Chapter Two
One Month Earlier
All the regulars enter Durant’s through
the back door, cut through the kitchen and slip into a seemingly pitch-black
dining room. One of the oldest restaurants in Phoenix, Durant’s remains THE
place to drink, dine and do deals. It has been a landmark since 1950 and a family operation
ever since. Durant’s exudes an air of the clandestine largely because its
founder, “Jack” Durant formerly worked for Bugsy Siegel as a Vegas pit boss.
“God help me, I can’t see a fucking thing,”
she whispered to herself.
“Table for one?” a waiter asked from somewhere in the dark.
“Just wait a sec, until my eyes catch up,” she told him.
“Actually, a table for two; I’m meeting someone here.”
“There’s a gentleman in the back who told me to keep an eye out.
Perhaps he’s the person you’re meeting?”
“Um, maybe. He told me he’s bald and about six foot five.”
“A blind date?”
“No, no nothing like that; strictly business.”
“Come this way,” the waiter said as he led her to a red-quilted leather booth in the farthest back corner.
“We spoke on the phone,” she said sliding into the booth a safe
distance from the man.
“Can I bring you some drinks,” the waiter interrupted.
“Scotch, rocks,” the guy said.
“And for the lady?”
“Sapphire martini, up.”
“We spoke on the phone?” she repeated as the waiter walked away.
“Yeah, I’m the guy. What are you in the market for?”
“I need a gun, and I need somebody to show me how to shoot,” she
told him as her trembling hands fiddled with the napkin-wrapped silverware.
“Now that’s askin’ a lot, lady.”
“I was told you could arrange things,” she said as she slid five
one hundred dollar bills across the table.
“In that case,” he said. “I can set you up with a guy, but you’ll
. . .”
The waiter placed the drinks on the table and started to ask for
their order, but the man cut him off.
“We’ll order later.”
“Drive down to South Mountain in about an hour and wait by the
first ramada. He’ll find you.”
“What about the gun?”
“Bring another $500. He’ll bring the gun.”
The impatient waiter lingered close by and recognized a chance to
get the order.
“I’ll have the rib-eye,” the bald guy said, pointing to the menu.
“And for the lady?”
“Enjoy your steak,” she said, getting up. “I’ve got to run.”
* * *
The day after she got the gun, she drove out to the Black Mountain
Shooting Range. There she ran into a guy who’d been a cop before he retired 10 years
ago, and he showed her the basics. She was amazed at how quickly she became proficient
with it. She congratulated herself with a chuckle, thinking how ironic it was
to be taking shooting lessons from a cop.
“This old guy has no idea he isn’t teaching me self-defense. What would he do if he suspected I have
murder on my mind?” she thought.
The shooting range proved to be fine for honing her aiming skills,
but all the targets were stationary. She began to think about how she could
practice on some moving targets. A tingle ran through her body very much as it
did when she watched those porn movies her husband kept buying for her.
* * *
“Tripp, where are you?” She said as she grabbed her cell phone
from the console.
“It doesn’t sound like you’re home. You in the car?”
“I’m just pulling in the driveway from the grocery store.”
“What’s for dinner?”
“Why do you care? You’re never here for dinner.”
“Okay, okay. I know you won’t believe it, but I’m just leaving downtown.
Try to get yourself in a better mood by the time I get there. I stopped off at
Grady’s for a few beers with the guys.”
She knew it would take Tripp at least half an hour to drive home.
With a bit of luck she could grab a meal from Applebee’s on Central and have it
on the table when he walked in the door.
Tripp Collins owns an auto repair shop in downtown Phoenix, and he’s
proud of it. He spent years working in various garages around the city, but
finally saved and borrowed enough money to get a place of his own. He’s also
quick to tell friends that his wife works as a paralegal for some high-minded
attorneys in one of those high-rises down on Washington Street. Between the two
of them they bring in enough to live comfortably without worrying much
about money.
Easily able to afford a gym membership, Tripp boxes three nights a
week. It serves him well to be built like a truck, but unfortunately he also
enjoys his beer. Some nights she knew better than to come home late or not have
dinner on the table when Trip arrived home. Those were the nights he came in
drunk and used her for a speed bag.
She’d made more trips to the hospital than she cared to admit and
once a welfare worker showed up at the house during the day to inquire about
her well-being. Of course she sent him away with some story about a balance
problem that caused her to fall repeatedly. So far she’d managed to keep the
police out of their tenuous marriage and had learned how to stay out of Tripp’s
way most of the time.
Her cell rang again as she hung up from Tripp, “Hi Sis, I’m just
checking in to see if you’re planning on coming over on Saturday afternoon for barbecue.”
“Oh God, I forgot all about it. Listen, Tripp has some sort of boxing
thing going on down at the gym, but I should be able to get away. Barbecue
sounds great. I could use a break.”
“Perfect! I’m glad Tripp can’t make it. You know how he always manages
to make a scene.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know why you stay with him.”
“Because I can’t live like this without his income. I’ve told you
this before. I like the Lexus, the clothes, and going to the spa.”
“Okay, okay, I don’t have time right now to convince you otherwise
and the baby is starting to cry.”
“I’m going to hold that new baby all day long on Saturday! I can
hardly wait!”
* * *
She just about got dinner on the table in time and Tripp wasn’t
drunk. Actually, he was in a good mood.
“I’m going over to my sister’s place on Saturday for barbecue
while you’re at your gym thing.”
“Okay by me, doll. I don’t enjoy those things anyway.”
“They still haven’t named their new baby girl, and she’s already
two months old.”
“Too bad you can’t have kids. I’d like a boy to follow me around
and work next to me in the shop. If you
hadn’t lost that one, he’d be 10 years old by now.”
She didn’t respond, but bit back tears at the memory of losing
their child. Tripp blamed her because her uterus couldn’t support a healthy
pregnancy. It nearly killed her when the doctor told her she’d never be able to
have a successful pregnancy. Tripp liked reminding her how imperfect and
damaged she was. He seemed to enjoy making her feel rotten. She’d learned not
to react to his taunts or risk a beating. She began clearing the table and
saved her tears for over the kitchen sink.
“Hey, doll.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m goin’ over to the gym for awhile. Don’t wait up. The guys
might get up a game of cards after we work out. See you in the morning.”
She heard the door slam behind him and knew exactly where he was
going. Sheila Barns worked as a waitress at the Matador downtown close to
Tripp’s auto shop. He ate lunch there almost every day, and she knew he’d been
fucking Sheila for over a year. She had become very good at following Tripp and
looking at his cell phone calls when he was in the shower. The two of them were
having quite a fling if their hot texts to each other were any indication. That
woman had to be stopped. Sheila Barns wasn’t going to break up her marriage.
“That bitch doesn’t know who she’s dealing with,” she said to
herself as her anger overpowered her tears. “She has no idea!”
1 comment:
I was wondering if the opening was with the 21-year-old. It took a while before I realized it was another female character being introduced. But that's an easy fix. Oh, one other picky thing - why $1,000 and all the sneaking around to buy a gun in Phoenix? Seems like an easy enough thing to do and there are indoor shooting ranges all over the place. Showing how easy it is might be more interesting to the average reader who might live in a more civilized part of the country. :o)
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