Eyes flashing forward again, Kate saw that she was headed straight toward one of the fat concrete pillars that supported the structure, and corrected course just in time. The Camry swerved sharply but didn't hit anything.
Heart thudding, she took a deep, much needed breath, which she hoped he would ascribe to the close call, and hit the brakes. The car rocked to a halt inches from a line of small cars parked against the opposite wall.
"Don't stop," he said. "Just keep on driving and we'll get along fine."
For a moment fear all but paralyzed her. Her breath caught. Cold sweat popped out along her hairline.
Oh my God, what should I do?
Kate did a lightning-fast mental assessment of the chances of getting away if she jumped from the car then and there and ran for it. She had not yet put on her seat belt. Still seething at Braga, she'd forgotten all about it, although she probably would have remembered before she'd reached the street. So getting out of the vehicle fast was doable. The problem was, this level of the parking garage was nearly deserted. And it was a long way to the nearest door. If Mario gave chase, he could probably catch her. The knowledge that Braga was almost certainly still somewhere in the garage provided a spurt of hope, but she didn't know that for sure, or have any idea where exactly he was. She did know that he wasn't on the third level. If she jumped from the car and ran away screaming, he might not hear her. She might not be heard, or heeded, by anyone, or help might not arrive in time. Then, if he caught her, Mario would be mad at her. And that would not be good.
Better to hang tough for now, and see how things went.
But she bitterly regretted ditching Braga in that elevator. And she kept her seat belt off.
"What the hell do you think you're doing hiding in my car?" Her voice was tough, angry, as she gently hit the accelerator again and steered away from the parked cars, heading toward the exit ramp. She gave no indication that inside she had turned into a quivering mass of Jell-O, shaking and quaking and completely spineless in reaction to his presence. She had no doubt at all that this was not a friendly visit.
Never let them see fear.
O-kay.
"Waiting for you, baby." Mario's voice was silky-smooth. Something about it sent a cold finger of dread trailing down her spine.
Asking him how he'd gotten into her locked car was pointless. The Marios of the world never had any trouble doing things like that. Come to think of it, once upon a time she wouldn't have had any trouble doing it, either.
"What do you want?" Reaching the ramp, she turned onto it and started heading up toward the street level. Whatever happened, she figured she would have a better chance of responding to it once she was out of the garage. The white lights were brighter and more garish on the ramp. She had the sense, fueled by moving shadows and whooshing sounds above and below them, of other cars also using the ramp, but she couldn't see them. For all intents and purposes, they were alone.
"You didn't come through for me. I'm pissed."
Okay, so he knew she'd had nothing to do with getting him out. She could feel herself starting to sweat. The Mario of old never let a wrong go without exacting some kind of payback. She doubted he'd changed much over the years.
"You're out, aren't you?"
"No thanks to you."
"I was working on it. I told you it wasn't going to be easy."
"Know what? You're full of shit."
"So why are you here?"
"I got some friends I want you to meet."
Kate remembered Mario's "friend" who'd showed up at her house, and shuddered inwardly. Were they Black Dragons? She figured the chances were good the answer was yes. Her hands were clamped so tightly around the wheel now her knuckles showed while. Her back was so rigid it was starting to ache. The Camry's headlights flashed along the graffiti-covered concrete wall that rose straight and smooth to her right, while the car climbed the spiraling ramp at a steady pace.
What to do?
"Sorry. Bad timing. I'm busy tonight." "I wasn't asking."
Mario scooted forward so that he was pressed up close to the space between the front bucket seats. He was wearing black sweatpants and a black hoodie with the Eagles logo on it, she saw with a quick glance through the rearview mirror, and had a diamond stud in his left ear. Standard punk attire for Philly. His thick legs were bent at the knees and spread wide to fit into the tight space. His arms were draped over the front bucket seats. She caught a faint odor of onions and something else—sweat, perhaps? He was big, way big for the small rear area, and his posture was intimidating. Deliberately so, Kate knew, and she tried to will herself not to let it get to her. Then she felt something tap her left shoulder and glanced toward it.
