know. So of course, I go out, buy a baseball bat, show Samuel I am already diva material.”
“How’d you get the drop on a cop?” D.D. couldn’t help but ask. The bands of her stomach muscles were tightening again. A slow, definitive ache. In the way true partners could, Alex was on to her discomfort. Slowly but surely, he was nudging her farther and farther behind him. Parenthood, D.D. was discovering, happened way before birth. She was keenly aware that both she and Alex were in jeopardy. And already, stubbornly, resiliently, she was plotting ways for her child to live. They were expendable. The baby, no .
“Vodka,” Natalie said. “He nodded off. I picked up the bat, went to work. It’s not so hard, almost like breaking a watermelon. Oh, I have an alibi,” the aspiring actress finished brightly. “I was at home, watching M*A*S*H . That silly Hawkeye.”
D.D. peered out at the woman from behind Alex’s shoulder. Natalie seemed genuinely pleased with herself. She had killed a cop, and she was proud of it. D.D. made a mental note never to work as a film consultant ever again. Then she held on to her stomach, as the bands tightened impossibly hard, and a shooting pain raced up her spine.
Oh, yeah. Definitely in trouble. Right now.
In front of her, Alex tensed, as if preparing for action. She wanted to grab his coat. She wanted to yell No, I can’t do this without you . But the iron bands of her stomach had squeezed the breath from her lungs and she couldn’t talk, couldn’t speak. She panted, like a cow calving, she thought in the back of her mind.
As Alex took a step forward.
As Joe said, “Hey, Natalie, I got an idea—”
And Donnie Bilger yelled, “Noooo!”
The film producer careened off the sofa. He shoved D.D. to the ground, where she dropped like a sack of bricks, still holding her stomach, still panting. Then he was charging Natalie, body ducked low, aiming for the legs, as Joe and Alex, recognizing the opportunity, went high.
The gun: Boom, boom, boom.
Then Natalie was screaming and falling backwards and Joe was cursing and Alex was saying nothing at all.
Please speak. Please curse, please scream, please exclaim , D.D. willed with all of her heart. But nothing from Alex as Natalie went down, and the gun got kicked across the floor of the trailer, and D.D. on her hands and knees, resiliently tracked it down between labor pains.
She got the gun. Clutched it between her hands. Turned to kill the woman who’d harmed her Alex, except Alex was there, standing up, holding a kicking and squirming Natalie between him and Joe, while Donnie Bilger sat up before her, eyes opened, but dazed, as he held a hand to the blood on his forehead.
“She shot me,” he said.
“I’d help,” D.D. ground out, “but I think . . . maybe . . . I could use an ambulance.”
Alex, still standing, but going pale. “D.D?”
“Hey, Joe,” D.D. gasped, “think you can handle booking?”
“Been known to have some competence,” he answered.
“Oh, good. Hey, Alex, think you can handle becoming a father?”
“It’s too early!” he blurted out.
“Yeah. Not disagreeing. Oh, would you look at that. Breaking water . . . is just like breaking water.”
Donnie Bilger chose that moment to pass out cold.
D.D., however, remained absolutely, positively awake. As Boston police, then FBI agents flooded the scene. Natalie was stuffed into the back of a patrol car right about the same time D.D. was stuffed into the back of an ambulance.
Alex went with her, holding her hand and reminding both of them to breathe.
Six hours later, they named the baby Jack.
The Boston FBI field office sent flowers to the hospital. So did Donnie Bilger.
So did Chernkoff. One of his last moves before he was arrested for money laundering, with Donnie Bilger becoming the key witness for the prosecution.
Alex read her the story in the newspaper the next day, as D.D. lay in the hospital bed, nursing Jack. Born six weeks early,
“How’d you get the drop on a cop?” D.D. couldn’t help but ask. The bands of her stomach muscles were tightening again. A slow, definitive ache. In the way true partners could, Alex was on to her discomfort. Slowly but surely, he was nudging her farther and farther behind him. Parenthood, D.D. was discovering, happened way before birth. She was keenly aware that both she and Alex were in jeopardy. And already, stubbornly, resiliently, she was plotting ways for her child to live. They were expendable. The baby, no .
“Vodka,” Natalie said. “He nodded off. I picked up the bat, went to work. It’s not so hard, almost like breaking a watermelon. Oh, I have an alibi,” the aspiring actress finished brightly. “I was at home, watching M*A*S*H . That silly Hawkeye.”
D.D. peered out at the woman from behind Alex’s shoulder. Natalie seemed genuinely pleased with herself. She had killed a cop, and she was proud of it. D.D. made a mental note never to work as a film consultant ever again. Then she held on to her stomach, as the bands tightened impossibly hard, and a shooting pain raced up her spine.
Oh, yeah. Definitely in trouble. Right now.
In front of her, Alex tensed, as if preparing for action. She wanted to grab his coat. She wanted to yell No, I can’t do this without you . But the iron bands of her stomach had squeezed the breath from her lungs and she couldn’t talk, couldn’t speak. She panted, like a cow calving, she thought in the back of her mind.
As Alex took a step forward.
As Joe said, “Hey, Natalie, I got an idea—”
And Donnie Bilger yelled, “Noooo!”
The film producer careened off the sofa. He shoved D.D. to the ground, where she dropped like a sack of bricks, still holding her stomach, still panting. Then he was charging Natalie, body ducked low, aiming for the legs, as Joe and Alex, recognizing the opportunity, went high.
The gun: Boom, boom, boom.
Then Natalie was screaming and falling backwards and Joe was cursing and Alex was saying nothing at all.
Please speak. Please curse, please scream, please exclaim , D.D. willed with all of her heart. But nothing from Alex as Natalie went down, and the gun got kicked across the floor of the trailer, and D.D. on her hands and knees, resiliently tracked it down between labor pains.
She got the gun. Clutched it between her hands. Turned to kill the woman who’d harmed her Alex, except Alex was there, standing up, holding a kicking and squirming Natalie between him and Joe, while Donnie Bilger sat up before her, eyes opened, but dazed, as he held a hand to the blood on his forehead.
“She shot me,” he said.
“I’d help,” D.D. ground out, “but I think . . . maybe . . . I could use an ambulance.”
Alex, still standing, but going pale. “D.D?”
“Hey, Joe,” D.D. gasped, “think you can handle booking?”
“Been known to have some competence,” he answered.
“Oh, good. Hey, Alex, think you can handle becoming a father?”
“It’s too early!” he blurted out.
“Yeah. Not disagreeing. Oh, would you look at that. Breaking water . . . is just like breaking water.”
Donnie Bilger chose that moment to pass out cold.
D.D., however, remained absolutely, positively awake. As Boston police, then FBI agents flooded the scene. Natalie was stuffed into the back of a patrol car right about the same time D.D. was stuffed into the back of an ambulance.
Alex went with her, holding her hand and reminding both of them to breathe.
Six hours later, they named the baby Jack.
The Boston FBI field office sent flowers to the hospital. So did Donnie Bilger.
So did Chernkoff. One of his last moves before he was arrested for money laundering, with Donnie Bilger becoming the key witness for the prosecution.
Alex read her the story in the newspaper the next day, as D.D. lay in the hospital bed, nursing Jack. Born six weeks early,
Similar Books
