Kincaid tucked her cuffed wrists under her hips. To rack the Beretta Tomcat’s slide, much less cock, aim, and shoot, she had to drag her hands around from behind her back, which meant getting them all the way under her feet. She crunched herself into as tight a ball as she could. But she couldn’t get around her feet while holding the gun.
Cokie reached into her waistband. “Right here— Shit!”
Kincaid let go of the gun and frantically tugged her wrists under her heels. They hung up on the rubber of her shoes. She pulled with all her strength, tearing skin.
“You dumb dyke!” Blondie shouted, reaching into her windbreaker.
“Her word, not mine,” said Kincaid. “Hands up, girls.”
Her hands were still cuffed and blood from her wrists was making the Beretta slippery. But the gun was in front of her now, and she was up on one knee, braced against the back door. She racked a round into the chamber and flicked off the safety. “Up! Up! Up!— Youkeep driving. Both hands on the wheel where I can see them.”
Sister hesitated, looking back for orders from Blondie.
Kincaid fired a shot into the floor. It made an earsplitting crackin the enclosed space.
Sister’s hands flew to the top of the wheel. Blondie put hers in the air. But Cokie acted like she was above all this and fumbled clumsily for the automatic she carried in her shoulder holster. Kincaid whipped the stubby barrel toward the woman’s forehead.
Blondie saw that Kincaid would not hesitate to pull the trigger.
“No!” Blondie screamed. She threw herself on Cokie, pinning her down and shielding her with her body. “Don’t hurt her,” she pleaded. “Please don’t shoot.”
“Tell her to put it down.”
“I’m not putting it down!” Cokie screamed. “She can’t tell me to put it down.”
Blondie elbowed Cokie in the mouth and grabbed the gun, which she had dragged halfway out of its holster.
“Drop it! I’ll shoot you both.”
Blondie shoved it across the floor toward Kincaid and showed empty hands. “It’s cool. It’s cool. No one’s shooting. Just don’t—”
“Sister at the wheel! Toss me your weapon.”
A big police-issue Glock slid past Blondie to where Kincaid crouched.
“And your backup! Don’t make a mistake; it’ll be your last.”
Sister reached down slowly. An ankle gun came sliding back.
“Your gun with the can!” Kincaid shouted at Blondie.
The silenced Beretta slid across the carpet.
“Where’s your backup?”
“Ankle.”
“Give it!”
A Jetfire skipped past Kincaid.
“Cut this cuff!— You keep driving. Both hands!”
Blondie reached very slowly toward a pocket, saying, “I’ve got the cutter here. I’m just pulling it out, carefully.”
Kincaid recognized the manufacturer’s snipping device. “Come closer. Tell your friend not to move. Stop there! Extend your arm. Other hand behind your head. Cut it.”
The special tool snipped through the plastic and its metal core.
“Drop it.”
Kincaid slid their weapons behind her.
“You! Driving! Pull off the road and stop on the shoulder. Nice and easy. Turn on your blinkers. Do notmove your hands from the top of the wheel.”
As the van slowed to a stop, Kincaid picked up the clipper and cut the remains of the cuffs off her wrists.
Blondie said, “The highway patrol will stop to investigate.”
“Love to meet them,” Kincaid lied. In fact, the last thing she wanted was interference by the highway patrol.
“Who sicced you on me?”
“South African guy.”
“Describe him!”
“I never saw him. He called on the phone. My phone showed an overseas number and he sounded South African.”
“I’m going to ask an important question. I already know the answer. Lie to me and I’ll shoot your friend.” Kincaid leveled the barrel at Cokie’s head. “What did he tell you to look for?”
“A knife in your bag.”
“Where in my bag?”
“Underneath. A slot in the bottom.”
“Good answer—here’s a harder one: How’d he know to call you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re asking me to believe that you kidnapped me for a complete stranger. Say good-bye to your friend.”
“No! No. He got my number from people who know me.”
“Know you as what?”
“I’m a cop.”
“No kidding. What people? Who are these people?”
“You know.” Blondie shrugged. “Mafia.”
“Mafia?” Kincaid asked. How the hell big was Securité Referral? “You at the wheel, hands on top!— What do you mean, mafia? Italian?”
“Local. Sydney. Just one of the Calabrian clans. They have a coke franchise.”
“Are they connected in Europe?”
“They bring stuff in, but it’s fragmented—very loose, each clan on its own.”
“So the South African knows local Calabrian mafia who know you can be bought?”
“Correct.”
“Where are you supposed to hand me over to him?”
“Luna Park.”
“You already said. Where in Luna Park?”
“Camper van in the car park.”
“With cuffs!” screamed Cokie. “And plastic tie clippy things. He’s going to tie you up and do you proper, you bitch.”
Kincaid put ice in her voice. “My outfit has a rule: No innocents get shot. But none of you are innocent. Shut her up!”
Blondie grabbed Cokie’s hand and tried to quiet her.
“What?” Cokie yelled. “You taking her side?”
Blondie took Cokie’s round cheeks in both hands and tried to make eye contact. “Please don’t be crazy. Just this once.”
“I’m not crazy!”
“Please?”
“She can’t make me—”
“She’ll kill you. I don’t want that to happen,” Blondie pleaded.
“Fuck her. Fuck all—”
Blondie threw a headlock on Cokie and clamped her free hand over her mouth. Cokie tried to bite her. Blondie squeezed harder and Cokie stopped struggling.
“Driver!” shouted Kincaid. “How long to Luna Park?”
“Ten minutes. Just over the bridge.”
Kincaid could see the lights of the bridge through the windshield. They speckled a giant blue arc in the sky. “Get going!”
“Where?”
“Luna Park!”
TWENTY-FOUR
Luna Park?” Blondie echoed incredulously.
Kincaid fired another shot in the floor. “Go!”
The van lurched into the light traffic and accelerated to highway speed. Kincaid studied “Sister” in the rearview mirror. Cop or not, she was wearing the cowed expression of someone who was going to do what she was told and hope things got better. Kincaid turned her attention to the leader.
“Hold on to your friend.”
“I’m holding her.”
Blondie, too, was sufficiently cowed to behave herself. But having bullied and broken her down, now Kincaid had to build her back up. She had to make Blondie strong enough to help her nail Securité Referral to the wall.
“Okay, girls. How are we going to get out of this?”
“What do you mean?” Blondie asked warily.
“The South African is trying to kill me. You’ve broken every law in Australia trying to help him kill me. But you’re a police officer— I should be more specific. You are a stupidpolice officer. Incredibly stupid. But you still have a leg up over civilians. So how are we going to get me safely out of here and you guys not in jail for the rest of your lives?”
“Good question,” said Blondie, her face lighting with hope.
“What is your name?” Kincaid asked. “Just your first name. I’m not ratting you out unless you force me to.”
“Mary.”
“Okay, Mary. Who’s at the wheel?”
“Doris.”
“Doris, you’re doing fine up there. Stay at the speed limit. Mary, your excited friend here, whose head you’re doing an excellent job of holding, what’s her name?”