Page 8

8

VICTOR

T welve feet wide and nearly twenty feet long, the Emerson shed is a decent size for a jeweler's workshop. But it's empty. There's not a bench, or anything else inside that even hints at a craftsman tirelessly creating pieces of art. Well, the plastic tarp hints at a different sort of craft entirely.

Hammer's not too big of a guy, especially as he lies on top of the tarp. Chelsea straddles his unconscious body, bleeding from the holes I put in his leg.

"I need my bullets out of him," I tell her.

Chelsea nods as she pulls out needles and vials from a small satchel, which she rolls out beside her. After strategic injections all over his body, Hammer's eyes open, pain riding his face. The warring emotions washing over him aren't surprising. His expressions change from pain to rage to defeat once he realizes he can't move.

"What do you want?" Hammer pleads.

"I want to know why you decided that in a small town like Mapleton, New fucking Jersey, you decided to rob a jewelry store. This isn't the kind of town where that happens simply because it's a Thursday night. It happens because someone specifically chose my father's store. Who was it?"

Chelsea doesn't wait for him to answer before she pulls out a knife with a smile on her face. The marble handle molds perfectly to her hand as if it's a piece of her palm. She cuts through our captive's jeans, using the bullet hole to tear it open further.

"Why can't I move?" Hammer asks. His voice barely squeaks above a whisper. Tears well in his eyes, and panic blankets his face.

"That's right. You missed the part where she stuck you with all her fancy needles. We needed you to be docile. Now, answer her question." I tell him and nod at Chelsea.

She begins to dig into the area I shot on his leg. It sounds as if Hammer's throat is closing around his screams and shrieks of pain. Chelsea takes her time slicing through his flesh to carve my bullet out of him. The pain causes Hammer to dry heave and flop his body onto its side, Chelsea moving out of the way.

Hammer's entire body trembles as he finally chokes out the answer. "Nigel."

Chelsea balks at the name. "You're a liar."

"Why would I lie?" Hammer trembles, pain etching into his face, knitting his eyebrows together, and desperately trying to catch his breath.

Chelsea doesn't care as she begins digging around the second bullet hole in Hammer's leg. He screeches in pain from behind his clenched jaw until he passes out.

"Let's get this over with." I pull out my gun, but Chelsea raises a hand to stop me.

"Victor," she pauses. "As much as I love what I do, I'm not digging your bullets out of this guy's head."

"At this range, it'll go straight through. Besides, no one's going to find his head to retrieve trace evidence now, are they?"

Chelsea's soft laughter sounds deeper in the shed. "So you had me fishing bullets out of his leg for the fuck of it?"

"No, it gave you something to focus on instead of killing him before we got the answer to your question. What do you want to do about your father?" I ask her.

"After we get rid of Hammer here, we're going to pay my father a visit."

Chelsea runs her knife across our captor's throat. We clean up the mess and leave the Emerson home together. I'm not sure what Chelsea's going to do, but I decide it's better to tag along with her after we get rid of Hammer's body.

When we end up at the hospital, it doesn't surprise me. The only shock that comes to either of us is when we reach Nigel Emerson's hospital room. He's not alone, and whoever's inside with him is pissed.

I press my palm against her stomach to hold her back. For once, she listens. We turn our attention to the conversation behind a curtain separating Nigel's side of the room from us.

A panicked voice is pleading with Chelsea's father. "You have to file the claim, Nigel. Give me the cash and keep the insurance money. I need to get out of here before that lunatic comes after me."

"This was your idea, Simon. It backfired. You're not getting shit out of me. Get out," Nigel tells his visitor. The shock on both of their faces is laughable. Especially when Chelsea closes and locks the door behind us.

"Talk now," Chelsea snarls at her father and his guest while pulling out a knife.

Nigel snickers and leans back into his hospital bed, which has a few wires leading to an assortment of machines. A weary hand looks ready to press a button on the remote. Instead, Nigel grabs the bed railing and shifts his body to get comfortable.

The guest is slightly older than Nigel. Well, he looks older with white and gray hair slicked back and an array of age spots covering his worn-out face. Wrinkles dance around his eyes as he puts his hands up in surrender.

"I don't have anything to say." The man's words stutter and fumble over one another.

I pull out my badge, wiggle it in front of Nigel’s visitor, and encourage him. "Nothing can happen to you in this hospital room with an officer here. Chelsea just wants an answer to her question."

Chelsea takes a step closer. "Tell me who you are and what happened. I promise you'll walk out of here alive."

The visitor trembles and speaks. "I'm Simon, a partner for Francine's."

Chelsea scoffs. "Keep talking."

"Nigel owes me money. I've paid for…" Simon struggles to find the words and starts again. "I'm sorry that you were caught in the middle of this, Chelsea. Nigel wasn't supposed to be hurt this badly, and you … well, you weren't supposed to be there."

Chelsea shifts her murderous gaze to her father. "I only came because you called me into town. You said you wanted to take me out to dinner, that you had something to tell me."

Nigel's chest rises and falls. "You were only supposed to come find me, not walk in on the thing. The idiots he hired got greedy. They were stealing everything they could get their hands on, and when I told them to stick to the plan, they chose not to."

"Let him go, Chelsea," I tell her. Rage stifles us in this room as she turns to me like I've betrayed her.

"They nearly killed me," she replies angrily.

"They did, but you're not dead. Let him go. He'll get what's coming to him." I step in between Chelsea's knife and the man in her father's hospital room.

"That's a very dangerous position to be in, Detective," Chelsea hisses from behind me.

Again, I move my hand to steady her, holding her back to give this Simon guy enough time to leave. She turns to her father after the door closes with hatred in her eyes. But she doesn't say anything and leaves the room shortly after.

Nigel stares at me and says, "Go after her before she does something stupid."

A nurse pokes her head into the room. "Visiting hours have been over, sir. You'll have to leave or I'm calling security."

I flash my badge at her before tipping my head at Nigel and walking out of his room. Fortunately, Chelsea's standing in the hospital parking lot. Her knife is still clean, and she doesn't look like she's done anything stupid.

"I'm surprised that you're still here," I say quietly, stepping beside her.

"You're my ride." She smirks.

"Is he in my trunk?"

"Of course not. Why would I do something like that in a hospital parking lot with a dozen cameras looking at me at any given moment?" There is a camera on a few light posts that she points out.

"You can be impulsive sometimes."

"Impulsive means a bigger mess to clean up. I may be impulsive, but I'm not sloppy. I can't believe he did this. He used me." She sighs, slowly glancing over her shoulder. "He'll never use me again."

"Chelsea, he wanted to be sure he was found because somewhere in his gut, your father knew this would go wrong."

"So why did he do it?"

I hold a finger up to hush her and point across the parking lot. There, we see her father's visitor, Simon, skulking between cars and looking nervously over his shoulder.

"I have a feeling he's the answer to that question. Why don't we finish cleaning up this mess your father made?"

Chelsea nods. We step deeper into the shadows, get to my car, and follow Simon out of the parking lot.