Page 103

NINETY-NINE

SILAS, CROUCHED IN A ball, puncture wounds on his cheek and hand, blood dripping off his face, looks up at me. I drop the Swiss army knife to the ground. I have something better now. I am holding the gun that fell out of Silas’s pocket.

And I am pointing it at the man who killed my husband.

The gun is heavy in my hand. I can’t hold it still. I can’t hold my body still, overtaken by adrenaline.

“You fucking bitch …”

I wind up and kick him in the chest. He has nowhere to move and absorbs the full brunt of it, curling deeper into a ball. I kick him again and again and again, feeling all the rage and desperation break loose from me.

Then I stop. He is no immediate threat. But I am. I have this gun. I could kill him right now. I have every reason to.

Do it, Marcie. He wants to kill you. He wants to kill your kids.

He killed David.

I raise the gun and aim at him. My chest heaving, my thoughts swirling, fear and desperation and fury, because I did nothing to deserve any of this, my children did nothing to deserve any of this, not one single thing —

“You won’t do it,” he says, wincing. “You don’t have the stones, kid.”

“No?” I say, my voice surprisingly even and cold. My finger curls around the trigger.

“Marcie! Marcie!”

I blink and snap out of the trance, feel a shudder run through me.

“Marcie! Listen to me, Marcie!”

I turn. The phone. Silas’s phone, resting on the pavement. Sounds like Blair wants a word with me.

But first, I give one more swift kick to Silas, somewhere no man wants to be kicked.

Then I pick up the phone to incessant protests, desperate shouts of my name, and move away from Silas down the alley.

The back door to the café pops open. “What happened?” someone shouts.

“That man needs medical attention!” I shout, my back turned, walking away. “Call an ambulance! No, call the police! Call the police now!”

I get some distance, then bring the phone to my ear. “Blair,” I say.

“Marcie, listen to me. We can work this out.”

No, we can’t. If I didn’t know that before, I do now. We are past working it out. It’s all about the money. They won’t stop until they get their money.

And once they get it, they can’t let me live.

“You’ve got nowhere to run, Marcie.”

He’s right about that. But neither does he.

“Just listen to me, okay?”

“No, you listen to me, Blair,” I say. “You want the money? Come get it.”

I drop the phone and leave the alley.