Category Five by T. J. MacGregor

Author:T. J. MacGregor [MacGregor, T.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Crime
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

In 1992, Hurricane Andrew went from a category one to a category four in thirty-six hours.”

from The Weather Book

A profound horror seized Mira, paralyzing her. Even her mind had frozen. Yet she heard the frantic, wild beating of her heart and had a rudimentary awareness of some inner voice shrieking, It’s them, the cons, it’s them. But the sight of the man and the woman in her house, both of them armed, had rendered her incapable of linear thought.

“Hey,” the man snapped. “I asked you a question.”

Question. She blinked. Her mouth moved but nothing came out. She recognized these two as Billy Joe Franklin and Crystal DeVries, both of them drenched, their clothes filthy. Where was Tia Lopez? I didn’t just open the door to this nightmare; I blew it off the hinges.

“Hey, lady.” He rolled onto the balls of his feet and got right up in her face. “Answer the question. Are you two the only ones here?”

His breath smelled like rotten cucumbers. She turned her head away. “Yes.”

He grabbed her chin. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you…”

Don’t touch me, don’t touch me… Brief images flickered through her of Franklin in a black room, on a bouncy bed covered with black sheets, making wild, violent love to the blonde. “Yes. I said yes. We’re the only two here.”

“That’s better.” Grinning, he released her chin and rocked away from her. “Babe, get the Amazon in here.”

The blonde, edgy and hyped up, danced around like she was high on speed. Even though her facial structure, the color of her eyes, her wild blond hair, and the pout of her mouth held the promise of beauty, her face lacked humanity. The result was a sort of white trailer trash kind of face that would be sagging, drawn, and old before she hit forty.

She held a gun, a Sig just like Sheppard’s, and aimed it at Nadine. “I don’t like how you’re looking at me, old lady.” And she danced right over to Nadine’s wheelchair and jammed the muzzle of the Sig against Nadine’s temple. “I think I’ll shoot her, Billy. Okay? Is that okay?”

“Back off, babe. Just back off. You’re—”

“C’mon, Billy. We’ve never wasted anyone together. Well, no, that’s not quite true, is it?” She giggled like a silly teenage girl. “We wasted those cops who were chasing us. But that’s not the same thing because you were driving, not shooting. C’mon, let’s have some goddamn fun while we’re here. I really want to shoot her, I hate old people.”

Sweat glistened against Nadine’s forehead, her eyes widened and darted to Mira, the message clear: No heroics. “Leave her alone!” Mira cried out

The blonde whipped around, her eyes like chips of steaming dry ice. “Who the fuck are you, telling me what to do, bitch?” And she danced backward and swung around, the Sig now aimed at Mira. “Let’s just waste them, Billy. Who’s gonna know?”

“What the fuck’s wrong with you, girl?” A tall black woman weaved from the family room, right hand gripping her left shoulder.

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