Part 1
Chapter 1 Chapter 10
Chapter 2 Chapter 11
Chapter 3 Chapter 12
Chapter 4 Chapter 13
Chapter 5 Chapter 14
Chapter 6 Chapter 15
Chapter 7 Chapter 16
Chapter 8 Chapter 17
Chapter 9 Chapter 18
Part 2
Chapter 1 Chapter 2
Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 7 Chapter 8
Chapter 9 Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part 3
Chapter 1 Chapter 2
Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 7 Chapter 8
Chapter 9 Chapter 10
Chapter 11 Chapter 12
Chapter 13 Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 1 Chapter 10
Chapter 2 Chapter 11
Chapter 3 Chapter 12
Chapter 4 Chapter 13
Chapter 5 Chapter 14
Chapter 6 Chapter 15
Chapter 7 Chapter 16
Chapter 8 Chapter 17
Chapter 9 Chapter 18
Part 2
Chapter 1 Chapter 2
Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 7 Chapter 8
Chapter 9 Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part 3
Chapter 1 Chapter 2
Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 7 Chapter 8
Chapter 9 Chapter 10
Chapter 11 Chapter 12
Chapter 13 Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter One
Sometimes it’s not about how you feel, it’s just about knowing what you have to be and making yourself be that. When I wake up in the morning I don’t feel like a killer, but still, I know that when the sun goes down I have to find it in myself to be that guy.
At eight a.m. I carry a shallow ceramic mug full of strong coffee out of the sliding glass door of my apartment and sit on my four foot by eight foot second floor patio. I drink my morning java on plastic lawn furniture and admire the low morning sun over the lifeless retaining pond that was built at the same time as the complex. It’s the suburbs.
It’s hard to feel more than two dimensional living in the burbs. They’re flat and endless with no character or energy. At six o’clock the parking lot of my building is packed with blue and gray four door sedans and minivans. By seven it’s virtually empty. The residents parade out single file like it’s some national holiday celebrating mediocrity, then at six in the evening they shuffle back in and you’d never know anything had happened.
It’s a slow, long, tortured purgatory, like being drawn out on the rack for twelve hours a day. I feel the boredom as a physical pain and it pushes me to be who I have to be. It reminds me that what I do at night, while not noble perhaps, is necessary. Necessary for me.
At eight p.m. the cool evening air begins to roll in, and with it come the clouds. I shower and shave. I poor vodka from the freezer over two olives and set the glass on my dresser. Drinking helps. It helps set the mood, but it’s a fine needle to thread. Too much, even a little too much and I’m foggy and unreliable.
I dress in exactly what you’d expect. Black slacks, white shirt, black tie and jacket. My hair is short and clean cut, parted neatly and free of product. I have a Beretta .45 in a hip holster under my jacket and a small four inch switchblade in my right pants pocket.
By nine o’clock the sun has dipped below the horizon and the moon is a washed out blotch of white light halfway up the sky. The thunder started half an hour ago and now the rain is falling in huge drops the size of alligator teeth. I’m wet by the time I reach my car, and even with the wipers on full blast the windshield is a streaky watercolor of yellow and black.
When the engine of my twenty year old Cadillac starts up the cassette in the deck clicks on and Johnny Cash announces loudly that God’s gonna cut me down. I nod my head in silent agreement and brush the wet hair out of my eyes. I look at myself in the rearview mirror, squint and wipe my face with my hands. I grip the steering wheel at ten and two and inspect my worn out knuckles. It’s about making yourself believe you are who you need to be.
My knife finds its way out of my pocket and I push up on the sleeves of my jacket and shirt. The blade snaps open with a deadly sounding switch and I slide the tip into my forearms just deep enough to draw blood. I make fists, tight desperate fists and the blood from the wounds begins to flow down my arms and between my fingers. I pump the fists open and shut, forcing out more blood until I’m covered wrists to fingertips.
I close the knife and slide it back into my pocket, then I pull my sleeves back down. The open flesh on my arms burns and draws my focus. I feel damaged, broken, and I watch as the crimson begins to soak into the clean white fabric of my shirt cuffs. The rain pounds the steel and glass of my car and the hillbilly on the radio shouts at me about God’s wrath and suddenly I feel myself slip into the person I’m looking for. The transformation feels oily and sick like a fever about to break.
I drop the car into gear and feed gas to the hungry engine. The beast machine screams and I hold the wheel tight as my iron dragon caries me towards the fiery lights of the city.
Sometimes it’s not about how you feel, it’s just about knowing what you have to be and making yourself be that. When I wake up in the morning I don’t feel like a killer, but still, I know that when the sun goes down I have to find it in myself to be that guy.
At eight a.m. I carry a shallow ceramic mug full of strong coffee out of the sliding glass door of my apartment and sit on my four foot by eight foot second floor patio. I drink my morning java on plastic lawn furniture and admire the low morning sun over the lifeless retaining pond that was built at the same time as the complex. It’s the suburbs.
