Hard as Nails

CHAPTER FORTY

"Arlene? Are you there? Arlene?"

It was her sister-in-law, Gail DeMarco, calling. Arlene answered in a whisper, although it was doubtful that the burned man could hear from this distance.

"Is everything all right?" asked Gail. "We were going to talk after the weather…"

The two women spoke almost every night after the Channel 4 weather, before the sports, before going to bed. Arlene had been looking forward to tonight's conversation because they were going to talk about Rachel's fifteenth birthday later in the week—although Arlene was dreading being asked if Joe was going to attend. Rachel looked up to and adored the occasional dinner visitor, Joe Kurtz—the girl's real father, Arlene was absolutely sure—and Joe seemed oblivious to it all. It had reached the point where Gail almost couldn't stand Joe—"a jerk" Gail had called him during a recent conversation with Arlene—but Gail understood the situation, and wanted Rachel to know the man who was probably her father.

"I'm sorry," said Arlene, still keeping her eye on the dark pest control truck near the mall. "I'm out running an errand for Joe and just forgot the time."

"An errand for Joe?" said Gail. "At this hour?" Arlene could hear the disapproval in her friend's voice. Arlene had been close to her husband's sister when Alan and her son were alive, but they'd grown even closer in the years since those deaths.

"Something that had to be done," said Arlene. I'd kill for a cigarette, she thought, and then realized that was an option. Just walk up to Mr. Burned Face in his bug truck and put two.44 slugs into him. As he waits for his girlfriend on the night custodial shift to come out for a midnight lunch. Arlene decided that if she went that way, she'd use the nicotine-withdrawal defense in court. Maybe the jury would be composed mostly of ex-smokers. Hell, it would only take one.

She and Gail chatted for a few minutes, Arlene keeping her voice down and the Buick's window up. If the Burned Man was still in the cab of the van, he wasn't showing any movement.

"Well," said Gail, her voice changing slightly, "will Joe Kurtz be coming to dinner on Friday night?"

Arlene chewed her lip. "I haven't asked him yet. He's been… busy."

"Yes. Dr. Singh asks me about Joe Kurtz almost every day. I imagine Joe's been in bed a lot, recovering. It must mean extra work for you at the office."

"Not that much," said Arlene, commenting on the first part of Gail's sentence but letting her think she was answering the second part.

"But do you think he'll be up to coming to Rachel's birthday party? It would mean the world to her."

Arlene knew that although Rachel was a sensitive and lovable girl, she had few friends at school. Besides Gail and Arlene—and maybe Joe—there would be only one other teenager besides Rachel at the party, a skinny, bookish girl named Constance.

"I'll ask him tomorrow," said Arlene.

"I mean, he does remember it's Rachel's birthday, doesn't he?" asked Gail, voice rising a bit.

"I'll ask him tomorrow whether he feels up to coming," said Arlene. "I'm sure he will if he can. Gail, by any chance do you have Rachel's phone around? The one I gave you in the spring?"

"Rachel's cell phone?" said her sister-in-law. "Yes. She never carries it I think it's in her room. Why? You want it back?"

"No, but could you go get it right now? And check the battery."

"Now?" said Gail.

"Yes, please," said Arlene. There was movement in the cab of the pest control van. The Burned Man was shifting positions, perhaps getting ready to step out.

Gail sighed, said she'd just be a minute, and set her phone down.

Arlene looked at her options here. They were awkward. She wanted the Burned Man out of the way so that she could pick up this Aysha person in… she looked at her watch… twenty-one minutes. Even if the Burned Man wasn't also waiting for the Yemeni girl—although Arlene's instincts told her that he was—it would be better if there were no witnesses. The girl was illegal in more ways than one. What if she didn't want to get into the car with Arlene? Well, to be truthful, that was one reason Arlene had brought the.44 Magnum.

So how to get this guy out of the way? And what to do if he suddenly drove toward her Buick or began walking her way? Arlene had no idea why this scarred man in the bug truck might want to grab Aysha, but she felt that this was precisely what he was going to do in… nineteen minutes… unless Arlene intervened.

How? She had the Niagara police on speed dial, but even if she got through to someone who actually called a patrol cruiser who actually got here in time, they'd almost certainly still be here when the Canadians dropped Aysha off at the mall door. And if the people-smugglers from the north caught one glimpse of red and blue lights flashing or police cars here in the parking lot, they'd keep going and drop Aysha somewhere else, far from here.

Maybe I could fallow their car and…

Arlene shook her head. After getting even a glimpse of the police, the already paranoid smugglers would probably be more paranoid. The streets were empty in this wet, botched caricature of a city, and there was little to no chance that Arlene would be able to tail the smugglers without them seeing her. And if she spooked them enough, they might even kill the girl and just dump her out somewhere. Arlene just didn't know the stakes here—for Aysha, for the people smuggling her in, for the Burned Man in that bug truck straight ahead, or even for Joe.

I could just go home. That was certainly the option that made the most sense. In the morning, Joe would probably say, "Oh, that's all right—I just wanted to chat with the girl if possible. No biggee."

Uh-huh, thought Arlene.

"All right, I'm back with the phone," came Gail's voice in her ear. "What next?"

"Ahh…just hold onto it for a second," said Arlene, knowing how foolish she sounded. It was like those old practical jokes in high school where some boy would call up pretending to be a telephone repairman and get you to take the cover off the phone—back when phones looked alike and had covers—and then made you do one thing after the other to help «fix» it, until you were swinging a bag of parts over your head and clucking like a chicken.

