Harley Rushes In (Book 2 of the Blue Suede Mysteries) (33 page)

All those thoughts whirled around her head as her Nikes dug into ground still soggy from the last rain. Her chest ached and she dragged in air that smelled of damp ground and wildflowers just beginning to bloom. Arms pumping, she closed the distance between her and Bernie. He was just ahead of her, reaching the line of trees, when a white flash rose up out of the ground at his feet.

Stumbling, he let out a startled yell and fell sideways. Harley saw his gun fly through the air. She changed directions and dove onto the pistol while Bernie beat at the feathered fury attacking him with bill and huge wings. By the time she got to her feet with the gun in hand, Gladys had Bernie bleeding.

Harley panted, “I never thought I’d be glad to see you, Gladys. Hold it there, Bernie—I have the gun now, and I know how to shoot.”

That wasn’t really a lie. She did have the gun and she figured she could pull the trigger if she had to, not that she’d tell him that, of course.

“Shoot the damn thing!” Bernie yelled, but Harley had no intention of doing anything like that. The goose backed off a bit, watching both of them with wings outspread. It made a hissing noise that sounded ominous. Harley glimpsed a fuzzy bit of gray fluff peeking out from some kind of nest on the ground behind Gladys. Ah, so that was what she was protecting. Babies.

Keeping a wary eye on Gladys, as she didn’t quite trust the goose not to go for her, too, she edged around and motioned with the pistol. “Get up slowly and she might not peck you to death.”

The goose hissed louder, lunged at Bernie and nipped him on the leg, then retreated back to guard her nest. Bernie cussed some more. Harley smiled. Anna was right. Geese had the element of surprise that made them better than an attack dog. Who’d have ever thought Mother Goose could inflict so much damage?

Bernie stumbled to his feet and held his hands in the air when Harley advised him to, glaring at her as he said, “You let Frieda get away, damn you!”

“I wasn’t the one chasing her, you were. Now go back to the trailer. Walk slowly and keep your distance. Anna called the police and they should be here any minute.”

He laughed. “Not unless
you
called ’em. You don’t think she’d call ’em, do you?”

Harley hesitated. She hadn’t thought of that. Of course Anna wouldn’t call the police, not when her sister was involved in the smuggling. That meant she was on her own with Bernie—if he really was Bernie. She thought about what Anna had said earlier.

“You know, Anna said the strangest thing. She said you aren’t her brother.”

“Did she? Well, I guess she’d know her own brother, wouldn’t she.”

Harley frowned. “I’m confused.”

“Right. Look, give me that gun.” He took a step closer to her and held out his hand. “Give it to me and I won’t shoot you.”

“Do I look that stupid? Don’t answer. Just keep your distance or you’ll find out what it feels like to wear a bullet as a nose ring.”

She hoped he didn’t see the fear in her eyes, or notice the way her hands shook and the barrel of the pistol wavered, but he watched her closely.

“You won’t do it. You can’t. It’s harder than you think to shoot a person if you haven’t ever shot anyone before.”

“Well, I guess you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you. You shot Harry.”

He grinned. “Right. Harry Gordon is dead. I’m still here, though. And I’m telling you to give me that gun before you get hurt.”

“Don’t push your luck. You might get surprised.” She motioned with the pistol. “Head back to the trailer. We’ll wait on the police there.”

“Sure you want to do that? I don’t think Anna or Frieda are too fond of cops. They might not want you to call them.”

“The person with the gun makes the rules. Now walk!”

To her relief, he slowly turned around, hands still in the air, and started walking toward the mobile home. As they got close, Harley saw Anna and Frieda get into the only car that still ran and take off down the driveway. Bernie started cussing again. She felt like doing the same.

The least they could have done was hang around and make sure she was okay, since she’d saved Frieda’s life. But apparently, there was little gratitude for her efforts. “No honor among thieves, I see,” she muttered. “That’s the thanks I get.”

