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    Waiting for the Good, Already Had the Bad
    Waiting for the Good, Already Had the Bad
    Waiting for the Good, Already Had the Bad
    Ebook364 pages6 hours

    Waiting for the Good, Already Had the Bad

    By B.L Wilson

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    About this ebook

    Newly promoted police sergeant Ellison Jackson literally bumps into Annabelle Leith Fletcher, a defense attorney who ripped into her on the witness stand six years ago. The attorney has changed somewhat from their last meeting, due in no small part to a brace on her leg from an unfortunate injury. Ellison finds Annabelle very attractive and asks her to lunch. Unfortunately, the restaurant they choose is under siege by two incompetent robbers. The sergeant is shot and rushed to the hospital.

    Through a series of misunderstandings, Annabelle is mistaken for a serious love interest of the sergeant, and her supervisors ask Annabelle to take care of Ellison’s two nephews and their assorted pets until a relative can be found to step in. She is also, along with her grandmother, enlisted to take care of an uncooperative Ellison as she recuperates from her injury. To make matters more difficult, an unexpected blast from Annabelle’s past shows up on her doorstep.

    Can Annabelle rise to the occasion and deal with the assorted personalities invading her home? Will the attraction between Ellison and Annabelle come to fruition? Find out in Waiting for the Good, already had the bad.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherB.L Wilson
    Release dateNov 2, 2018
    ISBN9780463854884
    Waiting for the Good, Already Had the Bad
    Author

    B.L Wilson

    B.L. has always been in love with books and the words in them. She never thought she could create something with the words she knew. When she read ‘To Kill A Mocking Bird,’ she realized everyday experiences could be written about in a powerful, memorable way. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with that knowledge so she kept on reading.Walter Mosley’s short stories about Easy Rawlins and his friends encouraged BL to start writing in earnest. She felt she had a story to tell...maybe several of them. She’d always kept a diary of some sort, scraps of paper, pocketsize, notepads, blank backs of agency forms, or in the margins of books. It was her habit to make these little notes to herself. She thought someday she’d make them into a book.She wrote a workplace memoir based on the people she met during her 20 years as a property manager of city-owned buildings. Writing the memoir, led her to consider writing books that were not job-related. Once again, she did...producing romance novels with African American lesbians as main characters. She wrote the novels because she couldn’t find stories that matched who she wanted to read about ...over forty, African American and female.

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      Waiting for the Good, Already Had the Bad - B.L Wilson

      CHAPTER ONE: The reunion six years later

      "Excuse me," the tall woman in the pants suit mumbled when she bumped into a shorter woman with a solid elbow as she strode into the hallway of the courthouse from one of the side rooms. Scanning the hallway filled with noise, the tall woman shook her head. She stood still, observing people as they moved to the right or scurried to the left looking for room numbers if they were new to the building. Visitors more familiar with the courthouse process casually leaned against grayish beige marble walls if they weren’t lucky enough to find seating on the ancient hand-carved hardwood benches scattered up and down the long wide corridor or inside the rooms. The same long, church pew-like benches were inside the courtrooms as well.

      Damn it.

      It was more crowded than she anticipated today. What should have taken thirty minutes at best somehow evolved into an hour and two-minute wait. That meant her lieutenant would be up her ass when she returned to the precinct at least forty minutes late. Intending to call her lieutenant, she pulled her cell phone out of an inner pocket of her suit, then stalled. What could she say today? She rubbed her chin in thought. She was running out of excuses for being late to work or returning late from lunch. She allowed the phone to slide through her fingers back into her pocket. Suddenly, she felt a sharp pinch on her calf and looked down into annoyed eyes.

      Ouch! What the hell?

      Are you always in the habit of ignoring people you flatten like a bad soufflé? You damn near knocked me down! The least you could do is to get your big brogans off my papers.

      Oh shit, I’m sorry. The tall police officer dressed in plain clothes looked down at her feet, noticing for the first time she was standing solidly on two or three official-looking papers with a court seal on them. She lifted her foot and the woman yanked at the papers underneath her gray loafers. Deciding to do more than look, she quickly squatted down to help the woman collect the papers scattered all over the floor. She handed the papers she’d gathered to the woman, studying her face for the first time, noting the annoyed hazel eyes in the warm brown face glinting at her.

