Blessed are the Dead (21 page)

 

Chapter 46

T
HE BLOW SENDS
me flying. I land with my face in the dirt. All I can see is the front tire of my car a few inches in front of me. Dirt is up my nose, and some is in my mouth. I cough and try to get up, but feel a hand holding my neck down. I feel the gun in my pocket digging into my rib cage under me. I try to wiggle my arm underneath me, but a heavy weight is pressing my chest down. My head is to one side looking at the glimmer of my hubcap reflecting the distant harbor lights. It takes me a minute to catch my breath.

“You know, I'm actually a little disappointed that this was so easy. I thought you were smarter. That cane? Don't really need it,” he says leaning over, so that his face is down by my ear. “You're also not going to need these keys now, are you?”

He laughs, and I hear my keys tinkle, hitting some gravel off to my right.

There is no freighter. He's not going anywhere.

I quickly jerk my head back and smack him in the face with it. My head vibrates in pain, but I feel him reel back. Quickly, I roll my body, reaching my hand into my pocket fumbling for the gun. He is scrambling to pin me down. His face is blurred above me, but I can tell blood is streaming from his nose. I can smell his foul breath near my mouth. I cock the gun, still inside my pocket and aim it up so it is pointing toward his chest before I pull the trigger. The impact flings him off me, and I scramble away on all fours, like a crab, not taking my eyes off his motionless body. My ears are ringing and the recoil on the gun sent my own elbow plunging into my rib cage, which hurts like hell.

A few feet away, I stop. Johnson's body is motionless, but I think I can see his chest moving up and down. Carefully, I turn and look behind me and think I see something glimmering. My keys? I have to stretch to reach for them, taking my eyes off Johnson. I feel the metal on my fingertips when my head is jerked back.

“You shot me, you cunt,” Johnson's voice, full of vitriol hisses in my ear. “Do you think I'm going to show up without protection? I've got a bulletproof vest on, you stupid bitch.”

He lifts my head back farther, so it is resting on his shoulder as he says this. Then, just as quickly, he slams my face into the dirt. He's mumbling to himself, but I can't tell what he is saying. I also think I hear some voices, but can't be sure. Then I realize the voices are carrying across the water, from a boat in the harbor.

I struggle again to get up, but the backs of my elbows are pinned by his knees.

“Get off me, you freak!” I yell, and start wiggling from side to side. I'm able to bend one knee up behind me and kick him in the back with my foot, but it only grazes him. He jerks my hair again. My head snaps back, and he smashes my face back into the ground.

Hard.

I gasp. I taste more dirt, this time mingled with blood. As soon as I catch my breath again, I try to scream, but his hand holds my face down in the dirt.

“I'll have to think up something special for you . . . when I first saw you in Rosarito, I started making big plans for you. I've never done a sister act before—­even if it takes place a few decades apart.”

“You bastard!” I scream, as he deftly ties my hands behind my back. I struggle, but he presses something sharp against my neck.

“Do you have any idea how many times I've thought of what I was going to do to you when I got out of jail? I'm going to take you to my bachelor pad—­the place I take all my special ladies nowadays. It's got a spectacular ocean view. Too bad you won't see it. The only thing you'll be seeing is the ceiling—­until I get tired of you. And you want to know the best part? When I imagine strangling you, just like I did your sister, it gets me off every time.”

I know it's over. I know Lopez isn't coming. This isn't the movies. I'm not going to be saved at the last second. I'm sure that businessman's wife probably hoped until her last breath that the cops would arrive in time before her drag-­dressing husband found her hiding in the closet. But it was too late for her, and it's too late for me. Something went wrong. Lopez should have been here already. I know I should be more afraid. I always wonder how ­people feel when they are faced with their inevitable death. What goes through their minds? What went through Caterina's mind? I choke back my sobs but feel my face crumple in grief. The thought of her little face knowing she is going to die is the saddest thing I have ever imagined. The thought of my own death is not nearly as disturbing.

