Page 16 of Ravens
I jump from the truck, diving onto the car and desperately gripping at the rim of the hood beneath the windshield. The car slams on the brakes, and as soon as it halts, I slide from the hood and dart down a nearby alley on shaky legs.
Saving my own ass is always a lot of work, but I manage. I can’t believe that just happened though. There is a lot to pick through in what Jeffries said.
Coming out of the alleyway and slowing down, I feel completely bewildered. As the adrenaline wears thin, my anxiety creeps in with a wave of nausea, but only for a moment before the throb in the back of my head, the stinging pain in my wrists, and the ache in my shoulder remind me how battered I am.
I stop and prop myself against a brick wall. I have no idea where I am. Chicago, somewhere. That much is certain. When I look down at my hands, the urge to cry presses on the backs of my eyes and tightens my throat. Now is not the time.
I swallow the urge.
After a minute of feeling hopeless, I decide the first thing to do is get cleaned up and see how bad these lacerations are. Once that’s taken care of, I can worry about everything else.
Eight
Anearby gas station with a public washroom allows me to clean up discreetly. The cuts on my wrists are deep in some spots, but mostly they feel worse than they are. Having nothing to wrap them with though, I have to leave them exposed and do my best to keep my shirt sleeves over them.
The teenage attendant at the pump points me in the direction of a nearby pawn shop, and five long city blocks later, I find myself outsideSilver’s Pawn and Convenience. Five blocks have given me plenty of time to arrange things in my head. I have a plan.
Opening the door, I stride in and head straight for the counter where the clerk, an older silver-haired man, is leaning on his elbows staring at me.
“I’d like to see your guns, please.” My voice is low as I tap my nails on the countertop.
“Err, sure.” He hesitates, looking me over before motioning me to another counter with a built-in glass case. “We don’t have a huge selection, but everything works.”
“Looks like a great collection,” I say easily and point through the glass. “Give me that one there.”
“‘Course.” He reaches in and withdraws it from the case. “I’ll give you a deal, miss. Two hundred bucks if you have cash.” He winks at me.
“Look.” I level my eyes on him and draw up my sleeves, exposing the fresh wounds. “I just escaped a kidnapping.” His eyes go wide. “I can’t go to the cops yet. They still have my kid, and they’ll kill him if I do.” My eyes well up on cue. “They’re gonna come for me again, and I just want to be able to stop them. As soon as I get my kid, I promise I’ll call the cops, and I’ll hand this gun over. I swear it.”
“Miss,” he says softly. “Let me bandage you up real quick, all right?”
Nodding, he waves me behind the counter and sits me down in his chair as he disappears into the back room. I jump to my feet and rifle behind the counter until I find a box of nine-millimeter bullets. Grabbing it, I slide the cupboard closed and then tuck the box into the display in the middle of the floor and take my seat.
“Here we are.” He exhales and opens a red plastic first aid kit on the counter. Carefully, he applies an ointment to my wrists and wraps them in a bandage that he tapes in place. “All right,now look at me.” Our eyes meet. “I’m not real comfortable giving a lady a gun without training. Do you understand me?”
“I know how to shoot. My dad was a cop; that’s why they’re after me.”
Inwardly, I roll my eyes at myself, but he nods in earnest and puts the gun in my hand. “Show me how it works then.”
I unload the clip, reload it, set and remove the safety, and do a stoppage drill.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Your daddy must be proud.” He claps me on the shoulder, and I wince. “Let me look at that too.”
“It’s just a bruise. I got pretty banged up trying to get away.”
“You promise me that you’re going to kill them all and save your boy, you hear me?” His eyes focus on mine, and I nod, letting tears fill my eyes again. “There is no room in this country for people like that. You need to set your boundaries.”
I nod, and he shakes his head. “Say it. Tell me that you are going to set your boundaries, woman. You don’t let anyone in your house you don’t trust, you don’t let your kid go anywhere unless you know who he’s with, and you don’t let any man lay his hands on you again.”
“I won’t.” A tear falls, and I can’t say it isn’t real.
“Good.” He turns away and fishes out a box of bullets. He loads the clip deftly. “When you go out my doors, head up the block—that’s left. There’s a diner not too far.” He pulls out a twenty and hands it to me. “Get yourself something to eat and clear your head. If anything happens and you need help, you come right back here, all right?”
“Yes, sir.” I shake his hand and get to my feet.
No one will ever convince me that gun-loving old men aren’t the salt of the earth now. I tuck the gun into the back of my jeans and slide the cash into my pocket, stopping at the display in the center of the floor and carefully palming the extra bullets as I turn slightly back.
“You have a lot of nice things here.” I smile, letting my fingers trail over the grip of a letter opener inlaid with mother of pearl.
