“Mother to mother,” Gabby said, “maybe we’re trying too hard.”
“You can never try too hard. Kids are fucking expensive,” Fran said, standing on Gabby’s hand until she squealed.
“What is the matter with you, Fran?” Gabby said. “You’re not really killing me for your kid’s sake. Come off it.”
“And you’re not here for your kids’ sake?”
Gabby was one hundred percent here for her kids, to keep custody, to satisfy that stupid seek work order. Gabby was breathing hard. Each and every breath hurt.
“What is the matter with you, Gabby?” Fran taunted. “I didn’t think you’d give up so fast. This is pathetic.”
She didn’t want to give up, but she was broken. On the floor with what she believed to be several cracked ribs, a messed-up hand, and a bruised ass. Stay-at-home-mom life had been for the kids, but it was also safe. She didn’t have to test her limits; she didn’t have to change or push herself. Gabby wasn’t qualified for this.
She heard Markus’s voice. “Gabby, remember what I taught you. You can do this. You are strong.”
Tears must have been shining in her eyes, because Markus said, “Toughen up, Agent Greene. Put your feelings in a box and get out there.”
He was right. Gabby took a breath and gathered her strength. She staggered to her feet like the boxer who looked like he was almost finished off and could barely see through a swollen eye.
Fran laughed.
Gabby centered herself. It might not be much, but she did twodays’ worth of training, and it was now or never. Just like Markus had taught her, she stomped on Fran’s foot and jammed her elbow up into her nose. Something snapped, and blood gushed. This time it was Fran’s turn to stagger. She didn’t hit the floor, but Gabby had one last move. Markus’s advice, “Kick ’em in the balls,” sounded in her mind. Gabby pushed down on Fran’s shoulders and jammed her knee into Fran’s crotch as hard as she could.
At this moment, Valentina burst into the room, Fran collapsed on the floor with Gabby battered but still standing. Her eyes flicked from Gabby and Fran to the restrained agents. In between ragged breaths, Gabby explained, “Fran was working for the Mafia. I’ll explain the rest later.”
Alice nodded her head. “Give her a hand, Val.”
Valentina unholstered her gun. Instead of pointing it at Fran or any of the bad guys, she handed it to Gabby. “It looks like you already have it covered, but here you go.”
Tears pricked at the back of Gabby’s eyes. “Thank you.”
“You earned it.” Concern in her voice, Valentina said, “You’re not going to shoot anyone, right?”
Gabby looked at the gun in her hands. Now that she had it, she realized that she really didn’t want it. She didn’t want to shoot Fran. She’d prefer Fran in jail. “No, but I really appreciate the gesture.”
“I mean, a gun isn’t really a gesture,” said Valentina. “It’s a tool. Now, go ahead and wrap this up. I’ll block the door.”
Gabby kept the gun aimed at Fran while she walked across the room to collect the nonlethal version. Valentina had been right earlier—a dart gun was all she needed. Like a nineties action hero, she trained the dart gun on Fran.
Markus interrupted. “Don’t forget your tagline, Agent Greene.”
“Compartmentalize this,” Gabby said, committing fully.
“What?” Fran looked confused.
“What I mean is that, in the future, you will have to put the feelings from this trauma in a box and try to move past them.” That was probably too much explanation for a tagline. It was no “Hasta la vista, baby.”
From the sideline, the EOD agents were cheering. “You got her, Gabs.”
When she looked uncertain, Markus said, “It’s a little cerebral, but I like it. It made me really uncomfortable the other day. That’s the point, right?”
“Thanks, Markus.” She smiled big at him.
“Sorry about this, Fran, but you’ve been a real pain in the ass.” She aimed the dart at Fran’s ass and fired.
Saturday night, still in the storage closet
Finally, the scene in the storage room was wrapping up. Valentina had come back from the kitchen with a pair of poultry shears to slice through the zip ties while Gabby restrained Fran, who was still unconscious. The Mafia dons and Kramer were demanding lawyers but, overall, not saying much. These were the kinds of guys who knew not to blab to the authorities.
