arm.
Without pausing to contemplate what he was doing, Ben leaped forward and tackled the retreating figure around the lower legs. They both fell, skidding on the wet grass. Ben got a strong, and unexpected, whiff of a sultry floral perfume. He also, as they wrestled over the ground, realized he had tackled a woman.
Be that as it may, he grabbed for the dummy. He got a good grip on him, yanked, and succeeded in tugging him free of the masked woman. Thrusting Buggsy up under his own arm, he swung out with the flashlight in his other hand. It hit the woman in the midsection and she let go of him. He broke free and started running.
"Come back here with that!"
He kept running and made it almost to the flagstone path before he tripped. As he fell, the woman got to her knees and started shooting at him with a handgun.
When she saw the flash of the shots, H.J. sat upright, exclaimed, "Oh, my god!" and turned the key in the ignition. Releasing the brake, she stared out into the rainy night. The windshield was smeared with rain.
"Wipers," she said as she poked at various buttons to the right of the steering wheel. Nothing much happened, and the windshield wipers didn't start functioning.
"Well, screw them." She gunned Ben's car out of its space and into the street. Up ahead she saw somebody come hopping off the curb. She then remembered the headlights and found the right button on the second try.
The beams showed her Ben, with what looked to be Buggsy hugged to his chest, running toward her. Rising up out of the high grass several dozen feet behind him was a masked figure with a gun.
H.J. floored the gas pedal. Hunching low, she swung the car between Ben and the person with the gun. She hit the brake, flung the door open and yelled, "Get your ass in here, Ben!"
He dived inside as she slid clear of the driver's seat.
"We got him." Tossing the dummy in her lap, he grabbed the flapping door shut and sent the car barreling out of there. A parting shot slammed into the rear window, making a loud thunk ing, crackling noise and spreading cobwebby lace patterns all across the glass.
"Hell," said Ben, "how am I going to explain that to my insurance people?"
Â
"I feel like I'm seducing a midget," observed H.J. as she tugged off Buggsy's checkered trousers. The car was now fifteen miles dear of the actors home and no one was following them.
Ben concentrated on driving, but glanced occasionally over at the dummy resting across his ex-wife's lap. "Any sign of a secret compartment?"
She had the lit flashlight resting on the open door of the glove compartment, illuminating the dummy. "Yes, in his right leg here. A section seems to have been cutout and then glued back in. I don't suppose you've got a knife?"
"Nope, I don't. Until you came back into my life I didn't have any need for burglary tools or weapons."
"I'm not talking about a switchblade, Ben, but just a little dinky pocket knife so I can pry . . . Never mind." She commenced searching in her purse. "You're really certain that was a woman who swiped this from McAuliffe's room?"
"I am"
"Does that make sense?"
"As much as our breaking into a mortuary at midnight."
"No, I mean if this is a gang of loan sharks we're competing with, it seems odd. Do they have female loan sharks?"
"H.J., there's a lot more to this mess than Rick Dell's bad debts."
She located the nail file she'd been hunting. "We've missed the last ferry boat across, haven't we?"
"By several hours."
"Want to stay over here in a motel someplace for tonight?"
"I want to get home, so I can be at my place by early morning. Beaujack's sending me copies of the scripts I'll need for the recording session this afternoon."
"It's a long drive, going all the way around the Sound back to Connecticut. You should get some sleep if you're going to be doing your funny voices."
"Even so."
She started working on the dummy's leg with her file. "C'mon, c'mon, pry loose," she urged. "Ah, here we go."
Ben took eyes off
Without pausing to contemplate what he was doing, Ben leaped forward and tackled the retreating figure around the lower legs. They both fell, skidding on the wet grass. Ben got a strong, and unexpected, whiff of a sultry floral perfume. He also, as they wrestled over the ground, realized he had tackled a woman.
Be that as it may, he grabbed for the dummy. He got a good grip on him, yanked, and succeeded in tugging him free of the masked woman. Thrusting Buggsy up under his own arm, he swung out with the flashlight in his other hand. It hit the woman in the midsection and she let go of him. He broke free and started running.
"Come back here with that!"
He kept running and made it almost to the flagstone path before he tripped. As he fell, the woman got to her knees and started shooting at him with a handgun.
When she saw the flash of the shots, H.J. sat upright, exclaimed, "Oh, my god!" and turned the key in the ignition. Releasing the brake, she stared out into the rainy night. The windshield was smeared with rain.
"Wipers," she said as she poked at various buttons to the right of the steering wheel. Nothing much happened, and the windshield wipers didn't start functioning.
"Well, screw them." She gunned Ben's car out of its space and into the street. Up ahead she saw somebody come hopping off the curb. She then remembered the headlights and found the right button on the second try.
The beams showed her Ben, with what looked to be Buggsy hugged to his chest, running toward her. Rising up out of the high grass several dozen feet behind him was a masked figure with a gun.
H.J. floored the gas pedal. Hunching low, she swung the car between Ben and the person with the gun. She hit the brake, flung the door open and yelled, "Get your ass in here, Ben!"
He dived inside as she slid clear of the driver's seat.
"We got him." Tossing the dummy in her lap, he grabbed the flapping door shut and sent the car barreling out of there. A parting shot slammed into the rear window, making a loud thunk ing, crackling noise and spreading cobwebby lace patterns all across the glass.
"Hell," said Ben, "how am I going to explain that to my insurance people?"
Â
"I feel like I'm seducing a midget," observed H.J. as she tugged off Buggsy's checkered trousers. The car was now fifteen miles dear of the actors home and no one was following them.
Ben concentrated on driving, but glanced occasionally over at the dummy resting across his ex-wife's lap. "Any sign of a secret compartment?"
She had the lit flashlight resting on the open door of the glove compartment, illuminating the dummy. "Yes, in his right leg here. A section seems to have been cutout and then glued back in. I don't suppose you've got a knife?"
"Nope, I don't. Until you came back into my life I didn't have any need for burglary tools or weapons."
"I'm not talking about a switchblade, Ben, but just a little dinky pocket knife so I can pry . . . Never mind." She commenced searching in her purse. "You're really certain that was a woman who swiped this from McAuliffe's room?"
"I am"
"Does that make sense?"
"As much as our breaking into a mortuary at midnight."
"No, I mean if this is a gang of loan sharks we're competing with, it seems odd. Do they have female loan sharks?"
"H.J., there's a lot more to this mess than Rick Dell's bad debts."
She located the nail file she'd been hunting. "We've missed the last ferry boat across, haven't we?"
"By several hours."
"Want to stay over here in a motel someplace for tonight?"
"I want to get home, so I can be at my place by early morning. Beaujack's sending me copies of the scripts I'll need for the recording session this afternoon."
"It's a long drive, going all the way around the Sound back to Connecticut. You should get some sleep if you're going to be doing your funny voices."
"Even so."
She started working on the dummy's leg with her file. "C'mon, c'mon, pry loose," she urged. "Ah, here we go."
Ben took eyes off
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