It’s hard to feel more than two dimensional living in the burbs. They’re flat and endless with no character or energy. At six o’clock the parking lot of my building is packed with blue and gray four door sedans and minivans. By seven it’s virtually empty. The residents parade out single file like it’s some national holiday celebrating mediocrity, then at six in the evening they shuffle back in and you’d never know anything had happened.
It’s a slow, long, tortured purgatory, like being drawn out on the rack for twelve hours a day. I feel the boredom as a physical pain and it pushes me to be who I have to be. It reminds me that what I do at night, while not noble perhaps, is necessary. Necessary for me.
At eight p.m. the cool evening air begins to roll in, and with it come the clouds. I shower and shave. I poor vodka from the freezer over two olives and set the glass on my dresser. Drinking helps. It helps set the mood, but it’s a fine needle to thread. Too much, even a little too much and I’m foggy and unreliable.
I dress in exactly what you’d expect. Black slacks, white shirt, black tie and jacket. My hair is short and clean cut, parted neatly and free of product. I have a Beretta .45 in a hip holster under my jacket and a small four inch switchblade in my right pants pocket.
By nine o’clock the sun has dipped below the horizon and the moon is a washed out blotch of white light halfway up the sky. The thunder started half an hour ago and now the rain is falling in huge drops the size of alligator teeth. I’m wet by the time I reach my car, and even with the wipers on full blast the windshield is a streaky watercolor of yellow and black.
When the engine of my twenty year old Cadillac starts up the cassette in the deck clicks on and Johnny Cash announces loudly that God’s gonna cut me down. I nod my head in silent agreement and brush the wet hair out of my eyes. I look at myself in the rearview mirror, squint and wipe my face with my hands. I grip the steering wheel at ten and two and inspect my worn out knuckles. It’s about making yourself believe you are who you need to be.
My knife finds its way out of my pocket and I push up on the sleeves of my jacket and shirt. The blade snaps open with a deadly sounding switch and I slide the tip into my forearms just deep enough to draw blood. I make fists, tight desperate fists and the blood from the wounds begins to flow down my arms and between my fingers. I pump the fists open and shut, forcing out more blood until I’m covered wrists to fingertips.
I close the knife and slide it back into my pocket, then I pull my sleeves back down. The open flesh on my arms burns and draws my focus. I feel damaged, broken, and I watch as the crimson begins to soak into the clean white fabric of my shirt cuffs. The rain pounds the steel and glass of my car and the hillbilly on the radio shouts at me about God’s wrath and suddenly I feel myself slip into the person I’m looking for. The transformation feels oily and sick like a fever about to break.
I drop the car into gear and feed gas to the hungry engine. The beast machine screams and I hold the wheel tight as my iron dragon caries me towards the fiery lights of the city.
Chapter Two
I wish it harder to do. It seems to me that killing a man should be difficult, and what does it say about us, people, that we’ve worked harder and harder to make it easier. It isn’t hard to do though, and it only takes a moment.
I park my car in a tower a few blocks away and walk in the drowning rain. When I get to his building I stand on the stoop and stare up at the flat brick face of it. He lives here. He has a sofa and a television, plates and bowls and probably cereal. He thinks he’s just a guy and tonight is just a night. It should be harder to prove him wrong.
I walk half a block into the alley between his building and the next and find a spot just in the shadows and wait. The rain slows and I watch it peter out in the yellow glow of the street lamps. It isn’t long after that.
The steps come slow and casual, splashing lightly across wet cement with a patience I wish I felt. Then his profile breaks through the edge of my field of vision and for just a moment he’s perfect. A beautiful dark silhouette on the oil painting of my city and I want nothing more than just for him to live. Moments like this are painfully short.
I step forward into the light and before he turns his head my switchblade snaps open like a thunderclap and the blade is between his ribs. He gasps and chokes and my left hand is around his throat. I pull him in and hold him against me like a lover, whispering in his ear that this will be short, that I won't let him hurt too long. I turn us in two steps and throw him against the weathered soft brick of his home. His head bounces off it like a rubber ball and I see the confusion vanish from his eyes as they roll up into his head. He collapses on the pavement in a crumpled mess of bloody laundry.
The candy apple red from his side mixes with rainwater and my own vital fluid creating a cascade of pale pink liquid that pools at my feet. I bend over and pat him down but find only a crumpled pack of Marlboro’s and a lady’s Zippo lighter.
I pull my gun and crouch across from the man, watching the vanishing rain dance on his pale face. I light one of his cancer sticks and smoke while I wait for him to come back to me. Towards the end of the butt his eyes flutter and open with a desperate rattled expression.
I level the barrel of my weapon between his eyes.
“Hi Chris,” I say.
He’s bleeding and not sure where he is. It hurts for him to breath and the pain in his ribs is preventing him from sitting up.
“It’s okay Chris, you don’t have to sit. Just lie there for now. Try and stay comfortable.”
He’s frightened, not sure what to make of me. Not sure if I’m his friend or his monster. He breathes shallowly and winces when he tries to move. Eventually he takes my advice and settles into a position that provides the least amount of agony.