A gun. Mario was holding a big black pistol. With him being left-handed and his arm draped over the seat, the weapon was between her and the driver's-side door.
Her heart gave a great leap in her chest. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Her mouth went dry. So much for making a quick exit from the car.
From somewhere she managed to summon the necessary bravado to keep him from guessing how much he was beginning to scare her.
She gave a faux-disbelieving little laugh. "What, are you going to shoot me now?"
"Nah." He rubbed the side of her neck with the barrel of the gun. Under other circumstances, with something other than a gun, it might almost have been mistaken for an affectionate gesture. As it was, it was a terrifying parody. The cold metal made her skin crawl. She tried not to let it show. "Not unless you make me. I always did like you, Kitty-cat."
Lucky me.
"Then get the damned gun away from me. I don't like it."
"Yeah. No can do." The gun stayed where it was.
So much for the direct approach.
By now the Camry had nosed its way to the surface. The parking garage attendant's hut was empty, as was usual at this time of night, curse the luck. All she had to do was pull up to the turnstile, and the automatic arm would sense the presence of a vehicle and lift.
"Head for the Vine Street Expressway," Mario directed, as the Camry reached the turnstile.
The arm lifted, and they were through. The parking garage exited into one of the narrow, dark alleys for which Philly was infamous. Along with rats and stray cats, drunks and predators loved them. The rest of the city, not so much. As she turned, the headlights arced over windowless brick walls and a big, green industrial dumpster and clusters of battered garbage cans. The alley ran parallel to Arch Street, ending at Thirteenth. She could turn right there, drive two blocks, and then hit the on-ramp for the expressway. If she were to miss the ramp "accidentally," she calculated, as the Camry bumped along the alley, Thirteenth led straight through one of the seediest sections of downtown. Populated by pimps, hos, druggies, and people in search of the same, it was crowded with adult bookstores, strip clubs, and rundown bars. The out-of-town convention traffic kept the area hopping. If she were to drive that way and somehow manage to bolt from the car without getting shot, at least she'd be running down a highly populated street. Whether or not anyone would help her if Mario gave chase was debatable, though, especially if he was flashing the gun. People tended to mind their own business around Thirteenth.
Still, it was probably the best chance she was going to get. Once on the expressway, she would have no chance to jump. And she had absolutely no wish at all to find herself in some deserted area with him, or to meet his "friends."
"The way things are going in your life, you ought to thank your lucky stars that you have a friend like me in the prosecutor's office," Kate tried, operating on the hope that letting him think she was prepared to help him next time he got into trouble was the best way to keep him in line.
Mario snorted. "Thing is, you were going to screw me over. I don't trust you no more."
"I was not going to screw you over." "Don't matter anymore, does it? I'm out."
"You got a place to stay? A family, maybe?" She was trying to pretend to be his friend, because at the moment the "old friend" card was the only one she had to play. The gun on her shoulder wasn't pointed at her, but still its presence was making her sweat.
"I got people who take care of me, just like I take care of them."
The Black Dragons?
The question was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it. Best not to let on that she knew anything about that. She thought about telling him about Ben, that she was already late to pick up her son, that he was only nine, with no other family in the world, but she didn't. She knew Mario wouldn't care. And although he was aware of Ben's existence, she didn't want to bring any unnecessary attention to her son's presence in her life.
"You in touch with any of the old group? Jason, or Leah, or anybody?"
He laughed. "Don't you know, baby? They're dead. All of 'em. Car crash, about three months after you left us. I probably would've been with them, except I was in jail at the time." He leaned closer. "And just for the record, it was your boyfriend who shot that security guard, not me."
Liar. It was never Jason; it was you.
Kate screamed the words at him in her mind as she reeled inwardly at the news. All of them—her friends, Jason with the blue eyes—dead.
What kind of terrible world was it when she and Mario were the only ones left?
"Turn right up here at Thirteenth. And don't miss the expressway turnoff. I won't like that."
He tapped her cheek admonishingly with the gun barrel.
Kate's gut clenched. She hadn't realized how tense her facial muscles were until she tried to speak.
"I don't like
that,"
she snapped. "Keep your damned gun out of my face."