      The woman appeared to be shorter than she was, but then most women were shorter than her five foot, ten-inch frame. The cop also noticed how she wore a fitted navy pants suit with a pale pink blouse that might be made of silk or a silk blend. A string of pale pink pearls around her neck, a small navy leather handbag slung over a shoulder, and an overstuffed black leather briefcase currently lying open as she stuffed the fallen papers in it completed her outfit. Well, almost completed it, minus the navy raincoat now dragging on the floor. The tall detective decided the woman gathering the papers was cute if she’d stop glaring at her like she wanted to kick her ass for something. She cleared her throat, then held out a hand meant to serve as a conciliatory gesture. Ah, could we start over? Would you consider letting me buy you a cup of coffee or something?

      Disgusted hazel eyes studied the tall woman’s outstretched hand for several moments as if she’d dipped her hand in the Bubonic plague before their owner spoke. You don’t remember me, do you, Detective Jackson?

      Not one to forget an attractive face or turn down a challenge, Detective Ellison Jackson examined the woman’s face as if she was conducting a witness interview. The woman did look vaguely familiar. Where had she seen her before? She squinted at the woman still gathering papers from the floor, trying to remember where she’d met her. Nothing came to mind. She watched the woman roll her eyes and suck her teeth as she struggled to rise, using the hand-painted cane that had fallen on the ground to unsuccessfully push her body up. Here, let me help. Give me your briefcase, Ellison offered, holding a hand out.

      No! I got it. I’m fine, Detective.

      Ellison stood over the woman as she stubbornly tried to rise without help, but the open briefcase stuffed full of papers and her weak ankle made the woman’s balance unwieldy. She watched the woman’s battle with gravity until she grew impatient with it. She stooped down grabbed the woman’s waist and eased her into a standing position.

      Accepting help isn’t a bad thing, Miss. It doesn’t make you weak. If you stay put, I’ll get your briefcase, she murmured, reaching down to close the clasp on the briefcase before she presented the case to the woman with a wide dimpled grin. I don’t suppose you’d consider sharing coffee and a Danish with me. I know this great little place not too far from here. The woman who owns it is a good friend. She makes great omelets. Grilled cheese sandwiches, hot and cold deli sandwiches are a specialty. In the wintertime, her homemade soups are to die for. Of course, they aren’t as good as mine. They’ll do it a pinch.

      Annoyed hazel eyes looked Ellison up and down, noting the smug smile with the single dimple on the left side of her cheek and the cleft chin splitting the bottom of her face in half. She opened her mouth, ready to say anything she could think of to wipe that confident smile from the detective’s face. First, you run me over and then you ignore me. You insult me by calling me weak. Now you want me to have brunch with you! Are you crazy?

      Aw, come on now, Miss. I said I was sorry for knocking you down. I even helped you up and picked up all your papers. Let me buy you a cup of coffee and sandwich. Ellison studied the woman’s serious face. If you let me buy you brunch, I’d feel a lot better about knocking you down.

      So now I’m also supposed to make you feel better, Detective? the woman asked, watching the detective’s face suddenly grow serious.

      Ellison nodded in response, then issued an exaggerated wink. Her face dissolved into a broad grin. Hey. Us cops take our feel-good times with the general public very seriously. Lately, they’ve been so few and far between. You’d be doing me a big favor if you had that brunch with me today. My lieutenant, who’s not an easy man to please, would thank you too for putting his sergeant in a much better mood to do her job.

      The woman sighed. Something tells me I’m going to regret doing this. Okay, you lead the way. She juggled the heavy briefcase from her right to her left hand so she could offer a hand to shake. I noticed you still haven’t called me by my name. I’m betting you can’t remember it or where we met, but you’re too polite to say that.

      Are you sure you weren’t a cop in another life or something? Ellison chuckled at the woman, then shook her hand. Hello, again.

      Not exactly. It’s Annabelle. My name is Annabelle Leith Fletcher. She wondered how friendly Detective Ellison would be if she knew what she did for a living. She sighed. Well, there goes one brunch down the drain. She watched the detective absorb what she said as they started walking slowly down the corridor to the front entrance.

