Trouble in Paradise

"Damn," Jesse said. And they both laughed.

FIFTY-TWO.

As soon as JD cut the ropes, Marcy peeled off the duct tape that covered her mouth, picked up her purse without a word, and went into the small lavatory. She locked the door and used the lav, washed her hands and began to examine her face in the mirror. The tape had taken all her makeup and most of her lipstick with it. There was a big red mark across the lower part of her face where it had been. Marcy washed her face in the basin, and dried her face carefully.

She didn't have enough makeup in her purse to repair the damage.

All she could do was put on fresh lipstick and comb her hair. Then she stood silently with her forehead pressed against the mirror and her eyes closed. She felt safe in here, though she knew she wasn't. But she simply couldn't stay in here, cowering until what ever happened happened. She was better off than she had been. At least she wasn't tied up anymore. Harry and the Indian had told this man not to hurt her, and he seemed to do what they told him. If she had just given into impulse this morning and not come to work... that was pointless. What was going to happen was what mattered. She took in a deep breath and let it out and looked at herself in the mirror.

Okay, Marce, here you go. She opened the lavatory door and walked out into the office. JD was staring out the office window at the guard shack and the bridge. He glanced over his shoulder at her.

"Feeling better?" he said.

"Yes." Her voice was hoarse.

JD turned back toward the window.

"You need to stay in here and be quiet," he said.

"I got to concentrate. You give me a problem, and I'll kill you."

"Harry and the other man said I was not to be harmed."

"I know what they said. They meant if you were good. You give any of us trouble, and any of us will kill you. You understand?"

"Yes."

"You can't get off the island, and you can't make a phone call, so sit down and relax and don't bother me."

"I won't bother you," Marcy said.

JD turned back to the window. Marcy glanced around the office. She didn't want to sit on the couch where she had lain so long tied up. She went and sat behind the desk. It was, after all, her desk.

If he wanted to sit there, he could tell her. JD continued to stare out the window. His back looked stiff. He was nervous. The office was very still. She tried to breathe softly, looking at JD. He was a small man, and he had about him a kind of ski

She was a big woman and strong. She worked out every day at her health club. Yet this puny soft man was stronger than she was and could force her to do what he wanted. Of course, he had a gun. But even if he didn't, he could overpower her. It didn't seem right. But that's how it was. Clearly, God wasn't a woman.

"Can you tell me what's going on?" Marcy said.

JD shook his head.

"Well, what are you doing? Why are you all here?"

"Shhh!" JD said.

She felt a surge of anger. He was so dismissive. He didn't even turn his head. All women felt that anger if they let themselves.

Though most women didn't find themselves, literally at least, in this kind of situation.

"For God's sake, you could at least look at me," Marcy said.

JD turned slowly.

"You shut the fuck up, lady, or I'm going to come up alongside of your fucking head."

She felt the thrill of fear run through her. He wasn't just a sexist pig; he was a sexist pig with a gun, and she was his prisoner. Remotely, almost unco

Her situation was probably just a slightly intensified version of all women's situation, the footman said. Everywoman!

"Jesus Christ," JD said.

Marcy stood behind the desk so she could look past him out the window. A Paradise patrol car was driving across the bridge.

Marcy felt a surge of excitement. Help was coming.

When the police car was halfway across, the bridge began to ripple. The ripple turned into a heave. And, as the sound of the explosion came rolling into the real estate office, the bridge went up and the police car with it, somersaulting slowly in among the pieces of the disintegrating bridge. One of its doors blew away and the hood tore off, and the car languidly turned over and planed into the gray harbor and disappeared.

Marcy stood motionless, staring, as bridge debris continued to spin down and splash into the harbor. JD was for a moment as transfixed as Marcy, watching the explosion settle. Then he began punching numbers into his cell phone.

"Jesus Christ," JD said.

"Jesus Christ."

FIFTY-THREE.

"Eploded?" Jesse said on the radio.

"Twenty calls at least," Molly said.

"At least five people said there was a police car on the bridge when it went."

"You raise Pope and Sears?" Jesse said.

"No."

Jesse thought a minute. He was halfway to Boston, nearly to the dog track.

"Okay, everybody on the force is now duty. Assemble them and stand by."

"Call the Statics?" Molly said.

"Let's see what we've got first," Jesse said.

He turned on the blue flasher, which he often did if he was in a hurry. He also turned on the siren, which he rarely did. He U-turned, bumping the car over the curbstone and listening to the protesting screech of the tires as he stepped hard on the accelerator pedal. In fifteen minutes, he was sitting in his idling car looking at the empty space above the water, where half of a steel girder dangling from the near abutment was all that remained. Some wreckage had washed against the near shore and bobbed against the rocks. There was no sign of the police car, not of Pope or Sears.

Several cars full of sightseers had arrived, and some pedestrians had gathered as well.

Jesse got on the radio.