Shoot the Woman First by Wallace Stroby Read Free Book Online Page A

his grin.

 
    SIX
    The van slowed, came to a stop. Charlie Glass looked through the shattered window. “It’s clear.”
    The engine cut off, and he opened the doors. They were in the rear playground of a school, the windows plywooded over, graffiti scrawled on the stone walls. The transfer cars—a green Saturn and a blue Toyota—were parked beside a chain-link fence. They’d been stolen the day before, left there that morning. They were both a few years old, innocuous.
    Glass jumped down. “Let’s move.”
    Larry stood, helped her to her feet. She winced as a spasm of pain tightened her back. Glass reached up to her, but she waved him away, climbed down, legs unsteady. She picked up the Glock, stuck it in her belt, then got the windbreaker from the floor, turned it right side out, saw the bullet hole.
    Larry had disassembled the AR-15, put the parts in the tac bag along with the shotgun and Glass’s revolver. He gestured to the Glock. She shook her head.
    â€œEverything’s going in the river,” he said. “You know that.”
    â€œYeah, but until then, I’ll feel better with it on me.” She pulled on the jacket.
    â€œSuit yourself,” he said. He zipped the tac bag shut, climbed down. “You all right?”
    â€œI will be.” Her right leg was numb. Pinched a nerve, she thought. Stretch it out, keep moving.
    Glass opened the Saturn’s trunk, took out a red plastic five-gallon gasoline container. Cordell got out of the van, came around to the back, uncertain what to do.
    â€œGet that other trunk open,” Glass said to him. “We need to finish up here.”
    Larry stowed the tac bag in the Saturn’s trunk. They’d agreed the money would go in one car, the equipment in the other. She and Larry would take the Toyota and the cash, Cordell and Glass the Saturn and the guns.
    Glass climbed back up into the van with the gas can, pushed the duffel out. Larry carried it to the Toyota’s open trunk, dropped it in, and shut the lid. Glass began splashing fuel around inside the van, the harsh smell of it drifting out.
    She felt Cordell beside her, turned to him. “How you doing?”
    â€œI’m all right.”
    â€œYou did okay out there.”
    He didn’t respond. Glass climbed down, tossed the empty can inside. He had a dull red road flare in his hand.
    â€œYou two go first,” he said to her. “We’ll see you back there.”
    She went to the Toyota, stamped her right foot on the ground twice to speed up the circulation, feeling pins and needles in her leg now. Larry looked at her across the roof, said, “You okay to drive?”
    â€œGood enough.” She got behind the wheel. Multicolored wires hung from the cracked steering column. She braided two together, and the engine started.
    Larry got in beside her. “You sure?”
    â€œI’m sure,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”
    *   *   *
    They went slowly up the driveway. The Lexus was in the garage, the door shut. She backed the Toyota up next to Larry’s rental, pulled wires apart, and the engine went quiet.
    They sat there, waiting for the Saturn, listening to the wind. The rain had slackened, but the clouds were low and dark. The pain in her back was a steady throbbing.
    â€œGot crazy back there,” he said.
    â€œIt did.”
    â€œI maybe killed that man. I don’t know.”
    â€œIf you hadn’t shot him, he would have killed me.”
    â€œCould have gone a lot worse, I guess.”
    â€œAlways,” she said. “Come on, let’s have a look, see what we’ve got.”
    They got out, and she opened the trunk, unzipped the duffel. The money was in thick packs, some of them bound by plain rubber bands.
    â€œSloppy,” he said. She took out a pack, looked through it. Hundreds and fifties, but worn bills. That was good. She shook the bag, looking for