Warning! Warning! It might be a good idea to re-read 'BDTH', just to refresh your memory. Please send any and all comments, criticism, and death threats to Thx!
I fell against the bathroom door, unsure of how to feel or think. A multitude of emotions raced through me. Anger, betrayal, humiliation, pain-quite a bit of that one-fought each other to become the most prominent.
My injured knee slowly gave out, and I slid down the door to the bathroom floor. I started to replayed everything I'd ever heard about Joe and Terry. Every rumor. Every page or phone call. The way he reacted that night she disappeared. How Vito's thugs fell over laughing at the mention of me looking for her. And on and on and on…
I laughed darkly. Did everybody know except me?
A tear rolled silently down my cheek. I wiped it away. At the moment, I wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and pretend the last few hours—correction—days never happened. It took three tries, but eventually I found the strength to push myself off the bathroom tile.
Walking to the sink, I laid the gym bag and boots on the counter top and stared down into the stainless steel basin, studiously avoiding the large mirror that hung over it. Scared of what I might see. Gathering my strength, I darted a glance at the mirror and winced.
It was worst than I thought.
Red, bloodshot eyes stared back at me, along with an assortment of injuries. The yucky, grainy, tangled mess that used to be my curly, brown hair poofed up into an afro, while bruises, (can't forget them) ran along my arms, legs, and-I lifted the gown-yep chest too, in every conceivable color. I lowered the gown. Crap. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, before opening the gym bag.
As I searched, I couldn't stop thinking about Morelli and Gilman's so called 'working' relationship. Had I really been that blind? God! Okay, so I did sort of catch on to the fact that that their working relationship sort of mirrored Ranger's and my own. And, yeah, I knew she was a big part of his past. But seriously, I never thought an adult Morelli would sink so low as to rekindle a relationship with her. Not because he wouldn't want too, but an affair-hell any kind of serious relationship with Gilman-meant his badge.
And unless there was some big change in department policy, there was no way in hell they'd gloss over something as explosive and potentially damaging as one of their own, screwing an active Mafioso. Helpful, traitorous snitch or not. Not only would it compromise the integrity of active criminal cases, but the credibility of any information obtained.
They'd never stand for it.
Well…that is, other than as a fake cover to help out a sting. Sort of like the constant hotel meetings that ended up nabbing Tommy Galucci. An evil little voice asked. But how would they know if it was all just make believe? Was there someone watching Morelli, making sure he wasn't boning Gilman instead of doing his job?
I stopped searching through the bag, and pulled out whatever was in my hand. If it didn't match, screw it. I wasn't in the mood to care.
I couldn't stop thinking about Joe, Terry, and the rumors surrounding their relationship. The freshest crop-like those before them-were born from their constant 'meetings' to share information.
I snorted. If the department suspected there was anything more, I'm sure I would have heard about. At least, I hoped Eddie would have clued me in. Was it plausible that somewhere along the way their relationship had changed? That they were having an affair? Had Joe decided this was his only opportunity to have a relationship-one he couldn't otherwise have-with Terry?
I started to dismiss it, but stopped. That couldn't be it…could it?
I mean, if they were, which they weren't, but if it were, what stopped Terry from blackmailing Morelli with knowledge of their affair? That is, if she wasn't already doing it. She was a police snitch after all. Selling out Vito. her uncle, regularly, for personal gain. Double crossing and blackmailing her cop lover with the proof of an affair couldn't be that much of a stretch.
Taking the gown off, I dressed, then hopped up onto the counter top and sat.
But even with all the evidence, I couldn't bring myself to believe Joe would cheat on me. Not with Gilman, at least. No matter how pissed off or crazy I made him, he wouldn't risk losing his job. He loved his job with everything in him. If he cheated with anyone surely it wouldn't be with her. Yet, if Gilman and Joe's relationship really was just work related, what did she get out of it? A snitch isn't a snitch for nothing. What was in it for her?
A little voice answered back. Duh, Joe.
From the second she'd showed back up in Trenton, Terry had shown an eagerness to rekindle their old relationship. What better way to get next to him then through the one thing he loved the most: his job. If that was her aim, she'd never rat him out…And if he wanted a relationship with Terri and not give up his job...
How hard could it be?
