“So who--?”
He yanks my hair to shut me up, and whispers, “Break your leg.”
I look at him and he nods and mouths, “Now!”
Not sure if he’s impressed with my acting ability or really wants me to harm myself, I decide to go with a bit of both.
“Okay,” I yell in a voice filled with false confidence. “I’ve had just about enough of this shit.” I pull away from Jack and run into the center of the clearing.
Spooner’s eyes grow wide and everyone else is silent.
“You people are idiots,” I mutter loudly, pointing fingers at each of them and rolling my eyes. “I’m disgusted with the whole lot of you and I’m not going to let you drag me down and get sent away to, to—“ I catch myself and realize I was about to say “the hoosegow” which is what my grandpa called prison, but I doubt these real criminals call it that and they’ll know I have no clue what I’m talking about. I throw my hands up in disgust and stalk away, imagining myself like one of those tough chicks from Law and Order.
And then I fake my twisted ankle over a tree root.
Boom! Down I go, gasping and moaning and Jack leaps for me, and even Spooner and Cornwell seem to find an inner chivalry and turn my way.
This of course is supposed to be the point when we take off because the bad guys’ guards are down.
Except I’m not that great an actress. And my ankle really is stuck. And twisted. And hurting like hell. Throbbing. And through the haze of pain I think, dammit, this is not the part of me I wanted to be throbbing.
“Perfect, Baby,” Jack purrs into my ear as he leans over and I see him motion to Madame Asia to run, too. “Let’s go!”
“My ankle,” I whimper.
“Oh, Hon,” he says loud enough for the others to hear, winking at me, “did it hurt the baby?” And then, under his breath he urges, “C’mon, let’s go. This is our chance.”
I shake my head. “I really hurt it, Jack.”
The look on his face is priceless. If, by that, I meant worth nearly nothing. He seems, just for a moment, to be deciding, Do I leave her here? Just met her a couple hours ago. How much would that screw my karma?
“I got you, Sweetheart.”
Words I was waiting to hear. But they didn’t come from Jack. Firm arms hoisted me up, cradling me and my now swollen and still throbbing ankle. I looked up into the soft eyes of Madame Asia and wrapped my arms around her (or his?) neck.
And we are off, running through the woods, leaping over logs, and I’m holding on for dear life. How he (or she?) runs in those shoes is a mystery.
I hear gasping behind us, and footsteps, and I close my eyes, afraid to see who it is, afraid the next light I see will be the flash of a gun and a bullet headed straight for me.
I don’t open them until I’m tossed into the bed of a truck, and Asia is leaning over, whispering, “I’m sorry. This is gonna hurt.”
I hear the truck start up and I brace myself for the bumpy road, which is already shooting pain up my leg.
Asia accelerates and makes a hard turn and then slams on the brakes.
In the road, dead ahead, standing there like they know we would stop, never fearing for one second the brakes wouldn’t work, is Jack, whose dimples are in full gear, and another man. They hop over the back and Jack says, as calmly as he’d greeted me at the church this morning, “Hey Babe, this is the real Cornwell.”
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