Unhinged, page 7
By now, figures were emerging from the bar, cursing and hollering. Cora hopped back over the hood of her car, which she’d brought near enough to serve as a protective barrier. She kept her own gun trained on the nearest bikers, and they retreated back into the bar.
Two of the men who’d displayed guns before were hiding behind the shattered front window, refusing to emerge.
Now, only a brave few, two members from the metal band, and one of the figures who’d been smoking in the recliner, came to check on the ruckus. They stared in horror at their toppled bikes and inhaled the scent of fuel.
“Nothing crazy now,” Cora said slowly, realizing what she’d just done was likely the very definition of it. “But keep your hands where I can see them, or it all goes up.” She waved a hand towards the motorcycles.
One of the band members was scowling, scratching at his bandanna, his other hand holding something in his pocket.
But a lookout, who’s hands were still reaching skyward, muttered, “Don’t. She gassed the bikes.”
“More accurately,” Cora said slowly, “I poured fuel on them, and if I start firing something will ignite, and then it all turns to rubber and char. Got it?”
Dark mutters were exchanged as if Cora had just talked about murdering puppies. She supposed to this lot, the claims were similar anyhow.
But now, she called out, “Brendan! I really meant it when I said we needed to chat.”
She waited impatiently, tapping her gun against the hood of the car. The warm sunlight above nipped at her skin. She shivered vaguely from a soft breeze, but also from her racing adrenaline. No cops had come, which meant no one in the bar had called them.
Hardly a surprising development. This was going to be settled without the intervention of the locality’s boys in blue.
After a few moments, she spotted an enormous silhouette through the remnants of the glass window which the gunman had shattered earlier.
“I see you, Brendan!” she shouted from behind her makeshift barricade of her perforated sedan. “We just need to chat, that’s all!”
Grumbling emitted from inside the bar. But then, a big head poked from behind the window, scowling at her from under a giant brow. The large nose poked out like a dorsal fin. The Slavic-looking seven-footer shouted, “What the hell?”
“Just trying to have a chat, big guy. I didn’t start this, but I sure as hell will finish it.”
“This your blaze of glory, girl?”
“Something like. Now,” she said, louder still, “I’m keeping an eye on the two gunners in there. Yup, you two. Yeah—the ones trying to hide their hands. I see you in there. If you twitch, I fire. And if any of us open up, the fumes probably catch, yeah? Then everything burns.”
More dark muttering and panicked looks. More than one member inside the bar was now retreating towards a back door, hastening away, deciding that this altercation was beyond their interest.
Cora watched as they retreated but waited until they’d gone before clearing her throat and calling out again. “Now, there’s no reason we can’t be courteous, yeah?”
“What’s the matter with you?” snapped the giant.
She looked at him, waving a hand to clear the odor from the air. “Nothing,” she said slowly. “Well, nothing diagnosed.” She rolled her shoulder a bit and winced. “But I was shot recently and am not too keen on trying again. So why don’t we just talk, Brandon? If you didn’t kill Mindy, then you and I are on the same side.”
“Yeah right.”
“No, for real. I’m not a cop.”
Brandon was still peeking that big nose from behind the shattered window. The two other thugs out front kept their hands skyward. One’s pants were slipping, but instead of risking a gunshot, he was leaning back against a wall, trying to use stucco for a belt.
Cora ignored this. Her eyes were for the gunmen from earlier and Clark.
“And what if I did kill Mindy?” snapped the giant.
Cora considered this. “Well...then I guess I am trouble for you, Brendan. But I don’t have to be for the rest of the lot in there. See?”
A long sigh of frustration. “Don’t burn the bikes,” Brendan said quickly.
“Mhmm. Right. See, I didn’t want it to come to this. You’re the one who got aggressive.”
“You broke the windpipe of my friend,” Brendan snapped.
“It’s not broken. Probably. And you need better friends.”
“I didn’t kill Mindy.”
Cora nodded in appreciation. At least this was some amount of progress. “Okay,” she called. “We’re getting somewhere. So, who did?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“You were there, Clark. You were seen.”
“Yeah, apparently. Who told you?”
“Little birdie. Now just help me here, Brendan. What did you see?” She leaned forward now, but still kept her hand tight on her weapon, her eyes attentive.
The scene would have been strange to any passing motorist, but this outskirt intersection clearly wasn’t well-traveled. Someone, however, must have decided enough was enough. Because in the distance, Cora heard the sound of approaching sirens.
“Those yours!” Brendan yelled.
“Not mine. I’m not a cop,” she said testily. She thought of Brady’s warning about Malcolm looking into Florida. The last thing she could allow was to be caught causing mayhem at a biker bar. Saul would read her the riot. At least...if she wasn’t instantly thrown in the pen.
Brendan was scowling still, but Cora didn’t flinch. In a game of chicken, she had less to lose than this lot. She’d never owned anything that mattered nearly as much as these bikes. Plus, the one person she’d cared most about had vanished years ago.
No. Cora’s best strength, in many ways, was the cocoon of indifference she could wrap herself in. In a game of chicken there were only fringe success stories and cautionary tales. She intended to be the former.