Joe had talked Arlene into purchasing a cell phone for Rachel a few months earlier. He was always worried that the girl might be in danger, that someone might go after her the way her late stepfather had, and he liked the idea of Rachel carrying around a phone with Arlene's numbers set to speed dial.

Gail had been a little nonplussed at the gift—"If Rachel wanted a phone, I'd buy one for her," she'd said logically enough—but Arlene had convinced her that this was Joe's awkward way of establishing some contact with the girl, of watching over her from afar. "He can establish contact just by coming to dinner and seeing her more frequently," Gail had said sternly. Arlene couldn't argue with that.

She'd thought of the phone right now because although its bills were paid by WeddingBells-dot-com, if someone tried to use reverse-911 on it, the records would show just the WeddingBells PO box number.

Fourteen minutes before midnight. It was quite possible the smugglers could get here a few minutes early with Aysha—any second—and Arlene didn't have a clue what to do. If the Burned Man nabbed Aysha, she could try following the bug truck so at least she could tell Joe where the girl was taken, but the same empty, wet streets in the same empty, wet town here made that no more feasible than following the smugglers themselves.

Arlene didn't like to use obscenities, but she had to admit that her goose was well and truly cooked here.

"Arlene? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Is the phone charged?"

"Yes."

"Good. Dial nine-one-one."

"What? Is there an emergency?"

"Not yet. But dial nine-one-one. But don't hit the 'call' button yet."

"All right. What do I tell them the emergency is?"

"Tell them that there's a man having a heart attack—in cardiac arrest—just outside the Rainbow Centre Mall."

"Rainbow Centre? That place up in Niagara Falls?"

"Yes."

"Are you there? Is there someone in cardiac arrest? I can talk you through the CPR until the paramedics get there."

"This is just private-eye stuff, Gail. Just tell them that a man's having a heart attack outside the Rainbow Centre Mall… And tell them he's in a van near the south main mall doors and the van has Total Pest Control written on the side."

"Wait… wait… let me write that down. What was the…"

"Total Pest Control. Like in the cereal."

"There's a cereal called Pest Control?"

"Just write it down." Arlene usually enjoyed Gail's odd sense of humor, but there wasn't time tonight.

"Won't they arrest me for false reporting?"

"They won't find you. Trust me. After you make the call… if you make the call… just take a hammer and smash that cell phone and throw the pieces away. I'll provide a new one."

"It looks like a pretty expensive phone. I'm not sure…"

"Gail."

"All right. A man undergoing cardiac arrest at the south entrance to the Rainbow Centre Mall—that one near the convention center in Niagara Falls… and he's having this heart attack in a van with Total Pest Control written on the side of it."

"Yes." Arlene looked at her watch. Eleven minutes before midnight. It was almost too late to…

The van had started up. Arlene could see the oil-rich exhaust in the humid air. She could hear the engine even with her window up.

Oh, thank God. I don't have to…

The van made a fast left turn and headed in Arlene's direction. For a second the headlights pinned her like a deer.

She immediately dropped sideways onto the passenger seat and fumbled in her purse for the.44 Magnum. The cell phone fell off her lap and bounced and for a second Arlene was sure that she'd disconnected with Gail.

"Hello? Hello?" Gail and Arlene were both shouting.

The van stopped fifty or sixty feet in front of Arlene's Buick, the headlights turning her windshield a thick milky white.

"Call nine-one-one," Arlene whispered urgently. "Call nine-one-one. On the cell phone. Keep this line open."

"Oh, my God. Arlene, are you all right? What's…"

"Call nine-one-one!" shouted Arlene. 'Tell them what I said."

Arlene lowered herself to the floor, her back against the passenger-side door. She set the cell phone on the seat, pulled her legs over the console and set her feet on the carpeted floor. She set the heavy Magnum on her knee and cocked it, keeping the muzzle pointing at the ceiling. If the Burned Man came to the passenger side, she might not be visible in the shadow of the footwell here, especially with the headlights making everything else so bright She aimed the gun at the driver's door.

The van's headlights went off and the van's engine fell silent.

"Arlene!" It was a screech, but not a panicked one. Gail had been a nurse for a long time. The more tense things got, the more calm Gail became, Arlene knew. On the job.

"Husssshhhh," whispered Arlene, leaning left to hiss into the phone. "Don't talk. Don't talk."

There was no further noise. No footsteps. But the van's engine stayed off and the van's headlights stayed dark. Arlene looked across at the driver's door window, aiming the muzzle of her weapon. What seemed like hours passed in the silence, but she knew it must have been just a minute or two.

Oh, dear Lord. Did I lock the doors?

It was too late to lunge across for the locking controls on the far door now. She considered reaching above her head and locking the door on her side—If he swings it open, I'll fall out backwards like a bag of laundry—but knew that the power lock driving home would sound like a gunshot. She left it alone.

The van door slammed. Arlene set her finger in the trigger guard. She'd practice-fired this weapon enough to know that it required quite a bit of pressure on the trigger to fire. And the recoil was serious. She propped her head more firmly on the door behind her so that the recoil wouldn't catch her on the chin, cradled the big gun on her knee with her left hand under her right hand to steady it and thumbed the hammer back until it clicked.

She could bear the footsteps on the concrete now. He was walking toward the driver's side.