No Shelter (24 page)

I open the car, throw in my bag, then glance back at the agents. I decide Mitchell has had it a little too rough lately so I motion Colin to come forward. He glances at his counterpart, glances at me, shrugs and walks over to us.
 

“Okay,” I tell David, “this is your fast five-dollar lesson. I’ll take cash or a money order.”
 

He frowns at me. “What’s a money order?”
 

“Never mind.”
 

I gesture for Colin to stand behind David and take him from behind. Colin does just this, quickly grabbing David’s right arm and pulling it back as the agent wraps his other arm around David’s neck.
 

“Now this, David,” I say as the boy starts to struggle, “is called a sleeper hold. Do you know why it’s called a sleeper hold?”
 

David keeps fighting, trying to squirm and wiggle his way out of Colin’s grasp. Colin looks back at me with a grin, the sun reflecting off his shades, and behind me Mitchell doesn’t stifle his chuckle this time. He lets out a full-fledged laugh. Even Casey giggles.
 

I lean down close to David’s face. “David, stop struggling. That’s your first lesson. The more you struggle, the more you will wear yourself out.”
 

David is reluctant at first, but he stops struggling and just stares back at me. His chest is heaving.
 

“Okay, good,” I say. “Now what you want to do next is—”
 

“I know what to do next,” David says, and with his free arm he lifts his elbow and brings it right back down on Colin’s crotch.
 

Mitchell lets out a great roar of laughter as Colin groans and releases David and turns away. Even Casey giggles again though I’m sure she doesn’t know what’s so funny.
 

David smiles at me triumphantly. “Like that, right?”
 

“No, you dummy, not like that.”
 

I start to take a step toward him, meaning to wring his neck just a little bit, when my cell phone rings. I pause, consider my options. Then thinking it might be Walter I reach into my car and grab the phone from my bag. I don’t recognize the number and answer with a hesitant hello.
 

“Hi, is this Holly?” a female voice asks.
 

“Yes.”
 

“Holly, this is Gloria Stevens from Markham and Davis. How are you today?”
 

I frown. Markham and Davis is Ryan’s firm. I just interviewed there last week.
 

“I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”
 

As the woman tells me she’s doing fabulous, thank you, I motion to Mitchell and Colin that we’re leaving.
 

Colin has righted himself again but he’s wincing, breathing through his teeth. Mitchell walks up behind him, claps him once on the back.
 

“What I’m calling in regards to, Holly, is that I’d like to ask you to come back for a second interview.”
 

With the phone to my ear I have managed to get Casey into her child’s seat. She watches me click in the harness when I say, “Really?”
 

“Yes. I’m sorry we rushed your interview last week, but there was a funeral I had to attend and ... well, regardless I would like you to come back in so you can take some typing tests and so we can discuss the job in more detail.”
 

I stand up and glance over the hood of the car, watching Colin and Mitchell walking to where they’re parked. Mitchell is still laughing, Colin shaking his head and giving him the finger.
 

“Holly? Are you there?”
 

“Yes, I’m here.”
 

“So can I set you up for an appointment to come in sometime this week?”
 

I glance down at Casey in the child’s seat, at David who has opened the opposite rear door and climbed in and slammed it shut.
 

“I ... um ... I’m not actually interested anymore.”
 

“Excuse me?”
 

“In the job. I gave it a lot of thought and I don’t think it would be a good match for me.”
 

“Oh,” the woman says. “Okay. Well, that’s no problem at all. I, um, wish you luck with your other endeavors.”
 

Endeavors. The word makes me want to roll my eyes. “Thank you. And thank you for calling.”
 

“My pleasure. Have a good day.”
 

“You too,” I say and immediately hit the button to disconnect.
 

“Who was that?” Casey asks. Her legs hang over the child’s seat and she kicks them back and forth.
 

“Wrong number,” I say, smiling at her, and shut the door.
 

I start around the car to the driver’s side when the phone rings again. I don’t recognize this number either, and after dealing with Miss Endeavor I don’t feel like dealing with anymore asinine bullshit, so I answer with a tired and irritated hello.
 

“Yes, hello, Miss Lin,” a man says. He has a Spanish accent. “How are you doing today?”
 

I open the driver’s door but don’t get in just yet. “I’m sorry, who’s this?”
 

“How much do you care for the welfare of those two precious children?”
 

A red light starts flashing in my head. My body goes rigid. I don’t move though, don’t give the caller the satisfaction of knowing his words have had the desired effect. After all, judging by the way he posed the question, how he called right after I was done with my previous call, he is no doubt watching me.
 

“Miss Lin.”
 

“Who is this?”
 

“Would you die to keep the boy and the girl safe?”
 

I close the door softly. Turn away from the car. Breathe into the phone, “Who the fuck is this?”
 

“I don’t much care for your tone, Miss Lin.”
 

“Yeah, well fuck you.”
 

The man sighs. “Very well. If you do not wish to take this situation seriously, then that is up to you.”
 

“And what situation is that?”
 

Colin and Mitchell pull up in the black car. They both stare out me, waiting.
 

“If you want the children to stay alive, do not end this call for any reason. Do you understand me? As long as you stay on the line, the better chance they have of survival.”
 

I start to take a step toward the black car. I stop. I think about this caller and how he is watching me right now and what might happen if I approach the agents.
 

“What do you want?”
 

“First, I would like you to wave to the two FBI agents.”
 

“Why?”
 

