I glance up at her, wincing as one of the EMTs uses an alcohol swab to clean a cut above my right eye. “You saw me hitting that guy with my bat?” My tone of voice is borderline shocked. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do at all.”
Lowell exhales sharply, hands on her hips. “You had the thing held high over your head. Your potential client was prone on the ground, laughing. It sure as hell looked like you were about to use the thing to shut him up.”
“Why would he have been laughing if I was beating him, Detective? That sounds crazy.”
Lowell looks like she’s about ready to pick up the bat and smash me over the head with it. She jerks her head toward the offending article lying on the ground where I dropped it. “Doesn’t look like sporting memorabilia to me. Looks brand new.”
“Not true. It’s signed. Super valuable.”
“I can’t see a signature anywhere on that thing.”
“It’s there. It’s just hidden underneath all the blood. See…there.” I point. “David Ortiz.”
David Ortiz hasn’t signed the bat. But I did when we hid it under the counter. It’s a fairly decent forgery. Lowell gives me a cold, dead-inside kind of look. “You think you’re funny? You think this is a joke? This is jail time right here, buddy. Serious jail time.”
“Detective, please. He’s telling the truth.” On the other side of the room, Ramirez is being aided by another EMT; his left eye has almost swollen shut and his arm is in a sling from where I dislocated his shoulder. “He was just showing me the bat,” he says. “I fell and hit my head. I assure you, there was nothing untoward taking place when you shot at Mr Aubertin.”
Lowell glances between the two of us, her brows drawn together, scowling furiously. “You’re both horrendous liars. You think I don’t know who you both are? You think I’m stupid? You think it’s a coincidence that I am here, in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere Hicksville, New Mexico, sitting here with the both of you? Because rest assured, it is not.”
I shrug, giving her my best I-don’t-know-what-to-tell-you face. “I’m no one special, Detective. I run a tattoo shop. And this gentleman—” I choke on the word. “—Just came in asking about getting some work done.”
Lowell laughs a hard, stony laugh. “All right, just stop. Don’t fucking bother. I’m sure I’ll get the truth out of you back at the station. You’re both under arrest.” She reads me my Miranda rights first, and then repeats the process with Ramirez. As soon as the EMTs are done assessing me, I’m cuffed and bodily dragged out of the shop by two deputies. Ramirez isn’t far behind. As I’m shoved into the back of a police cruiser, I catch Ramirez grinning at me out of the corner of my eye.
I know him. I know he won’t change his story at the station, and neither will I. Lowell is about to be frustrated at every turn and I suspect I’m likely to spend the next twenty four hours in a holding cell, but I couldn’t care fucking less. It’ll give me time to think this thing through. It’ll give me time to make plans.
I’m sure Hector Ramirez will do the same.
CHAPTER
SOPHIA
I can’t get the image of that headless woman out of my mind. It’s there, every time I close my eyes for the rest of the day. Horrifying. The most awful thing I’ve ever seen. Rebel, Cade and Carnie kept their cool, but I could tell the sight had disturbed them, too. Rebel’s hands were shaking as he walked with me back to the compound. Still shaking when he pulled me to him and lay with me on his bed for half an hour in silence as I cried.
He left me shortly after to go find the woman’s boyfriend in town, and I’ve sat in his cabin ever since, staring at a wall, wondering how this can really be my life. I find myself thinking about Matt again. I made a choice to stay with Rebel back in Alabama. I’ve thought myself crazy many times since then. I could have gone back to my old life and to safe, boring Matt. I’d never have been exposed to mangled, headless corpses if I’d stayed with him. I’d have had a Costco account and checked out books from public libraries. I’d have visited wineries on the weekends and eventually had some kids and rescued a dog from the pound. I would have had a mundane, safe life I’m sure. Everything would have been fine.
But Rebel.
It’s inexplicable. It’s the worst decision I’ve ever made, and yet all the same, headless corpses or no, here I am, still sticking to it. What does that say about my mental state? It’s dark by the time Rebel returns. He never told me what time to expect him back, so I haven’t been worried, though when I catch sight of him that changes. He looks way, way worse than before if that’s possible. He looks like he’s literally nearly dead on his feet. Cade helps him through the cabin door and dumps him on the end of the bed, and I can do nothing but stare at him with my mouth hanging open.