“I know it hurts, and I am sorry for that. Chris, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do a lot of talking tonight, okay? I know it’s difficult so I’ll try and keep the conversation centered on yes or no kinds of questions, okay?”
He looks at me pitifully and I really wish I could make it all better for him. After a moment he nods and I smile.
“Good job Chris. You got it perfect.”
He coughs and his lips turn red. I put the cigarette out on the pavement and lean in a bit.
“We’ll start simple,” I say. “Do you know who I am Chris?”
His head shakes no.
“Of course not, no reason you should. Do you know why I’m here?”
A pause, then he coughs again and tries to speak.”
“Money,” he wheezes.
I shake my head.
“Oh Chris, no. No it’s not money.”
I crouch and get very close to the ground. I turn my head sideways and look the man deep in his eyes.
“Do you know Kelly Phillips, Chris?”
His shallow breath stops and the pupils in his eyes go wide.
“Right,” I say. “That’s what I thought.”
I sit up again and watch him try and move. His breath is back but short and fast and his face is painted with panic. He’s coughing and I can hear the blood in his lungs. He’s trying to talk, he wants to explain. They always want to explain.
“I-”
I let out a long sigh.
“You what Chris?”
I see tears beginning to pool at the corners of his eyes and his chokey bloody breaths take on the telltale characteristics of crying.
“I didn’t-”
“Yes you did Chris. You did. Right? You wish you didn’t. Right now you wish you didn’t, but you did.”
He opens his mouth and his teeth and tongue are covered in blood.
“Can I tell you a secret Chris? I wish you hadn’t. I really do, and not just for Kelly’s sake. I mean, the poor girl, she didn’t deserve that. But even if it had had to happen, I wish it hadn’t been you. Every time I sit here like this I wish for it to not be the guy.”
He looks at me like he’s begging. Begging me to walk away. To let this be enough. To let it be over.
“Just once,” I say. “Just once I want them to get it wrong. To give me a job and have it turn out they had the wrong guy. Then I could actually sleep. I could go to Mica and says ‘sorry, you made a mistake, I had to let him go’.”
He’s outright sobbing now, and blood is running down his chin and neck.
“I just want to be done with this,” I tell him. “I just want one excuse to tell them I won’t do it anymore. But every time I have one of you pieces of shit like this, spitting blood and asking me to grant you mercy, every time you’re guilty. How do I let you walk when you did what she says you did?”
I stand up.
“How do I pretend you didn’t hurt that girl? How do I pretend you won’t do it again?”
He wheezes.
“I won’t. I can’t. I can’t pretend.”
I look at him for a long time, then I lift the gun and click the trigger as simply as taking a picture. There’s a flash and the air shatters around us. I feel the detonation of the ammunition crash hard against my hand and the pressure wave moves through my arm and dissipates in my back. When the ringing in my ears stops I’m sitting in my car. I light another one of his cigarettes and crack the window an inch. I drive home on auto pilot, not thinking about where I’m going or where I’ve been. I sleepwalk into my apartment and stand in a hot shower until the water runs cold. I dry my hair in a soft warm towel and put bandages over the holes in my arms.
My gun and knife go in a safe in my closet and I slide into a pair of thin cotton pajama pants. I slide silently into my cool crisp bed and lay my head on a firm memory foam pillow. As my mind grows foggy and distant I feel my wife roll over and wrap herself around me. The world grows quiet and I drift away to sleep.
I wish it harder to do. It seems to me that killing a man should be difficult, and what does it say about us, people, that we’ve worked harder and harder to make it easier. It isn’t hard to do though, and it only takes a moment.
I park my car in a tower a few blocks away and walk in the drowning rain. When I get to his building I stand on the stoop and stare up at the flat brick face of it. He lives here. He has a sofa and a television, plates and bowls and probably cereal. He thinks he’s just a guy and tonight is just a night. It should be harder to prove him wrong.
I walk half a block into the alley between his building and the next and find a spot just in the shadows and wait. The rain slows and I watch it peter out in the yellow glow of the street lamps. It isn’t long after that.
The steps come slow and casual, splashing lightly across wet cement with a patience I wish I felt. Then his profile breaks through the edge of my field of vision and for just a moment he’s perfect. A beautiful dark silhouette on the oil painting of my city and I want nothing more than just for him to live. Moments like this are painfully short.
I step forward into the light and before he turns his head my switchblade snaps open like a thunderclap and the blade is between his ribs. He gasps and chokes and my left hand is around his throat. I pull him in and hold him against me like a lover, whispering in his ear that this will be short, that I won't let him hurt too long. I turn us in two steps and throw him against the weathered soft brick of his home. His head bounces off it like a rubber ball and I see the confusion vanish from his eyes as they roll up into his head. He collapses on the pavement in a crumpled mess of bloody laundry.
The candy apple red from his side mixes with rainwater and my own vital fluid creating a cascade of pale pink liquid that pools at my feet. I bend over and pat him down but find only a crumpled pack of Marlboro’s and a lady’s Zippo lighter.
