Peter Leonard - Trust Me

Karen glanced across the floor and saw two shoppers browsing in different areas of the department. A salesgirl behind a counter was ringing something up for a customer. She moved past racks of blazers and blouses and dresses. She stopped, crouching behind three mannequins in designer outfits, arranged like they were having a conversation. Karen gripped the. 357, looking out across the floor, and heard a voice say, "Are you finding everything okay?"

She glanced back and saw a salesgirl approaching her from behind. Karen said, "Have you taken your break yet?"

The girl, early twenties, with a short mod haircut and heavy red lipstick, didn't seem to think it was strange to see a customer in the shooting position, holding a. 357 Magnum in her hand. "This would be a good time to disappear for a few minutes."

The girl gave her a puzzled look.

Karen saw Beard approaching. "Do you see that man with dark hair? He's coming to kill me."

"Oh-my-God," the girl said, stretching it out like it was one word, and took off, running across the floor toward the rear of the store. Karen was on one knee, holding the. 357 Airweight with two hands the way Lou had taught her-right hand on the grip, left cradled under the barrel and trigger guard to help balance it.

She saw Beard move, coming toward her through the department, checking behind the high-end clothing racks as he approached. She was on her knees behind the mannequins. She started to get up and heard a gunshot, and next to her the head of a mannequin in a cocktail dress exploded. Karen took off, crouching as she ran toward the back of the store, up the steps where the dressing rooms were, and saw reflections of her in the wall-to-wall mirrors.

There were four rooms, two on each side of the fitting area, with gold curtains instead of doors. Karen went in the dressing room furthest from the entrance, and stood in the corner behind the almost floor-to-ceiling curtain that you could pull closed for privacy. She was holding her breath, trying not to make a sound. If she was lucky, he'd come in take a quick look and leave.

But he didn't. She heard him sliding the curtains in the dressing rooms across from her all the way open. She could feel her heart beating faster, but this time she wasn't afraid, she was angry. She reached into her bag and gripped the. 357, but decided against it. He wouldn't shoot her till he got the money. He came toward her, grabbed the edge of the curtain, pulled it open and stepped in the room, aiming his gun at her.

"You cause many problem," he said. "Where is the money?"

"I don't remember," Karen said.

He pressed the gun barrel against her cheek, his face close, inches away, staring with those dark eyes that had no feeling, no emotion.

"The money?"

"I don't know," Karen said.

He hit her with an open hand across the face that stung her cheek, and pulled her out of the dressing room. He cocked the hammer back now and said, "The last time I ask."

She looked in the mirror behind her and saw O'Clair come up the steps into the dressing area, two hands on his gun, arms locked in front of him like the cop he'd once been, aiming at the Arab.

Beard sensed something and swung his pistol toward O'Clair and O'Clair shot him twice, pfffft, pffffi, with his silenced Browning and Beard went down and didn't move.

He looked at her and said, "You want to get out of here, come with me."

Karen said, "Why would I do that?"

" 'Cause the police are downstairs and I've got the money."

Karen said, "What money?"

"Play dumb if you want. Your sister asked me to come here and protect you."

"What're you talking about?" Karen said.

"Virginia's in the hospital," O'Clair said.

"I just talked to her," Karen said. "And she was fine."

He told Karen what the Arabs did to her and what time it happened. He sounded convincing, and now Karen wasn't sure what to believe. She'd seen the Arabs in action. They liked to hurt people, seemed to enjoy it.

"I'll tell Virginia I saw you and you're okay. You want to stick around, suit yourself," O'Clair said. "I'm going to get out of here."

Karen imagined herself being interrogated by the Chicago police, trying to explain why this Middle East thug was after her and ended up dead, and that was enough to convince her. She followed O'Clair back across the floor, past the elevators to a hallway where the restrooms were. From there they took the backstairs down to the first floor and went through a door that said authorized personnel only. They walked across the stockroom with its floor-to-ceiling shelves to the loading dock. A semi was parked in one of the bays and men on Hi-Los were unloading pallets of merchandise.

They came out on Rush Street and headed back toward Oak. There were four Chicago police cars, lights flashing, parked in front of Barney's. The area was cordoned off with yellow tape. Karen could see gawkers behind the tape, watching the action.

Ricky took his rental car and met Tariq at 1035 North Rush Street. It was a restaurant-bar called the Tavern. Tariq would go in and let Karen see him, scare the shit out of her. Ricky'd be outside, parked on the street, waiting. When she came out he'd follow her. But Ricky got distracted watching two twenty-year-old blondes in hot pink bikinis on Rollerblades. He watched them cruise past his car. He turned his head following them, staring at their perfect little asses until they disappeared down the street. When he looked back through the windshield he saw Tariq running down the block, chasing Karen.

Ricky got out of the car and ran as fast as he could to Barney's, the store they'd gone in. He was at the bottom of the giant staircase when he heard the first gunshot. It sounded like it came from somewhere upstairs. He wondered if Tariq had lost his mind, firing a gun in a crowded store. He didn't want any part of this. It was time to go. A woman carrying packages ran down the stairs yelling, "He's got a gun. He's going to kill somebody."

Ricky moved toward the door and got caught in a stampede of people rushing to get out. He heard another gunshot and now the crowd was pushing and shoving with more intensity. A woman fell and was trampled. Ricky moved through the door, fighting to keep his balance. He heard sirens. Then he was outside. Three blue and white Chicago police cars had pulled up and parked, blocking Oak Street. More people had pushed their way out of the store and Ricky was standing in the middle of the panicked crowd.

He didn't know what he was going to do, but hanging here wasn't an option. He was thinking life was like a game of craps. Sometimes things went your way and sometimes they didn't. He pushed through the people, and there, coming toward him on the other side of Rush Street, were Karen and O'Clair. And just like that Ricky's luck had changed. Unbelievable. He wished he was in a casino with a pair of dice in his hand, but this was better. He watched them walk down the street and get into O'Clair's Cadillac that was facing south. There were two more Chicago Police cars and an EMS van parked next to the Tavern bar. More yellow tape was strung around the perimeter of the sidewalk cafe.

Ricky ran to his car and got in. He saw the Caddy take Rush to Delaware and go left.

He turned and faced her, leaning back against the door. Karen couldn't believe the strange turn of events, sitting in a car, having a conversation with O'Clair. She felt cold air blowing in her face and turned the air-conditioning vent away from her. She looked at him and said, "Let me make sure I understand this. You came here to protect me as a favor to my sister, is that what you're saying?"

"Uh-huh."

He had taken off the tan sport coat and was sitting there in a Hawaiian shirt, his big white freckled arms at his sides. "They beat her up and she called you, a total stranger," Karen said. "Why am I having trouble believing this?"