we were probably in Brooklyn. We sat in silence for the entire ride, me casting a glance at Bea every now and again, noticing that her face revealed nothing. She didn’t look scared, but twenty minutes or so into our trip, I noticed her lips moving in silent prayer. After traveling for about a half hour, we crossed the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, paid the toll, and traveled farther on a road I knew I had never been on in my life. We finally turned into a landfill and my heart stopped thudding and seemingly ceased to beat. Unless we were on a scavenger hunt, this was going to end badly.
Franco pulled into a spot between two heaping mounds of refuse about two miles into the landfill and cut the engine. He got out of the car and opened the door, motioning for the two of us to get out. Once Bea and I were out of the car—our noses filling with the stench of garbage—Gianna got out, the gun still in her hand. It drooped a bit, not pointed directly at us, and it occurred to me that she was finding it heavy. She waved it at us and told us to move away from the car.
“This time, I’ll make sure the shot hits you,” she said, smiling slightly. When she saw the puzzlement on my face, she elaborated. “I almost got you the first time, Alison. Under the el?”
I instinctively put my hand to my injured arm.
“You know that saying? ‘Good help is hard to find’? Very true. The kid I hired to take you out couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn,” she said, shaking her head. “Let’s just say we’ve given him a desk job.” She chuckled. “I’m afraid we’re also turning into the gang who couldn’t shoot straight. Right now, we’re the gang who can’t shoot, maim, or dismember with any efficiency at all. When all of this is over, I’ll be cleaning house.”
I rubbed my scar from the gunshot wound.
“I almost don’t mind Peter having his fun with anonymous sluts. But you? That was too much to bear.” A tear ran down her face.
“Gianna, I can’t impress upon you enough how wrong you are,” I said. I ducked as a seagull flew dangerously close to my head.
“She’s in love with my nephew!” Bea exclaimed, still apparently delighted with that news.
“Right. I’m love with her nephew,” I agreed, nodding enthusiastically.
“First, my daughter is found, like trash, in the trunk of your car. Then you start spending time with my husband. Is there anything else you can do to make my life more miserable than it already is?” she cried, the gun falling down to hip level.
Franco stood behind her in his usual stance, hands folded in front of him. He didn’t seem fazed by this psychodrama and watched everything with a robotic detachment that I found more disconcerting than Gianna’s meltdown.
“And to learn that Kathy had been pregnant, probably by your pig ex-husband…” She drifted off, her mind elsewhere.
“I told Peter, Gianna. It wasn’t Ray. He’d had a vasectomy.” I paused. “I promise you, it wasn’t Ray.” No use going into the whole stupid story again. “You killed him for nothing.”
She smirked. “It was really you that I wanted gone, Alison. And I didn’t want you to have any warning that it would happen. I will never forgive you, Alison,” she said, and raised the gun. “Even after you’re gone.” The gun dropped again.
Part of me felt sorry for her. I had known her daughter and knew what a lovely girl she had been. I had buried two parents as a young adult yet I had no idea what it might be like to bury a child. I almost understood Gianna’s insanity, but I couldn’t figure out why I had become the object of it. “Who killed Ray, Gianna? Did you do it or did you have someone do it for you? Who was it?” I don’t know why it was so important for me to know, but it was.
She looked at me and smiled. “Oh, some stupid kid. He was supposed to kill you, but when he found Ray, he did him instead. I got sick of waiting around for you, Alison. I figured that I’d do it myself.”
So, it was me she wanted. Not Ray. When the cold reality of having cheated death twice entered my consciousness, I shuddered. “Why do you want me dead so badly, Gianna?”
“If you can’t figure that out, Alison,