I pull my gun and crouch across from the man, watching the vanishing rain dance on his pale face. I light one of his cancer sticks and smoke while I wait for him to come back to me. Towards the end of the butt his eyes flutter and open with a desperate rattled expression.
I level the barrel of my weapon between his eyes.
“Hi Chris,” I say.
He’s bleeding and not sure where he is. It hurts for him to breath and the pain in his ribs is preventing him from sitting up.
“It’s okay Chris, you don’t have to sit. Just lie there for now. Try and stay comfortable.”
He’s frightened, not sure what to make of me. Not sure if I’m his friend or his monster. He breathes shallowly and winces when he tries to move. Eventually he takes my advice and settles into a position that provides the least amount of agony.
“I know it hurts, and I am sorry for that. Chris, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do a lot of talking tonight, okay? I know it’s difficult so I’ll try and keep the conversation centered on yes or no kinds of questions, okay?”
He looks at me pitifully and I really wish I could make it all better for him. After a moment he nods and I smile.
“Good job Chris. You got it perfect.”
He coughs and his lips turn red. I put the cigarette out on the pavement and lean in a bit.
“We’ll start simple,” I say. “Do you know who I am Chris?”
His head shakes no.
“Of course not, no reason you should. Do you know why I’m here?”
A pause, then he coughs again and tries to speak.”
“Money,” he wheezes.
I shake my head.
“Oh Chris, no. No it’s not money.”
I crouch and get very close to the ground. I turn my head sideways and look the man deep in his eyes.
“Do you know Kelly Phillips, Chris?”
His shallow breath stops and the pupils in his eyes go wide.
“Right,” I say. “That’s what I thought.”
I sit up again and watch him try and move. His breath is back but short and fast and his face is painted with panic. He’s coughing and I can hear the blood in his lungs. He’s trying to talk, he wants to explain. They always want to explain.
“I-”
I let out a long sigh.
“You what Chris?”
I see tears beginning to pool at the corners of his eyes and his chokey bloody breaths take on the telltale characteristics of crying.
“I didn’t-”
“Yes you did Chris. You did. Right? You wish you didn’t. Right now you wish you didn’t, but you did.”
He opens his mouth and his teeth and tongue are covered in blood.
“Can I tell you a secret Chris? I wish you hadn’t. I really do, and not just for Kelly’s sake. I mean, the poor girl, she didn’t deserve that. But even if it had had to happen, I wish it hadn’t been you. Every time I sit here like this I wish for it to not be the guy.”
He looks at me like he’s begging. Begging me to walk away. To let this be enough. To let it be over.
“Just once,” I say. “Just once I want them to get it wrong. To give me a job and have it turn out they had the wrong guy. Then I could actually sleep. I could go to Mica and says ‘sorry, you made a mistake, I had to let him go’.”
He’s outright sobbing now, and blood is running down his chin and neck.
“I just want to be done with this,” I tell him. “I just want one excuse to tell them I won’t do it anymore. But every time I have one of you pieces of shit like this, spitting blood and asking me to grant you mercy, every time you’re guilty. How do I let you walk when you did what she says you did?”
I stand up.
“How do I pretend you didn’t hurt that girl? How do I pretend you won’t do it again?”
He wheezes.
“I won’t. I can’t. I can’t pretend.”
I look at him for a long time, then I lift the gun and click the trigger as simply as taking a picture. There’s a flash and the air shatters around us. I feel the detonation of the ammunition crash hard against my hand and the pressure wave moves through my arm and dissipates in my back. When the ringing in my ears stops I’m sitting in my car. I light another one of his cigarettes and crack the window an inch. I drive home on auto pilot, not thinking about where I’m going or where I’ve been. I sleepwalk into my apartment and stand in a hot shower until the water runs cold. I dry my hair in a soft warm towel and put bandages over the holes in my arms.
My gun and knife go in a safe in my closet and I slide into a pair of thin cotton pajama pants. I slide silently into my cool crisp bed and lay my head on a firm memory foam pillow. As my mind grows foggy and distant I feel my wife roll over and wrap herself around me. The world grows quiet and I drift away to sleep.
Chapter Three
When I wake up my wife is in the shower singing to herself. I roll over and put my feet on the floor. I’m tired still and my body aches from the unused adrenaline produced last night. I cough up some brownish phlegm from the cigarettes and spit it in a tissue.
I hear the shower stop. My wife walks in the room naked and traipses over to her dresser with an energetic spring in her step.
“Good morning love,” she says cheerfully.
“Good morning Elle,” I say while rubbing my eyes with both hands.
“How was work?”
I cough again.
“Long,” I say.
“Tough client?” she asks.
“Not particularly,” I say. “Pretty standard, just a late night.”
She turns and looks at me sympathetically while she steps into her panties.
“Did you talk to Mica about cutting back on some of the night shifts?”
I yawn, stretch and stand up.
“No, it was too late when I got done. I just wanted to get home. I thought I’d swing by this morning and have a few words with her.”
“Well, be tough. Stand your ground. You’ve been doing all the over nights lately. She’s got to have someone else that can take a night shift or two.”
I laugh and walk over to her. I kiss her forehead.
