The Divorcee Murder Club

Cincuenta Y Tres ~ 53

                Blue and red lights flash across the buildings as the police narrow in on the warehouse, and I can’t let them find us here in the open, so I text Sammy to meet us down the street. We get to our feet with Jackson cradling Alma and run as fast as we can, but the sirens are getting louder. A patrol car whips the corner, forcing us to duck between two cars. Our breaths are heavy as it speeds past us, and my chest visibly pulses with the frantic pounding of my heart. 

When the coast is clear, we get back to running and make it to the end of the block. A silver van with soccer mom stickers on the windows drives at full speed toward us, then screeches to a halt.

The door slides open with a clang, and Angie shouts, “Get in!”

“Let’s go, let’s go!” 

We dive into the back, and Sammy begins driving off with my feet still outside, so I recoil them right as Angie slams the door shut, nearly catching my ankles. 

“For fucks sake, Ang!” I bark.

“We don’t have time to dilly-dally. This place is swarming with cops.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Sammy glances at us through the rearview mirror. “Alright, everyone catch your breaths. We’re gonna cruise so we don’t look suspicious. How is Alma doing?”

“She needs a hospital,” Jackson says, still cradling her in his arms. 

“Dr. Banaag is going to meet us at a safe house. I called her ahead of time.”

“Thank you, Sammy.” Jackson nods.

“What happened back there? How did Gino get away?”

“Don’t know, Sam. When I found Alma in the street, she was alone, but she can barely keep her eyes open, so he must have drugged her.”

“We’ll find him.” I rest my hand on Jackson’s shoulder, and Sammy’s gaze shifts to me in the rearview mirror. 

“What do you want to do about Richie?”

Fuck. In all the chaos, we didn’t get a chance to smuggle him into the warehouse. I glance over my shoulder and Richie’s ass is tied up with his mouth gagged in the backseat. We lock eyes and the arrogance that used to be there is gone. Now he looks pitiful. Maybe he’s even pleading for me to put him out of his misery.

So much has happened that I’m not even sure if he’s worth all of this trouble anymore. Yet, I can’t cut him loose because he’ll go straight to his cop friends and rat me out, and there is no way in hell I’d ask Augusta to set bail. Lord knows what she would have me do to make up for it.

Pinching the bridge of my nose with a deep sigh, I say, “I’ll drive him out to the sulfur mines in Nevada. Take care of him there. Bury the body.”

“Maybe we should bury Gino out there too,” Angie grunts.

“Christ!” Sammy slams the brakes, and the van screeches to a halt. None of us in the back have seatbelts on, so we fly forward. 

The engine ticks as the van idles and as we all adjust back into our seats, some tattooed fucker is in the middle of the road pointing his gun at us. He slowly approaches Sammy’s window, and then I laugh.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Gino."

“That’s him?” Sammy snorts. “I’ve got this. I’ll handle this scumbag.”

Gino bangs on the window. “Get the fuck out of the van!”

“No.”

But Gino doesn't like that and bangs on the glass again. “I don’t think you heard me old man. I’m taking this van.”