jolted, and the memory, or hallucination, or whatever, wavers in my brain.

  Damn if it didn’t look like that bitch cop from Morley Falls. There she is, not six feet from the hood of my car. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is open as she leaps sideways, dragging a bicycle - a pink girlie bike with a flowered basket mounted on the handlebars. As she turns, I catch a glimpse of an equally startled little dog peeping out of her backpack.

  Bizarre. The mixed-up memory prances like a circus elephant and fades. Gawd, that is enough to give me nightmares.

  With one hand to my
throbbing head, I swing the door open and get in. I shake off my dizziness and turn the key. The engine catches right away and transitions to a throaty rumble. Now I remember. This is the right car.

  I turn off the interior lights before I open the bag and there it is. My headache evaporates. Six hundred bucks, in twenties. It’s a good size stack and looking at it makes my stomach tickle. The tickle ebbs and flows with the pounding in my chest.

  In the movies they always smell the money, so I do too. It smells like freedom. I feel good. I feel powerful.

  CHAPTER 15

  Allie brushed the kitchen curtains aside and peered out at the street. She’d finished her meeting and returned to an empty house. Worry had ratcheted up when her calls had gone directly to voicemail. It would be dark in a few hours. Something had happened.

  At the end of the driveway, Erin dragged Ciara’s bicycle, its front fork twisted sideways. She breathed in relief. Blood streaked her shin from a skinned knee and her shoulder hadn’t fared much better.

  She put down her cell phone and threw open the door. “Are you okay? Where have you been? I tried to call you.” She must have dialed Erin’s number twelve times with no answer. The shiver in her spine told her that something was wrong. If she hadn’t been so distracted by her meeting, she would have noticed sooner. She might have been able to warn Erin and keep her safe. Thank God it was nothing worse than scratches and a wrecked bike.

  “I’m fine. No big deal. Lily almost ran over me. All I need is a wrench and I can straighten the forks.” Erin leaned the bike against the steps and plucked the pup from her backpack. She placed him on the ground and he immediately lifted his hind leg to pee into the air. Then he scurried after her to the garden shed.

  “Wait. What?” Allie followed her across the driveway. “You found Lily? How? Where?” She skipped around the dog at their feet. He was like an oversize rat but she didn’t want to stomp on him.

  “I followed her from the motel.” Erin ducked into the shed and returned with a crescent wrench. Pinning the front tire between her knees, she loosened the nut securing the handlebars.