Simple Genius (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 3)

Michelle turned to look at Barry and then back at Sandy. “Witness Protection?”

“He ratted on his mob bosses and did no time in jail for killing the man I loved; the feds looked the other way because he helped bring down a major crime family. And they’re going to look the other way on this. Isn’t that right, Barry, or should I call you by your real name, Anthony Bender?”

Barry smiled and said, “Don’t know what you’re talking about. And if you try and shoot me you’re going down too.”

“You think I care? You took the only thing from me I ever cared about. Ever!”

“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?”