room was filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder, and plaster dust floated down from the gaping hole in the ceiling above where Cliff lay on the floor.
Cliff Baxter got up slowly, on one knee, knocking chunks of plaster and wood lathing off his head and shoulders. Annie saw that he’d wet his pants.
He checked to see that his pistol was in his holster, then glanced up at the ceiling. Still brushing himself off, he stood and walked toward her. She noticed he was trembling, and she wondered what was going to happen next, but she didn’t much care.
He walked right past her, picked up the wall phone, and dialed. “Yeah, Blake, it’s me.” He cleared his throat and tried to steady his voice. “Yeah, had a little accident cleaning a gun. If you get any calls from the neighbors, you explain… Yeah, everything’s fine. See ya.” He hung up and turned to Annie. “Well, now.”
She had no trouble looking him right in the eye, but she noticed he had trouble maintaining eye contact. Also, she thought his order of priorities was interesting: control and contain the situation so as to protect himself, his image, his job. She had no delusions that he was protecting her from the wrath of the law. But that’s what he’d say.
As if on cue, he said, “You tried to kill me. I could arrest you.”
“Actually, I fired over your head and you know it. But go ahead and take me to jail.”
“You bitch. You—” He made a threatening move toward her, and his face reddened, but Annie stood her ground, knowing that ironically it was his badge that kept her from a beating. He knew it, too, and she took a little pleasure in watching him bursting with impotent rage. But one day, she knew, he’d snap. Meanwhile, she hoped he would drop dead with a stroke.
He backed her into a corner, pulled open her robe, then put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed the spot where the shotgun had recoiled.
A blinding pain shot through her body, and her knees buckled. She found herself kneeling on the floor, and she could smell the urine on him. She closed her eyes and turned away, but he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her face toward him. “See what you done? You proud of yourself, bitch? I’ll bet you are. Now, we’re gonna even the score. We’re gonna stay right here like this until you piss your pants, and I don’t care if it takes all goddamn day. So, if you got it in you, get it over with. I’m waitin’.”
Annie put her hands over her face and shook her head, tears coming to her eyes.
“I’m waitin’.”
There was a sharp rap on the back door, and Cliff spun around. Officer Kevin Ward’s face peered through the glass. Cliff bellowed, “Get the hell out of here!”
Ward turned quickly and left, but Annie thought he saw that his boss’s pants were wet. For sure he saw the plaster dust covering Cliff’s face and hair and her behind Cliff, kneeling on the floor. Good.
Cliff turned his attention back to his wife. “You satisfied now, bitch? You satisfied!”
She stood quickly. “Get away from me, or so help me God, I’ll call the state police.”
“You do, I’ll kill you.”
“I don’t care.” She fastened her robe around her.
Cliff Baxter stared at her, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt. From long experience, she knew it was time to end this confrontation, and she knew how to end it. She said nothing, just stood still, tears running down her face, then she dropped her head and looked at the floor, wondering why she hadn’t blown a hole in him.
Cliff let a minute go by, then, satisfied that the pecking order was reestablished to his liking, that all was right with the world again, he put his finger under her chin and raised her head. “Okay, I’m gonna let you off easy, sweetie pie. You clean up this here mess, and you make me a nice breakfast. You got about half an hour.”
He turned to leave, then came back, took the shotgun, and left.
She heard his footsteps going up the stairs, then a few minutes
Heidi Hunter, Bad Boy Team