“Do you want to go over the cards one more time? I have a copy of them in my pocket.”
“No. Gilda covered it fine. I can read them.”
He grunted but didn’t reach for his seatbelt when the engine started. She didn’t either. She had twenty minutes to escape the limousine and find a phone. Vanni tried to appear relaxed as she sat back, casting sidelong glances at anything she could use for a weapon. The small plastic bottle wedged between her breasts seemed her best option. She could blind him if she flung the contents in his eyes but he was a big man. He sat between the only two exits. She’d have to get past him to get out one of those doors.
“Nervous? Just read the damn cards and act the way you were told.”
She held his stare.
“We’ll enter from the side of the church and go directly to the front where the press will be set up. Gregory and Carl are already there. Carl is going to take your arm and hold your hand. Allow it or so help me, I’ll break your damn fingers one at a time. You’re still a couple and you will pretend to be grateful that he’s standing by your side during this difficult time.”
Vanni clenched her teeth.
“Get that damn look off your face.”
She lowered her gaze and turned her head away. The small bar contained a few glass bottles, drinking glasses and bottled water. Her attention lingered on the dark bottle of alcohol. “May I have a drink?”
“Fuck no. The last thing we need is for you to be drunk.”
“I meant the water.” She pointed.
“No.”
“Fine. My throat is dry. I’m sure that will sound great when I’m trying to read those cards and clearing my throat two dozen times.”
“Drink the damn water. Just don’t spill it on your outfit.”
She glanced down at the button-up white top. The neckline rose to her throat and it had long sleeves to her wrists. The black shapeless skirt fell almost to her ankles. It reminded her of something a schoolteacher from the early nineteen hundreds would have worn. “God forbid. Does your grandma want it returned to her?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
She faked a cough, turned in the seat and stealthily removed the hairspray. She twisted the cap to loosen it and wedged the small bottle between the seats to make sure it was hidden. The belt buckle for the seatbelt stuck out and she hoped it blocked his view when she leaned forward toward the bar.
“Water,” he reminded her.
“I heard,” she muttered.
She took a bottled water and twisted the lid. It wasn’t a lie that her throat was dry. She took a couple of sips, glancing out the windows. They’d left Gregory’s property and were driving through a neighborhood of upscale homes. In less than a block they’d hit a bunch of shops and restaurants. The freeway would be after that. It was soon or never. She took another sip, sat back and dug down the side of her skirt since her hip faced away from him. She removed the eyeliner and used her thumb to flip off the plastic cap.
The limousine made a turn and she spotted the first shops. They lined the streets close together and would continue for two blocks to the onramp to the freeway. Traffic slowed the car to a crawl. She watched Bruce from the corner of her eye. He appeared relaxed. She glanced at her water and just let it go. The plastic bottle hit the floor and water poured out.
“Whoops.”
“Son of a bitch!” he yelled. “Grab it.”
She refused. “You.”
He lurched forward and almost fell out of the seat. She twisted the lid off the hairspray. The back of his neck was exposed as he picked up the plastic bottle, cursing about the water all over the carpet in the expensive limousine. She fisted the eyeliner pencil with her right hand and grabbed the hairspray in her left.
Fear and anger drove her to stab him with the pencil. Part of it dug into his skin before it broke. He roared out in pain and grabbed at his injured neck, falling all the way out of his seat. He turned his head, pure rage twisting his features. She shoved the hairspray at him and frantically dumped all of it. The liquid poured over his eyes and he tried to jerk away, squeezing them shut.
“You fucking bitch! I’m going to kill you.” He blindly fumbled at his suit with one hand, while wiping his eyes with the other.
Vanni stood, bent and grabbed one of the almost-full glass bottles of booze. The fact that Bruce had nearly tugged his gun out of the holster motivated her to swing the glass as hard as she could. It smashed over his head. He grunted and the loud sound of the gun going off at close range almost deafened her.
He slumped and the driver applied the brakes. She stared down at the motionless man, shocked. Blood spread along his thigh where the bullet had embedded. He’d shot himself. Horns honked and she looked out the windows. They were holding up traffic. The limo driver suddenly punched the gas, almost knocking Vanni on top of Bruce, who was sprawled at her feet.