Among Thieves

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sally was waiting outside the school. It was nearing two o’clock and the place was deserted. It wasn’t the sort of place where students hung around after the bell sounded. She wondered whether anyone was actually coming to pick her up. They’d probably forgotten. Who could blame them? She wasn’t their kid.

She moved around to the side of the building, to the alley by the church, and pulled out a cigarette. She could see the street from where she was if someone pulled up. Lighting the cigarette, she let her bag hang to the ground. If no one came within a few minutes, she’d start walking. Charlestown wasn’t close, but she wouldn’t have any problem covering the distance in an hour or so. If that was what it took, it was fine. She could take care of herself.

She was taking her third drag when she heard them. They were coming from behind the school, walking up the same route they’d followed the day before. All she heard was the laughing, but she knew instantly it was them. That was just the way her life went.

They saw her as soon as she turned. The older boy’s eyes narrowed, like those of a hunter picking up the quarry. They stopped for just a moment. He raised his bandaged hand and pointed to her. “It’s that bitch!” he yelled. Then they were running toward her.

She was on the move even before he yelled. Her adrenaline was pumping as she took off toward Dorchester Avenue, footsteps behind her pounding in her ears. She had a head start of twenty-five yards or so, and she was fast, but she knew they would catch up to her eventually. Her mind worked methodically. She first thought of heading back into the school, but the doors were locked and bolted after classes ended. The church was just to her right, but there was no guarantee that there would be anyone inside, and her encounter with the priest the other day had been less than cordial. Served her right, in some ways, she thought. She should learn to control her mouth better.

She hit Dorchester Avenue in full stride and headed back toward the city. There was a gas station and convenience store a couple of blocks up, and with luck she could make it to that area before she was caught. It wouldn’t guarantee her safety-this was the sort of neighborhood where people minded their own business, and there was every possibility that people would merely watch as she was dragged away, but getting to a well-populated area was her best chance. She might take a beating, but being out in the open in front of people would possibly limit its duration.

She was halfway there when the van pulled in front of her.

It was a nondescript delivery van, and it screeched to a stop, its front wheels hopping the low curb, cutting off her path. At first she was relieved. She hoped it might be a cop, or maybe some Good Samaritan witnessing her plight and coming to assist her. The man who got out of the driver’s side wasn’t wearing a uniform, though, and he didn’t move like a cop. Cops moved slowly, with a confidence born from the knowledge that, in most situations, no one was willing to question their authority. The man from the van moved with confidence as well, but it was a different brand of confidence. It was the confidence of someone who lived on the other side of the law. Someone accustomed to danger; accustomed to moving quickly and deliberately; accustomed to dealing with problems with split-second decisiveness. He was of average height and build, but he was wiry. He had jet-black hair and dark eyes that were focused on her.

He came around the front of the van and stepped in front of Sally as she tried to squeeze past the hood. She tried to duck him, but he was too fast, and he swung his arm out and grabbed her around the neck. She struggled, but he tightened the muscles in his arm, closing her neck in the crook of his elbow, cutting off her air.

She tried to scream, but nothing came out, and she started to panic, thrashing her body from side to side.

“Stop,” he said simply.

She craned her head around to look at him. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

Just then she heard the pounding of the boys’ footsteps slowing down behind her. “Fuck you doin’!” the boy with the bandage yelled.

“Back away,” the man said. She could hear the Irish in his voice. He still had her tucked off balance, but he was holding her with only one hand. She wondered whether she might be able to break free with one strong twist. His hold on her seemed like an iron vise.

“Fuck you!” the boy shot back. His voice sounded angry but indecisive. “She fucked with me, now I’m gonna fuck with her!” He and his posse weren’t moving forward, but they weren’t retreating, either; they were milling around within a few yards of them, their feet shuffling back and forth on the pavement.

“Back away,” the man said again. This time he put his free hand into his jacket and withdrew a gun to punctuate his imperative. He pointed it at the boy, his arm extended fully, his eye looking expertly down the barrel of the pistol. “Now.”