If Gilman fed him enough tidbits of info to make it appear as if he was doing his job; they could easily carry on with an affair, uninterrupted. The department wouldn't question the rumors. They'd figure it was only part of his cover. And Vito…well hell, Vito probably knew. His goons sure as hell did. Why he did nothing about it, I didn't know. Gilman and Morelli were free to screw each other blind without, or in spite of, any outside interference.
Like me.
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the cool surface of the mirror. No, I didn't believe that. I didn't wanna believe it. Oh hell. Now wasn't the time to decide whether I did or didn't. Right now, getting the hell away from here and back to Trenton was my biggest concern. Right now, denial and avoidance were my best friends where Morelli and Terry's relationship were concerned.
But I promise myself, when Joe did turn back up we were going to have a talk. A long one. If not about his relationship with Gilman, than at the very least, his soon to be shattered truck windows.
I sighed and tried to run a hand through my tangled mess of curls without much luck. I needed a brush. Not to mention some shampoo conditioner. Instead, I settled for a scrunchy at the bottom of the gym bag.
I was still trying to tie my hair up, when Gilman pounded on the door. "Time's up!"
Giving the bathroom a quick once over, I seriously contemplated the merits of barricading myself in, then sighed. Sliding off the counter top, I searched the room for something I could use as a makeshift weapon. But aside from a roll of toilet paper there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Damnit. Not even a window to escape out of. The only exit was through Terry and her Glock.
Crap.
Opening the door slightly, I cautiously peeked outside and stalled in my tracks. Besides a pair of Oakley's and a worn New York Ranger's denim jacket, Terry was now donning a curly, dark brown wig.
I stared in disbelief. Oh…my…God!
The wig. The clothes. Jesus H. Christ she really did kinda look like me. A lot like me. Unnerving to say the least. It was easy to see why the kidnapper in the police station had mistaken her for me.
Hold on. Out of all disguises she could have chosen, she picked one that made her look like me. Coincidence? Eddie's voice came floating back to me: "…female, light curly brown hair shoulder length, blue jeans, green flannel shirt, shades…next to your car…."clicked" the alarm system off…"
My eyes bulged. Holy Crappola. I slammed the bathroom shut.
Gilman stole my car! The boyfriend wasn't enough? She had to go after my car!
Dead. So dead.
I looked around the room. If Terry realized I was searching for a blunt object to beat her head in, it didn't show. She was too busy talking on a cell phone.
"No I mean, now." Terry said, then paused. Even from where I stood, I could hear the voice of a very agitated male.
Gilman shook her head. "Not my problem. You brought her here," Pause. "No, I will not. I'm leaving." Another long pause." Look, what part of ten minutes do you not understand?" Terry quickly jerked the phone from her ear, as the man on the other end let off a string of Italian curse words.
She held the cell away from her, looking at it as if it was infested with cooties, before yelling back. "Well then! Never pick up strange women from truck stops. Ten minutes. Ciao!" then snapped the phone shut.
"Let me guess. That was Tony?"
She shoved the cell phone into the pocket of her—correction— my jeans and picked up her bottled water.
"Yes. He'll be here shortly to answer all your questions...or not. Either way, I don't really care. I'm leaving to do some," she looked down at her clothes and grimaced. "Shopping. Definitely, shopping."
I stood there wanting like hell to knock her around until she told me everything I needed to know. What trouble was she in? Why was she impersonating me? Was she screwing Joe? Why did she steal my car? Or, even, how did she manage to get the keys? Wait, scratch that. I have a pretty good idea how she got those keys.
As I opened my mouth, to my surprise, something else came tumbling out.
"Why did Vito want me to escort you and Gino, down to the police station to turn yourselves in?"
Terry was looking around the room for something and answered absently.
"Why?"
"Yeah," I sat down on the armrest of the recliner. "Why? Why not go on your own. Or, hell, call Vinnie and ask him to be waiting there to bail both of you back out? You and Gino wouldn't have even had to spend a night in jail."
Gilman snorted and looked down at her watch. "Vito didn't tell you during your little 'meeting' at Rossini's?"
She knew about that?
"Yes, I know about that." Damn. "And your failed attempt at burglarizing my home." Double damn.
