"This is being done right." I tried to keep my voice steady. It didn't work. Fear was there in the syllables.
"You better hope so. We'll see, we'll see."
The line went dead.
My knees buckled and I slid to the floor. I clenched my eyes shut, warding off the bogeyman with my own self-imposed darkness. I sat there for a long time, my heart racing and sweat pouring from me. So much was riding on every move I made. Everything I touched was on the verge of being destroyed. I had to win this trial. I had to appease reasonable doubt. I'd already sacrificed so much, but I would give even more if I had to. Self-preservation, primal, instinctual, was there, ruling my actions.
After a long while, I collected myself and rose. There was no other option now. Keeping it together was the only way for me to get my neck out of the noose. I needed to eat and go home. I had to look good tomorrow, my best. Professional for the female jurors, a little sexy for the males. I couldn't do that if I slept in the office. I couldn't let DiSalvo ruin my chance at saving myself. I had to keep going, to see this through, to show him that this was the right way to handle it all.
The night was rainy, a lingering winter chill in the air. I caught a cab and went to Thai, one of my regular haunts. I wasn't hungry, would probably wind up vomiting back up every last noodle, but I needed to at least make an effort. I had the cabbie wait for me as I ran in to pick up my order. When I emerged back into the wet gloom, two men approached. I froze. They were large and didn't seem to care about the soaking rain. One had a silver pistol. They grabbed my elbows and hustled me into a waiting car. My cabdriver watched through his windshield, his mouth agape at the scene.
I didn't have a chance to scream or fight. The car sped from the curb, out into the traffic and away from the familiar lights of the courthouse. The men on each side of me hemmed me in, their heft keeping me wedged between them. They were clearly the muscle and smelled like stale cologne and alcohol. Two more men were in the front, a driver and a passenger.
The passenger took a drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke into the car. His hair was dark and greasy, and his thin mustache made him somehow more effeminate. He watched me with dark, beady eyes.
I watched the pistol in his left hand. It was a light gray with a shiny barrel. It had mesmerized me from the moment I saw it pointed at me as I was shoved into the car. One of my captors took my purse from my frozen hands and searched it before tossing it onto the floor under his feet.
I was in shock or something close to it. I realized what had happened to me, but it was still only now becoming clear that I was in mortal danger.
"Wondering why you're here?" the stranger asked, his voice an unpleasant falsetto.
I tore my focus from the gun and looked him in the eye. I didn't answer, just gave the same stare back to him. I already knew I wasn't here to talk. I'd been brought to listen, at least until we reached our final destination. Then all bets were off.
Rain coated the car and slid down the windows in heavy drops and runnels. The driver had a preordained path, heading south, toward the Brooklyn Bridge. But then where?
"Well, I'll tell you. Mr. DiSalvo isn't too happy with you right now. You're a problem, see?" He asked it as if I would agree with him.
Even though I knew there was no other explanation, the mention of DiSalvo's name caused dread to erupt in my heart. It swallowed up the shock and every other emotion I was even capable of producing. It was as if I were still sitting in Clarence Sherman's cell, his fetid breath filling the air as he made the darkest threats I'd ever heard. But now the promise of harm, of death was even more immediate. DiSalvo had sent these men to kill me. I shuddered.
The stranger kept his eyes on me. "Now, you've been very good to Mr. DiSalvo in the past. That's why we're going to do it easy. None of the usual stuff. He told us not to cut anything off or touch you"-his gaze slipped down my body and then back up to my face-"or do anything like that. Just a bullet to the back of your head. Real quick, simple. No pain, see?" Again, like I was supposed to agree with him, to thank him for being so generous by not torturing or raping me prior to snuffing out my life.
He turned back around and whistled as the car sped over the bridge. The men on either side didn't look at me. They just stared straight ahead. Other cars were next to us on the bridge-a couple in a red car arguing, a solitary woman driving a beat up sedan, a church van full of teenagers. I watched them as the rain streamed between us. It was like watching some sort of boring movie, the actors phoning it in even though I was fully invested in every move they made. None of them saw me through the tinted windows. They were living their lives while I was living the last moments of mine.