Fran kicked him with one of her clogs.
Kramer winced. “Fine. You can have them.” Looking defeated, he started listing the numbers in a shaky voice, “Nine-five-two-three-four—”
Orlov shot Kramer a look and said his name in a menacing tone.
Kramer stopped talking for a second, probably weighing his options again until Fran reminded him who had the gun.
“One-six-seven-four-zero-one-two,” he finished.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Fran said, like she was talking to a child. After the ink disappeared, it would look like every other page in the book. If she didn’t transfer the money in the next fifteen minutes or so, she would be out of luck. Gabby couldn’t be sure of the exact timing. It’s not like she knew when Lucas drew the butts.
Fran smiled at everyone and said, “Well, that’s all I needed. I’ll be going.” She looked at Gabby and sighed. “Although I guess I can’t just leave you here. What’ll it be? I could tie you up or shoot you?”
Gabby didn’t wait for Fran to decide. She charged.
Saturday night, still in the storage closet
Fran slammed against the wall with a thud. Gabby went for her gun arm, pinning it against the wall for just a second.
But Fran wriggled free. “Ha! Nice try, rookie.”
For a split second, Gabby thought it was all over. She’d started it, and Fran was about to finish it. About to die, she had nothing to lose. Even if Fran didn’t make good on Smirnov’s threat to kill the kids, Kyle and Lucas would be raised by Phil alone, or Phil and his latest bimbo. Fuck no.
Gabby leaned away from Fran, called deep within herself, and pulled out her inner Billy Blanks from when she did his workout video for two months straight in 2010. Her foot smacked into Fran’s midsection with an “ooof” of expelled air. While Fran was out of breath, Gabby kicked her again, and the gun dropped and skittered across the floor well out of reach.
While the gun fidget-spun its way to a stop, Fran took her chance. Middle school bathroom–style, Fran grabbed Gabby’s hair and whispered in a low, sinister voice, “I’m going to kill your family very, very slowly.”
Through the pain, Gabby said, “I spent my last five dollars on a scone for you.”
Fran laughed. “I don’t even like scones.”
Gabby gasped. What an ungrateful bitch. “It came with clotted crea—!”
A kick to the gut cut off Gabby’s outrage, and she doubled over in pain. It wasn’t like in the movies where she spit some blood and then kept going. As a girl who had never even played sports, she’d never taken a hit before or tested her physical limits. How much pain was tolerable? What kind of discomfort could she fight through? Was this normal?
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Fran said, a little too happy about it.
“I think I might have broken something.” If she survived this, she was going to google WebMD for broken ribs immediately. Couldn’t they puncture a lung?
Fran laughed as Gabby was still clutching her stomach.
Markus yelled, “You got her, Gabby.”
At that, Fran swept her foot under Gabby, causing her to drop to the floor and land on her ass with a massive thud.
“I was trying to be your friend,” Gabby said.
Fran kicked her in the ribs again.
“What would your kid think of this?”
“Tuition is expensive, Gabby. You know that. And my ex doesn’t pay child support.”
“Did you think about hiring a lawyer?”
Fran laughed in her face. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m broke.”
If Gabby walked out of here, Kyle and Lucas were going to some summer camps that promised enhanced learning in natural environments with gentle encouragement. If Fran won, her kidwas going to Waldorf School. These kids were going to fulfill their potential, but at what cost to the mothers?