The boys stumbled back a few steps, their hands raised. Then they turned and sprinted back in the direction from which they’d come. If they’d had tails, they’d have been tucked between their hind legs, Sally thought. She wouldn’t miss them, but she wasn’t thrilled to trade for the guy with the gun.

He pressed the pistol to her forehead, right between her eyes. As the gun came toward her, she could see straight down into the round hole of the barrel, into the abyss. “You’re getting in the car,” he said. “Any trouble and you’ll be dead.”

“Why?” she asked. It came out without thought. He pressed the gun harder into her face, and Sally felt the metal digging painfully into her skin. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll get in the car.”

If there were people around, Sally couldn’t see them. In all likelihood there were people looking out their windows, watching. Maybe someone had even called the police, but they wouldn’t arrive in time. And when they went from door to door, asking for information, no one would tell them anything. That was the code. Lie or die. Talking to the police was a sure way to get killed; everybody understood.

The man with the gun eased the pressure on Sally’s neck and pulled her up so she could regain her balance. He kept enough of a grip on her, though, that she couldn’t break free. Even if she could have, she had little doubt that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her. Something in the man’s eyes made that clear; he was for real.

He led her around to the driver’s seat and pushed her in, making her crawl across the front seat. As she was getting in, another car pulled up. It was the sleek BMW sedan Lissa Krantz drove. The lawyer pulled up behind the van and got out. “Sally?” she called. Her voice was full of strain. “I was afraid I missed you.”

She was walking around the front of her car, toward them. Sally was still only halfway into the front seat, the man standing over her. She looked up at Lissa, and flashed a pleading look. Just at that moment, the man turned toward Lissa and pointed his gun at her. “Get back in your car,” he said.

Sally could see Lissa stop, shocked by the gun. “What the fuck is going on?” she asked. She wasn’t moving back to her car.

“Get back in your car, now!” the man yelled. It was the first time he had raised his voice or showed any emotion. At that volume, he sounded like pure evil, and Sally was sure that Lissa would back away and get into her car. She was wrong.

Lissa reacted without hesitation. She rushed the man with the gun, ducking her head low and leading with her shoulder. She looked like a mini-linebacker taking a run at a quarterback. She must have surprised him, because he failed to react in time. One shot rang out, but it was after Lissa had driven her shoulder into his chest and it went high and wide. He was thrown back into the door, which rocked unsteadily on its hinges. Lissa continued her attack, throwing her small fists into the man with determination, though little effect. “Run, Sally!” she yelled.

Sally hesitated for just a moment, and then struggled to get past the man. It was no use, though. He had regained his balance, and he pushed her down, wedging her in the door. Then he turned to Lissa. His first blow struck her on the side of the head, and it stunned her. She didn’t fall, but the expression in her eyes changed, glassing over as she stood up straighter. He hit her again, this time in the stomach, doubling her over as she cried out. The third blow was to the top of her head, with the butt of the gun, and it put her down. She crumpled to the curb, lifeless.

Sally screamed, “No!” and reached out to her, but he grabbed her arm and hoisted her up. He was remarkably strong, and she thought for a moment he’d broken her arm. If he had any such thought, it gave him no concern, and he shoved her into the van.

His gun was pointed at her; his finger was on the trigger. “Over,” he ordered her. “Now.” His voice had regained its equanimity, and he slid into the front seat, almost on top of her. She slid over and sat in the passenger seat. The car was still running and he dropped the transmission into reverse, hit the gas, and backed into the street. Sally gasped as they bounced over the curb, thinking that they might have run over Lissa’s unconscious body lying next to the car. As he put the van in drive and pulled away, though, she could see her lying there, apparently still in one piece.

He pulled out and sped up, his gun still pointed at her head. He drove fast, and turned down two side streets with confidence before slowing to a pace that wouldn’t attract attention.

Twice she glanced back behind them, hoping to see someone following them. There was no one there, though, and as they pulled farther and farther away from the neighborhood, the adrenaline began to wear off.

Only then did she begin to fathom how much trouble she was in.