Chapter 7 – THE CHASE IN THE FREEZING RAIN

The silver pickup truck roared off my lawn, its headlights blinding in my shattered rearview mirror.

“Mom, what’s happening?!” Rebecca screamed from the floorboard of the back seat, wrapping her body entirely over Sophie.

“Stay down!” I yelled over the rush of freezing wind whipping through the bullet hole in the windshield.

I threw the transmission into drive, stomped on the gas, and the car fishtailed wildly on the wet asphalt before catching traction.

We rocketed down the dark suburban street. I didn’t bother turning on my headlights. I didn’t want the hitman to have an easy target.

“Arthur, are you still there?” I shouted at the phone resting in the center console.

“I’m here!” Arthur’s voice crackled through the speaker. “I heard the gunshot! Carol, where are you?”

“Heading south on Elmhurst! The hitman is in Nathan’s truck, and he’s right behind me!”

I glanced in the mirror. The massive silver grill of the pickup was less than twenty feet from my bumper, gaining speed.

“You need to get to public space,” Arthur ordered. “A well-lit area with cameras. He won’t risk a shootout if there are witnesses.”

“There’s nothing open in this suburb at 1 AM!” I yelled, taking a sharp left turn so fast the tires squealed in protest. The heavy pickup truck lumbered around the corner behind me, sliding slightly in the rain but recovering quickly.

“The police station,” Rebecca cried out from the back. “Drive to the 12th Precinct!”

“It’s ten miles away! We won’t make it!” I argued, my eyes darting frantically across the dark, empty streets.

Then I saw it.

The tall, illuminated steeple of St. Jude’s Catholic Church, sitting on the hill three blocks away.

“The church,” I said, a desperate plan forming. “Patricia’s church.”

“A church is empty at night, Carol!” Arthur warned over the phone.

“The parking lot isn’t,” I said. “And the front doors are heavy oak.”

I slammed the gas pedal, ignoring a stop sign and tearing across a four-lane intersection. A semi-truck blared its horn as I barely cleared its front bumper.

The silver pickup truck wasn’t so lucky. It had to slam on its brakes to avoid the semi, giving me a precious five-second lead.

I aimed the car up the steep, winding road leading to St. Jude’s. The massive stone cathedral loomed in the darkness, rain pouring off its gargoyles.

I pulled into the empty parking lot, throwing the car into park right at the base of the wide stone steps leading to the heavy wooden front doors.

“Get out!” I ordered, unbuckling my seatbelt. “Run for the doors!”

Rebecca grabbed Sophie, hauling the terrified six-year-old out of the car. We sprinted up the slippery stone steps, the freezing rain soaking us instantly.

I reached the heavy oak doors and grabbed the iron ring handle. I pulled with all my strength.

It was locked.

“It’s locked!” Rebecca panicked, banging her fists against the thick wood.

The roar of a heavy engine echoed from the bottom of the hill. The silver pickup truck turned into the church parking lot, its high beams illuminating us like actors on a stage.

The hitman threw the truck into park. He opened the door and stepped out into the rain, raising the suppressed pistol.

“Get behind the pillars!” I shouted, shoving Rebecca and Sophie behind one of the massive stone columns flanking the entrance.

I ducked behind the opposite pillar just as a bullet chipped the stone inches from my head.

“Mom!” Rebecca sobbed, holding Sophie tight. “We’re trapped!”

I looked around frantically. We had the high ground, but no weapons. My purse was still in the car. The iron fire poker was back in Nathan’s bedroom.

The hitman slowly began walking up the stone steps. He was taking his time. He knew we had nowhere to go.

“Arthur,” I whispered into the phone, clutching it to my chest. “We’re at St. Jude’s. He’s coming up the steps. I don’t know what to do.”

“Carol, listen to me very carefully,” Arthur’s voice was deadly calm. “Is there a heavy bronze collection box near the entrance? Most old Catholic churches have them bolted to the exterior wall for after-hours donations.”

I peeked around the pillar. Bolted to the stone wall, right next to the locked oak doors, was a heavy, square bronze box with a small slot at the top.

“Yes,” I whispered. “But it’s bolted to the wall!”

“It’s held by four rusted lag screws,” Arthur said rapidly. “I know, because my firm handled the church’s insurance claims when a vandal ripped it off the wall five years ago. They just re-screwed it into the old holes. Kick it. Hard.”

I didn’t question him. I didn’t have time.

The hitman was ten steps away.

I stepped out from behind the pillar, planted my foot, and kicked the side of the heavy bronze box with every ounce of strength in my fifty-seven-year-old leg.

The metal groaned.

The hitman raised his gun, aiming directly at my chest.

I kicked it again, throwing my entire body weight into the strike.

With a loud, metallic snap, the rusted screws gave way. The heavy bronze box, filled with hundreds of dollars in heavy coin donations, detached from the stone wall.

I didn’t try to catch it. I let it fall, guiding its momentum outward.

The fifty-pound bronze box tumbled down the stone steps.

The hitman tried to step out of the way, but the rain-slicked stairs betrayed him. His boot slipped on the wet stone.

The heavy bronze box slammed directly into his shins.

With a shout of pain, the hitman’s legs went out from under him. He tumbled backward, tumbling violently down the remaining ten steps, his head cracking sickeningly against the asphalt at the bottom.

The suppressed pistol clattered away into the dark parking lot.

He didn’t get up.

I stood frozen at the top of the stairs, breathing heavily, the freezing rain washing over my face.

Rebecca slowly peeked around the pillar, holding Sophie.

“Is he dead?” Rebecca whispered.

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice trembling.

Sirens wailed in the distance, finally responding to the gunfire calls from the neighborhood.

I looked down at my phone. Arthur was still on the line.

“Arthur,” I breathed. “We got him.”

“Good,” Arthur said, a deep sigh of relief escaping him. “The police will secure him. But Carol, the nightmare isn’t over.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, wiping rain from my eyes. “Nathan is in custody. The hitman is down. We’re safe.”

“Nathan’s safe didn’t just have the blackmail contract,” Arthur said quietly. “It had the blue ledger, too.”

“You found it?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “But the accounts listed inside aren’t offshore dummy corporations. They’re domestic. And they’re not in Douglas’s name.”

I frowned, confusion cutting through my adrenaline. “Whose name are they in?”

Arthur paused.

“They’re in Patricia’s name, Carol. Your mother-in-law is the one holding the three million dollars.”

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