Shot Girl Read Online Free Page B

interrupted, glaring at Jack Hammer. "We can’t talk here. I’ve got to take you down to the station."
    "What the fuck’s going on, Tom? The station?"
    "Just come with me."
    "Where’re my keys?"
    He leaned down and grabbed me under the armpit, pulling me up. "Just come with me," he said roughly.
    I teetered on the damn heels, thought I’d topple over again. Tom wasn’t paying attention. I looked at Jack Hammer, whose eyebrows were shooting off the top of his head. I shrugged at him as Tom led me through the bar and back out into the night, the humidity wrapping itself around me like a hot, wet towel. It was only the beginning of June, for Chrissakes.
    Tom’s Impala was parked at the curb. I could see my relatively new Honda Civic in the parking lot along the side of the building. The passenger door was open, and there were two cops standing sentry next to it.
    I looked back over toward the front of the building. All the people who’d been outside earlier had been herded inside for questioning, and the only ones left were Frank, the coroner, and a couple cops. Ralph’s body still lay where it had fallen.
    "Can I call my lawyer?" I asked as Tom opened the car door for me.
    He handed me his cell phone. "Go ahead."
    Shit.
    "Dammit, Tom," I said when we were both securely in the car. "Tell me what’s going on."
    "Call your mother. You’re going to need her."
    My mother doubled as my lawyer. I stared at him, holding my breath.
    Tom’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his eyes boring into mine as if he was trying to read my mind. "We found four shell casings in the street. A .22."
    The bottom of my stomach dropped out. Okay, so I owned a .22. But it wasn’t a secret.
    "I went to your car, Annie," Tom said as he started the Impala.
    "Yeah?" I tried to keep my voice light, but my throat was dry and it came out as a sort of croak.
    The engine purred as we sat idling.
    Tom’s next question didn’t surprise me, considering. "Why did you bring your gun out tonight?"
    I didn’t answer.
    Tom sighed. "Your flip-flops were on the floor, like you said, but one was stuck a little under the seat. When I reached in to pull it out, I felt it."
    I’d fucked up. I knew I should never have asked him to get my flip-flops. But my feet had been killing me; I took that risk.
    "Dammit, Annie. What was your gun doing on the floor under the seat on the front passenger side? There were six bullets in the magazine."
    Even I could do the math. The magazine held ten bullets. If there were only six left, where were the other four?
    On the ground near Ralph’s body, he seemed to think.

Chapter 4
    I woke up my mother. At least I hoped I woke her and didn’t interrupt anything. Her voice was a little groggy, and I heard a baritone in the background. Bill Bennett. Publisher of the New Haven Herald . My boss. He was living in my house now. Well, it wasn’t officially my house anymore, but my childhood shit was still there, my room with the Jim Morrison poster and Elton John albums. It was bad enough my mother had started dating him last year, but to know that he was living there now—must have been in my old room at some point, seeing more of me than any boss should see of his employee—well, that sucked. I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
    "Annie, do you know what time it is?" my mother asked.
    "About eleven?" I ventured.
    "Why are you calling?"
    "Well, I’m in sort of a jam, and I need you to meet me at the police station." Understatement of the year.
    "What sort of jam?" My mother was wide-awake now; her voice was clear, crisp.
    "Well, do you remember Ralph?"
    A second passed before she said, "Your Ralph?"
    "Jesus, Mother, he hasn’t been my Ralph for fifteen years. But yes, that Ralph." I paused. "Well, he’s dead, and it looks like he may have been shot with a .22 and Tom found a gun in my car, and now he’s taking me to the police station for some sort of interrogation and he suggested that I give you a call. Nice of him, wasn’t