“Told you,” Bernie said, and she felt like smacking him with the pistol. “Frieda’s a cold-hearted bitch. I oughta know. This isn’t the first time she’s left me holding the bag.”

“Save your true confessions for the police. I’m sure they’d love to hear what you’ve got to say.”

By now they’d reached the edge of the trailer, and before she realized what he intended, he broke into a sprint and went around the corner, disappearing from sight. Damn! She came to a halt. Now what did she do?

“Hey, you can’t outrun a bullet,” she called after a minute, but Bernie didn’t answer. He was probably waiting around the corner with a big stick, so she went the other way, back around the rear of the trailer to come up from the other end. Her heart thudded so hard against her ribs it hurt, and her stomach muscles got tight. Breathing wasn’t an option. She didn’t see Bernie. He could be anywhere.

This kind of thing looked so different on TV. If she was at home watching this from her chair, she’d be shouting
Look behind you, stupid!
or
He’s under the porch!
It was a lot more fun when she wasn’t the one in danger.

Every hair on her head and arms had to be standing straight on end. She developed a twitch in her left eye. For what seemed like forever, she stood there uncertainly, not wanting to go backward, and not daring to go forward. Lord, what a time to have to go to the bathroom. She sucked in a deep breath and took a big step toward the porch. The dogs were gone from under it, not that they’d have barked anyway.

A tingling sensation ran down her spine, and for some reason she recalled Diva saying, “Watch out for the dead man.”

She turned, and just as Bernie rushed her, she leaped out of the way so he only brushed against her. It was just enough to send the pistol spinning out of her hand and across the concrete patio. They both dove for it at the same time.

“Let go!” Bernie snarled, holding Harley by the arm and shaking it to make her lose her grip on the gun.

Flat on her stomach with his knee in her back, she held on to it for dear life. Then he hit her on the side of her head. Her ears rang, everything went blurry, and pure rage gave her a surge of energy neither of them expected.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed up from the concrete so quick and hard he lost his balance and went sideways. Before he could get up she kicked him, not caring where, just slamming her size sevens into him wherever she could. What came out of her mouth sounded like gibberish even to her own ears, and she was vaguely aware of Bernie going into the fetal position with arms covering his head and his knees drawn up to his chest.

Then he snaked out an arm and grabbed her ankle and gave a jerk. She went backward to land on her rear in a jarring thud that made her bite her tongue. Bernie went for the gun she still held in her hand, and she fought desperately to hold on to it.

Adrenaline was no match for size and strength, to her dismay. Bernie wrenched the gun from her hand and stood over her, panting for breath.

“Sure you want to shoot me?” she managed to get out. “Someone’s bound to hear the shot and call the cops.”

“Not in the country. People out here are used to hearing gunshots.”

“Right. But you’re going to need a hostage.” It was a desperate ploy, and it worked. He thought about it for a moment, then gestured with the gun.

“Get up. No more tricks or I’ll shoot you.”

Harley didn’t doubt that he meant it. He had a feral gleam in his eyes that more than said he’d even enjoy it. If she let him get her away from here, she was doomed. She had to stall, to keep him here long enough for help to arrive, but how did she do that?

She got up slowly. “What are you going to do now?”

“Just get in Anna’s car. And shut up.”

Anna’s car was sandwiched between Aunt Darcy’s and the trailer. It was a beat-up old Ford that the crash hadn’t done much damage to, none that could be seen, anyway. It looked the same to Harley as it always had, while her aunt’s Lexus had a crumpled front fender and the hood had buckled. They just didn’t make cars like they used to, she supposed as she limped toward the Ford.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said, and when Bernie swore at her, added, “Believe me, you’d much rather I do that here than in the car.”

“If this is another one of your tricks—”

“Spastic colon. It happens when I get nervous. I’m surprised I haven’t already made a mess. It won’t take long, I swear.”

After a moment, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the steps leading into the trailer. “I’m gonna stand right outside the door, so don’t get smart.”

