Secondhand Stiff (24 page)

I closed the phone and turned to Greg. “Really? Only fifteen minutes?” I was nervous and wouldn't relax until Mom was in my sights.

“Twenty tops. We weren't far from the turnoff.”

I filled him in on what Mom had just told me. “Mom's pretty sure Bill is just a busybody. In fact,
she
called
him
to go out snooping—he didn't call her.”

I dialed Steele. “The Mom has landed, Steele. She's at Otra Vez in Lynwood. We're on our way there now to pick her up.”

“You want me to head there too?”

“Nah, we've got this, but thanks for everything.”

“Let me know if there is anything else I can do for you,” Steele said. “Seriously, just call.”

twenty-five

Ten minutes later, Mom
called again. “Where are you?” she whispered.

“Almost there,” I told her. I looked to Greg and he nodded to confirm it.

“Don't,” Mom said. “Stay away.”

“What?”

“I said don't come here. Call the police instead.”

“Mom, can you speak up?”

“No, I can't.”

“Why's that?”

“Something funny is going on.”

“Where are you?”

“I'm in the restroom. Something's wrong. A man showed up here with a gun.”

“Is the place being robbed?”

“I don't know,” she whispered as I strained to hear. “He's arguing with Roberto over something, so maybe not. He's in one of those sweatshirts with a hood. Like the kids wear.”

A hoodie. Was it Eric? Was Roberto Vasquez mixed up in this nasty business, too? Or was he one of the holdouts being taught a lesson?

“Mom, is the hoodie the guy's wearing navy blue? Is the guy Eric van den Akker—you know, Heide's older son?”

“Yes, it's blue, but the hood is pulled down over his face, so I can't tell who he is.”

I turned to Greg. “Call Fehring. Tell her to get to Otra Vez immediately. There's a gunman there, and I think it's Eric van den Akker.”

Greg pulled out his phone and started pushing buttons. “Good thing I put her on speed dial just in case.”

While Greg tried to reach Fehring, I talked to Mom. “Stay on the line, Mom, but try to stay quiet. Greg is calling Detective Fehring. Is Bill still there?”

“No, it took some doing, but I finally convinced him to leave. He wanted to stay until you arrived. He's such a gentleman. I really don't think he's the bomber.”

“Is anyone else in the store?”

“Just Roberto and me. His wife was here but left. They're very nice people, Odelia. His wife gave me coffee while I waited for you. I hope nothing happens to them.”

“Me, too, Mom. Me, too.”

My insides were turning to jelly. My mother was stuck in a bathroom with a gunman just feet from her. I wanted to warn her not to talk so much, but I needed to hear her voice to know she was okay, and I got the feeling she needed to talk to me to keep calm. Still, one overheard word could set off the guy with the gun.

“Shh, Mom. Don't talk unless you need to. We don't want that guy to know you're there.”

“Fehring's on her way,” Greg told me. “But she said it can't be Eric van den Akker.”

I turned to him in surprise. “Why not?”

“He's at the Long Beach police station right now being questioned.”

“So who is this guy?” I looked at the phone in my hand as if his picture would magically show up.

“Fehring is also calling the sheriff's department,” Greg added. “They service Lynwood and should get there faster.”

I put my phone on speaker. “Mom, the police are on their way. Hold tight and don't leave that bathroom.”

“I've turned off the light, but if he comes in here, I'm a sitting duck.”

“You cannot outrun a bullet, Mom. Trust me, I've tried.”

“There's a small window I might be able to squeeze through, but it looks like it has bars across it.”

“Don't squeeze through anything,” I told her. “Help's on the way.”

Greg slowed the van and pulled over to the curb. I wondered why until I saw we were across from Otra Vez.

The store was right on the street, flush with a uneven sidewalk. Two front windows were crammed with merchandise, blocking any view directly into the store. A sign in one of the windows announced parking behind the store.

“Uh-oh,” I heard my mother say.

“What the matter?” I asked her.

“Sounds like they're having a big fight.”

“Sit tight, Mom.”

Greg pointed at the front door. “I'll bet whoever is in there entered from the back. This entrance doesn't look very used even though it's in front, and he wouldn't have wanted to be seen.”

