Simple Genius

“I’m crying inside for you, little miss cripple.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Sandy screamed, her finger edging to the trigger. The cops were looking steadily at Sandy’s weapon. Michelle sensed this, turned and mouthed something to each of them. Then she slid between Barry and Sandy.

“Sandy, give me the gun. He’s going to jail this time, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Right.” Barry laughed.

Michelle whirled around. “Shut up, you idiot.” She turned back to Sandy.

“He will go to prison, I swear it. Now give me the gun.”

“Michelle, get out of the way. I’ve spent years tracking this bastard down and now I’m going to finish it.”

“He took your husband and your legs from you. Don’t let him take the life you have left.”

“What life? You call this a life?”

“You can help other people, Sandy. That’s worth a lot.”

“I can’t even help myself, so how can I help anybody else?”

“You’ve helped me.” Michelle took another step forward. “You helped me,” she added more quietly. “You’re not a criminal. You’re not a killer.

You’re a good person. Don’t let him take that from you.”

The gun wavered a bit in Sandy’s hand, but then it became very rigid and her voice calmed.

“I’m sorry, Michelle. You’re right. I can’t kill that filth even if he does deserve it.”

“That’s right, Sandy. Now give me the gun.”

“Goodbye, Michelle.”

“What!”

Sandy placed the gun against her temple and squeezed the trigger. The click reverberated around the room. Sandy squeezed the trigger again and then again, yet no bullet flew out to end her life. She looked stunned as Michelle walked up and slipped the gun out of her hand.

“I took the bullets out earlier.”

Sandy stared up at her in amazement. “How, how did you know?”

“Dirt on your fingers and dirt on the floor. People don’t normally ferret around in the soil of a flower basket. I knew something was in there.”

“Why didn’t you just take the gun then?” one of the cops grumbled. “If you hadn’t alerted us just now that it was empty we might have shot her.”

Michelle took hold of one of Sandy’s trembling hands. “I thought she might have to play this out, to get on with her life. To see what she was and wasn’t capable of.” Michelle smiled tenderly at the woman. “Sometimes that’s the best therapy of all.”

“You knew about Barry?” she said.

“I hadn’t figured that he was the one who shot your husband, but I saw you watching him and could sense you had some interest in him. I didn’t know about the Witness Protection angle though.”

“By the way,” Barry began confidently. “Call my handler at the U.S. Marshals Service. His name is Bob Truman, right in D.C.”

Michelle brightened. “Bobby Truman?”

Barry looked at her blankly. “You know him?”

“I should. I won a silver medal in the Olympics with his daughter. When I tell him what happened, you’ll be fortunate to see sunlight before you’re eighty. Must be my lucky day.”

They took Barry away, kicking and screaming. The cops made some noise about charging Sandy, but Michelle ultimately dissuaded them from doing so. “Do you really want to fill out the paperwork on that one? And besides, every wife in America would be screaming at you for being jerks,” she added, staring pointedly at the wedding band on one of the cop’s fingers.

“The gun was unloaded,” that cop said nervously to his partner.

The other cop said, “Screw it, I don’t need the hassle. But we’re taking the weapon.”

Michelle wheeled Sandy back to her room and spent some time talking to her. When Michelle got back to her room, she heard a whimpering sound. She opened the bathroom door and Cheryl nearly fell out.

“Cheryl, I’m sorry, I forgot all about you.” Michelle led the quivering woman over to her bed and sat down with her. Then she spotted the straw on the floor, picked it up and handed it to her. To her surprise Cheryl didn’t start sucking on it. Instead she clung tightly to Michelle’s shoulders. Michelle could feel the woman’s sharp bones against her skin.

Michelle sighed, then smiled and hugged the woman back. “I hear they’re having a really good session on eating disorders tonight. What say we go together? After dinner.”

In a tremulous whisper, Cheryl said, “You don’t have an eating disorder.”

“Are you kidding? Cheryl, I ate the Salisbury steak, a double helping. And actually liked it. If that’s not a disorder, I don’t know what is.”

CHAPTER 35

THE NEXT EVENING SEAN WAS PACKING when someone knocked on his bedroom door.

“Come in.”

Champ Pollion poked his head through the door.

“Did Alicia talk to you?” Sean asked.

“About the move? Yes. I have no problem with you acting as Viggie’s guardian angel. I would just caution you not to end up dead,” he added firmly.

“Self-preservation has always been high on my list of priorities.” Sean closed his bag and set it on the floor. “You know, we never got around to talking about what it is you do here at Babbage Town.”

Champ came into the room. “I was really counting on Len to go through the details.”