[Georgia 03] Fallen

Christmas morning. “Shit, man, look at all this green!” He bounced on the balls of his feet as he walked toward his friend. “Goddamn, bro! We’re rich!” He threw the Walther into the bag. He had his Glock tucked in the back of his pants. “Goddamn!” he repeated, showing the bag to Evelyn. “See this, bitch? How you like that? We got it anyway.”
    Faith kept her eyes on the kid from the grocery store. He wasn’t happy like his partner, but that was to be expected. This was never about the money. Will had called it hours ago.
    The man asked Faith, “How much is in there?”
    She told him, “A little over half a million.”
    He gave a low whistle. “You hear that, Ev? That’s a lot of money you stole.”
    “Damn right.” The partner fanned out a stack of bills. “You coulda stopped all this two days ago, bitch. I guess they call you Almeja for a reason.”
    Faith couldn’t look at her mother. “Take it,” she told the man. “That was the deal. Take the money and leave.”
    His friend was ready to do just that. He dropped the bag beside Evelyn’s chair and picked up a roll of duct tape from the floor. “Yo, man, let’s go straight up to Buckhead. I’m’a get me a Jag and—”
    Two shots rang out in rapid succession. The duct tape dropped to the floor. It rolled under the chair where Evelyn sat, then the boy’s body collapsed in a heap beside her. The back of his head looked like someone had taken a hammer to it. Blood gushed onto the floor, pooling around the legs of the chair, her mother’s feet.
    The young man said, “He talked too much. Don’t you think?”
    Faith’s heart was pounding so loudly she could barely hear her own voice. The concealed revolver in her ankle holster felt hot, like it was burning her skin. “Do you really think you’re going to make it out of here alive?”
    He kept the Tec-9 aimed at her mother’s head. “What makes you think I want to get out of here?”
    Faith allowed herself to look at her mother. Sweat dripped from Evelyn’s face. The edge of the duct tape was pulling away from her cheek. They hadn’t bound her. The broken leg ensured she wasn’t going anywhere. Still, she was sitting up straight in the chair. Shoulders back. Hands clasped in her lap. Her mother never slumped. She never gave away anything—except for now. There was fear in her eyes. Not fear of the man with the gun, but fear of what her daughter would be told.
    “I know,” Faith told her mother. “It’s all right. I already know.”
    The man turned the gun to the side, squinting his eye as he aimed down on her mother. “What do you know, bitch?”
    “You,” Faith told him. “I know who you are.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN
     
    W ILL HAD HIS EYE PRESSED TO THE RIFLE SCOPE WHEN the Tec-9 went off. He saw the flashes first, two bright strobes. A millisecond later, he registered the sound. He flinched away; he couldn’t help it. When he looked back in the scope, he saw Faith. She was still standing in the front entrance hall, facing the family room. Her body swayed. He waited, counting the seconds, making sure she didn’t fall. She didn’t.
    “What the hell happened?”
    Roz Levy was on the other side of the Corvair. He looked under the car and found himself staring at the business end of a bright nickel Colt Python. Will didn’t know how she managed to keep the thing steady. The gun’s barrel was at least six inches long. The .357 magnum load could produce hydrostatic shock, meaning the impact from a chest wound was great enough to cause brain hemorrhaging.
    He tried to keep his voice calm. “Could you please point that somewhere else?”
    She drew back the gun and uncocked the hammer. “Motherfuck,” she mumbled, pushing herself up. “Here comes Mandy.”
    Will saw Amanda running through the backyard. Her shoes were off. She had her walkie-talkie in one hand and her Glock in the other.
    “Faith’s okay,” he told her. “She’s still in the house. I don’t know who—”
    “Move,” Amanda ordered, darting past the Corvair and into Roz Levy’s house.
    Will didn’t follow orders. Instead, he used the scope to check Evelyn’s hallway again. Faith was still standing there. She had her hands out in front of her, palms down, as if she was trying to reason with somebody. Had the flashes been warning shots or kill shots? The drive-by shooter favored two hits, one right after the other. If they’d killed Evelyn, Faith wouldn’t be standing there with her hands out.