“Fraud?” Jesus fuck.
He nodded, a grim smile stuck to his skeletal face. “I also needed someone to take the blame for getting rid of my competition. Two birds, one stone. I’m sure your sister will appreciate that analogy.”
“Did you decide all this before or after you made her into a whore?”
“Your sister is a shrewd businesswoman. She saw a need, and she found a way to fill it. I didn’t make her do anything. The drugsorthe sex. Money runs out without more customers. Which I’ve now doubled, thanks to you. And Slim.” He flicked up the barrel of the gun and aimed it at me while he dialed three digits on his cell. “Now, we’ve wasted enough time. I suggest you get in that car of yours and go.” Smiling like the devil, he held the phone to his ear. “Two dead bodies are at the abandoned warehouse east of the city. A red Chevy Impala drove away at high speed. 1967, isn’t it?”
Fucker.
I dropped to my hands and knees. Like a toppled penguin with a bleeding orifice, I squirmed underneath the hole in the fence. No time for pain. No time for wooziness caused by rapid blood loss. Time to go. I scooped up the crowbar from the ground and tossed it into the front seat before scrambling in afterward.
And soon a red 1967 Chevy Impala was fleeing the scene of a crime because I couldn’t outrun my car. Shit. Shit. Shit. I was so fucked. I beat my steering wheel and winced.
Where could I go? Not Tony’s. I’d already dragged him along for too much what-the-fuckery. I could go to the police myself. Try to explain my side of the story before they even saw Hill’s video. That was as good a plan as the zero others I had.
I plowed over dirt roads on the way to the highway, my ears burning for the sounds of sirens. None yet. I could be at the police station in ten minutes. Would it look like I was turning myself in or that I was trying to do what was right like I had been since this whole shit storm started?
But what was right had almost been blurred out of existence. I thought I had been doing this for Rose, but Hill had shaken the ground right out from under my feet more times than I cared to admit. Had I agreed to work for Hill to pay off Rose’s “debt” to try to save Rose? Or to free myself of some of the guilt I felt about her addiction in the first place?
As if it really mattered right now. I swerved onto the highway and tried my best not to floor it. At the first sign of flashing lights, I would turn off, but this was the fastest route to the police station. Unless I ditched my car and took the metro. Now I was thinking like a true criminal.
A shifting in the backseat drew my attention to the rearview mirror. My whole existence fell right through the leather cushions and smashed against the road. Plastic-wrapped bricks of heroin, quadruple-stacked, spread the length of the backseat.
A gift from Hill. Why hadn’t I shot him when I had the fucking chance?
Keep driving. Ditch the car and let the police find the heroin. Ditch the car and take it all with me...somehow. As proof? Proof that I’d been dealing drugs? And then my fingerprints would be all over the plastic wrap. Maybe they already were somehow. Who the hell knew?
The capital city loomed like a crushing tidal wave ahead, and I was driving straight into it. Sweat dripped down my forehead and into my eyes. I needed off this highway. I would take the metro.
At the first stoplight, I turned a sharp left toward I-695. Tires squealed. The bullet hole in my shoulder grew teeth as I leaned with the car.
Maybe before I took the metro to the police station, I could try to dump the drugs. But where? I couldn’t exactly throw them out the window. Jesus H., I needed a plan, or at the very least more time tothink. Less bleeding, more thinking.
I should wait to go see the police. I should go to the Library of Congress to see Paige, try to explain to her why, which was something I probably should have done a long time ago. Hell, I didn’t even know for sure if she was leaving for Wichita now that her internship was over. If I got this all straightened out with the police—big if—I might not ever see her again. That tore me up worse than any bullet ever could.
I loved her. Even though I’d fucked up in such a major way, she needed to know that.
Sirens blared. Red and blue lights spun in a sickening whirl in the rearview mirror, a cloud of dust kicking up to the treetops behind them. Well, that was fast.
Instinct put lead in my foot. By some crazy coincidence, Metallica’s “And Justice For All” came on the radio. I cranked it up to drown out the coming sirens.
No time to ditch the car or the drugs. I was so fucking fucked.
Flashing lights pressed closer. I gripped the wheel, barreling between cars, until signs for Capitol Hill appeared. It was impossible to disappear on a straightaway while going ninety plus.
The song came to the part about the hammer of justice crushing you. Not if I could help it. I veered right, toward the Library of Congress, toward Paige. Toward home.
