Gin Palace 01 - The Poisoned Rose

back of the socket. I felt the eyeball give like a soft-boiled egg.
    He screamed out, and his hands came up, bringing my right with them. He grabbed for my left arm, and this freed my right hand enough for me to grab the left side of his head and sink my right thumb into his other eye. It popped fast. Still holding onto his head, I lifted my knee sharply and thrust it into his groin. He folded at the waist, his knees bending. I held his head between my forearms, my hands cupped behind his head, and landed one solid knee shot to his face—for Augie.
    Searls dropped to the floor. He was barely conscious. His eye sockets were bloody, his battered face broken.
    I looked for Tina but she wasn’t to be seen. I heard her on the phone in my bedroom, calling 911. The cops would be here soon, but not soon enough to stop Jean-Marc from catching up to his sister.
    There was no way to get the cuffs off, so I grabbed Searls left wrist with two hands and began to pull him with me. He was heavy, but the floor was bare wood, so he slid. I went out the door and down the hall. The stairs I thought would be easy, but halfway down the first flight, Searls’ semi-conscious body starting sliding. It got past me, then ahead of me, pulling me like an anchor. I lost my balance and tumbled down to the bottom with him, landing hard on the floor with Searls beside me. I scrambled to my feet, aching in a dozen places, and pulled Searls across the landing to the next flight of stairs.
    This time I made a point of running ahead of him and reached the bottom without a problem. Then I tugged with everything I had, dragging Searls through the door and down the steps to the pathway that led to the curb.
    Jean-Marc and Marie were at the end of the pathway, beside Marie’s once-red Saab. I saw that the passenger door was open. I saw, too, that they were standing face to face, with Jean-Marc’s back to me. A surge of adrenaline ran through me, and dragging Searls as quickly as I could, I began down the path toward them. But it was slow going. I knew that Jean-Marc had his gun, but there was nothing more I could do except try to reach him before he could turn around and take a shot at me.
    Jean-Marc was holding the sleeve of Marie’s shirt with his left hand. They were arguing. But I couldn’t hear what it was they were saying. Their voices were hushed, but the argument was at a pitch emotionally. Jean-Marc was doing most of the talking, and Marie was looking at him and shaking her head stubbornly, her chin held high in defiance.
    I continued toward them, Jean Marc’s back as my target. I could see that he had returned his gun to his belt. I towed Searls as fast as I could. But I wasn’t even halfway between the Hansom House and the end of the pathway when Marie tried to get away from her brother. She was in a fury. He held her shirt tight, though, pulling her back to him violently. He almost yanked her off her feet.
    I could hear them now. I could hear his words. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her like an angry parent would shake a misbehaving child.
    “You’re going to do what I say,” he barked. “You’re going to do what I say when I say it, understand? You’re coming back home tonight, no more hide-and-seek, no more games. You’re telling too many lies now, Rose. Do you understand me? Do you understand!”
    Marie struggled to break free, but Jean-Marc held tight. The sleeve of her shirt started to rip at the shoulder seam.
    And this was all it took to send everything into an even higher gear.
    Marie began to flail wildly with her arms and kick furiously at her brother’s shins. One of her hands must have grazed his eye, because he flinched and leaned back suddenly. She broke free of his grip and dove for the passenger door of her Saab. But Jean-Marc recovered and caught her as she was bending forward and reaching in for something. He grabbed her around the waist with both arms and pulled her back. But she squirmed and fought him and bit his hand. He screamed out and let go of her again. She dove once more into the passenger seat of her car. He shook his injured hand and stomped his foot in anger, like a kid throwing a tantrum. Then he snapped out of it and went after her again. He leaned into the car and blocked my view of what was going on.
    I heard Marie scream, and I did what I could to run. I still couldn’t see what was going on, only Jean-Marc’s back. He was leaning into the car, struggling with his sister.
    I