The Sound of Broken Ribs(67)

Belinda’s laughter grew from a small chuckle to fully formed guffaws over the course of about two seconds. By the end of it, she was holding her gut and tears were streaming from her eyes.

Then Belinda’s mood darkened with an immediacy Lei had never seen before.

“I’ve had nothing to lose since Dan left. I lost everything before I even hit you, you stupid bitch. Everything. I never got it back. I sure as shit didn’t get anything from hitting you. In fact, somehow, trying to ruin you fucking ruined me. Whatever was going through my head at the time, I don’t know. Whatever I said to you—fuck, I don’t know. But I do know that I lost something important on that road. You might not have died that day, but goddamn it, Belinda Walsh sure as shit did. She’s gone. She’s a fucking ghost. This body”—Belinda slapped her chest with both hands— “ain’t nothing but life support for a cunt. There’s no heart in here. There’s no soul. It’s gone. So put me out of my fucking misery, or take me to the police, or fucking leave me alone. I—don’t—care.”

For a time, Lei stared at Belinda and Belinda stared back. Finally, Lei said, “I don’t know what I want to do to you. Until I figure that out, we stay here.”

“Mind if I ask a few questions? You know, since we don’t have shit else to do?”

“Shoot.”

*

It was funny how anger could make someone want to live.

Belinda, more pissed off than she had any right to be, thought that if she kept Lei talking, if she managed to move the conversation along, she might be able to get the crippled bitch to let her guard down. If she managed that, if she could wrestle the gun from her, Belinda might actually get out of this alive. Where she would go and what she would do when she got there was still up in the air, but at least she wouldn’t be stuck in this cabin worried about catching a bullet to the brain.

“What all happened to you, you know, after?”

“I laid there for a while, in the trees. I couldn’t move anything but my right leg. The left one had a shattered knee, and a broken hip. They replaced the kneecap, but I had to wait for the hip to mend itself. Anyway, all I could do was lay there and wait for help. Eventually, a guy in a white tank top and camo baseball cap stopped—”

“Tony.”

“Yeah. Tony. He didn’t tell me his name, but he was real nice. A little on the slow side, but he was sweet enough.”

“That’s Tony all over. Well. Used to be, anyway.”

The author gave Belinda a smile that melted away almost as soon as it had formed. What the smile meant was anyone’s guess, but Belinda didn’t like one inch of it. To her, that smile said the author enjoyed knowing that Tony was dead.

“Anyway, he stopped and called the ambulance and they scooped me out of the grass and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men put Lei Duncan back together again. All except for this.” The author raised her plastic arm and waved it at Belinda. Belinda didn’t react to it in any way. Didn’t know if the author even expected her to react. It was just a plastic arm. Who the fuck cared?

“That must’ve cost you a pretty penny.”

“Helps that I’m well compensated for all the storytelling I do.”

“I bet.”

“How’s jockeying a register working out for you?”

“Getting mighty petty, author lady.”

“You’re right. I should definitely keep the moral high ground. That seems to work so well when dealing with people like you.”

“People like me? What exactly is a person like me?”

“Someone who cares more about themselves than others.”

“Oh, really? So why are you here? Are you avenging someone else I wronged? Maybe you’re seeking retribution for that sheriff my brother shot full of holes? Is that it? Oh, I’m sure it is. This bitch on her high horse definitely wouldn’t be here for herself, now would she?”

That struck a chord. The author visibly flinched. Belinda couldn’t help but smile.

“The truth is, all any of us cares about is ourselves. Even those of us who do charity and shit only do it to make ourselves feel better. People like you get off on helping the little guy. You like to tell yourself that you have some kind of grace that people like me don’t. But the fact is, you just want to feel good about stepping on all the people you stepped on to get where you are. Because no one gets anywhere in life without climbing someone else’s ladder.”

“Not everyone thinks like you, Belinda.”

“Really? Then tell me, author bitch, why do you give to charity?”

“Who said I gave to charity?”

“Whatever. All of you rich fuckers give away something. Tax breaks, and whatnot. I’m not as stupid as you think I am. My husband used to sell insurance. Shit, maybe he still does. Who knows? My point is, he always had stories about how so-and-so came in and asked about how much of a tax credit they’d get if they bought so much life insurance. The higher the number, the more insurance they bought. While I’m over here wondering, why don’t you just save the money you’re spending on life insurance and not worry about Uncle Sam. But the answer to that is simple. This way, by buying life insurance and getting the tax break, they’re covered if they die and they get a refund. See, I’m not as stupid as I look. And you’re not as solid as you think. You’re see-through. You don’t give to charity because you’re obviously just as fucking broken as I am. Who the fuck makes all that money and spends it all on themselves?”