Bull's Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #3

Chapter 26

"...the hell away from her," comes Vince's voice. The way he says it could've shed blood all on its own.

"He's got a gun," the woman with the pepper spray says through a scream.

Jo says something, but Zandra can't make it out. It's as if the blinding pepper spray in her eyes shut down her ears, too.

No. I can hear. Or, I could if that person would stop sobbing.

It takes a moment for Zandra to realize the hoarse bawling is coming from her own throat. The effects of the pepper spray jammed every pore on her face, atomizing the rest of her senses.

"...back up," Zandra hears Vince say.

We are so screwed if that cop is still around.

In a rare moment of clairvoyance, Zandra scores a home run. The whoop-whoop­ of a squad car overcomes Zandra's sobs.

Two hands latch onto Zandra's shoulders and yank her upward. Zandra resists out of instinct. Her body wants to get back into the fetal position, her hands drilling into her eyes.

"C'mon, c'mon, get up, get up," Zandra hears Jo say.

"Go," Vince says.

Zandra complies and gives in to Jo's guiding hands. She struggles to keep from tripping over herself, in part from her bad ankle and in part from Jo more pushing than leading. Jo's fingertips dig a little too deep into Zandra's shoulders, as if she's sneaking in a pinch.

Two quick gunshots send Zandra to the ground. It's a natural reaction. Or so she thinks. She can't tell whether she's hit or if her body knows to hit the deck. Takes her a second to realize Jo shoved her to the ground.

Did Vince really just shoot at the cop?

"Go, go, go, we're almost at the Jeep," Jo says and once again jerks Zandra to her feet.

The cacophony of shouting binds Zandra in confusion almost as much as the pepper spray. She feels her feet lift off the ground, followed by something soft pressing against her side.

I made it to the backseat of the Jeep.

Jo fires up the engine.

But where's Vince?

Jo doesn't wait. Zandra feels the Jeep pulling away.

Maybe I'm hit?

"Cannnnn...am...hittinitin...my," Zandra says with the only words her contorted face will allow her to speak. If she focuses hard, she can make the sobbing stop, but it makes the searing pain worse. She feels like someone is screwing briquettes of hot charcoal into her eye sockets.

"Shut up. Dump this in your eyes," Jo says.

Zandra feels something drop onto her head and roll onto the floor. She reaches a hand down and latches onto a bottle with a screw top. Picking it up, she unscrews the top and tests a few drops on her eyes. A liquid rolls down her face and across her lips.

Milk?

"Don't wait. You already made things worse by touching your eyes," Jo says.

Zandra sits up in the seat and waterboards her eyeballs with the milk. A rancid stew of milk, snot, puke and tears pools at her feet.

The milk must've been in here for a while.

The dairy product provides some relief, but Zandra's face still feels like it's being pressed into a blacksmith's forge. She knows her face is swollen, but she can't tell in what parts until she tries to talk again. It comes out just as garbled as before.

"There's only one thing you need to know about gunfire and cops," Jo says as the Jeep continues to glide through the night. "There's never a point in sticking around. Vince knows that. Or knew, if he took a hit."

"Whhh...rrrr," Zandra says.

"We're going back to the bunker. If Vince doesn't show in a day, we'll know he's dead," Jo says. She pauses. Clears her throat. Then again, a little louder. "Yeah. Then we'll know."

At least she isn't blaming me.

But that status doesn't last.

Given the pillows of fluid wrapped tightly around her eyes, Zandra can't see that the Jeep stops outside the bunker a while later. She takes Jo's word for it, though, allowing herself to be helped inside. The tirade starts with a hard slap across Zandra's temple that shakes loose a spray of milk and puke onto the floor.

"Did Gene send you like he sent Zeena? You a mole, too? Here to get us killed?" Jo says and delivers another open-handed strike. The questions come too fast for Zandra to possibly answer, although she couldn't if she wanted to.

Zandra stumbles backward, falling her way onto a chair. The image of Jo standing over her comes as a dark blur outlined against bright fluorescent lights.

"I always told Vince this psychic shit was stupid. They're all thieves, con artists. He never listened. He...never listened," Jo says, again clearing her throat. She winds up and brings another hit down, nearly sending Zandra out of the chair.

Zandra reaches her hands up to protect her face, but she's too disoriented to even know where to put her palms. It looks like she's waving at nothing.

"Nothing to say for yourself? Liars always know when to shut up," Jo says. "I know how to handle liars."

Zandra licks the blood from her lips and listens to Jo fetch something metallic hanging from the wall. The sound of the object scraping against the concrete makes Zandra's bones shake.

She won't be fast with me. She'll be slow.

Jo straightens Zandra's slumping head by the chin and hisses, "You have no idea what you did. None. You meet someone you connect with like we did maybe once in your lifetime, twice if you're lucky. You drained half the blood in my body, you shit, and you can't possibly know what that feels like, because look at you. You're a fucking fraud covered in your own slop, you fucking pig. You don't have the capacity to understand. It's all about you. Can't see past your own nose. Expect everyone to worship your act. You had to have known this moment was coming."

How is any of this my fault? I still don't know what happened.

Zandra hacks into her sleeve with a ferocity that nearly makes both her lungs switch spots. Jo backs away for a moment, but then returns to get into Zandra's face.

"You're one of two things: a fraud or a plant like Zeena. Maybe you're both. Doesn't really matter. You're no use to me now, and I can't let you go. You'll squeal to Gene, probably try to get paid for ratting our operation out. Wouldn't put it past you," Jo says.

Zandra feels something metallic run across her cheek and stop at her mouth.

"This is pair of pliers, Zandra. I'm going to take a tooth, one at a time, until you tell me the truth. And then I'm going to shoot you in the fucking head anyway," Jo says. "The funny part is, you'll be begging me for the bullet."

The tooth and nothing but the tooth, so help me God.

No, really, help me, God.

Zandra tries her best to keep her mouth shut, but her motor functions aren't enough. Jo overpowers her jaws, and Zandra tastes the iron in the pliers.

"Are you working for Gene?" Jo says.

Of course not.

But Zandra's response doesn't come out that way. The pliers and Jo's fingers translate it into a wet, "Mmggghmmm."

"Wrong answer," Jo says and clamps down on an incisor.