“I think you're right.” I opened the van door.

“Where do you think you're going?” Greg asked.

“To get my mother.”

“Odelia,” he started, then stopped. After a big sigh, he shut down the engine and opened his door. “We'll both go.”

“You can't, honey. If the gunman sees you, you'll be a sitting duck.” It was the same phrase my mother used—sitting duck. Two people I loved could be used for target practice by some thug. I wanted to scream. “And we don't even know if this is related to Tom's murder.”

“Doesn't matter. My mother-in-law is in trouble. You'd do the same for my mother.”

When I continued my protest, he fixed his eyes on me. “Try to stop me, Odelia.”

Without another word, I got out of the van and crossed the street. In no time Greg had retrieved his wheelchair and caught up with me.

“They're arguing about a deal that didn't happen,” Mom reported.

A deal.
Maybe like Linda, Roberto was supposed to buy units and turn the drugs over to the gangs or whoever ordered them.

“Help's on the way, Mom.”

I edged closer to the store. It stood alone in its own building located on a corner. The building next to it appeared to be an empty storefront. Between the two was a narrow alley. Greg might make it through, but it would be rough going. The only other way to reach the back would be to go all the way around the front of the building to the other side that bordered the side street and down that sidewalk. Traffic on the street was light, since there appeared to be more empty stores than open ones in the neighborhood. Overhead the afternoon sky grew dark with the incoming storm.

“I'll go through here to the back,” I told Greg. “Why don't you watch the front door and flag down the police?”

He nodded. “Sounds good, but I wish we had weapons of some sort.”

I looked around on the ground and spotted some loose bricks. I picked one up and handed it to Greg. “Here, take this. I'll take one too. It's better than nothing.”

“Not much,” he groused. “Maybe we should buy a gun when this is all over.”

I shot Greg a nasty look that conveyed my feelings on the subject loud and clear.

Clutching my phone in one hand and the heavy brick in the other, I scooted down the narrow alley and poked out the other end. Behind the store was a wider service alley and parking for about a half dozen cars. There were two cars parked there already. I also saw two back doors into the store. One was glass and had an Open sign on it, and a roll-up door similar to the one at the back of Buck's store but smaller. I looked for the small window Mom had mentioned but didn't see it.

“Mom,” I whispered into the phone, “you still there?”

“Yes,” came a whisper back.

“Where's that window you talked about? I'm in back of the store and can't see it.”

“I think it's on the side. It looks out on another building.”

That meant it had to be on the alley side, not the side facing the small side street. I had passed right by it. Turning back to the alley, I scanned the wall. Sure enough, not far from the back corner there was a small window, and across it was a metal grid. The room on the other side was dark, and the narrow space and gloomy sky allowed little light into the alley. The window wasn't too high, and it looked wide enough for a person to squeeze through, providing that person wasn't too bulky. Mom could certainly fit, but could she reach it? And even if she could, she was in her eighties. Would she be able to contort herself through it? I pulled on the security bars and found them to be rusty and loose. If I weren't afraid of making too much noise, I'd try yanking them off.

“Mom, I'm under the window now,” I said into the phone.

In answer, Mom quietly scooted the sliding window aside and presented her face in the window. I reached through the bars and touched her face through the screen.

“Thank goodness, Odelia,” she said through the open window in a voice barely above a whisper. “Where are the police?”

“They're coming, Mom.” I ended my phone connection and called Greg.

“Found Mom,” I told him in a whisper. “I think I can get her out the side window.”

“Be careful.”

After pocketing my cell phone and putting down the brick, my fingers got to work on the loose screws holding the metal grid in place. “If enough of these screws are loose,” I said to Mom, “I might be able to work the grid off without too much noise.” One corner screw started coming undone, but it was taking forever and destroying my manicure. “Can you remove the screen from the inside?”

Mom tugged on the screen, and it popped out without too much effort.

“Right about now I'd trade my car for a screwdriver,” I said under my breath.

A moment later, a thin hand poked through the bars. Clasped between two fingers was a small Swiss Army knife. “Will this help?” Mom asked.

I took the knife. “Did you find this?”