Deciding things were proceeding too slowly, Cora fired at the pavement. A bullet skipped off the ground. And some of the bikers cursed, clearly noting the sparks.
“Whoops,” Cora said. “Wouldn’t want that to catch now, would we? Once the genie is out of the bottle, it’s gonna be a real bitch trying to jam that thing back in—”
“Holy hell, fine!” snapped the giant, raising his large hands.
She winced, noticing both palms were heavily bandaged and resembled oven mitts. She didn’t comment on it, though, the white gauze around his palms serving as something of a white flag. She knew better than to taunt a surrendering foe.
Instead, she said, “So, what did you see?”
The sirens in the distance continued to approach. For the moment, she didn’t spot the lights. But by the time she did, it would likely be too late.
Brendan was shaking his head. He glanced at her, but also spared a couple of looks towards some of the other figures around him. Insistently, he said, “I did not kill Mindy.”
“I believe that,” Cora said.
“You do?”
“Yeah, kinda. Mindy was killed by someone coming through a window. You were seen leaving the building the normal way. Besides, I think you’re too big to fit through that window.”
“Well...well what the hell, then?”
“Just tell me what you saw!” Cora said in exasperation, gesturing with her gun towards the fuel-soaked bikes again.
“Okay—okay! Man, shit. I didn’t have anything to do with it. I liked Mindy. Like for real!” The giant’s voice choked with emotion. “If I’d known someone was coming to hurt her, I woulda stayed and cracked their skulls.”
“Sure. So, you’re saying you didn’t see anything?”
“Hell no. Nothing. At all. I got out because she asked me to. That’s it. Next, I heard was something happened. That’s it.”
“Okay...that’s it?”
“Hell, lady, I don’t know you. But this town isn’t nice to people like us!”
“And by us, you mean Mindy and you?”
“Hell yeah!”
The proclamation was joined by muttered grumbling and nodding, which Cora allowed to run its course before saying, “How do you mean?”
“You think Mindy’s the first hooker to get shot?” snapped the big man, ducking back out of sight for a moment. But he peeked around the shattered window again, and a large shoulder shrugged. “Hell, one of our own got got, not long before.”
Now, Cora spotted the blue and red lights coming up the road, about a mile away. She winced, certain that lingering was a mistake. But her interest was piqued. Besides, if she drove off terrain, behind the bar and moved towards the rear road, then there was a chance she could get away without being seen. The cops were moving single file. Only two cars by the look of it so far.
More would come, though.
“What do you mean one of yours?” Cora said urgently.
“I mean her name was Mary Sue. She got killed. Part of our club.”
“When? Where?”
“Around here. Like two weeks ago.”
“Another prostitute?”
“Hooker, yeah.”
“So, two women were killed in the last two weeks?”
“That’s what I’m saying, girlie. God damn, get away from our bikes, okay?”
“What happened with that other case?” Cora insisted.
The cops were now starting to turn up the street they were on. She winced. She needed to move. Fast.
“Cops didn’t care,” sneered the big man, shooting an angry look towards the approaching vehicles. “Case got thrown out. No suspects.”
“How was a case thrown out with no suspects!” she said urgently.
“Hell if I know. Just saying what I heard.”
Cora cursed. She wanted to ask more. Much more, but now the police were surging out of their cars, guns in hand, shouting and trying to control the scene. A couple of the men she’d had with their hands in the air took this chance to bolt, but the police hastily chased them down. Cora cursed, lowered her own weapon, and then hurried back into her sedan.
She pulled away, backing up fast.
Cops shouted after her to stop. But she’d removed the front license plate and muddied the back one. It would have to do. She dipped over the rough terrain behind the bar, hastily moving off towards the southern road. She knew the streets well enough to know which cornfield was closest. She’d already used a similar field to escape a SWAT team once before.
But as she sped away, kicking up dust and scowling, no one gave pursuit. Undoubtedly, they’d decided the single woman wasn’t worth the chase.
Being underestimated came with perks.
And now, leaving the angered bikers and their fuel-soaked machines behind, she sped up, zipping back onto the southward road and hastening away from the scene of the crime.
Her eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror, but no one was giving chase. She relaxed only after she’d reached the old farm roads, far enough away that the sirens had faded. There was no sound of other sirens and no glimpse of lights. But she knew that there were speed traps along this road, so she took an old farmer’s road that cut between two fields. A “DO NOT TRESPASS” sign disappeared in her wake in a cloud of dust.
Now, as she moved between tall cornfields, breathing quickly, her mind was spinning along with the wheels of her parents’ junker.
Two victims. Not one.
Mindy, and whoever this Mary Sue was. Both of them hookers. Both of them in the same locality. And, according to Mr. Clark, Mary Sue’s case was also neglected by the police.
What was going on with the cops in these parts?
One thing felt certain, she needed to find out.
And the best place to figure out why a case might have been thrown out or, at the very least suppressed, would be the one place that she very much wanted to avoid.
The courthouse.
At least she wasn’t headed there in cuffs.