      Annabelle Leith Fletcher…Annabelle Fletcher, why do I know that name? Ellison repeated it several times, hoping to jog her memory as they walked to the door. Nothing came to mind. She frowned in thought as she held the door open for Annabelle, then watched her limp out to courthouse’s huge stoop and wait for her. The woman’s ass filled out the navy slacks she was wearing nicely. Her front wasn’t bad to look at either. Her breasts weren’t that small but not too large. She wondered what the woman’s legs looked like underneath her slacks. What was the cane about?

      Damn, I forgot about them! The front stairs, all forty of them, stood in the way of her brunch with the attractive woman. Ellison groaned quietly. She glanced down at the marble staircase and then back up to Annabelle Fletcher’s tired face as she leaned heavily on her colorful cane. Okay, the woman is touchy about her disability. How am I going to work this? Do I offer to carry something or just let her struggle down them herself? Damn it, why didn’t I think of that first? There’s a back way with less steps; it just takes longer to reach them. She cleared her throat. The noise made Annabelle turn to face her. I hope you won’t take this the wrong way.

      What? Now you don’t want to have brunch with me? Make up your mind, Detective Jackson. I don’t have all day to play around with you.

      Her reaction, an agitated state, surprised Ellison. She walked over to Annabelle and placed a hand on her shoulder. Actually, I wouldn’t mind a bit if you did.

      Did what? You cancelled brunch? No problem. Consider it cancelled! Annabelle snapped, shrugging the tall detective’s hand off her shoulder. Goodbye, Detective! I hope to never see you again. She limped down the first step carefully. Steps were always a bit tricky. Today, she was thankful it hadn’t rained enough to make traction against the damp steps difficult for her cane.

      Ellison went after her, racing over to plant herself firmly in front of the second marble tread that prevented Annabelle from moving further down the staircase. Fletcher, could you just wait just a damned minute? I thought the front stairs might be harder for you to negotiate, so I was going to ask you if you’d like to use the rear staircase. It has less steps. It’ll take us longer to walk to it.

      I’m quite familiar with the layout of the courthouse, Detective Jackson, Annabelle snapped. Move out of the way!

      Ellison’s eyes widened with recognition and she snapped her fingers. Gotcha! That’s right. You’re the defense attorney who skinned me alive on the stand. That was what? Five, no six years ago, right? She watched Annabelle duck her head for a moment and then she raised her head to stare directly at her.

      Do you still want coffee with me, Detective Jackson?

      Ellison studied her hard, bright eyes, thinking how full of golden highlights they seemed to be. Bet you think I’m gonna say something like ‘Hell no, I’d rather eat lunch with a skunk or some other nameless, bottom-feeding vermin than a defense attorney. You go your way and I’ll go mine.’ That’s what you think I’d say, right? She watched Annabelle slowly nod in agreement. Well, I got news for you. You’re wrong. You…your pit-bull interviewing style taught me I’d better be prepared for anything when I sat on that witness stand again.

      She rubbed the back of her neck, then smiled at some memory she didn’t share. You kicked my ass good that day. I was the hot topic for weeks around the house. For the next six months, my brothers and sisters in blue greeted me with direct quotes from the transcript of the trial anytime I started acting like I was hot shit. She chuckled softly with a bit of self-conscious humor. I don’t know how they all got copies. They did and posted pieces of my testimony inside my locker, on my chair, in my desk, and on the dashboard of whatever unmarked car I drove. I never made dumbass mistakes like that again.

      The tall detective cleared her throat, catching the attorney’s attention again. She tried to look contrite, plastering a somber look on her face. It failed. She was feeling too good for that. What was it about the feisty no-nonsense woman making her feel giddy? Sharing a lunch with her just might be the start of finding out, right? How about it, Attorney Fletcher, do you still wanna go to lunch with me?

      Annabelle read the honesty in the detective’s eyes. Her shit detector was firmly in place and it didn’t go off regarding the police officer standing in front of her. Okay, but how far is this place of yours? She cleared her throat, then purposefully looked beyond the officer to the remaining thirty-eight steps. I don’t do stairs as well as I’d like.

      Are you gonna slug me with your very colorful cane if I offer to carry your books? I mean, your briefcase? Ellison asked, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice but twinkling dark eyes gave her away. She watched Annabelle Fletcher inhale deeply before she answered. It was gonna be good one, she could tell.

      I never ever get physical, Detective Jackson. I hit where it hurts more. In the pocket! I sue instead.

