“German made, huh? Germans have the highest quality.”
I shake my head and lean my hand out to grab it. They do have the highest quality.
“Austrian,” I say. “Made guns for the Austrian army. They first started supplying them to Norway and Sweden, until the United States came into the picture. Then things really took off. Law enforcement agencies all over the world use Glocks.”
“You know your stuff.”
Sure, I know something about guns. I know if you use jacketed hollow-point bullets, you can make a real mess. The bullet has an opening in the jacket and, on impact, the bullet expands. Small penetration. Huge exit. Yep. I sure know that. Bonded hollow-point bullets can go through the person and carry on, sometimes hitting the next person down the line. The bullets in my Glock are fairly standard. They don’t do a lot of damage, and many law enforcement places don’t use them for that reason. They have a low stopping power.
I take the gun from her. Fold my fingers around the handle. Feels good.
“Feel safer now?” I ask.
“It feels so good holding the gun. Like there’s so much power in my hands. I like holding on to powerful things, Joe. I like touching things that go bang.”
I don’t know what to say.
“How much further, Joe? I’m anxious to start doing other things instead of walking.”
I’m anxious too. “Not far.”
I tuck the gun into the waistband of my jeans and pull my shirttail out to cover it. A few minutes later we come across a park only a half mile or so from home.
“It’s quicker if we go through here,” I say, indicating the park with a sweeping gesture of my arm.
“You sure?”
I nod. Of course I’m sure. Nothing here except us and a whole lot of grass and a few dozen trees. Dawn is on its way. There won’t be any traffic for a few hours yet. Saturday is sleep-in morning for most. Only a few poor bastards have to work.
I’m not one of them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The sky above becomes crazy with purple light as the dawn begins to intersect with the night. In the park everything is hazy gray, but not black. The breeze has cooled down since we started walking and become refreshing; the air no longer feels like the inside of an indoor swimming complex. Away from town, away from the drunken lights and insulting music, there’s just fresh air and this green park that is damp beneath my feet. This is the Garden City. My city. It feels invigorating to be away from the stench of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and vomit, though a faint odor of it all is trapped in the fibers of my clothes. My ears are still ringing from the loud music.
I take Melissa deeper into the park. She’s still carrying her shoes. The grass is slightly slippery. It licks at the top of my shoes and wets the leather. Thick patches of trees and bushes break up the landscape, dividing the park into separate areas and hiding us from the street. At this time of the night it no longer feels like summer, but the autumn it’s supposed to be. Melissa has her arm around my waist. I sense she is beginning to sober up. Within a few more minutes she’ll be scared sober.
“Where are we?” she asks as we come to a stop.
“A park.”
“Why are we stopping?”
“Seemed like a good idea.”
She smiles. “Oh?”
I smile. “Yeah.”
“I like the park. Don’t you, Joe?”
Actually I don’t really care for it. It’s just a big field with a load of grass planted in it that could be ripped up tomorrow and I wouldn’t give a damn. “I guess so,” I say, mustering up some enthusiasm.
“I like coming out at night. When there’s nobody around and nobody to see what you’re doing. I’m a night person, Joe. I like being out when people are asleep. They’re in their world and I’m in this world. Their world has people with jobs and mortgages who can’t afford to take the time to do what they really want to do in life.”
She sounds soberer than I thought.
“Do you know what I mean, Joe?”
I’ve got no idea. Maybe if I listen to her rather than picturing her naked body on the cold grass I’d have a clue. “Sure. I know.”
“You ever been inside somebody’s house at night when they’re sleeping, and you’re just walking around taking a look at their stuff?”
Odd. “Um, can’t really say I have.”
“No?”
“No.”
She leans up and kisses me. Hard. Drops one hand down to the front of my pants, the other down the back. She thrusts her tongue into my mouth and for a second I wonder what she would say if I bit it off. Probably nothing, though not by choice.
The hand at the front of my pants starts moving around. It has a lot of area to cover, especially now. While she’s kissing me, she can’t be talking, but I’m curious as to what she was just talking about. This is fun. Immense fun. And it will be even more fun when I show her my knife.
She stops kissing me and pulls away. Her hand disappears from my crotch.
Her other hand appears as she takes another step back, and in her hand is my gun. It’s pointing at me.
My mind’s registering what’s happening, but failing to process it into the proper information to make me scared. In seconds, I’ve been reduced to a victim. Of all things!
No, wait. Surely there’s something I’m missing. .
I’m being looked at by my gun. I’m seeing why people don’t like it from this angle. Is this for real? How could control have slipped away so easily? I take a small step back, and my arms rise up to my chest with my palms facing her.
Melissa says nothing. We both stay silent, the gun the noisiest thing between us even though it’s offering no sound. I try telling myself this is a joke. Her hands are steady, any traces of drunkenness gone. Was she ever drunk? When she carried her drink with her into the ladies’, was she really drinking it? When I used the toilet, was she pouring hers out? Why would she do that?
I could be only seconds away from dying. Then it will be a matter of hours till I’m found, and then not long till I’m linked to the killings. I try to imagine the look on Mom’s face when she finds out. I try to imagine the look on Detective Inspector Schroder’s face when he discovers my IQ was actually higher than that of the potted plant in the corner of the conference room. I think about how hurt Sally will be. Imagining their reactions gives me some pleasure. It is all I have.
Melissa seems to be waiting for me to say something, but I don’t want to be the first one to talk. I know she’ll break the silence because women can’t stay quiet for long, and I’m sure she’ll feel the need to point something out before she shoots me.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asks.
I shrug. “What’s to say?”
“I thought there would be plenty for a man in your position.”
She’s right. I have plenty of things I want to get off my chest. “Like what?”
She smiles. “Like ‘Why are you pointing the gun at me?’ ”
“Okay. That then.”
“What then?”
“What you said. About pointing the gun at me.”
“You don’t like it?” she asks.
“Not really.”
“What’s this little baby loaded with?” she asks, taking a quick glance at the gun.
“Bullets.”
“That’s very clever.”
“Thank you.”
“What sort of bullets?” she asks.
“Nine-millimeter Luger.”
“Yes, but which type?”
“Jacketed pre-fragmented.”
She takes a few steps back so she can throw a longer look at the gun and not be too close for me to jump her. “Ah. Metal jacket, separate projectiles compressed inside. Reliable feeding, and fast too.”
How could she know that? I try to add up the distance between us. I’m guessing it’s about fifteen feet. Too much ground for me to cover. Way too much ground when the person holding the gun knows how jacketed pre-fragmented bullets are made. I’m sure she wants me to compliment her on her gun knowledge. Well, she’s going to have to wait.