“I’ll do what I can,” I tell her.
I walk into the bathroom and sit on the toilet. I grab the toothbrush from the shower and scrub my teeth while I’m doing my business. Elle comes in, dressed now. She’s in three inch nude heels, stockings and a skirt suit that is more than a little flattering on her. She spritzes her hair with some aerosol product and comes over to kiss me goodbye.
“Hey, how come everyone at work gets to see you all decked out in the naughty lawyer garb, but all I get is the jammy pants and t-shirt?”
She laughs.
“You got to see me naked two seconds ago.”
“Not the same thing,” I argue.
“Well, I’ll tell you what. You go tell your boss to stop hogging all your evenings and I’ll show you just what a naughty lawyer I can be.”
I smile.
“Deal,” I say.
“Okay,” she says. “Gotta go put away those bad guys.”
She kisses my lips and saunters out of the bathroom with a sassy sway in her hips that is intended to show me just what I’m missing when I work late.
I sigh.
“Time to put on my big boy panties and talk to the boss.”
Another shower and I’m back in my uniform. I holster my weapon and comb back my hair. I’m out of the house by nine a.m. I steer my car back towards the city, rehearsing my conversation in my head.
“Look Mica, I owed you. I owed you a lot, but that was fifteen years ago and I’ve been working it off ever since. Don’t you think maybe we’re even by now? Can’t we just call it square? Can’t I ever just walk away?”
I chuckle to myself at the absurdity of it. I work for Mica Kole. That’s a present tense statement, always. No one ever says they worked for Mica, because anyone in the position to say that honestly isn’t so much talking anymore.
On paper it seems like Mica is the good guy, or gal as it were in this case, but that’s on paper. It’s like saying the Pharos of Egypt were amazing because of the beautiful pyramids they built. You’re kind of leaving out how they managed to get that done in the first place.
I’m not saying I’m a slave, I’m just saying I work for Mica and to my knowledge anyone who works for Mica only ever works for Mica. Mica does good things. She gets real scumbags off the streets. Not petty crooks, real assholes that hurt people. She does this in one of two ways. Either she “converts” them like she did with me, or she sends a convert to eliminate them.
A lot of folks like this system fine. The lawful system doesn’t work for shit here, so folks who just want their daughters to be able to walk home from school without being shot… or worse, well, they think Mica is a hero. Hell, I used to too.
When I wake up my wife is in the shower singing to herself. I roll over and put my feet on the floor. I’m tired still and my body aches from the unused adrenaline produced last night. I cough up some brownish phlegm from the cigarettes and spit it in a tissue.
I hear the shower stop. My wife walks in the room naked and traipses over to her dresser with an energetic spring in her step.
“Good morning love,” she says cheerfully.
“Good morning Elle,” I say while rubbing my eyes with both hands.
“How was work?”
I cough again.
“Long,” I say.
“Tough client?” she asks.
“Not particularly,” I say. “Pretty standard, just a late night.”
She turns and looks at me sympathetically while she steps into her panties.
“Did you talk to Mica about cutting back on some of the night shifts?”
I yawn, stretch and stand up.
“No, it was too late when I got done. I just wanted to get home. I thought I’d swing by this morning and have a few words with her.”
“Well, be tough. Stand your ground. You’ve been doing all the over nights lately. She’s got to have someone else that can take a night shift or two.”
I laugh and walk over to her. I kiss her forehead.
“I’ll do what I can,” I tell her.
I walk into the bathroom and sit on the toilet. I grab the toothbrush from the shower and scrub my teeth while I’m doing my business. Elle comes in, dressed now. She’s in three inch nude heels, stockings and a skirt suit that is more than a little flattering on her. She spritzes her hair with some aerosol product and comes over to kiss me goodbye.
“Hey, how come everyone at work gets to see you all decked out in the naughty lawyer garb, but all I get is the jammy pants and t-shirt?”
She laughs.
“You got to see me naked two seconds ago.”
“Not the same thing,” I argue.
“Well, I’ll tell you what. You go tell your boss to stop hogging all your evenings and I’ll show you just what a naughty lawyer I can be.”
I smile.
“Deal,” I say.
“Okay,” she says. “Gotta go put away those bad guys.”
She kisses my lips and saunters out of the bathroom with a sassy sway in her hips that is intended to show me just what I’m missing when I work late.
I sigh.
“Time to put on my big boy panties and talk to the boss.”
Another shower and I’m back in my uniform. I holster my weapon and comb back my hair. I’m out of the house by nine a.m. I steer my car back towards the city, rehearsing my conversation in my head.
“Look Mica, I owed you. I owed you a lot, but that was fifteen years ago and I’ve been working it off ever since. Don’t you think maybe we’re even by now? Can’t we just call it square? Can’t I ever just walk away?”
I chuckle to myself at the absurdity of it. I work for Mica Kole. That’s a present tense statement, always. No one ever says they worked for Mica, because anyone in the position to say that honestly isn’t so much talking anymore.