I'm surprised by how I feel, a mix of fury, sadness, and a bit like a fool. I can almost hear my mother at my funeral thinking, “I can't believe she would agree to meet with him alone. She should have known better.” It will also break her heart for good this time. Deep inside, I know that my most important job, since Caterina died, has been to stay alive. Now, my mother will have lost both her daughters. That's the second saddest thing I've ever imagined. I can't stop a sob from escaping this time.

Then I feel as if ice-­cold blood is rushing through my body as I realize something—­they may never find my body for a funeral. If he's to be believed—­and now I believe everything he's said—­Johnson's hidden bodies before. Bodies that have never been found. My face will just join the missing-­persons files. However, because I'm an adult woman, they'll only write a small story about my disappearance. Then they'll move on to a bigger story, and I'll fade into obscurity.

Johnson binds my legs. He is surprisingly strong. So much for thinking he was frail-­looking. He uses one palm to slam my face back in the dirt every time I try to lift my head. I continue to struggle, but his knees agonizingly dig into my lower back. Then I shudder. I feel him on me from behind. “Don't worry. This is just a warm-­up. I'm saving you for later.”

Then he pauses. “You see, I'm not as easily satisfied as I once was. But I've been giving it some thought while I was sitting around in jail, and I think I know what to do about that. And you can take credit for it. You're the inspiration.

“I'm going to keep you alive—­for a time—­and you're going to watch me with my girlfriends. That way, you'll finally understand. And here's the part I'm really excited to tell you about—­I just can't keep it a secret any longer. It's who my next girlfriend is going to be. I've decided that I really like your family. And I especially like your niece, Sofia. She's such a pretty little thing. She reminds me so much of your sister.”

“Nooooo!” I lose my mind. I'm filled with a surge of anger and power and I arch and buck and shout as loud as I can. “Fuck you!” I scream, and struggle furiously to get up.

“And don't count on your cop friends to come save you because I'm not going back to jail. I got a little plan. If they try to come rescue you and your niece, we're all going out together. I kill her, then you, then me. Got it? So you might want to quit screaming because if someone hears you and comes, that means it will just be me and her alone. Now, let's get in the van.”

This instantly quiets me. Johnson starts to pull me to my feet, but then I remember what the cops always say, once you go with a kidnapper, you're dead for sure. Your only hope is to escape before he gets you in his vehicle. My only chance of saving Sofia is to escape.

I begin screaming and fighting again. I must have surprised him because this times he slams my head so hard into the ground, I slightly lose my vision for a moment. This time, a few small pebbles are embedded into my face from the blow.

I wonder if I'm passing out because suddenly the night fills with brilliant, blinding light and shouting.

 

Chapter 47

I
T TAKES ME
a moment to realize the weight on my back is gone. An engine revs, and a car roars past. I hear footsteps running on the dock nearby and more shouting. I roll onto my back in time to see a figure rush by me. He is shouting into what seems like a radio. What? Is it Lopez? Is it the cops? Donovan? Was he tailing me?

“Christ Jesus, are you okay? Were you shot?” A man stoops by my side.

It's not Donovan. I blink in the bright light coming from the water. I realize that I don't know where Jack Dean Johnson is. I try to get up.

“You have to get him. He's after my niece.”

I'm frantic, but when I try to sit up, a dark circle begins to close around my vision. The man grips my arm firmly. He gently lowers me to the ground, so I'm sitting propped up against a big boulder.

“Listen, hold still, I'm going to try to cut these ropes off you, but it might take a minute, because all I have is my fishing knife. You're safe now. Okay?”

I nod and turn on my side. Suddenly, darkness obscures my vision. I realize it is blood dripping down. Johnson is getting away! I try to get up again.

“Who're you?” I finally spit out. It sounds like I'm drunk. “Call the police. He can't get away.

“I'm just a tugboat operator, ma'am. We heard a gunshot and some yelling. When we shined our spotlight, we saw that creep on top of you. Don't worry, my partner got his license-­plate number and called the cops. They'll get him.”

I'm not convinced. A minute later, my hands are free. The man rips a part of a T-­shirt he is wearing under his thick coat.

I struggle to stand, frantically looking around me for someone with a phone or a car or something, but my legs won't support me and I slump back to the ground. “Tell them he's going after my niece, Sofia Giovanni. They have to stop him.”