“If I was smart, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

That was all too true, Harley thought as she went up the steps and into the trailer. It was a mess. Clothes were scattered around and lamps overturned, drawers open and stuff all on the floor. Bernie walked her down the narrow hall to the bathroom, and after checking it out, he gave her a push inside.

“Hurry up before I decide you’re too much trouble as a hostage.”

Hurrying was the farthest thing from her mind, but she didn’t share that with him. Best to just delay as long as she could and hope like hell Bobby had gone to Darcy’s house looking for them. He’d put two and two together. She just prayed it’d be soon enough.

The bathroom was small and wood-paneled, with a tub, vanity sink, toilet, and washer and dryer. A small window was over the appliances, but one look was enough to tell her she’d never be able to fit through it. And even if she would, she’d have to take it apart before she could, as it had those glass louvers like many older mobile homes.

She flipped up the toilet lid so Bernie would think she was using it, and quietly opened the vanity doors. The usual necessities were there, toilet paper, shampoo and conditioner, and all the other things women required for basic hygiene and feminine improvement. Anna had seemed like the old-fashioned kind of girl, and just as Harley thought she wouldn’t have one, she found it in a drawer: a steel nail file. She slid it inside her tee shirt at the waist, then made some more noise for Bernie’s benefit. A little more searching turned up a purse size can of hair spray that she tucked into her waistband close to the nail file. Bug spray would have been better, but she’d have to go with what she could find.

Bernie rapped on the door. “Better hurry it up or I’m coming in there.”

“All right, just another minute. I think I’m almost done.” She flushed a couple of times just to stall a bit longer. After spraying deodorizer, then washing her hands so long the top layer of skin probably went down the drain, she dried her hands and opened the door.

Bernie looked at her suspiciously. “You’re up to something.”

“Right. Anna stored her grenades in the bathroom. I’ve got three in my pocket.”

“Smartass.”

“Well, as my mama always says, better to be a smartass than a dumbass.”

“Yeah, if your mama could only see you now, huh.”

“Point taken. Mind if I get a drink of water? My throat’s dry after all that running around in the field.”

He gave her a shove ahead of him into the living room. “Get your ass in the car. If you try anything else, you’re dead.”

He didn’t sound at all tolerant about more delay, so Harley walked toward the front door as slowly as she dared. Once she got in that car with him, there’d be no finding her in time. She went down the steps one at a time, past the general debris and toward the car.

“Hey,” she said, suddenly struck by a memory, “weren’t you driving a blue Mustang last time I saw you?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing. I just notice cars sometimes.” Not often enough, apparently, or she’d have remembered that Harry Gordon’s blue Mustang was still missing. What an idiot she was!

Bernie put her in the car and tied her hands in front of her with a strip of cloth, this time making sure it was tight enough that she couldn’t wiggle free. Then he took some tools to the steering column to hot-wire the car, as Anna hadn’t been thoughtful enough to leave the keys.

“Jack of all trades, I see,” Harley muttered, hoping against hope he wouldn’t succeed. It started right up. She leaned her head against the window and sighed. She should have listened to Bobby. And Morgan. And Cami. And . . . well, the list went on. They’d tried to tell her. Why did she always think she could do things she obviously wasn’t equipped to do? She hadn’t fit into the world of corporate banking. She wasn’t really a good tour guide, forgetting her spiel half the time, and the rest of the time, annoying the clients as much as they annoyed her. Maybe she should try something else. Limo driver, perhaps. That couldn’t be too bad. No spiel to remember, nothing to do but ferry drunks around town while they went to big, important parties while she waited in the limo with a Coke and listening to the radio. Yeah, that wouldn’t be bad. And she wouldn’t run into a lot of dead people with a job like that. All she had to do was get out of this mess, and she’d give up any attempts to help anyone else. Ever again. She’d leave it to the police next time, if there ever was a next time. If she survived this time.