Terry walked over to Coke machine, and leaned against it. "Not that it matters anymore, but you taking me down to the Trenton PD was purely for show."
I blinked. "For show? I'm confused."
"Big surprise."
"Wait. How was it just for show? You do realize you've jumped your bond, right? You're a FTA-"
"Spare me. I was going into federal protective custody Not real jail."
I replayed that statement over. It still made no sense. "Huh?"
"Federal Protective Custody, a.k.a., the Witness Protection Program. There was a bit of trouble recently. I needed to disappear for awhile. And all parties involved thought it would be for the best if I turned myself over to the Fed's at the time of the FTA charge. Supposedly, I was to go straight from the police station to a safe house somewhere," Terry paused, and pushed herself off of the Coke machine. "Unfortunately, it didn't work out like that."
Witness Protection Program? "Wait, you're going into the-"
"Nope. Operative word 'supposedly.' Not that it matters anymore," Terry looked down at her watch. "Tony will be here any minute. He's taking you back to Trenton. I'd advise you not to mention you've seen me. To anyone. Especially, the cops. Unless of course, you want a repeat of what happened to you? Besides, I need you to do me a favor."
"Favor? Excuse me?"
Terry reaching into her jean pocket, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and tossed into the recliner seat. "I need you to contact Vito. Not in person, but over the phone. Give him that message."
I picked it up. It read. "I'm okay, but expecting trouble soon. Can't make contact with J. Not answering his phone. Not sure what's going on. If you haven't heard from me in three weeks, I'm in trouble."
I looked up from the message and stared blankly at her. She sighed. "Just
do it. You owe me that much."
I blinked, then narrowed my eyes. Never looking away from her face, I tore the message into little pieces.
Terry expression morphed from shock to rage. "What are you—,"
"Owe you? For what? For getting kidnapped? Nearly being raped and tortured? I don't owe you jack! And I take back what I said earlier. I don't want to be involved in anyway with your 'business'."
"Look. Whether I personally gave a damn if you lived or died, is incidental. I allowed you to receive medical treatment. Without it, you would have died," she looked me dead in the eye. "You owe me."
Was this twit for real?
I stood up. "Oh, how kind of you! Seeing as how if you hadn't been going around Trenton masquerading as me, I wouldn't have ended up in the position of needing it in the first place." I stood up. "Read my lips. I-don't-owe-you-jack!"
She sighed in exasperation. "Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't that someone would mistake me for you and try and kill you. It never occurred to me that my 'appearance' might make others confuse you with me."
My eyes nearly popped out of my skull. "Bullshit! And you also stole my car!"
She shrugged. "I needed it more then you. And for the last friggin' time, it wasn't on purpose. I…oh, screw it!"
Terry turned toward the door and froze.
With both of us no longer fighting you could vaguely make out the muffled sounds of shouting, followed by a faint popping noise. Gilman swore. Rushing over to the door, she quickly secured each of the four locks.
I watched her, alarmed. "What's going on?"
"Quiet!" she hissed.
As she latched the very last lock, two loud booms vibrated the walls. I involuntarily took a step backwards. "That was a gunshot."
Gilman turned and looked at me as if I was crazy. "Really? Ya, think?"
Another shot sounded and Terry cursed.
Oh, Crap.
Standing up, Terry walked over to the unplugged Coke-Cola machine and nudged it. "We need to push this toward the door."
Now it was my turn to look at her as if she was the crazy one. Another series of shots sounded. This time, much closer.
Gilman turned toward me. "You hard of hearing? We need to—"
"Get out of here! Not trap ourselves in like a bunch of sitting ducks!"
Terry growled. Lifting the gun, she pointed at me. "Help. Me. Push."
I stared down the barrel of the Glock. Crap. The sound of gunfire grew louder and I caved. Taking the opposite side, I threw my full weight against the machine, while she pulled. "You know this is useless" I panted. "
Whoever's out there…will…eventually make it…through the…" I trailed off.
Behind the Coke machine was a large vent-like opening. Big enough for a full grown man to crawl through. After a moment, it suddenly dawned on me what it was. A hidden exit from the room.
"Don't stop," Terry panted. "We need to block the door."
I nodded. Then threw everything I had into pushing the machine toward the door. We got it into place just in time. The sounds of doors being kicked in, fighting, and gunfire could be head heard clearly outside the door.
