Shoot the Woman First by Wallace Stroby Read Free Book Online

simultaneously. The van’s left back window exploded, cubes of safety glass raining down on her. She looked back, saw the man with the AK stumbling, trying to bring the gun up again. Larry fired above her again, a flat crack, and the man spun and went down.
    There were hands on her now, dragging her up into the van. She saw the gray sky above her, and then she was in, facedown across the duffel, the van pulling away, both doors still open. Glass fell across her, and Larry caught the collar of his jacket, pulled him away from the open doors. The van swayed as it took the corner, spilling them to the side. Larry dropped the AR-15, put a hand against the wall to brace himself. They turned another corner, tires squealing, one of the doors swinging shut.
    â€œSlow down!” Glass yelled. The noise of the engine changed, and the van stopped swaying. Glass got to his feet, pulled the other door shut until it latched.
    Larry knelt beside her. “You hit?”
    She nodded, couldn’t catch her breath to speak. Her back was numb. He pulled off her ski mask, said, “Help me turn her over,” and he and Glass rolled her gently onto her side. She went with it, feeling the first stabs of pain then. They got the windbreaker off her, and then Larry had a knife out, was cutting at her sweater. It came away in two parts. He took the Glock from her belt, pulled at the Velcro straps of the vest. She heard the crackle as they were undone, and then a weight seemed to lift off her.
    â€œVest stopped it,” he said. “Barely.”
    The numbness was fading, replaced by a burning knot of pain under her right shoulder blade. It brought water to her eyes. Pain is good, she thought. Movement is good. You’ve been shot in the back. You should be dead or paralyzed, and you’re neither.
    Glass tugged off his ski mask, his face slick with sweat. “Just the one?”
    â€œI think so,” she said. She took a breath. “First time I’ve ever been shot.”
    â€œIf you’re lucky,” Larry said, “it’ll be the last.”
    She could feel the duffel under her, the edge of something hard. Larry took off his mask, sat beside her. Glass slumped against the wall, sank down. Wind whistled through the shattered window.
    She rolled onto her knees, pulled the duffel to her, unzipped it. Banded packs of money inside, the bag almost full. She reached under them, began to root around.
    â€œWhat are you looking for?” Glass said.
    Her hand met something rigid and cold. She took it out. A black box the size of a cigarette pack, a single green light blinking on one side.
    â€œThis.”
    â€œGPS,” Larry said. “Goddammit. We should have known.”
    â€œToss it,” she said.
    â€œI’ll do better than that,” Glass said. He took it from her, got up, dropped it on the floor, put one hand on the wall for balance, and brought his boot heel down hard. They heard plastic crack, then splinter the second time the boot came down. When he took his foot away, the light was out, the transponder in three pieces. He picked them up, fed them out through the broken window.
    She crawled until her back was against the wall. Hooking a heel in the vest, she dragged it closer, turned it over. She could see the indentation where the round had struck. She rubbed a gloved thumb across it. At closer range, the bullet would have gone straight through.
    â€œTold you it was a good idea,” Larry said.
    She looked at him, and he was grinning. She felt the tension break inside her for the first time that day. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess it was.”
    Then she was laughing, her eyes watering, the stress and fear and pain all coming out at once, the knowledge of what they had done, what she had survived. Larry was laughing now, too. Charlie Glass sat against the opposite wall, watching them.
    â€œY’all are crazy,” he said, and looked away, but he couldn’t hide