One for the Money

My head was still between my knees. I shook it, no. “Just give me a minute to catch my breath.”

Nearby, Rex ran in his cage. I couldn’t bear to look over, knowing it might be the last time I’d see him. Funny how a person can get so attached to a little creature like that. A lump formed in my throat at the thought of Rex being orphaned, and the message came back to me. Do something! Do something!

I said a short prayer, gritted my teeth, and bucked forward, lunging at Alpha, catching him off guard, nailing him in the gut with a head butt.

Alpha let out a woof! of air, and the gun discharged over my head, shattering my window. If I’d had any cool at all I would have followed up with a good hard kick to the crotch, but I was operating on thoughtless energy, with adrenaline pumping into my system at warp speed. I was in fight-or-flight mode, and flight was the hands-down choice.

I scrambled away from him, through the open bedroom door, into the living room. I was almost to the front hall when I heard another crack from his gun, and an electric stab of heat shot down my left leg. I yelped in pain and surprise, whirling off balance, into the kitchen. I grabbed my shoulder bag off the counter with two hands and searched for my .38. Alpha moved into the kitchen doorway. He aimed his gun and steadied it. “Sorry,” he said. “There’s no other way.”

My leg was on fire and my heart was banging in my chest. My nose was running and tears blurred my vision. I had both hands on the little Smith and Wesson, still in my pocketbook. I blinked the tears away and fired.

RAIN PATTERED GENTLY ON MY LIVING ROOM window, competing with the sound of Rex running in his wheel. It had been four days since I’d been shot, and the pain was down to an annoying but manageable ache.

The mental healing would be slower. I still had night terrors, still found it difficult to be alone in my apartment. After shooting Jimmy Alpha, I’d crawled to the phone and called the police before I’d passed out. They’d arrived in time to catch Ramirez halfway up my fire escape. Then they’d trundled him off to jail and me off to the hospital. Fortunately, I’d fared better than Alpha. He was dead. I was alive.

Ten thousand dollars had been deposited in my bank account. Not a cent of it had been spent yet. I was slowed down by seventeen stitches in my butt. When the stitches came out I figured I’d do something irresponsible like fly to Martinique for the weekend. Or maybe I’d get a tattoo or dye my hair red.

I jumped at the sound of someone knocking on my door. It was almost seven p.m., and I wasn’t expecting company. I cautiously made my way to the foyer and looked out the peephole. I gasped at the sight of Joe Morelli in sports coat and jeans, clean shaven, hair freshly trimmed. He stared directly at the peephole. His smile was smug. He knew I was looking at him, wondering if it would be wise to open the door. He waved, and I was reminded of a time two weeks earlier when our positions had been reversed.

I unlocked the two dead bolts but left the chain in place. I cracked the door. “Yes?”

“Take the chain off,” Morelli said.

“Why?”

“Because I brought you a pizza, and if I tip it on end to give it to you the cheese will slide off.”

“Is it a Pino’s pizza?”

“Of course it’s a Pino’s pizza.”

I shifted my weight to ease my left leg. “Why are you bringing me pizza?”

“I don’t know. I just felt like it. Are you going to open the door or what?”

“I haven’t decided.”

This brought a slow, evil smile. “Are you afraid of me?”

“Uh… yes.”

The smile stayed fixed in place. “You should be. You locked me in a refrigerator truck with three dead people. Sooner or later, I’m going to get you for it.”

“But not tonight?”

“No,” he said. “Not tonight.”

I closed the door, slid the chain free, and opened the door to him.

He put the white pizza box and a six-pack on the kitchen counter and turned to me. “Looks like you’re walking a little slow. How are you feeling?”

“Okay. Fortunately, Alpha’s bullet tore through some fat and did most of its damage to the wall in the hallway.”

His smile had faded. “How are you really feeling?”

I’m not sure what it is about Morelli, but he never fails to strip my defenses. Even when I’m on guard, being watchful, Morelli can piss me off, turn me on, make me question my judgment, and, in general, provoke inconvenient emotions. Concern pinched the corners of his eyes, and there was a seriousness to his mouth that belied the casual tone of his question.

I bit down hard on my lip, but the tears came anyway, silently spilling down my cheeks.

Morelli gathered me into his arms and held me close He rested his cheek against the top of my head and pressed a kiss into my hair.

We stood like that for a long time, and if it hadn’t been for the pain in my butt I might have fallen asleep, finally comforted and at peace, feeling safe in Morelli’s arms.

“If I ask you a serious question,” Morelli murmured against my ear, “will you give me an honest answer?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you remember that time in my father’s garage?”