He chuckled.
They reached the end of the alley and she stopped to look both ways before merging onto Thirteenth. Brightly lit and busy, with heavy traffic moving steadily in both directions and a fair number of pedestrians on the sidewalks, this next block and a half or so before the freeway entrance was probably her best chance of escape. The gun on her shoulder was the biggest obstacle.
Would he shoot her if she tried to open the door and run? She wasn't sure, but she didn't really want to find out. Dead was dead, no do-overs allowed. Besides, if he was quick enough when she reached for the door handle, he might just be able to grab her and keep her in the car that way. He was close enough, so close that she could feel the heat of his arm behind her head and smell the oniony odor of his breath.
"You got any money?" Mario asked. "I bet prosecutors make a lot of money." "Not much."
She had exactly six dollars tucked away in her briefcase, which, as a result of her sudden stop after discovering Mario in the car, now rested on its side in the passenger-seat footwell. Since she got paid Monday, that six dollars had to carry them through. It was just enough for the fresh milk and bread they needed, and Ben's lunch money.
Headlights shining in the alley behind them caught her attention as she turned right onto Thirteenth, carefully wedging in between a white pickup in front and a small red car behind. Glancing back, she saw a black Taurus waiting in the mouth of the alley for its chance to join the stream of traffic, and her heart skipped a beat. She was almost positive that was Braga's car. "How much?" Mario growled.
Kate did a lightning calculation. If that was indeed Braga, and she thought it was, jumping from the car and running toward him was her best hope of escape. But getting the gun out of the way would greatly increase her chance of escaping uninjured.
Go for it.
At the thought, her heart began to pound so hard it felt like it was trying to beat its way out of her chest. Cold sweat poured over her. She flicked a quick look at Mario through the rearview mirror, praying he wouldn't notice. He squatted there on the edge of her backseat like a malevolent Buddha, looking pleased with himself and the situation, observing the scene out the windshield with transparent interest. The gun rested negligently on her shoulder.
He thinks he's got me trapped.
"A hundred bucks," she lied. "Give or take a couple of dollars." Then she glanced down at her briefcase as she braked gently, one of a dozen or so cars braking for the red light at the intersection before the one leading to the expressway ramp. Now, while the light was red and the car was stopped, was the best chance she was going to get, she knew. "It's in my briefcase. Why?"
" 'Cause I want it." Mario looked down at her briefcase, then shifted himself, reaching between the seats, reaching for the briefcase.
The gun moved when he did. Suddenly, it was no longer there.
Kate's heart lurched. Her breath caught.
This is it.
Grabbing the door handle, she shoved the door open, throwing herself from the car with such force that she landed hard on her hands and knees on the pavement. It hurt, but she didn't have time to think about it.
"Shit," Mario yelled as the car lurched forward. Adrenaline shot through her system as she caught a terrifying glimpse of him snapping upright and turning toward her, but she didn't stick around to watch. She was already scrambling to her feet, already running screaming down the center line between the stopped rows of traffic. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer. Her shoulder blades tensed in horrible anticipation of a bullet smacking into her flesh at any second. Her stomach cramped as she glanced fearfully back over her shoulder. The driver's door was still open, but the Camry wasn't moving. No sign of Mario—or the gun. Around her, the street pulsed with life, with brightly colored neon signs flashing slogans like
Girls! Girls! Girls!
and
Fully Nude.
Adult bookstores with their big front windows blocked by newspapers glowed from within like jack-o'-lanterns. Seedy locals and businessmen in suits and tourists—even women—in casual clothes mingled on the sidewalks and hurried through the crosswalk in front of the stopped cars while hookers, obvious in leather miniskirts and thigh-high boots or bra tops and hot pants or tiny, shiny dresses, claimed the corners and curbs. Music blared from the bars through the open doors as patrons continually went in and out. The air smelled of car exhaust and booze. A few heads turned in her direction. One or two car doors opened, and the men driving popped their heads up, yelling something to her, presumably asking questions or offering help, but Kate was barely aware of them. Her entire focus was on the black Taurus that was maybe six cars back.