Читать книгу Witness To Death - Dave White - Страница 20

Chapter 11

“What the hell are you doing here?”

John pushed the chair back. His chest tightened and his vision went hazy. He blinked to clear it.

Ashley sat down across from him, folded her hands in front of her, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, he saw the glint of the pale light from the fluorescents above them. He remembered waking up next to her one morning as rain pounded the sidewalk outside. They stayed in bed the whole morning, holding each other.

Now John wasn’t sure if he wanted to hold her or punch her. Over her shoulder, through a window in the door, he could see a uniformed officer watching them.

“John,” she said. Another breath. “John, we have to get you out of here.”

“Get me out of here? How did you even know I was here? I didn’t call you.”

“I told them I was your lawyer. I made a fake business card on a computer at an overnight Kinko’s. Odds are they won’t believe it for long. They’re probably looking up my info right now.”

“What? Why would you—”

“Shut up,” she said. “You’re in trouble, and I think I’m in trouble.”

“Of course I’m in trouble. I’m in jail.” As his muscles bunched together, John felt as if someone was pulling a string taut behind his neck. “Wait, what do you mean you’re in trouble?”

“Work.”

“Work. Work? You’re a receptionist. And your boss is not a slavedriver. You and I both know…” John shook his head. Now wasn’t the time for this. It was ridiculous. “I watched five men die tonight!”

Ashley looked up at him and squinted as if he’d just told her he peed himself.

“Would you shut up?” she said. “We’re getting out of here.”

The cop standing at the door must have heard them. John saw him reach to his shoulder and say something into a radio. Ashley started fiddling in her purse and came out with a glass soda bottle. Looked like Sprite.

“Stop!” John said. “We’re not going anywhere. Let the police sort this out.”

“John. Someone is trying to kill me. And I think they want to kill you too.”

John froze, half out of his seat, his legs still touching the chair.

Before he could say anything else, Ashley unscrewed the cap. John could smell turpentine. She poured some of it on a handkerchief and stuffed it in the bottle.

As the cop watched the window, his eyes widened. John saw the knob turn and the door start to open.

“Get ready to run,” Ashley said.

She pulled a cigarette lighter from her purse and lit the handkerchief, whirled, and threw the bottle at the door. Before the bottle hit, John saw the cop fall away from the door, covering his face with his forearms. The bottle hit, cracked, and there was a whoosh.

John squinted at the brightness of the explosion. His face heated, and he felt sweat at the edge of his hairline. His hands started shaking again. Ashley grabbed him by the wrist and pulled. He saw the cop rolling on the floor. His sleeve was on fire.

“Come on!” she screamed, dragging him through the door.

Alarms rang and the sprinklers went off in the hall. The water was freezing. As it washed down John’s face, he could taste it mixing with the salt of his sweat.

Police were yelling for everyone to get out of the building. Some of the fire had spread to a nearby desk filled with papers, and across the carpet on the floor.

Two male cops and a woman in cuffs ran, splashing up puddles, yelling and bumping into each other. Ashley grabbed John’s wrist tight and pulled. They stepped in between an older couple. The smoke was thick like black coffee, and filled John’s nostrils. He coughed hard and tried to breathe. His chest was on fire, and he wasn’t getting much air. He and Ashley crouched lower, where the air was a bit cleaner.

Some cops were acting like baseball coaches, trying to wave everyone toward the door. Smoke billowed around their arms, but otherwise, it was hard to see them.

No one stopped them.

By the time they reached the winter air, its chill quickly crusted the freezing water on their clothes. Ashley’s hair was matted to the sides of her face and she pulled it back into a ponytail. She took John by the arm again and pointed toward the far corner of the building.

“I’m parked over there,” she said. Ashley started to drag him in that direction, but John didn’t walk with her.

“I’ll be a fugitive.”

“You’ll be better off on the street than in a police station. Follow me.”

John blinked, still not sure what was happening.

“Let’s go!”

He went with Ashley, pushing through the crowd of onlookers. Sirens rang off in the distance, fire trucks speeding toward them. John tugged his arms against the handcuffs, but there was no give. He had no idea how he was going to get them off.

The crowd started to thin as they got closer to her car. Ashley ignored cops, ignored pedestrians, and ignored the chaos around them. She did what she always did: looked like she belonged.

Until they were about ten feet from the car.

It started as a low rumble, and John felt the ground shake beneath him. The rumble became an explosion, and the front glass doors of the police station erupted in a flash of light. The crowd turned their heads to look, and Ashley stopped for moment. Then she took John by the arm again and ran to the car. No one followed, too busy heading back toward the burning building.

Once in the passenger seat, John looked at Ashley.

“You knew that explosion was coming?”

She shook her head. “Must have been a spark near some gas or something.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, and drove off toward the Turnpike.