On paper it seems like Mica is the good guy, or gal as it were in this case, but that’s on paper. It’s like saying the Pharos of Egypt were amazing because of the beautiful pyramids they built. You’re kind of leaving out how they managed to get that done in the first place.
I’m not saying I’m a slave, I’m just saying I work for Mica and to my knowledge anyone who works for Mica only ever works for Mica. Mica does good things. She gets real scumbags off the streets. Not petty crooks, real assholes that hurt people. She does this in one of two ways. Either she “converts” them like she did with me, or she sends a convert to eliminate them.
A lot of folks like this system fine. The lawful system doesn’t work for shit here, so folks who just want their daughters to be able to walk home from school without being shot… or worse, well, they think Mica is a hero. Hell, I used to too.
Chapter Four
When I was nineteen I was a piece of shit. The only reason I graduated High School was that failing me would have hurt the school’s graduation stats more than it would hurt my future. I dealt ecstasy and heroin and quite a bit of pot to kids at the Jr. College near my house as well as the High School, and even the Jr. High if they had money.
I screwed a lot. I’d tell girls anything they wanted to hear to get in their pants, and if that didn’t work I’d trade them drugs for sex. I smacked girls around and beat the shit out of any guy that I thought I could take just to show that I could. I stole… anything. From anyone. Family, friends, strangers. It didn’t matter. I was an absolute waste of the air around me and I thought that acting that way made me look powerful.
I wasn’t powerful though. I wasn’t even weak really. I was nothing, and I didn’t even know it until that night in the city. I’d grown up in the suburbs and all my thuggary had been inflicted against other suburban kids. Kids who had easy lives and wealthy parents. Kids who were easy to take advantage of. I found the city to be a much different place.
I had a “client”, a kid at the High School who I sold a lot of E to. He told me he had a cousin in the city that was looking for a big supply for a party. She didn’t have any money, but she was fine and she’d do a three way with me and her girlfriend for fifteen pills. I wasn’t going to say no to that.
The kid set it up and that weekend we drove to the city. Her place was a run down public housing tower across the street from a boarded up apartment building that had black burn marks around all the window openings. There was no security door at the entrance, so we made our way to her place unannounced. When we rang the bell at her door it was opened by her old man.
He was old and gnomish in a greasy undershirt with his belly hanging out like he was eight and a half months pregnant. He didn’t seem phased by our request to see his daughter so we slid past him to a small bedroom just past the kitchen.
The girl was cute, and her friend was really hot. The started kissing as soon as we sat down, then they both made their way over to me and started reaching for my fly. That’s when I put on the brakes. I told them I wasn’t going to fuck them a room away from her craggy old man, and I certainly wasn’t going to do it right in front of her pervy cousin.
She suggested we head across the street to the other building. I don’t know what made me think that shagging in a burnt out condemned building was better, but I was pretty wound up at that point so, I suppose I just wasn’t thinking at all.
The building next door was like standing inside a filthy fireplace. Soot covered the walls and there was charred debris everywhere. In the corner of the entryway, just ten feet from the front door, was a thick dirty mattress.
The girls jumped on it immediately and looked back at me while running their hands up under each other’s shirts. My brain was on fire, and I had pins and needles running down my neck. I had tunnel vision looking at the two of them kissing and touching each other. In retrospect, it’s not surprising that I forgot to close the door we came in through.
I walked over to the bed and let them undo my pants. They pulled them down to my knees, then did the same with my boxers. The friend took my junk in her hand and squeezed tight. I looked down at her to tell her to ease up and noticed they were both looking right past me with matching grins.
Then I heard the click.
The girls jumped up on the mattress and started laughing and squealing with overhyped teenage glee. They were bouncing and laughing and pointing and calling me profane names. I turned my head to see the father standing behind me with a dull, beat up revolver pointing right at my head.
They took the drugs, my wallet, my shoes and socks, my car keys and some pot I had on me for later, then the old man told the girls to get gone and they did. He told me to get on my knees. I did as I was told. I started crying, kneeling there with my bare limp dick swinging between my pasty thighs, waiting for the sound I probably wouldn’t even have time to hear.
When the sound came it was different than I expected. Less of a bang and more of a crack. Then a loud grunt and a thud. After a moment of silence a new voice told me to get up. There was a new man standing behind me. He was dressed like he was going to a funeral and holding a long wooden baseball bat. Next to him, on the ground, was the girl’s dad, lying unconscious.
I was a blubbering mess. I tried to say thank you, but the man told me I’d better not. He told me that the day would come when thanking him would be the last thing I wanted to do. That’s when he took me to meet Mica Kole.
When I was nineteen I was a piece of shit. The only reason I graduated High School was that failing me would have hurt the school’s graduation stats more than it would hurt my future. I dealt ecstasy and heroin and quite a bit of pot to kids at the Jr. College near my house as well as the High School, and even the Jr. High if they had money.
I screwed a lot. I’d tell girls anything they wanted to hear to get in their pants, and if that didn’t work I’d trade them drugs for sex. I smacked girls around and beat the shit out of any guy that I thought I could take just to show that I could. I stole… anything. From anyone. Family, friends, strangers. It didn’t matter. I was an absolute waste of the air around me and I thought that acting that way made me look powerful.
