Randy White - Black Widow

“Go ahead.”

He tried. Got the hammer back as I locked my hands on his wrist, lifting and twisting. The derringer made a concise firecracker whap near my ear, putting a round through the roof. I pivoted with good leverage, and stripped the gun from his fingers, then dislocated his elbow with a come-along that dropped him to his knees as he made a sharp, thin whistling scream.

He dropped the torch, too. I watched blue flames sprint across the wooden floor-pine resin instantly aromatic because of the heat. Panic. Kerosene isn’t explosive, but yellow pine is. My brain projected an image: flames colored by lab chemicals; firemen hosing charred ruins. Vance deserved to burn with the house-justice. My first instinct was to get to my floor safe and rescue my valuables.

It took three long steps to get to the bedroom. In that brief span, the panic passed. I reassessed. The fire was spreading, but it hadn’t yet bitten into wood. There was still time.

Seconds later, I was back with blankets from my closet and a fire extinguisher. The blankets worked. Snuffed out the flames before they got to the wood. Lucky-lucky because I’d stopped the fire, and also because I didn’t have to use the fire extinguishers. They leave a powdery mess, and I already had enough chaos to deal with.

Now my phone was ringing, too. Not yet 5 a.m. and someone was calling? Not Tomlinson. If he was coherent, he was aboard No Mas, watching for me to signal him with the flashlight. I ignored the phone as Vance Varigono sat on the floor, sobbing non sequiturs that begged for understanding but not the police. Now he was a victim of circumstances filled with remorse-another act.

I knelt, pocketed the derringer, and did a quick pat down. Wallet, cell phone, keys. I pocketed the cell phone, too, before I put my lips near his ear and began to whisper. It surprised him, and his eyes widened. I mentioned his wife. I referred to Shay. The last thing I said was, “Vance, I want the subject to disappear. If it doesn’t? You will.”

It jolted him. He nodded, not risking eye contact. The man was getting to his feet as I hurried next door to the lab.

It wasn’t too bad. Varigono had riffled my desk, emptied a file case, but the aquariums were untouched, and the sea life within looked healthy. The power hadn’t been off long enough to do damage. Aquarium aerators create ozone, and I took several big breaths, letting good air dilute the adrenal burn. Then I swung the office chair around and dumped my body into it, exhausted.

I had a pounding headache. With eyes closed, a schematic of the back of my brain strobed with each beat of my heart. I sat, taking slow, deep breaths. The pain eased as tension faded.

It didn’t last.

The VHF radio was still on, and a familiar voice came over, hailing me. It was Jeth Nicholes, Dinkin’s Bay fishing guide and a close friend. He’d tried telephoning me, he said. So had my cousin, Ransom. Using the illegal base station in his garage was a last resort before driving to the marina.

“There’s been an accident, Da-da-Doc. Nothing too serious, but you mind calling me on the land line?”

It was serious, though, I knew. These days, Jeth seldom stutters.

Shay Money was in the emergency room, Jeth told me, maybe already in surgery. Around 3 a.m., she’d skidded off the road and hit a tree, racing to keep up with the ambulance that was taking her friend Corey Varigono to the hospital.

Corey was in critical condition, he said. Drug overdose.

Shay’s condition was unknown.

Shay used her finger to signal me closer, and whispered in a voice hoarse from sleep, “The black hole’s trying to drag me back-you believe me now? It won’t let me be something I’m not.”

I touched my lips to a part of her temple not covered by surgical bandage and replied, “You’re giving up so easy? Now you’re even acting like a rich girl. You’ve got the curse thing backward, sister.”

She smiled… winced at the pain, then pointed to her water. It was next to the hospital bed beneath monitors. I held the glass while she used the flexible straw, only a curtain separating us from the woman asleep in the next bed. Just us, but we kept our voices low.

Michael and his mother had exited as I entered, like changing shift. Shay’s future mother-in-law… maybe. As we passed, the fiance stared through me, not a nod, but the mother locked eyes and scowled. Heavy, rectangular brow. Her son had inherited the elongated earlobes. No way to know if she scowled for a reason, or if she was one of those angry people whose face had devolved into a warning to the world.

But Shay dismissed them quickly, whispering, “Understand now why Mrs. Jonquil drives me bonkers?” before demanding a report on Corey. As I answered, Shay’s eyes were intense, alert for lies. Reassuring. Even after slamming her convertible into a palm tree, her brain was sharp.

“Doctors haven’t downgraded Corey’s condition, so she’s hanging in there,” I said.

“That’s all you know?”

“That’s all.”

“How’s her family doing?”

“I’ve never met them, so I can’t say. The waiting room’s full. Your friend Beryl’s here. Liz, too.”

“Did they… say anything to you?”

I caught the hesitation. “I don’t think they saw me.”

“What about Vance?”

I replied, “Vance,” in a flat tone, not ready to tell her we’d met.

“Corey’s husband. That jerk. When I found her, the side of her face was all swollen, and her eye was turning black. I told the EMTs and the cops about him. That son of a bitch.”

I put my hand on her wrist. “The nurse said I’d have to leave if you get upset.”

“Okay, okay. But I show up at three a.m., his truck’s gone, and she’s nearly dead. I’ll bet right now he’s out making sure he has an alibi so he can pretend like nothing happened.”

A girl who knew how small-time criminals operated. Yes, her brain was functioning fine after a very close call.

Along with scalp lacerations and facial bruises, Shay had a closed head injury-medicalspeak for an injury that could be minor or could make her a vegetable. She’d been unconscious for at least a couple of minutes, so there were more tests to be done. But there were no obvious signs of brain trauma.

So I made her sip some water and calm down before telling me what had happened.

Around 2:30 a.m., Shay had checked her cell and found a hysterical message from Corey. After trying Corey’s phone, she drove to the Varigono home, where she’d discovered her friend unconscious on the couch. EMT response was fast, but Corey stopped breathing just before the ambulance arrived.

No wonder the mood was grim in the ICU waiting room.

“I took CPR, but, Christ, I couldn’t tell if I was helping her or not.

She vomited a couple of times. It was awful! Doc?” Shay turned her head slightly-painful. “We promised we’d be straight with each other, so you’ve got to tell me. Is Corey dead?”

Her face was swollen, raw in spots from the air bag. Skin around her eyes was pale purple, edged with magenta. Not too bad. “Raccoon eyes” is another medical term, but the girl was going to be okay.

I replied, “Corey’s alive. That’s the truth. You did everything you could to help her. That’s all a friend can do.”

“I did something else.” Shay touched a finger to her lips, whispering.

“Corey left a note, and I took it. It’s in my purse. No one’s read it but me. Take a look.”

It was to her parents.

Papi and Mami

I am so tired and afraid all the time and I’ve done something I know will never go away. You were wonderful and I never wanted to make you ashamed. I am so sorry and tired of being afraid. Forgive me…