Joe Victim: A Thriller

“Nothing.”


Before he can say anything more half a dozen men storm into the room, all of them dressed in black, one of them shouting at him to Get down, get down. A knee is put in the middle of his back and his face pressed into the floor, and then he screams into the carpet as his broken arm is pulled out of the sling and behind him, the numbness leaving in an instant as the handcuffs go on.





Chapter Seventy-Seven


It’s been over a year since I drove out to my mother’s house, but the same feelings I had back then I’m having again now. The dread. The shivers. The only good thing about being in jail was not having to come out here for meat loaf every week.

We’re about five minutes away when Melissa slows down and pulls over. The pain in my shoulder is dull, it feels like a warm ball bearing has been sewn into it. Melissa’s pulling over because the building tension is reaching its peak. If we don’t get each other’s clothes off within the next few seconds we’re going to explode. Only there’s a problem—if we get each other’s clothes off in the car people are apt to see. Some even apt enough to go about calling the police.

“The police will be visiting your mother,” Melissa says, turning toward me.

“Huh?”

“They’ll be waiting for us there.”

I’m not following her train of thought. Hopefully our relationship isn’t going to be based on her not making sense and me trying to figure her out. “Why? They’ll know I was shot. My mother would be the last place they’d think I’d go.”

“I’m not so sure. I think it’ll be one of the first places, not because the police think you’ll go there, but because they have to start sending people somewhere rather than nowhere. They have more manpower than they do ideas, so they can afford to send them all on wild-goose chases. They’ll send people there just for the act of something to do.”

I shake my head. “Normally I’d agree, but today is different. Mom isn’t home. That’s what makes breaking in there and getting the money so much easier for us.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s getting married today.”

“Do the police know that?”

“No,” I say. “Shit, but of course the police don’t know that, so they have no reason not to go to her house. Maybe they’ve been already and found out she wasn’t home.”

Melissa shakes her head. “Or maybe they’ve been and left people there. We can’t go there, Joe. We can’t take the risk.”

She’s right. I know she’s right. But fifty thousand dollars is too much money to just not think about. There has to be another way.

“Plus we don’t even know that she drew the money out,” she adds.

“She will have,” I say. Over the years I’ve dipped into my mom’s savings hidden under her bed. If I had done that when I was a teenager instead of going to my aunt’s house, I wonder how different life would have turned out. Only I didn’t know it back then.

“We should just head back home.”

“Home,” I say, thinking about what home is now. It’s not jail. It’s not my mother’s. It’s not my apartment. It’s Melissa’s house. Home is with her and a baby.

“Unless you’ve got somewhere better to be?” she asks, and she says it in an accusing way that makes me think of my mother.

“Of course not,” I tell her, and then because I think she needs to hear it, I say, “I love you.”

She smiles. “I would hope so,” she says. “After what I’ve gone through to get you here.”

She turns the car around. We start heading back the way we came. I divide my time between staring out the window, and staring at her. She looks different from that weekend we spent together. Part of it is the wig. She looks puffier in the face and neck and her eyes are a different color too, meaning she’s either wearing contacts or she was wearing contacts when I met her last year.

“What?” she asks, looking at me.

“Just remembering how beautiful you are,” I tell her.

She smiles. “You know what I’m thinking about?”

I nod. I know. But like I thought earlier people are apt to start making phone calls.

“I’m thinking about that money,” she says. “There has to be a way to get to it.”

“You’re right, though. We can’t risk going to my mother’s. Not now anyway.”

“You’re sure the police don’t know about your mother’s wedding plans?”

I think about it. My mother wanted me to be at the wedding. She wanted me to get the warden to let me out for the day. Will she have followed that up? Will she have gone to the police to try and talk them into releasing me just for that?