I wasn’t powerful though. I wasn’t even weak really. I was nothing, and I didn’t even know it until that night in the city. I’d grown up in the suburbs and all my thuggary had been inflicted against other suburban kids. Kids who had easy lives and wealthy parents. Kids who were easy to take advantage of. I found the city to be a much different place.
I had a “client”, a kid at the High School who I sold a lot of E to. He told me he had a cousin in the city that was looking for a big supply for a party. She didn’t have any money, but she was fine and she’d do a three way with me and her girlfriend for fifteen pills. I wasn’t going to say no to that.
The kid set it up and that weekend we drove to the city. Her place was a run down public housing tower across the street from a boarded up apartment building that had black burn marks around all the window openings. There was no security door at the entrance, so we made our way to her place unannounced. When we rang the bell at her door it was opened by her old man.
He was old and gnomish in a greasy undershirt with his belly hanging out like he was eight and a half months pregnant. He didn’t seem phased by our request to see his daughter so we slid past him to a small bedroom just past the kitchen.
The girl was cute, and her friend was really hot. The started kissing as soon as we sat down, then they both made their way over to me and started reaching for my fly. That’s when I put on the brakes. I told them I wasn’t going to fuck them a room away from her craggy old man, and I certainly wasn’t going to do it right in front of her pervy cousin.
She suggested we head across the street to the other building. I don’t know what made me think that shagging in a burnt out condemned building was better, but I was pretty wound up at that point so, I suppose I just wasn’t thinking at all.
The building next door was like standing inside a filthy fireplace. Soot covered the walls and there was charred debris everywhere. In the corner of the entryway, just ten feet from the front door, was a thick dirty mattress.
The girls jumped on it immediately and looked back at me while running their hands up under each other’s shirts. My brain was on fire, and I had pins and needles running down my neck. I had tunnel vision looking at the two of them kissing and touching each other. In retrospect, it’s not surprising that I forgot to close the door we came in through.
I walked over to the bed and let them undo my pants. They pulled them down to my knees, then did the same with my boxers. The friend took my junk in her hand and squeezed tight. I looked down at her to tell her to ease up and noticed they were both looking right past me with matching grins.
Then I heard the click.
The girls jumped up on the mattress and started laughing and squealing with overhyped teenage glee. They were bouncing and laughing and pointing and calling me profane names. I turned my head to see the father standing behind me with a dull, beat up revolver pointing right at my head.
They took the drugs, my wallet, my shoes and socks, my car keys and some pot I had on me for later, then the old man told the girls to get gone and they did. He told me to get on my knees. I did as I was told. I started crying, kneeling there with my bare limp dick swinging between my pasty thighs, waiting for the sound I probably wouldn’t even have time to hear.
When the sound came it was different than I expected. Less of a bang and more of a crack. Then a loud grunt and a thud. After a moment of silence a new voice told me to get up. There was a new man standing behind me. He was dressed like he was going to a funeral and holding a long wooden baseball bat. Next to him, on the ground, was the girl’s dad, lying unconscious.
I was a blubbering mess. I tried to say thank you, but the man told me I’d better not. He told me that the day would come when thanking him would be the last thing I wanted to do. That’s when he took me to meet Mica Kole.
Chapter Five
I park my car in a spacious parking lot on the near north side of the city. Behind me is a wide, low, brown building with a red clay roof and a man made brook that tumbles through dense coniferous vegetation. There’s a small stone bridge that arcs over the water between the parking lot and the flat river stone path that leads to the entrance.
The double doors at the front of the building are wide and fashioned out of two solid pieces of weathered wood. They’re thick and heavy and hung with black iron hardware. Inside, the lights are low and everything has a vaguely reddish glow. The space is divided into two large dining rooms separated by a wide open air kitchen. All the tables are low to the ground and, absent chairs, are surrounded by colorful overstuffed pillows.
I approach the host stand and tell the smiling young japanese girl to let Mica know that Malcolm Karma is here to see her. The girl smiles, bows politely, and disappears into one of the dining rooms. When she returns she smiles again and tells me that Mica will see me.
I walk to the back of the dining room to a small doorway covered by a dense curtain of tiny beads. Outside the door stands an imposing man in a dark suit. Exactly the same one I’m wearing. Don is Mica’s body guard, as if she needed one, and is the one person on earth you don’t want with your name in his pocket. Don knows two things, one is that Mica lives, and two is that everyone else is expendable. He nods at me as I pass through the beaded curtain.
The room is small and painted a deep rusty red. The floor is made of narrow planks of bamboo and there are several well kept bonsai trees on low platforms throughout the space. Mica is sitting barefoot and cross legged on the floor behind a wide mahogany table that supports a laptop computer, a large black softcover ledger book and various scattered file folders and loose sheets of paper. She smiles up at me warmly as I remove my shoes and take a seat across from her on a large forest green silk pillow.
“Good morning Mal,” she says sweetly. “I had kind of thought I would see you last night. Everything go okay?”
