I learned to trust my instincts years ago, as a rookie. If a situation didn’t feel right, it usually wasn’t.
Something about the eager way Fuller followed his wife into the dressing room set me on edge. I’d never met a man eager to play fashion show, and the quick way he convinced Holly to try on the dress made me suspicious.
“Change of plan. All units converge on the sixth floor, at the northeast dressing room. We’re taking the target down. Repeat, we’re taking the target down. Over.”
I hung my star around my neck and tugged out my.38, which was happy to be free of its claustrophobic holster.
Several patrons stared at me, mouths open. I warned them to stay back.
Two steps into the dressing room, I heard gurgling and grunting. A muffled scream. I followed the sounds, found the right door. Locked.
I kicked off my flats, planted my left foot, and snap-kicked the door at knob level, grunting with the force of my effort.
The jamb splintered. The door swung inward. My gun came up.
Fuller had Holly by the throat. He spun her around, in the path of my.38, and I jerked the shot high, firing at the ceiling.
I recovered quickly, leveling the gun, bringing my left hand up to steady it. Fuller’s massive forearm was locked around Holly’s throat. Her face was a mess of tears, mascara, and spit, and her eyes were squeezed shut in pain.
Fuller was smiling.
“Hello, Lieutenant.”
I aimed at his head.
“Drop her, Barry!”
“I don’t think so.”
His arm tightened. Holly went from red to purple.
My hands had begun to shake. I tightened my finger on the trigger.
“Dammit, Barry! We can work this out! Don’t make me shoot you!”
I heard Fuller’s shots a millisecond after I felt them, ripping through Holly’s belly and slamming into mine. It was like getting kicked in the stomach.
I fired on reflex, my slug winging Fuller in the forehead.
All three of us went down.
The dressing room was carpeted, and the floor felt plush under my back. Comfortable. I looked down at my belly and saw blood and bits of flesh. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized my outfit was ruined, and that amused me for some reason.
To my left, lying less than two feet away, Holly Fuller stared at me. She blinked. Opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was blood.
“Don’t talk,” I told her.
She nodded, once. Then she closed one eye, and the other continued to stare at me as her life left her body.
Behind her, Fuller was laid out on his back. His head spurted blood with his heartbeat, and I saw bits of bone tangled in his hair. His right hand was clenched around a bloody semiautomatic.
“Die,” I whispered.
He didn’t.
I heard screams, and then Herb’s plump face was staring down at me, filled with anguish. I wanted to tell him not to be so sad, but I couldn’t get the words to form.
He pried the.38 from my hand, and touched my cheek.
“It’s going to be okay, Jack. It’s going to be okay.”
Not for Holly Fuller, I thought. And then it was getting too hard to keep my eyes open, so I went to sleep.