She shook her head, spilling back out onto a parallel road and turning up the street. She glanced at the sun. The courthouse would be open for another couple hours.
She wrinkled her nose, all too aware that she still smelled of fuel. But there was no time for hesitation. Something foul was afoot in Briarwood. The small, West Virginian town was beginning to stink worse than the fumes seeped into her clothing.
Two women were dead because of it. Cora could only hope that she would figure out what had happened, and put a stop to it, before more bodies dropped.
CHAPTER NINE
Cora had put her jacket back on and was now leaning over an entirely different counter. The same lacquer, though, and the same hostility.
The woman behind the counter had crossed her arms in a manner very similar to Mr. Clark. Her version of accouterments involved small, round golden earrings, a neat, green blouse, a smooth skirt, and a look of supercilious condescension.
Her upturned nose and glare didn’t help the look.
Cora kept her own expression pleasant.
Well...she didn’t frown.
...She didn’t frown much.
Now, she was clicking her fingers impatiently, and saying, “What do you mean those files are sealed? What about the Freedom of Information Act?”
The woman behind the counter sighed, shaking her head. “I told you already, this courthouse is under the purview of Judge Winchester. And according to the judge, there’s a two-month holding period on rendered decisions before accessible to the media.”
Cora shook her head, standing upright now. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I’m not media.”
“Oh? So, what are you?”
“A concerned citizen. I want to know about Mary Sue’s trial.”
“You don’t even have a last name!”
“Yeah, but you know which case I’m talking about!” Cora retorted in exasperation.
The woman sealed her lips, her disapproving look turning severe again. “Would you like me to fetch the county clerk? Maybe the DA’s assistant?”
“Sure,” said Cora. “And bring the judge. What was his name? Winchester?”
The woman pressed her lips again. “I was being facetious.”
“I don’t know what that word means,” Cora said back, her face creased in a scowl. “But how come this office is tossing cases, hmm? Was it because she was a whore? Is that it? What do you think happens if the media does get hold of that?”
“Excuse me, Marge, what’s this?”
Cora and the woman behind the counter both turned. A man wearing a navy suit was standing under bright lights near an office stairwell. The man had a folder tucked under one arm and was glancing between them wearing a disapproving frown.
He was a very handsome man with piercing blue eyes and a jaw like a model.
“Who are you?” Cora said now.
“Pardon me?”
“You—who are.” She said, wondering if rearranging the words might clear things up.
The handsome man glanced past her at the woman behind the counter. “Marge—do we need security?” The woman was nodding, and Cora’s fondness for Marge hit all-time lows.
Instead, she said, “I’m here to talk about the case of the dead prostitute two weeks ago. Mary Sue? The lawyer handling the case, it was you, right?” she said. She didn’t hesitate and instead added a note of accusation to it.
The handsome man scowled. “No, ma’am. I’m the DA. That case was handled by Carper.”
Marge was shaking her head quickly, but Cora logged this information. “And Ms. Carper,” said Cora, “where can I speak with her?”
“He,” said the DA testily, “is indisposed. He’s heading home early. Now—is that all, Ms...” He trailed off, allowing her to fill in the blank.
She didn’t. Instead, Cora glanced down the hall the man had come from. It was worth a shot, she decided. Heading home early meant he wasn’t home already.
Cora shook her head. “I’m Carper’s new fiancée,” she said, waving dismissively. “He forgot his lunch.”
She hastened past the two figures who were now both frowning after her. “Excuse me. Miss? Miss!” But she hurried down the stairs the DA had come from, wondering if maybe the reason he knew Carper’s evening plans was because the two had just been in vicinity with one another.
She heard the DA above her snapping. “Marge, phone security, please.”
But Cora took the stairs two at a time. She reached the bottom, glanced along office numbers written on the wall. No names, though. She grimaced, pushed through an opaque door, and marched forward as if she belonged, very much in the same way she had back in the bar.
This time, though, the weapons available to the patrons were of a far more devious variety. Certain sorts handled their own business. Knife or bullet or fist...They handled it. Other sorts used cops to do it.
Cora knew which one was scarier to handle. There was always an end to what a thug might fling at her. But there was no end to the number of cops that might fall into a hunt.
Now, a few figures were moving in office doors. Six doors lined the hall. A few open. A few closed. One of the doors at the far end bore the name: Carper.
She glanced into the opposite door, forcing an extra large smile. “Excuse me, miss, where’s my husband?” She glanced towards the opaque door.
The woman looked up, startled from where she’d been bent over a desk, fountain pen in hand. “Umm...Sorry?”
“Where is Carper?”
“William?”
“Yeah, him.”
“Oh...ummm. I believe he’s in the rest—sorry, who are you again?”
Rest. Room?
Cora nodded in gratitude and began moving again. She glanced down the hall, spotting a couple of burly men in security uniforms stepping into the hallway. She winced and sidestepped down an adjoining corridor. An arrow directed her to the men’s room.
She picked up her pace, following the white arrow and coming to an open, tiled entry, like a gym’s bathroom, and she entered quickly.
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