[Georgia 03] Fallen

middle of the cereal aisle. Faith knew that they wanted her in the parking lot. They wanted her alone. She should just give in and get it over with. She put her hand on her purse, ready to take it out of the buggy. Logic intervened. They couldn’t abduct her in the middle of the grocery store. They might try, but Faith wouldn’t go anywhere. They would either have to bargain with her or shoot her. She wasn’t leaving this store without a deal that would get her mother back.
    Faith stopped outside the restroom and left her buggy by the door. This was her third trip to the toilet since she’d gotten to the grocery store. She wasn’t just trying to draw them out. One of the many benefits of her diabetes acting up was that her bladder felt constantly full. She pushed open the ladies’ room door and held her breath at the stench. Grime covered the stainless steel walls and tile floor. The air felt greasy. Given a choice, she would’ve waited until she got home, but Faith didn’t have that luxury.
    She checked all four stalls, then went into the handicap space because it was still the least filthy. Her thighs ached as she hovered over the seat. It was a balancing act. She had to keep her purse tucked to her stomach because there was nowhere to hang it and she was afraid the fake leather would become glued to the floor.
    The door opened. Faith looked under the stall. She saw a pair of women’s shoes. Short heels. Fat ankles stuffed into brown support hose. The faucet turned on. The hand towel dispenser cranked. The faucet turned off. The door opened again, then slowly closed.
    Faith closed her eyes and mumbled a prayer of relief. She finished going to the bathroom, flushed the toilet, then hiked her purse back onto her shoulder. The stall door didn’t exactly lock. The thumb latch was missing. She had to stick her pinky into the square opening and twist the metal spindle to get the door open.
    “Hola.”
    Instantly, Faith catalogued everything she could about the man standing in front of her. Medium build, a few inches taller than Faith, around one hundred eighty pounds. Brown skin. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Band-Aid around his left index finger. Tattoo of a snake on the right side of his neck. Faded blue jeans with holes at the knees. Black warm-up jacket with a bulge at the front that could only be a gun. The brim of his black baseball cap was pulled low. She could still see his face. The smattering of facial hair. The mole on his cheek. He was about Jeremy’s age, but as far from her docile, loving son as could be. Hate seemed to radiate off him. Faith knew his type, had dealt with it many times before. Hair-trigger finger. Full of spite. Too young to be smart, too stupid to grow old.
    Faith put her hand in her purse.
    He pressed the bulge under his jacket. “Wouldn’t do that if I was you.”
    Faith could feel the cold steel of the Walther. The muzzle was pointing toward the man. Her finger was close to the trigger. She could shoot the gun through her purse before he even thought to lift his jacket. “Where is my mother?”
    “ ‘My mother,’ ” he repeated. “You say that like she only belongs to you.”
    “Leave my family out of this.”
    “You ain’t the one in the driver’s seat here.”
    “I need to know that she’s alive.”
    He tilted up his chin and clicked his tongue once against the back of his teeth. The gesture was familiar, the same response Faith had gotten from just about every thug she’d ever arrested. “She’s safe.”
    “How do I know that?”
    He laughed. “You don’t, bitch. You don’t know nothin’.”
    “What do you want?”
    He rubbed his fingers against his thumb. “Money.”
    Faith didn’t know if she could pull the bluff again. “Just tell me where she is and we’ll end this. No one has to get hurt.”
    He laughed again. “Yo, you think I’m that stupid?”
    “How much do you want?”
    “All of it.”
    A stream of curses came to mind. “She never took any money.”
    “She done spun me out this story, bitch. We past that. Gimme the fucking money, and I’ll give you what’s left of her.”
    “Is she alive?”
    “Not for long, you don’t do what I say.”
    Faith felt a bead of sweat roll down her back. “I can have the money tomorrow. By noon.”
    “What, you waitin’ for the bank to open?”
    “Safe deposit box.” She was making this up as she went along. “Boxes. There are three of them. All over the city. I need time.”
    He smiled. One of