Rring! Rring! Vicki jumped at the sound. Her cell phone. She reached quickly into her backpack, resting on the Sun-bird's blue shag, and pulled out the cell. The electronic display read DAN. Good and bad. She had to get it or he'd be suspicious. Also, she was crazy about him. She juggled the camera to flip the phone open. "Dan, I'm crazy about you but I can't talk now." "What are you wearing?" "No time for that. I have to go." "Listen, last night was-" "The best night of my life, but I have to go." Vicki kept watching through the camera, in close-up. "Hold on, I have a question. Did you take your clothes off the kitchen floor and wear them again?"
Uh. "No, I took them to the dry cleaners." Shoppers with their kids in hand moved in and out of the glass entrance doors of the Toys "R" Us. No Reheema.
"You dry-clean your jeans?" "Sometimes, and I have to go." "Where are you?" "Shopping." "Where?" "Neiman Marcus." "In the suburbs?" Dan hmmmed. "But your car is still in the garage." "A friend picked me up." "I don't believe you, my sweet. What are you really up to?" Busted. "Okay, it's a surprise. A surprise for you. Now tell me you're okay so I can hang up." "I'm better than okay. I'm getting divorced." "Already?" Vicki watched the store entrance through the camera. An old man in a walker went in, but no sign of Reheema.
"I signed the papers and messengered them to her lawyer, and she's agreed to give me Zoe. She's having his maid drop the cat off. Also, that meeting is today, at five, with the FBI and ATF, about Morty's investigation."
The meeting. Vicki had forgotten, with all that was going on. "I wish I could be there."
"I'll tell you what happens. I may get to go."
"Really?" Vicki eyed the Toys "R" Us entrance, distracted. Two little boys were having a tug-of-war with a new scooter. "Then you have to tell me everything."
"Of course. Be home after, okay?"
It had a nice ring. "Light a fire under 'em." Vicki figured it sounded like what she would say if she were at Neiman Marcus. "I have to go. Call you later. Bye."
She flipped the phone closed, set it down, and focused her attention on the store entrance, through the telephoto. Her heart was thumping again, but she didn't know if it was true love or true anxiety. If Browning knew Reheema, would he hurt her? Vicki put a hand on the door handle, tempted to go after her, but stopped herself. Vicki's picture had been all over the news, and she could be recognized, even in the sunglasses and Phillies hat. And Browning wouldn't hurt Reheema in a public place, would he? Still, if Reheema wasn't out of the store in five more minutes, Vicki was going in.
She kept her attention on the entrance, taking a few photos of the scene. A salesclerk in a blue apron collected shopping carts from the lot. A white work van slowed near the entrance, waiting for a parking space. A man and his wife, huddled together against the cold, entered the store with two kids, followed by a woman with three kids, holding hands in a daisy chain. And in the next minute, through the telephoto, Vicki recognized Reheema, mostly because of her distinctive walk.
"Yay!" Vicki yelled in the car, and then she couldn't believe her eyes: Reheema was leaving the store with Browning!
What? Vicki kept her eye plastered to the camera and took a series of photos, in amazement. As they walked, Reheema was putting on her cap against the cold, smiling, and Browning was smiling, too, carrying a plastic bag of red-and-white Huggies. The two of them were talking like old friends, and on Browning's other side walked his driver, also carrying a bag of Huggies.
Reheema was not only safe, she had scored! Vicki didn't understand it, but shot another picture. Did Browning know Reheema or had she struck up a conversation with him inside the store? How did they get to be friends so fast? What the hell was going on? This wasn't in any Plan at all.
Suddenly Vicki heard an earsplitting pop pop pop from the store entrance. She blinked, uncomprehending. She knew that sound. It was unmistakable.
Gunfire.
THIRTY-ONE
"REHEEMA! RUN!" Vicki screamed. She dropped the camera, flung open the car door, and ran for Reheema.
Pop pop pop! Reheema took off as if from a starter pistol, sprinting in the heavy Timberlands, pounding toward the Sunbird. Mothers screamed in terror, scooping crying toddlers into their arms. A little boy turned toward the gunshots, covering his ears. Two little girls fled in panic, their ponytails flying.
Pop pop pop came more gunfire, like a war zone. Browning crumpled to his knees, his face hitting the asphalt. A little boy near him was shot, trying to run away. Browning's driver was cut down, dropping the Huggies. A toddler fell beside her mother, the child's pink snowsuit splashed hideously with red.
Pop pop pop! The salesclerk ran for his life but was cut down. A mother was strafed and tripped, dropping an infant. The white work van that had been idling near the store entrance flew out of the parking lot, its tires squealing. Vicki couldn't read its license plate on the run.
"REHEEMA!" she screamed.
"Back to the car!" Reheema grabbed Vicki by the arm and together they ran back to the Sunbird and jumped inside. Police sirens blared nearby. In this busy part of town, help was already on the way.
"You okay?" Almost breathless, Vicki slammed the car door closed, grabbed her cell phone, and dialed 911. Men and women ran from the store to the victims, and one salesclerk came running out, shouting into a cell phone.
"I'm alive!" Reheema floored the gas pedal.
And they were outta there.
The Sunbird came finally to a stop at the first Irish pub off the expressway. By that time, the two women were finally breathing normally, wet-eyed and shaken as they sat side by side at the far end of a crappy wooden bar. The shellac on its wooden surface peeled like clear nail polish, and its stacks of cocktail napkins smelled strangely of Lysol. The place was empty except for two drunk guys who sat near the bartender at the other end of the bar. The TV overhead was on mute, but Brit-ney Spears sang "Toxic" loud enough to make it almost a song.
Vicki stared stunned at the shot glass in front of her, which was full of amber fluid. "I never drink hard stuff."
Reheema sat slumped before her glass. "I don't drink."
"Then who ordered the shots?"
"You, or maybe me," Reheema answered, then picked up her glass. "Let's do it to it."
Vicki picked up her glass. "One, two, three." They downed their shots together, swallowed in unison, and set the shot glasses down at the exact same moment, with a restaurant-grade clunk. Vicki said, still stunned, "It didn't help, did it?"
"No. Nothing can." Reheema shook her head. "I have never seen anything like that in my life. And I've seen some terrible things."
Vicki nodded, her throat burning. "That was carnage. I mean, they shot everywhere. They didn't care who they hit.
Little kids. Babies." She tried not to cry. She was too stunned to cry. She wanted to understand. "But they got who they were after. Browning."
"Looks that way."
"We should have stayed to help."
"They had it under control. The cops were on the way."
"So tell me what happened."
"You saw what happened." Reheema wiped her eyes, but Vicki needed to know the details.
"Tell me what happened inside the store, and we'll see if we can piece this thing together. I'm two minutes from going to the cops."