Joni held the paper bag against her face as
the paramedic had instructed, but it was just so hard to do it and scream at
the same time. It required the kind of
multi-tasking her father, Carter, had always accused her of being incapable of. Maybe he was right after all.
Anyway, fuck deep breathing.
“We shouldna called the cops, they’re gonna
kill her, they’re gonna fucking chop her up, it’s gonna be like those fucking
serial killer movies or the fucking ear thing with Van Gogh,” she wailed
piteously through the bag. Each time she
made to take the bag away, Lex’s steady warm, brown hand guided it gently back
again.
“And God knows what they’re gonna do to poor
Des.” Visions of Des’ furry corpse
hanging from the rearview mirror of the kidnappers’ white van like a macabre
trophy danced before Joni’s eyes, and she screamed again.
Nick spoke firmly. “No, Joni.
Lex did the right thing. They
know we’ll call the cops. They expect it.
It was just an… ambit claim. They’re
just trying to spook us. Keep the upper hand.”
The truth settled like acid in Joni’s
stomach. Mission Accomplished, arseholes.
Nick spoke again. “They’re not gonna do anything to Frankie
that might risk their investment in this.” His mouth was a forbidding line.
“And we’re gonna need the cops right now.
And all their resources.”
Joni knew he was right but she felt a moment
of crystalline clarity and her tears dried instantly, like liquid paper. She looked Nick and Lex right in their
eyes. “Just so we’re clear. If my sister dies because you suck-arses
called the cops, I’m never speaking to either of you again.”
Lex and Nick both nodded earnestly.
“We get it,” Lex confirmed.
“Check,” Nick echoed.
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