“Do as I say.”
 

I raise my free hand, slowly, and wave it back and forth at Mitchell and Colin. They both frown, glance at each other.
 

“There, I waved to them. Now what?”
 

“Now say goodbye.”
 

The shots are instantaneous. One shot at Colin, one shot at Mitchell. The windshield shatters. Blood squirts out.
 

“And now for the second part,” the man says. “Drive.”
 

45

I’m in the car and have the engine started before I even realize it. The phone to my ear, I throw the car in reverse and glance over my shoulder as I screech out of the parking space.
 

Behind me David says, “What’s happening? What’s going on? Did those guys ... are they ...” while Casey starts crying in her seat.
 

“Where?” I say into the phone, and the man on the other end simply says, “To the exit, of course.”
 

Five seconds have passed since Colin and Mitchell were killed. The shots came from the direction of the pool entrance. It had to have been done with a sniper rifle, some kind of silencer attached. I hadn’t heard a thing except for the popping of the windshield as it broke.
 

I speed through the parking lot, up one lane and down the next. I try not to hit the few parents and children leaving or entering the pool. Already people have seen the black car, the dead bodies. They are either on their cell phones, calling 911, or they are trying to track where I’m going. After all, only a guilty person flees from the scene of a crime.
 

At the exit, I say, “Now where?”
 

“Take a left and keep driving straight until I tell you otherwise.”
 

I wait for a break in traffic and then pull out onto the road. Even though I don’t want to I ignore Casey behind me, still crying, just as I ignore David who has started to mumble his questions of what’s going on and what’s happening.
 

I keep glancing in the rearview mirror, not sure what I expect to see. The voice on the other end doesn’t say anything. I have to pull the phone away, look at the screen, to make sure we haven’t been disconnected.
 

After a mile the voice says, “At the upcoming intersection make a right.”
 

The intersection in question is less than three hundred yards away. I flick on my turn signal. I don’t know how this man sees me—as far as I can tell I’m not being followed—but right now I don’t question it.
 

The traffic light is red. We come to stop behind a minivan with a bumper sticker that says what’s your beeping hurry?
 

Casey is still crying. David has started crying too. I glance at the phone again, hit the mute button, place the phone back against my ear and quickly look back over my shoulder.
 

“Everything’s okay,” I tell him.
 

David wipes at his face. “What—what—what’s happening?”
 

“Just don’t think about it, okay?”
 

It’s a very stupid thing to say but I don’t know what else to tell them.
 

The light turns green and traffic starts moving and once I make the turn the voice says, “Now, Miss Lin, tell me again—would you die to keep the boy and girl safe?”
 

“Yes.”
 

A pause.
 

“Miss Lin?”
 

“I said yes, goddamn it!”
 

Another pause.
 

“Very well, Miss Lin. If you do not wish to answer me, then—”
 

I remember the mute button is engaged and quickly click it off. “Yes!” I shout. “Yes I would die for them!”
 

The pause this time lasts almost five seconds. It feels like five minutes. The traffic is going at a fairly reasonable speed, yet it seems like we’re barely moving five miles per hour.
 

The man says, “That is very good to hear, Miss Lin.”
 

“What do you want?”
 

“We will be discussing that matter soon. Now at the upcoming intersection, make a left.”
 

I glance back behind me at the kids that keep crying, then back at the road. At the intersection I turn left and then drive for another half mile until the voice speaks again.
 

“At the next intersection, turn right.”
 

I make the turn. I drive for another half mile. We’ve left the main strip with all the restaurants and businesses and car dealerships and are now in a residential area.
 

My hands are sweaty against the steering wheel. Blood beats heavy in my ears. Only two minutes have passed since we left the pool, maybe longer, and all I can think about is the safety of the two children in the backseat.
 

A stop sign looms ahead.
 

The man says, “At the upcoming intersection, stop the car and turn off the engine.”
 

I glance back in the rearview mirror. Both Casey and David have managed to cry themselves out. Now they’re sniffling, wiping away their tears.
 

At the intersection I stop the car and turn off the engine.
 

“Now step out of the car.”
 

“What?”
 

“Step out of the car.”
 

I want to say something to the kids. Tell them I’ll be right back. Tell them I love them. But I don’t want to waste any time either, so I open the door and step out.
 

“Now close the door.”
 

I close the door.
 

“Place the keys on the roof.”
 

I place the keys on the roof.
 

“Now walk across the intersection to the other side.”
 

I hesitate. I don’t want to leave the kids. But I can’t stop thinking about how Colin and Mitchell were taken out so quickly, so efficiently.
 

“What about the children?”
 

“The children will be safe as long as you follow directions.”
 

I walk across the intersection. It is deserted. The entire neighborhood appears deserted.
 

At the other end of the intersection I stop and turn back around. The car is less than fifty feet away from me. It seems like a mile.
 

I can see the children in the back, crying again. David starts to undo his seatbelt, starts to reach for the door.
 

I shake my head, wanting to yell at him to stop it, to just stay still. But right then comes the screeching of tires and the angry roar of an engine.
 

A red Porsche pulls up next to the car. Its windows are tinted. The passenger-side door opens and a Latino man steps out. He wears a black suit and sunglasses. He opens David’s door completely, bends down and says something, then leans back and slams the door shut. He glances at me for only an instant before he takes the keys off the roof, opens the driver’s door, gets in, starts the engine, and pulls out into the intersection.