      Ellison laughed loudly, then slapped her own thigh lightly in delight. You are funny, Ms. Fletcher. She took the offered briefcase, putting it under her left arm, and started to reach for Annabelle’s elbow but held off. Is it okay to touch your arm?

      Annabelle sighed as she shifted the weight from her weak ankle to her uninjured one. I’ve been standing too long. Right now, as bad as my leg aches, I’d let you carry me there.

      Okay, if you insist. Here, you hold this. Before Annabelle could squeal in protest, Ellison had given her back the briefcase, then picked her up and started down the stairs. She watched the surprise register in golden-brown eyes when she lifted the attorney easily. You don’t weigh much. Make sure you order more than a cup of coffee at Fannie’s. She smiled at the pedestrians who quickly stepped aside on the staircase to avoid them.

      NYPD, coming down, she announced. Only thirty steps more to go, she thought. I got a sick woman here. Step out of the way, please. Watch your back. I’m coming down, she repeated, climbing down another dozen steps, then telling a little white lie that was certain to move people out of the way. Step aside, NYPD. I got a sick woman here.

      When she reached the sidewalk, Ellison lowered Annabelle to the ground carefully, then handed her the cane. She watched the feisty lawyer adjust the jacket she wore and then brush off her slacks without saying anything. She couldn’t tell if Annabelle Fletcher was pissed since her head remained down, nearly touching her chest until she completed her grooming duties. When Annabelle looked up, she raised a quizzical eyebrow. I was right, she snapped. You are crazy. You’re bat-shit certifiable crazy.

      Ellison chuckled. At least the feisty little lawyer hadn’t bashed her head in with the cane or threatened to sue her. She smiled at her good fortune and the woman responsible for it. Does that mean you don’t want to have lunch with me?

      If I eat lunch with you, will it shut you up?

      Ellison shrugged as she walked to the edge of the sidewalk to hail a cab. She stroked her chin, pretending to consider her options. If I can’t talk, how am I gonna find out what you’ve been doing for the last seven years? If I can’t talk, how can I tell you what’s good to order when we get to my friend’s place? If I can’t talk, how will I give the driver directions to the place? If I can’t talk, how will I…

      Annabelle carefully set her briefcase on the sidewalk next to the cane she leaned on, then covered her ears with her hands and started singing off key at the top of her lungs. Na-nah. I don’t want to hear you, she sang, looking over at Ellison as she continued to move her lips. Blah, blah, nah-nah-nah. I still don’t wanna hear you!

      The first cabbie pulling up to the curb in front of the complex of courthouses looked at both women. One woman was singing like a loud drunken sailor while the other woman had a bulge under her arm that might be a gun. He left the smell of burning rubber and the sound of squealing tires as he made a rapid exit.

      Ellison looked at her companion’s monkey-hear nothing, monkey-see nothing, monkey-do nothing posture. She nodded in sudden recognition. Ah! I get it. I talk too much or you’re sick of my voice or both.

      Hands still covering her ears, Annabelle turned to face Ellison and gave an answering nod as she eye-balled her. Are you finished yet?

      In response, Ellison wiggled a long finger under her nose. Yep, stick a fork in me, I’m done, she muttered with a grin. The next cabbie Ellison hailed from the curb stopped directly in front of her and she turned to glance at the shorter woman. Is Annabelle leaning more heavily on her cane now or is it just my imagination? I don’t suppose you’d like me to pick you up and place you in the cab, would you?

      Annabelle raised her cane and shook it threateningly at the tall detective. You do and this time I will use this piece of artwork to thoroughly throttle you! Detective Jackson, I’m not a child nor am I helpless. Do not even think about picking me up and carting me anywhere.

      Okay, okay, I got it. Ellison raised her hands in surrender, then reached around to open the cab’s door. Please, get in.

      No, I won’t.

      No? Why not? I thought you said you’d have lunch with me.

      I meant, it’s better for you to get in first, then I don’t have to scoot over so far to exit. It puts too much pressure on my leg if I do it your way.

      Ellison nodded. She hadn’t even considered that fact. Get in and I’ll close the door for you, then come around on the outside to enter.

      Oh my, aren’t you the clever one today.

