Goldilocks Forever

Chapter 10

Las Vegas, Nevada

February 2006

The loud rumbling woke her. She heard it like a monster breathing on the street outside.  She crept over to the window and pulled back part of the curtain and blinds.

The brown Cadillac lay in waiting. The two men inside spoke to each other and then the engine shut off and each of them picked up a paper cup of coffee and sipped in unison. The driver wore a baseball cap. She couldn't recognize his stubble or get a close enough view of the passenger, but there wasn't a need for it.

She knew the car. Sucking in her breath, she let the curtain fall back to cover the window and pressed her back to the wall. They were waiting for her. What have I done? Why are they following me? Her heart beat so quickly that she was breathless. She forced herself to sit back on the bed and think.

Her alarm clock beeped its morning song. She jolted off the bed and flicked it off as if the men across the street could hear it. She could call in sick. Tell Pilar she wasn't feeling well.

The rent was due. Today was Friday, pay day. She had to work.

She could climb the fence, sneak behind buildings, and run through alleys.

They might catch a glimpse of her. There weren't enough dark alleys to cover her all the way to the bakery.

She could call a cab. She pulled open her nightstand drawer and counted the folds of money taped to the underside of the drawer.

Paranoia? Was that another symptom?

She couldn't spare the cash. The stacks meant rent and food and clothes that weren't blood-stained.

Shower. She needed a shower and she could calm down and do her best thinking there.

She eyed the dead-bolted and chained door as she passed to the bathroom where she mechanically undressed and took a lukewarm shower. When she emerged clean and numb, she noticed a smear of blood on the floor next to the toilet. Missed a spot.

Anna bent to wipe it up and then remembered the gun. She pulled it from its watery grave. Will it still work? She didn't know anything about guns and until the other day had never held one. The water dripped off it, a stream pouring from the barrel as she pointed it toward the floor. She set it on the counter and stared at it as she dressed and combed her hair.

The men in the Cadillac and the weapon in front of her both weighed down on her, overbearing pressure until she had no choice but to relent and pick up the gun. She examined it in her hands, touching its parts—everything but the trigger. That might come later. She pulled back the slide and let it snap back into place.

She held up the gun in front of her, pointing it at her reflection in the mirror. Her finger poised on the trigger. She would pull it, it might jolt in her hand, and then a loud boom and that would be it. Damage or blood or death.

The gun didn't fit in the pocket of her coat, so she tucked it underneath the waist band of her jeans and walked around with it pressing against her skin, cold and lethal. She practiced pulling it, aiming it, and then shoving it against her back again.

She put on an oversized sweater to cover the bulk, wore her jacket over that, and then grabbed her keys and left. Locking the door behind her, she turned and eyed the seven-foot tall brick wall behind her building.

Further down the alley, a few colorful plastic recycling crates stacked against the building. She fashioned a step ladder out of them and gripped the edge of the wall. The rough concrete scrapped the skin of her palms and fingers. She ignored the pain and used her strength to pull herself over the wall. She landed on her feet on the other side, but lost her balance and faltered. She had about three feet of space before the concrete on the other side of the wall leveled off into the steep gulley of the wash. Graffitti lined both sides of it, huge bubbly letters and nonsensical words. She walked alongside the wash with only the unmarked back of buildings to guide her.