Penny pulled the trigger partway back. His hand was still shaking. Pussy. He should just shoot. Nothing to be jittery about. No reason to stall. It wasn't like he'd get caught or nothin'. He'd have plenty of time to get away. Penny's eyes darted around to make sure, his finger cold on the trigger. There was nobody on the street. It would take the cops forever to get here. It was fish in a barrel. Except for how quiet it was.
Then Penny heard it. A racket from a couple streets over, like a snowplow creaking. The noise would cover the gunshot. The snowplow driver would think he'd popped a chain or hit a manhole cover. Everything was going Penny's way. There was no one around. He would be a hero. An asshole buddy of Bobby Bogosian's, rich as shit. All Penny had to do was pull the trigger. He was an excellent hunter.
And it was lawyer season.
* * *
Judy planted the tips of her poles in the snow and turned around. Mary had fallen again. That was twice she'd fallen so far and they hadn't even gotten off Twenty-fifth Street. Poor thing.
"Mare!" Judy called out, but she knew Mary wouldn't be able to hear her. She was too far away and the snowplow was noisy.
"Mary!" she called again anyway. Judy didn't want to ski all the way back to her if she didn't have to. They'd never get home if she had to backtrack, and her ankles were wet. Judy squinted down the dark street into the driving snow. Mary was taking a long time to get up. Time for the cavalry.
"Up and at 'em, Atom Ant!" Judy turned her skis around, telemarking, and started to ski back. What was she doing, lying there in the snow? Clowning around. Typical DiNunzio.
"Come on, lazy. Get up!" Judy shouted as she skied. The snow hadn't let up, and the wind was a killer, lashing Judy's cheeks. The wind chill must be a record. Mary shouldn't be lying in the snow like that. She'd only soak her snowpants and feel clammy the whole trip back. A rookie's mistake.
"Mary, get up!" Judy yelled, but her friend didn't move. Snowflakes collected where Mary's legs lay on the ground, scissored in her skis. Her poles were still looped around her wrists. She wasn't making any effort to get up, and the snow from the ground had to be blowing right into her face. What the hell?
Judy skied harder. Her throat tightened. Instinct told her what her brain wanted to deny. Something was wrong. Judy skied so fast she almost tripped forward, then threw down her poles, popped her ski bindings, and ran the last few feet to Mary. She fell to her knees beside her. "Mary? Are you okay?"
"Yes." Mary's eyes were open but unfocused. She seemed dazed. She lay on her side in the snow. Her poles were still strapped to her hands. "Sure."
"Why are you lying here?"
"I'm skiing." Mary's eyelids fluttered. She breathed heavily. "Here I come. I'll catch up."
"What?" It made no sense. Judy bent over her friend, who appeared not to react to her closeness. She touched Mary's cheek. It felt clammy, and cold.
"I'm thirsty. Got milk?" Mary giggled, and Judy bent closer and caught sight of her friend's back. A circle of crimson oozed in the middle of her parka. Blood dripped onto the snow. It was the reddest red Judy had ever seen against the whitest white. She tore the hat from her head without knowing why.
"HELP!" she screamed. Judy looked wildly around. "HELP, SOMEBODY, PLEASE!" she screamed again at the top of her lungs.
* * *
Sirens screamed as two paramedics exploded from the back of a fire rescue truck and set upon Mary. Red emergency lights bathed the falling snow in crimson. Snow like drops of blood showered Judy, who stood shivering with cold and fear. She held fast to Mary's skis, just for something to hold.
The rescue driver leapt from the front seat, raced to the back of the chunky red truck, and yanked a stretcher out. Its wheels bounced off the patterned steel of the vehicle's floor and vanished in the deep snow.
"She was shot in the back," Judy called to the paramedics, her eyes blurry with tears. Mary had lost consciousness waiting for the ambulance and looked lifeless even though she was still breathing. Her eyes were closed and her face was pale in the lurid red light. Her head rocked to the side as the paramedics checked the wound on her back and covered her with a thin green blanket. They lifted her onto the gurney on a hurried three-count.
Judy couldn't bear to see it. She couldn't bear not to. She dropped the skis and hustled after the paramedics as they hoisted the front of the stretcher into the truck. One of the paramedics scrambled in beside the stretcher and the other paramedic rolled it in from behind. The driver dashed back to his seat and tore open the door. They were leaving. "I'm coming," Judy shouted.
"No riders," the paramedic barked. He wasn't wearing a jacket and his short-sleeved uniform showed a knot of biceps as he tried to close the truck's thick door. "This is a snatch and grab. We got rules."
"She's my best friend!"
"I don't make the rules."
"I have to go with her!" Before the paramedic could stop her, Judy jammed her arm inside the doors and climbed into the truck. "I'm not moving," she said, and crouched against the inside wall of the truck. "Sorry."
"Have it your way," the paramedic snapped, "only because I can't leave you in the friggin' snow," He slammed the doors closed and twisted the lock. "Rock and roll!" he yelled over his shoulder, and the rescue truck lurched off with its siren screeching.
Inside the lighted truck, the paramedics set to work instantly, a feverish team. The muscular one cut the sleeve of Mary's parka and sweater, felt with knowing fingertips for a vein, and stuck an IV into the crook of her elbow. "Possible gunshot wound to the left lung," he shouted to the driver over Mary's still, bundled form. "Grade Two shock. She's losing one thousand to two thousand cc's. She'll need two, maybe three units when we get to the dance."
The other paramedic checked Mary's vital signs. "Respiratory rate, thirty. Blood pressure, ninety over fifty. Heart rate, one-thirty."
The driver palmed a crackling radio and repeated everything into it. Judy couldn't make out the crackled response. She couldn't tear her eyes from Mary as the paramedics moved around her. The skin on her face looked rubbery. Whiter than snow. Bloodless.
Judy's teeth began to chatter and she folded her arms against her chest. She huddled in the corner of the speeding truck. It was heated inside, but Judy had never felt so cold in her life.
28
Long Beach Island looked like a witch's index finger on Marta's map and sheltered a stretch of New Jersey coastline from the Atlantic Ocean. The map's scale showed that the island was about twenty miles long and only half a mile wide at some points. Smaller and skinnier than Marta expected.
She followed the green minivan down a wide, snowy street that seemed to run the length of the island, north to south. The street was empty, though the storm had been lighter here, too. A blackish-gray sky shed only a dusting of snow. Marta guessed the island was deserted because of the winter, not the storm.
Marta's truck rattled down the street, trembling in the strong gusts from the Atlantic on the right and the bay on the left. The street must have been the main drag in summertime because it was lined with darkened stores advertising boogie boards, bathing suits, and suntan oils. Marta drove past shell shops, Laundromats, and restaurants. The signs were evidence of more food than any human could consume: BURGERS FRIES RIBS SHAKES PIZZA and the no-frills, BREAKFAST. A placard on a toy store simply said BUY IT, and Marta gave it points for honesty if not specificity. She kept the minivan in sight and drove through a town actually named Surf City.