Leaning against the machine, Terry tried to catch her breath. Mumbling something, she tossed the wig across the room. I gripped my sides trying my best not to pass out from the intense pain surrounding my ribs. My heart pounded in my chest. And try as I might, I couldn't inhale enough air. I fell against the wall ready to pass out, but caught myself.
Later, I promised myself. As soon as I got away from the bad guys, I could bitch about the pain and pass out as much as I wanted, later.
Terry wasted no time kneeling in front of the vent and unhitching the metal grate covering. Pushing it to the side, she crawled through the vent, and I followed suit. The vent opened into a 3-ft wide hallway that seemed to have been built between our room and the next.
I was barely on my feet, when Terry shoved me aside and knelt down to re-fasten the covering. Relocking it firmly, from our side. As she stood, Terry shoved me again and hissed. "Don't just stand there. Move!"
I bit back a smart remark and started down the hall. As I did, I noticed the sounds of fighting had stopped. Yet, as my hand gripped the walls, I could feel them shaking—violently-every couple of seconds. I started to speed up, nearly tripping twice in the dim light.
After a third near fall, I whispered. "Exactly, where does this lead?"
"You'll find out. Keep moving."
I did. Seconds later, the passage ended abruptly as we rounded a corner and came face to face with a window. Moving past me; Terry stepped over to it, unlatched the window, and stepped right through onto the rooftop of a nearby building. She'd been moving so quickly, she hadn't noticed that her cell phone had fallen out of her jean pocket and onto the hall floor. I picked the phone up, pocketed before easing myself through the window. The second I stepped onto the awaiting rooftop, a loud smash rocked the walls behind me.
Uh-oh.
Arrivaderci, Coke machine.
With new incentive, I scrambled across the rooftop and caught up with Terry who was trying to pry open the window of what appeared to be a seedy looking motel room. It wouldn't budge. Muttering several Italian curses, Terry gave up.
Hopeful, I looked around for any other exits. Thanks to full moon and partly cloudily sky, every nook and cranny of the rooftop was visible. After a moment of frantic searching, I realized there was no other way off. Shit! We were screwed. Looking back at the building we had just come from, I wondered how long would it take whoever it was to catch up?
At the sound of breaking glass, I jumped and turned around. Terry had shattered the window with a brick, and was now clearing away the excess glass before squeezing through. As soon as she made it through, I followed. Halfway of me was almost through, when a bullet whistled over my shoulder. Jerking, I bumped my head against the windowsill, and fell the rest of the way through. It was a small mercy that I didn't land on any of the large jagged pieces of glass.
Terry crouched down, out of sight, next to the window, and shot back toward the building. Crawling passed her I ended up at the foot of the room's queen-size bed. Frantically, searching for the door. To my dismay it was directly across from to the window, and sporting a steadily increasing set of bullet holes.
Damnit!
Terry stopped and ejected the empty clip out of her Gloak then reach for another. Over the hail of bullets, Terry yelled. "Go out the door!"
"Are you fucking nuts?"
"It's unlocked. You can pull it open from the bottom and escape down the emergency stairwell to the right."
Escape, Yay! I hesitated. "Stairwell?"
Terry stopped shooting and turned to me. "Look. Joe would never forgive me if I let something happen to you. Now go! I'll cover you."
I held my tongue. This was not the time to get bitchy. So I weighed my options. On the one hand, I could sit here until Terry's bullets ran out and meet a grisly end with her. Or…run the risk of getting shot as I escaped to freedom. There was no love lost between Terry and me, but I just didn't feel right leaving her on her own. Plus, she was the only one with a gun. If I got caught, I would be unprotected and defenseless. Yet, there was nothing I could accomplish by staying. And if I managed to escape, I could alert the authorities…if they hadn't been already.Steeling myself, I picked up the discarded brick (hey, its better than no weapon at all) and crawled over to the door. Hooking my fingers underneath, I opened it, and wiggled my way out into the hall. A few feet in front of me, a half dressed guy in a pair of boxers crawled out of his room on his hands and knees. He had a gun at his side and was yelling into a cell phone. I fumbled to my feet, ran passed him, down the hall, down the emergency stairs, and slammed straight into the hotel's parking lot.
