Cherry Bomb

CHAPTER 58

NOT PERFECT, but not bad.

The plan had been to grab Jack and drive the Winnebago to the Prius parked a few blocks away. Then she’d blow up the RV, with Samantha Porter’s body inside, and Harry would ID the body from the ugly Enrique Perez boots. But things had gone a little squirrelly, and she had to abandon both Harry and Jack.

Still, the plan mostly worked. After her date with Sam, they’d gone back to her apartment. Alex had taken Sam’s passport, ID, and some of her belongings, then marched the naive stripper back to her Prius and shot her in the backseat.

Now Alex was Samantha. They looked enough alike that she should be able to cross the border into Mexico without any hassle. Once there, the plastic surgeon she’d been exchanging e-mails with would fix her scarred face, turning her into an exact copy of Sam, for the tidy sum of forty grand cash. After recuperating, Alex could go after Jack, Harry, and Phin at her leisure, without worrying about the law breathing down her neck.

Alex smiles, half her face immobile, and runs her hand along the My Ass jeans she’s wearing. Samantha’s jeans.

I knew I’d get into your pants.

Alex looks at her reflection in the rearview mirror, adjusts her bangs.

“Hello, Sam. I think I’m going to love you.”

For the first time in a long time, Alex has hope for the future. And it feels wonderful.

She checks out of the hotel using the TV remote control, grabs the duffel bag full of money, and notices that her cell phone, plugged into the charger, is blinking like it has a message.

Odd. No one should know this number.

She picks it up, sees the call forwarding is still on. Alex thought she’d turned it off. Maybe that’s what’s blinking. She turns it off for sure this time, and also double-checks that the Bluetooth is disabled.

Not that it matters. No one knows she’s alive. No one is coming after her.

Alex leaves the hotel and walks into the parking lot. It’s a gorgeous day, sunny and warm. She left the windows open on the Prius last night, and the death smell is just about gone. There are some stains, if you look really close. Alex decides she’ll stop at the next car wash she sees and give the carpet a shampoo.

She climbs in, starts the car, and gets ready for the long drive south.

A few moments after pulling onto the expressway, her cell phone rings.

Alex’s breath catches. There’s a simple explanation. There has to be. It’s a wrong number. Or a telemarketer. Something stupid and harmless.

She picks it up but doesn’t answer, squinting at the caller ID.

555-5555.

What the fuck?

There has to be something wrong with the phone. That’s the only thing that makes sense.

Then it beeps, indicating a text message.

THIS IS ALEX. SHE’S A SERIAL KILLER.

It’s followed by a photo.

Alex’s mug shot.

THIS IS NOT SAMANTHA PORTER. AND THE BORDER PATROL KNOWS THAT.

This can’t be happening. This really can’t be happening. Alex has worked out every detail. This plan is perfect. Who the hell could have figured it out?

Another beep.

THIS IS JACK. SHE’S REALLY PISSED OFF.

A photo. Jack Daniels, staring right at her. Looking colder, harder, meaner, than Alex has ever seen before.

And Alex feels something she hasn’t felt since she was a little child, hiding in the basement from Father so he couldn’t punish her.

Alex feels absolute terror.

Someone honks, and Alex looks up and slams on the brakes, the Prius fishtailing, barely avoiding a collision with the car ahead of her. She pulls onto the shoulder, heart hammering, a giant lump in her throat preventing her from swallowing.

The phone rings again. Alex jumps in her seat.

Another ring.

Another ring-it seems to be getting louder.

Alex reaches for the phone, jittery and fearful, like it’s a scorpion, then tentatively holds it up to her ear.

“I know the ID you’re using,” Jack says. “I know the car you’re driving. You can’t leave the country. Once I call the state cops, you won’t even get out of Illinois.”

“What do you want?” Alex asks, surprised at how weak her voice sounds.

“To meet. We’re ending this, Alex, once and for all.”

Alex forces a laugh. “You’re insane. I’m not meeting with you. If I show up, I’ll be surrounded by cops.”

“No cops. Just us.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“I’ll have my passport on me. Samantha Porter’s name is worthless to you. I’ve made sure of that. But if you kill me, you can be Jack Daniels. You’ll have to dye your hair from blond to brunette, but I’m betting you can manage.”

Alex considers it, then dismisses it almost immediately.

“No way. I’ve got no reason to trust you.”

“I’m not going to arrest you, Alex. I’m not going to make that mistake again. We’re meeting so I can kill you.”

Now Alex does actually laugh.

“You don’t have it in you, Jack. You’ve tried before and always lost.”

“I won’t lose this time.”

“Why? Because you’ll have one of your dumb-ass friends backing you up?”

“Harry and Herb are in the hospital. Phin is in federal custody, his bail set at a million dollars. This is between you and me, Alex. It’s always been between you and me.”

“And if I don’t show up?”

“Then I’ll be following you. Every day. Every hour. Every minute, I’ll be on your ass. But I won’t be playing it your way anymore, running around trying to save people. Latham left me a fortune, and I’ll spend every last dime hunting you down like the animal you are. If you want to live constantly looking over your shoulder, that’s up to you. But I want to finish this. Now.”

Alex drums her fingers on the steering wheel, her mind churning. She’s always been smarter than Jack. Outsmarting her one more time shouldn’t be hard. And if it actually came down to a fight, Alex is stronger, and faster, and a better shot. The only thing to worry about is being lied to, but Alex doesn’t sense any deceit on Jack’s part. One of the good lieutenant’s many flaws is her honest streak. Like a forty-seven-year-old Girl Scout.

“Fine,” Alex decides. “Same place as yesterday, behind O’Hare. If I sense something is funny, I won’t show up.”

“Twenty minutes,” Jack says.

Alex pulls back onto the expressway. Jittery-from nerves, excitement, and anticipation.

How fun it will be to live life as Jack Daniels.