Then a terrible thought occurs. What if he's already taken her?

“Here, this is fairly clean,” he says, handing me his T-­shirt. “I think you should hold this above your eye, you gotta pretty good gash there. Don't worry, my buddy called 911. They're sending an ambulance.”

“Don't need one,” I say, taking the shirt anyway. “What I need is to talk to the police.” The shirt I use to try to staunch the blood muffles my voice. I know I sound ungrateful, but I'm frantic.

“They're coming. Don't worry. We told them your niece's name.”

But I can't relax. Movement makes me dizzy, but all I want to do is jump in my car and go after Johnson. My body won't cooperate. All it wants to do is hold still. The fabric I'm holding to my head quickly becomes soaked with my blood. Small bits of gravel that were embedded in my cheek fall off when I pull the shirt away for a moment. I gently feel my nose, wondering if it is broken.

Meanwhile, the man is cutting my legs free. As soon as my feet are undone, he helps me to my feet. My back rests against the large boulder. My legs are shaking uncontrollably. He takes off his jacket and wraps me up. He hollers something I don't understand to his friend. A minute later, the friend comes back. He carries a thick wool blanket he wraps around me as well.

I'm a bit confused and feel like I just lost a few moments of time and I can't afford to waste a second in finding Sophia and stopping Johnson. I grab the man's arm before he walks away.

“Did you call the police? Did you tell them what I said?”

“Yes, ma'am,” the friend says.

It's probably about sixty-­five degrees out, but I can't seem to get warm. Wailing sirens fill the silence. The first man greets the ambulance driver. Someone says the word “shock,” then an EMT with thick glasses begins taking my pulse and looking at my face with a flashlight. She deftly bandages my forehead.

“We're going to take you in and have a doctor check you out,” she tells me. Within a few moments, she and the other EMT, an older balding man with gray hair and a big belly, have lifted me onto a gurney.

“I need to talk to the police. He's after my niece.” However, I can't say it without my teeth chattering.

“Listen, give me your keys, I'll follow in your car,” the nice tugboat man says. In the light, he looks to be in his late twenties with longish wavy hair and a scruffy beard. He has a deeply tanned face and friendly eyes. For the first time since he arrived, I muster a small smile.

“Thank you.” Then I try to sit up, but a wave of nausea hits me. I lie back down and tell him I don't know where my keys are.

“But I have a gun,” I say, reaching into my pocket. I'm stuttering. I try to hand it to him. The EMT who is driving takes it from me and shuts the doors. More sirens arrive, this time on top of police cars. The EMTs are talking, but I can't make out what they are saying until I hear: “Too bad. They can question her at the hospital.” Then the ambulance takes off.

I'm cocooned in warm blankets, but still I'm shaking. My jaw is vibrating, and I can hear my teeth clatter. I seem to have no control over it. I know I'm lucky to be alive. The ambulance bumps along the dirt road. Thank God, they don't have the sirens on. I'm embarrassed enough as it is to be taking an ambulance ride for a few scrapes and bruises. An EMT inserts an IV, puts an oxygen mask over my mouth, and attaches a monitor for my heart rate.

“Did they tell the police? About my niece?”

She just nods without answering the question. “The police will meet us at the hospital. We're almost there.”

That relaxes me a bit. Plus my head is so fuzzy I'm starting to drift off. Maybe it was something in the IV? “What's all this for?” My voice still sounds slurred to my ears. Then again, my ears may not be the most reliable right now. They still ring from hitting the ground so many times.

“Oh, just getting some more fluids in you and keeping an eye on your blood pressure and heart rate.”

She sounds nonchalant. I know that is her training. If I were on the verge of death, she would still have that same tone of voice. I wonder if they think I'm in shock. Have I lost that much blood? Did I smack my head that hard? I close my eyes and say a prayer to the Virgin Mary to protect Sofia. I thank her for sparing my life and sending someone to rescue me. I should have known better. That tugboat operator noticing the attack and hearing my screams was pure luck. If they hadn't, I would have been in the back of that van, headed for a blue duffel bag somewhere in the wilderness.