Driven to Ink

Chapter 60

Sylvia stood with her hands on her hips. “Someone?” she asked. “Who did it hit?” And as it sunk in, she gave a little “Oh!” then asked, “You don’t think someone used this car to kill Lou?”

Tim and I exchanged a look. I knew what he was thinking. The same thing I was. Bernie wanted to get rid of the car. Had he killed his son-in-law with it? He’d have had a good reason.

“It was under a tarp, you said?” Tim asked.

“That’s right.”

Even though Sylvia said she was washing her hands of her new husband and that he’d stolen ten grand from her, I didn’t want to believe it. How could a cute little old deli owner do such things? Maybe we were wrong. I hoped we were wrong.

He shook his head. “You can’t use this car. You both have to come with me. I’m going to send someone over here to check the car out. Impound it.”

“Do I need to use Jeff’s car? I hate that thing,” Sylvia said.

I didn’t really want to tell her that Jeff’s car was pretty much totaled.

“Come on,” Tim urged.

Sylvia put on a fleece pullover and locked up the shop, and we went around the side of the building between Murder Ink and Goodfellas Bail Bonds. When we got to the Impala, Sylvia climbed in the back. I tried to argue with her, but she said she was little and not to worry.

“Do you really think Jeff will be all right?” Sylvia asked when we were on the road.

“He’ll be fine. I know he will.” I was trying to convince myself as much as Sylvia. She leaned forward and patted my shoulder, sending waves of pain through my neck. I tried not to wince. She was just trying to comfort me.

The scene around the wedding chapel was crazy: flashing blue and red lights from the cruisers; spotlights sending pools of light across the white stucco, making it look less washed out somehow; cops scurrying about, most wearing bulletproof vests outside their shirts. I glanced over at Tim, bare chested underneath his button-down shirt. I’d already seen a friend shot tonight; I didn’t want to make another visit to the hospital because Tim got wounded.

Tim parked the car behind a couple of cruisers near the sawhorses that had been set up along the entrance to the chapel’s driveway. The chapel looked deserted-dark and quiet-despite all the activity outside.

“Stay here,” Tim instructed as he climbed out of the Impala.

“Why do men think they can tell us what to do?” Sylvia asked.

“Because they do,” I said.

“Well, I don’t want to just sit here,” Sylvia said. “Let’s go.”

I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to this time. Had something finally snapped? Had my curiosity been sated by everything that had happened? Had I finally become a normal person, who doesn’t stick her nose into things that are best left to the police?

Sister Mary Eucharista was telling me I was having a breakthrough.

Sylvia, on the other hand, was pushing open the back door and climbing out, slamming the door behind her. She took a few steps toward the chaos, then turned and beckoned me to follow. When I shook my head, she shrugged and continued on. I watched her through the windshield.

Maybe this was what it was like on a movie set, except this was all real. I watched as Tim approached Flanigan, who held a bullhorn. They had a few words; then a uniform came up to Tim and handed him a vest. I sighed with relief. Good. Now at least Tim would be protected. Except, of course, if he got shot in the head or something awful like that.

I kicked myself for even thinking that.

Sylvia had approached Tim and Flanigan, who didn’t look happy she was there.

My cell phone startled me. I reached inside my bag and pulled it out, not recognizing the number on the screen.

“Yes?” I asked tentatively as I flipped it open and held it to my ear.

“Brett? It’s Colin.”

Bixby. My heart started to flutter, but not in a good way. Rather, in a nervous way. While I wanted him to call me about Jeff, I wanted good news. I wasn’t sure I could handle it if it wasn’t. I swallowed hard, then tried to make my voice sound normal as I asked, “Oh, hi. Do you have news about Jeff?”

“He’s out of surgery, and everything went well.”

I smiled involuntarily and took a deep breath. I blinked a couple of times to keep from crying. Seemed good news and bad would make me cry today.

Bixby was still talking. “The bullet lodged itself in his neck, but they got it out, and they think he’ll have a full recovery. He’ll need some physical therapy for a while.”

For the first time it dawned on me that he’d been shot in his right shoulder. He was right handed.

“Do you think he’ll be able to tattoo?” I asked.

Colin was quiet a second. “I’m not sure. That’ll be up to the physical therapist to see what sort of motion he’ll have at first.”

“Is he awake now?”

“No, he’s still in recovery. The anesthesia should wear off in a little while.”

“I’ll be bringing his mother over there,” I said, glancing back up, but Sylvia was now nowhere in sight.

“I thought you were going home,” he said. “You should be, you know. You got banged up pretty bad. You need to heal.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, was what I wanted to say, but it would have been way too sarcastic, and he wouldn’t have understood, since he had no idea what was going on, and I didn’t think this was the time to enlighten him.

Flanigan was shouting something through the bullhorn, but I couldn’t make it out. It was facing the wrong direction, so the sound was distorted.

“What’s that?” Bixby asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “TV.”

“Awfully loud.”

He was buying it.

Flanigan was saying something else now.

“Listen, Bixby, I’ve got to go,” I said. “Will you be around later, when I bring Sylvia over to see Jeff?”

“I’m heading home, but I’ll call you in the morning. See how you’re doing.”

“Mmm,” I said, not really paying attention. “See you, then,” I said, flipping the phone shut, my attention on what was going on beyond the windshield.

Flanigan held the bullhorn at his side. The building stayed as quiet as it was when we first got here. I began to wonder whether anyone was inside at all. I hadn’t heard any gunshots.

I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes. I still held the cell phone; it was smooth like the rocks I used to skim across the river at home in Jersey. I felt myself dozing off, despite more shouting from outside my little cocoon. I didn’t have the energy to open my eyes to see what was going on.

I felt the cold air sweep across my body as my door opened, but because I was half-asleep I thought it was just part of the dream I was having.

But when I was yanked out of the car, an arm wrapped itself around my neck; my eyes snapped open, and I struggled to breathe.

I felt the cold metal against the side of my head.

“Come with me quietly. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”