“No, I always carry it,” she whispered. “Clark's dad insisted we all have one. Can't tell you how often it's come in handy.”

Using the screwdriver attachment, I worked the second lower screw. It turned without much trouble. Reaching up, I started on the higher screws. They were tougher and the angle awkward, but the screws were moving.

From the open window I heard muffled shouting and what sounded like a struggle. I had to get my mother out of there
now
.

“Mom, is there something for you to step on to get to the window?”

“Yes, it's directly over the commode. If I put the seat down, I might be able to get a leg through it. I just wish I hadn't worn a dress today.”

Geez, it was bad enough my aged mother was going to squeeze herself through a window, but now she was going to try it in a dress? My mind was about to explode with worry, but I shoved it aside and got down to business.

“Instead of going leg-first,” I told her in a hurried voice, “come though it arms- and head-first.”

“And land on my head on the pavement? Really, Odelia.”

“Mom, don't worry. I'll have a hold on you and help you through. If you fall, you'll fall on me. I have enough padding to break the impact.”

After a few seconds of consideration, Mom said, “Guess I'll have to go head-first after all. I can't seem to get a leg up that high without going off-balance, not even with my dress hiked up. It's a bitch getting old. Time was I could lift my legs high with no problem.”

I didn't even want to think about what Mom looked like from behind at this moment. “Come on, Mom, hurry—before he realizes someone is in the bathroom.”

The voices from inside the store rose and ebbed in argument as Mom readied to shimmy out of the window. She handed her purse out to me. I took it and placed it on the ground. Next came her arms and her head. When they appeared, I grasped her shoulders and eased her out inch by careful inch like I was easing a baby pushed from a womb.

“Wait a minute,” she said, “my jacket's caught.” I stopped pulling. She reached a hand back in and freed up her jacket, then we started again.

Mom was halfway out. I had my arms wound tightly around the top of her torso. She had her arms wrapped around my neck and her face was cupped between my shoulder and ear. I could hear her holding back groans and grunts as I pulled. Working together, we eased her out as quickly and carefully as possible. As her body inched out, I supported it with mine, like we were lovers dancing cheek to cheek to a slow, sultry tune but only with the top half of our bodies. The last thing we needed was for her to fall and break brittle bones.

Her hips had just passed the window ledge when I heard a sound that nearly sent urine down my leg. It was a gunshot—loud and clear—that halted the argument inside the store.

“That was a gunshot, Mom. We gotta move.”

“Let me get both my feet on top of the tank. Then I think I can just pop out.” She stopped moving to adjust her feet. “Oh!” She slid back a few inches.

“What's the matter, Mom?”

“My foot slipped. Let me try again.”

I waited until Mom gave me the signal she was ready. “Okay, here goes. One. Two.” Before I could get to three, the sound of another shot filled the air. I leaned back and pulled Mom the rest of the way out in one big yank, using my own body as a ledge for her body's support. She cried out. As soon as she was free, I fell backward and would have landed on my back if the alley had not been so narrow. Instead, I landed hard against the brick wall of the vacant store. My legs wanted to buckle but I held on, clutching my mother to me like a new babe, using the wall as support for the two of us.

“Are you hurt?” I asked her.

“My legs scraped on the windowsill on that last pull, but other than that I'm okay.” She tried to stand on her own but was wobbly. I looked down and saw the scrape on one leg was oozing blood.

“We have to get out of here.” I put an arm around her waist and her arm around my shoulder and started for the street at the far end of the alley, toward the safety of our van. It was slow going.

“Halt,” said a man's voice behind us.

We froze where we stood. As a single unit, Mom and I pivoted slowly around to face a man holding a gun.

It was Detective Leon Whitman. I breathed deeply and relaxed, thankful to see him.

“It's us, Detective, Odelia Grey and Grace Littlejohn. We're so glad to see you.”

“I didn't hear any sirens,” Mom noted.

“We don't use them when we're trying to sneak up on the bad guys.” He smiled but continued to hold his gun. “What were you two doing?”

“Mom was in the store,” I explained, “and when the gunman came in, she hid in the bathroom.”

“Did you see anything, Mrs. Littlejohn?”

“Not a thing,” Mom answered in a halting voice.