I swallowed and weighed the stench of the man in my car versus the freezing air outside. It was several hours past my bedtime, and I had trouble concentrating. I could maybe crack my window. “I caught that, but if that is the case, you had an even bigger motive for killing Lawrence.”
Bernie coughed, shaking the dirty white fur down his red coat. “Sorry,” he gasped, his eyes widening. “I need to let up on the cigars.”
“It wouldn’t hurt,” I agreed. “Did you have any idea that night with Sharon was a setup before the reading of Lawrence’s will?”
“No,” he said, reaching for his door handle.
“Who’s Gutter?” I asked, taking advantage of his lowered inhibitions.
He paused in shuffling out of the SUV. “Bucky Gutenfold. Guy’s a loan shark over in Spokane. They call him Gutter not because of his last name but because he likes to leave people in gutters if they don’t pay him.”
I grimaced. Hopefully I’d never meet Gutter. “I take it Hoyt owed him money?”
“That was the rumor, but he should be able to pay Gutter off now that he has that inheritance, even though Florence got a bunch of it. From what I heard, Hoyt got enough to get clear. Well, probably.” Bernie snaked out of the car, planted his boots on the snow, and instantly went down.
I sighed and stepped out of the vehicle, holding onto the freezing metal of the hood to make my way over the icy ground to the other side. The wind pierced through my jacket and straight past my muscles, freezing whatever that stuff was inside my bones. My hands hurt, and my legs shook, but I kept going until I could reach him.
Bernie just lay in the snow, the car door open next to him, looking up at the thick clouds and dark night. Snow fell all over him, but he didn’t wipe it off his face. Instead, he just emitted a deep-throated hiccup.
I reached him, shut the door, and planted my hands beneath his shoulders. “Get up. You’ll freeze to death out here.”
“Who cares?” he mumbled, his scuffed black boots kicking against a clump of dirty ice that looked like it had dropped from nowhere. “I’ll just stay here and freeze. I’m Santa. That’s how Santa is supposed to go.”
Oh, for goodness’ sake. “You’re not going anywhere.” I tried to pull him up, but my boots slid on the ice, and I landed on my butt with a hardoof. Pain ticked up my spine, attacking each vertebra systematically to my neck. I released him. That was it. Just plain and simply it. “What about the threesome with Thelma and Georgiana?”
He rolled over onto his stomach, settled his elbows in the snow, and shoved himself up to his knees. “I’d forgotten about that.”
I couldn’t believe I’d been reduced to pimping out my friends. Clamping my freezing hand on the top of the iced over front tire, I pushed myself to my feet. My head hurt, my ass ached, and my temper was trying to warm my chilled body. “If you don’t go inside right now, I’ll tell them you decided you couldn’t handle them both.” Now I was just making crap up.
He scrambled to stand, slipping and falling several times until finally making it, holding the door handle for balance. “Let’s go there now.”
I looked over his dirty and snowy form. “You can’t visit two ladies looking like that.”
He brushed ice off his nose. “That’s a good point.” Then he swayed and caught himself with his other hand flat against my window. Snow slid down into his sleeve. He shook it out and fell on his butt, right onto the ice he’d been kicking. He howled.
I picked carefully toward him and slung my arm through his. “Come on. We’ll get there together.” With that, I pulled.
He stood, wavered, and then centered himself. We slid together toward the broken railing.
An engine gunned down the road. We both turned to see a lifted red truck, dented and rusted, zoom down the street way too fast for the icy conditions.
“Damn kids,” he muttered, shaking his head and losing his hat. “Think they’re selling meth, too.”
I leaned over to fetch his hat just as a pattering ripped through the snowy night. Yelping, I grabbed his shoulders and yanked him down, knowing that sound. Knowing it all too well. He landed on top of me, his fur smothering me.
Bullets pinged the snow and ice all around us, impacting the metal railing and cracking it in several pieces. The shards flew toward us, and a piece cut into my forehead. I screamed and twisted my head, trying to breathe beneath the fur.
The truck careened down the street and took a corner too fast, hitting a tree and then punching forward.
I shoved Bernie off me and scrambled back to my car, yanking my purse through his door and pulling my gun free. Panic heated my breath and spiraled through the frigid air. Then I crouched with my shoulders to the vehicle, my heart racing. Were they coming back? How many had been in the truck? I thought maybe two people, but I wasn’t sure. “Get over here,” I hissed.
He rolled my way, leaving a Santa-sized indent in the scattered snow. Then he sat up, his expression dazed. Finally, he looked down at his chest. “Whoa. I got shot.” His eyelids fluttered shut, and he passed out, his head clunking soundly on my car.
Crap. I scraped my boots along the ice, using my shoulders on the car for balance. “Bernie?” I shouted, fighting the snow to get to him. Panic heated me, blurring my vision. “You’re okay. Tell me you’re okay.” My lungs burned and my throat hurt. Holding my gun in my right hand, I leaned down and felt for his pulse. Weak. My hands were starting to go numb, but I reached for my phone and punched in 9-1-1, my senses reeling. I reported the shooting, crying and coughing, giving our location.
The red truck barreled around the same corner and clipped a different tree before spinning onto Nineteenth Street. I dropped the phone in the snow and then knelt to peer over the hood of the car.
The driver’s window was open. A ski mask was pulled over the driver’s face, and black swimming goggles concealed his eyes. His left hand controlled the steering wheel while his right crossed over, gun in hand. I lifted my gun, and it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. My fingers slipping, I squeezed the trigger, aiming for his face. My bullets hit the side of the truck. Then I ducked down, trying to shield Bernie with my body. He coughed, and blood gurgled through his lips, sliding along my neck.