      Ellison smiled confidently at Annabelle, then bowed slightly at the waist like a formal escort before she helped Annabelle inside the cab, then waited for her to settle into the seat before she leaned into the cab, letting a hand rest casually on the door’s frame. Hold up a minute, driver. I’m coming around on the other side to get in. Then she caught Annabelle’s attention to tease her. Hey, I got you to share lunch with me, so damn right I’m the clever one. Stick around and you’re bound to see even more clever stuff before the day ends. I sweat clever. I eat clever. I work… She suddenly felt fingers squeezing her mouth shut by mashing her upper lip against her lower lip.

      Be quiet, Detective Clever, before I get arrested for sewing your very clever lips together and have to spend the night with a bunch of my very clever clients in a very un-clever jail cell. Okay? The pressure on her lips increased until her eyes watered. Nod if you understand me, Annabelle repeated.

      Ellison nodded and the painful pressure against her mouth subsided. She ran her tongue across her mouth and teeth as she walked around to the other side of the cab. They tingled a little. Nothing hurt. Anyway, she deserved what happened. She was talking like a damned magpie today. Why was she talking so much today? It was as if she had diarrhea of the mouth or something. She couldn’t seem to shut up.

      It was weird. She was acting out of character and she hadn’t a clue as to why. Like any good cop, she’d get to the bottom of things. However, right now, sharing lunch with an attractive woman was number one on her to-do list. She’d worry about the lecture she was bound to hear from her lieutenant later. It’d had been four hours since she even thought about the adolescent demons living with her and causing her more trouble than they were currently worth. The day was surely looking up if Annabelle Fletcher could do that for her frayed nerves.

      CHAPTER TWO: Officer Fletcher are you out there?

      "Where to today, ladies?" the cabbie asked, turning the rearview mirror to see them for a moment.

      Fannie’s Good Eats. Do you know the place? Ellison watched him nod.

      It’s not that far, ladies. I’m afraid I’ll have to charge you gas money anyway.

      That’s not a problem. I just wanted my friend here to taste her deli.

      Deli smelly! Order the soup and sandwich combo or the pizza, Lady. It’s homemade. She has soups I’ve never heard of. You ever had the pumpkin?

      Ellison groaned, then closed her eyes, imagining a cup of the full-bodied taste. Oh God, yes, it’s s-o-o good. Have you ever tried her turkey with stuffing soup?

      It’s funny you should mention that. I’m not a poultry man myself. I love me some meat and potatoes. I swear her soups could make a fish-loving vegetarian out of me. I hate fish, but her fish soup…oh Mama Mia! I got my wife hooked on the stuff too. Anytime I’m down here, if I don’t bring back some of her soups, I know for sure I’ll be spending the night on the lumpy couch in our spare bedroom. Best damn soup I ever had! You tell Fannie I sent you. I’m Oscar, by the way. At the next light, he reached a hand through the partition for Ellison to shake.

      Oscar, I’m Ellison. My friends call me Ellis. Ellison squeezed his hand.

      Ellis, what do you do for a living? Should I ask, since you just come from the courthouse? Hope it ain’t nothing illegal.

      Ellison chuckled. If I tell you, I might have to kill you. She watched his bright smile disappear quickly into a wary expression. She hooted, then issued a loud laugh. Gotcha! She dug into a breast pocket and flipped out her badge. Don’t worry, Oscar. I’m a cop…a sergeant with the Three-Two in Harlem."

      You mean the precinct on Hundred Thirty-fifth between Seventh and Eighth Avenue?

      Yep that’s my house.

      You probably know the lieutenant there?

      You mean Ron Stevenson, right?

      Nope, I mean Hard-ass Harris. The cabbie cleared his throat, then flushed when Ellison gave him a stern look in the mirror. Ah, sorry, it’s just something, a nickname from the old days when she was a sergeant. Maddie Harris and me go back a ways. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be sitting behind bars upstate. That’s a story for another time. Oscar sighed as he drove another block, then stopped at a red light. He pulled up and parked in the middle of the next block, then looked through the windshield. There she is, Miss. Say, you never said your name. You’ve been quiet sitting in the back. I almost forgot you was there.

      Annabelle shrugged. I enjoyed the conversation, Oscar. It seemed a shame to interrupt it just to introduce myself. I’m Annabelle.

      Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Annabelle. Annabelle, that’s a real pretty name. Huh, you from the south?

      No, I’m not, but my great-grandmother was. That’s whom I was named for.

      What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?

