Barb stepped in front of Danita, extending the hand not holding Marmalade’s carrier.
“You must be Joseph,” she said with a smile. “I’ve come across your name in my research, but I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting you.”
Joey ignored her extended hand. He looked at her, confused. “Who are you?” he said.
“Call me Ellie,” she said, not letting her smile dim. “If you must shoot anyone for the unfortunate death of your partner, it would be me.”
His confusion grew, paralyzing him. That was what she was counting on. She’d seen right off he was in a state of high agitation and obsessive thought. He’d probably been working himself up to this for days, becoming more and more fixated on a course of action, and screwing up the courage to carry it out. That made him a highly dangerous threat. The only way to neutralize that threat was to knock him off balance.
“What the fuck?” he said, swinging the gun to point at her.
“Allow me to suggest, however, that before you throw your life away by murdering an unarmed woman while off-duty, you take a moment to consider your family. Your wife is expecting, am I right? Do you really want to abandon her by putting yourself in prison for the rest of your life?”
“Somebody drove my partner to suicide,” he said. “I can’t let that go.”
“Of course not. But allow me to propose that we go upstairs and discuss the matter in detail.” She was choosing her words carefully, opting for multisyllabic ones and an unnaturally formal diction. This was to force him to use his frontal cortex to parse her language, helping to loosen the grip his amygdala held on him. “After you’ve carefully reviewed the particulars, if you remain intent on carrying out an act of retributive violence, neither Danita nor I will be in any position to prevent you.”
She backed into the elevator, sweeping her arm to indicate he should join them. This was the moment of maximum danger. If her attempts to knock him off his single-track plan of action had failed and he went ahead and pulled the trigger, this would be the moment.
Barb held her breath as the battle within him played out on his face. He tried to shake off the distraction of her words, returning to his original purpose, then letting doubt creep in, trying to ignore it, but in the end failing.
“Fuck,” he said, and it was an admission of defeat. He lowered the arm holding his gun but didn’t put the weapon away. Shaking his head, he stepped forward into the elevator.
Barb inserted the key that unlocked her floor, keeping a calm smile on her face, and maintaining her position between Danita and the still-dangerous man. They rode up in silence, Joey standing well back from the two women to give them no opportunity to rush him.
When they arrived at her floor, Barb stepped out, pulling Danita with her. Her apartment took up the entire floor, meaning the elevator emptied into her foyer rather than a lobby. She led them into her living room and took a seat on the sofa, placing Marmalade’s carrier on the floor beside the sofa. Danita sat beside her. Joey stood indecisive. Barb gestured to the loveseat opposite.
“Sit,” she said.
Apparently deciding the six feet between the sofa and loveseat would give him ample time to respond if either of them decided to try anything, he walked carefully to the loveseat and sat.
“How did you find your way here?” said Barb to get the man talking. Talking wasn’t shooting.
“After Dave died, the rumor was that there was some kind of scandal with his name attached. The chief supposedly had to use all his clout to get the story killed. I immediate thought of the texts and emails Dave got,” said Joey. “I tried tracing the email address, but it was a dead end. The text looked like a dead end, too. I did a reverse search of the phone number used to send them. It traced back to a company that sells spoofing services. I took a chance and worked my way through the company until I got a gullible engineer on the line. He checked the logs and gave me the real number the sender used.”
As Joey spoke, tension began to leave his body. This was what Barb had hoped for. Recounting his investigative process put him into an analytical frame of mind.
“I traced the number and found it belonged to a burner account. But I was able to get access to cell tower records and triangulate for approximate location. It was a four-block span. Something about it jogged my memory. I remembered the address Danita gave me to forward her mail from Dave’s place. I couldn’t believe it at first. What could Danita have to do with this? Then I remembered she didn’t even cry when I told her he died.”
As he said this, he slipped back into an emotional state. Barb could see it happening. She spoke up to interrupt the process.
“It’s not just a rumor,” said Barb. She held out her phone and hit play. The voice of Joey’s former partner issued fourth.
“I killed a boy. This Mexican kid named Ramos. He laughed at me. He called me a… faggot. I told him to shut up, but he wouldn’t… so I made him.”
As Joey listened, his shoulders fell. He shook his head violently.
“That’s not real. It’s a trick.”
“It’s real.”
“But what does it have to do with you?” he said to Danita.
“I was his next target.”
“What do you mean? He loved you.”
“I’m sure he did,” she said. “At least at first. After a while, though, he started seeing me as a possession. And it was more important to keep me in line than treat me like a person.”
“What are you saying?”
“He told me if I tried to leave, he’d kill me.” Danita stood. “Then he showed me he meant it.”
She lifted the bottom of her shirt, once more displaying the bruises mottling her torso. They’d settled into shades of yellow and purple, but they were no less visible. Joey stared in horror, his head slowly shaking back and forth.
“No,” he said.
“I couldn’t have lived like that,” said Danita. “Sooner or later I’d have tried to run.”
He kept shaking his head and repeating “no” as if the syllable were a one-word spell to ward off evil. Danita lowered her shirt but didn’t sit. She kept her eyes trained on Joey’s face. He tried to meet her gaze, but again and again he had to turn away. Eventually, he dropped his face into his hands and broke down in sobs.
“You’re a loyal and trusting partner,” said Barb gently. “That’s a wonderful trait, and your next partner will be a lucky man—or woman.”
Danita went to him, gently taking the gun from his hand.
“Go home,” said Barb. “Kiss your wife and cherish that baby on the way.”
He nodded, and Barb let herself relax. She slipped her hand out of the cushions of the sofa, where it had been clutching a small pistol of her own.
Joey would never know how close he’d come to taking a bullet himself.
#
After Joey left and Danita went down to her own apartment, Barb released Marmalade from the carrier and took care of a few loose ends. She arranged to have the RV picked up from the Sanchez ranch, checked on Ramon’s progress at Stanford Hospital, and made sure Marcy had arrived home safely.
She drew herself a hot bath and poured a glass of wine. Letting herself sink into the delicious warmth, she reflected on the past few days. She felt pride in a project successfully completed—and grief at the loss of her relationship with Julian. Ah, well, it couldn’t be helped. And regret was a thief, stealing peace of mind.
Marmalade gave a soft meow from her customary perch on the vanity. Barb could tell she was happy to be home. Barb was too. But despite her attempts to convince herself that Jackery’s death didn’t trouble her, she found him occupying her thoughts. She believed her actions had been the only way to stop him—the evidence was his inability to give up his power to save his own life. If he’d succeeded in his scheme to possess Dixon County, she had no doubt he’d soon be driven to pursue another, even more destructive one. And yet, despite everything, he was a human being. A massively flawed one, but then again she wasn’t without her own flaws, and every villain considered themselves the hero of their own story. For now, she’d have to live with the weight of her actions as the rest of the story played out.
News of Jackery’s disappearance would undoubtedly trickle out, and witnesses to his death would come forward, sparking a media frenzy. Vultures would descend upon the carcass of his financial empire, and rich men would become even richer. Maybe they’d somehow be more decent and better able to resist the temptation to see their good fortune as tantamount to a divine right to treat their fellow beings as tools and playthings.
A woman could always dream.