      Annabelle cleared her throat, stalling until she could think up an answer. Before she could respond, Ellison took over. Oscar, if you ever need a damned good defense lawyer, be sure and call her. She climbed out and then slapped a twenty and her business card in his hand. Keep the change.

      Hey, Sarge, that’s too much.

      Nope, it’s just about right. I enjoyed the ride and the conversation, as did Annabelle. I’ll tell Lieutenant Harris I bumped into you.

      Oscar chuckled. You do that. I promise to stop by the precinct with some of Fannie’s best for you sometime.

      Waving at the cabbie, Ellison grinned, then she walked over to join Annabelle on the sidewalk in front of Fannie’s Good Eats. You ready for a special treat you’ll remember for the rest of your life?

      The last time a woman said that to me, seven months later, we got married. Two years later, we were sitting at a conference table next to our pit-bull divorce lawyers arguing who got the fish tank and who got to keep the fish in it.

      Ouch! I’m sorry to remind you of something bad in your life. Ellison studied the hazel eyes that were examining her. She patted her chest for emphasis. Trust me, this will not be painful. You’ll be thanking me for turning you on to this place. You just wait and see. Annabelle continued to stare at her, then frowned. What’s wrong?

      You did say she was open for brunch, right?

      Yeah, I did say it and she is open.

      Annabelle limped closer to Ellison, then leaned in and whispered, How come somebody just pulled the shades down and put up a ‘closed for business’ sign in the window? She studied Ellison’s eyes. She realized too late Ellison was going to do something that was probably foolish. Don’t do whatever you’re thinking, Sarge. Call it in and wait outside for help.

      Ellison’s friendly face changed. In an instant, she was the cop in charge. Stay where you are, she ordered, then pulled out her cell phone and handed it to Annabelle. Keep this. Press 12 if you need to. Her hand touched Annabelle’s as she studied her anxious face for a moment. Look, I know Fannie. She cleared her throat, but the lump was still there. Her voice came out husky and low. We had a thing going on once upon a time. She used to close in the middle of day if I had some free time after I testified. We… She paused. You know what I mean. She likes cops. It’s probably just a new lover or something. She kept her back turned away while she unbuttoned her suit jacket, then unsnapped the shoulder holster holding her Glock. She stroked Annabelle’s cheek gently, trying to appease the fear in her eyes. I’ll be fine. I promise I will.

      Ellison turned around on the sidewalk, adjusting her jacket around the gun in her shoulder holster, and strode the twenty or so steps to the restaurant’s bright red, double front doors. She almost laughed out loud remembering how fire engine red was Fannie’s favorite color. She used the color as a theme to decorate her restaurant and she loved it on her women too. If she looked through her underwear drawer, she was certain she’d find a pair of edible candy apple-flavored panties with a matching bra.

      Hello? Fannie, are you in there? Ellison called out, standing at the entrance to the restaurant. There was no answer. She called out again, then knocked on the door. Open up, Fannie. Turn the lights back on. I called ahead an hour ago. My friend and I have a reservation. She’s supposed to meet me here. She leaned her head against the door, listening for life sounds. Nothing; whoever was in there wasn’t talking. She reached into her jacket to pull out her gun, then turned sideways, facing the door at an angle. She knocked hard on the door again. Only this time, it suddenly popped open. She took a deep breath, wishing she’d brought a penlight with her today before she stepped inside the pitch black room.

      She tried to remember the restaurant’s layout in her head. The cash register was on the left or was it the right? A countertop surrounded it for the takeout patrons and people who wanted a fast meal at the counter. The leisurely meals eaten in booths and small tables were off to the right. No, wait a minute. The booths were on the left, tables to the right. She expanded to include a small stage for Jazz bands, turning the place into a mini nightclub on Thursdays through Sundays. She moved slowly, going deeper into the room as she held her gun with both hands. Fannie, are you in here? Fannie, it’s me, Ellis. She heard a muffled sound somewhere in front of her. Right or left? she wondered. Fannie, she whispered. Just tell me where? She heard a gun click just before she felt a cold metal cylinder pressed against the back of her neck. Sour breath hit the back of her neck and she cringed from the smell.

      Drop the gun, Lady.

      I can’t do that.

      "Lady, don’t be stupid. There’s two of us and only one of you. We got your friends in the back. Drop the fucking gun,

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