I nod the affirmative.
“Yeah, it was just late,” I say. “I wanted to try and catch Elle before she fell asleep.”
“I see,” she says.
There’s an extended moment of silence, made longer by unbroken eye contact.
“Well,” she says, finally looking away. “Here’s your fee.”
She lifts a wide business envelope off the table and holds it out to me. I stare at it for a moment before leaning forward and taking it out of her hand.
“Thanks,” I say.
She nods.
“So, I don’t have anything else for you today, but I’ll give you a call later this week when something comes up.”
I sit paralyzed, unable to get up, but equally unable to say the words I’ve been practicing for days. The moment grows and quickly becomes uncomfortable. Mica tilts her head and squints at me with a suspicious gaze.
“Everything go okay last night?” she asks again.
I nod silently feeling my face drain of blood.
“Was there something you wanted to talk about?” she asks.
I feel a lump form in my throat and my hands go cold and clammy. My tongue dries up and my stomach starts doing cartwheels.
“Mal, what’s on your mind?” she asks with a bit more urgency.
I feel myself breathing too heavily and I start to get light headed.
“Mal, if you need-”
“I want out!” I blurt.
Mica stops and stares at me blankly.
“I- I know what you did for me. I- I know I owe you- owed you I mean. Uh. I just. Ya know that was fifty- I mean fifteen years ago and I’m just- I’m not that kid anymore and uh-”
I’m spinning my wheels, trying to get traction on the subject. I’m trying to be cool, but it’s totally getting away from me.
“I love Elle. I- I want to have kids. I don’t want-”
I feel like I’m going to throw up. I put my hands out on the table for balance.
“Malcolm!” Mica says firmly.
The room is spinning and I lean forward and put my head on the table. Mica stands up and walks around to me. She kneels down and puts an arm around my shoulders.
“Slow down,” she says. “Take it easy. Slow down. Deep breath, it’s okay Mal. Don’t go passing out on me now.”
I start to calm down. My breath slows. I feel her delicate fingers on my back rubbing soft circles, then up and down, caressing my neck with her finger nails. I take a long deep breath and begin to regain my composure. I’m suddenly very embarrassed.
“Mica, I-”
“Shhh,” she hushes me. “I know it’s hard. It’s scary quitting your job for the first time. I know, I’ve been there too.”
I look over at her. Her face is soft and friendly. She has deep emerald eyes that sparkle against her campfire red hair. She pats me on the shoulder and smiles genuinely, then stands up and walks back around the table.
She crouches and lifts up an expertly hidden section of floor and presses her thumb against a raised glass square. Theres the sound of two hollow clicks and she lifts a door open and pulls a stack of manilla envelopes out of the hole in the floor. She flips through the stack until she finds what she is looking for, then removes a single envelope and places the rest back in the hole. She closes the heavy metal door and replaces the bamboo planks. When she’s finished I can’t tell where the spot even was. She reaches out to hand me the envelope.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Your retirement package,” she says.
“My what?”
“Like a pension,” she says. “I set a little aside after every job so when you’re done you have something to get you going on your own.”
I look at her dumbstruck.
“What did you think was going to happen Mal?”
I don’t say anything.
She smiles.
“Malcolm, you’ve done well. You’ve grown up and improved your character significantly. Hell, you worked for me and married a prosecutor. That takes a special kind of balls if you ask me. You deserve to enjoy the rest of your life. Go, move out of town, put a baby in your wife and enjoy being unemployed for a bit. I promise, we’ll get by without you.”
I let out a huge high and feel a thousand pounds of worry run off my shoulders like sand. I smile and grip the envelope tightly.
“Thank you,” I say.
Mica smiles.
I stand up and give a deferential bow.
“Thank you again,” I say.
I slip my shoes on and turn and walk out the doorway. I’m ten feet away when I hear Mica call Don into her room. As I walk out the front doors I see don stepping inside her office.
I park my car in a spacious parking lot on the near north side of the city. Behind me is a wide, low, brown building with a red clay roof and a man made brook that tumbles through dense coniferous vegetation. There’s a small stone bridge that arcs over the water between the parking lot and the flat river stone path that leads to the entrance.
The double doors at the front of the building are wide and fashioned out of two solid pieces of weathered wood. They’re thick and heavy and hung with black iron hardware. Inside, the lights are low and everything has a vaguely reddish glow. The space is divided into two large dining rooms separated by a wide open air kitchen. All the tables are low to the ground and, absent chairs, are surrounded by colorful overstuffed pillows.
I approach the host stand and tell the smiling young japanese girl to let Mica know that Malcolm Karma is here to see her. The girl smiles, bows politely, and disappears into one of the dining rooms. When she returns she smiles again and tells me that Mica will see me.
I walk to the back of the dining room to a small doorway covered by a dense curtain of tiny beads. Outside the door stands an imposing man in a dark suit. Exactly the same one I’m wearing. Don is Mica’s body guard, as if she needed one, and is the one person on earth you don’t want with your name in his pocket. Don knows two things, one is that Mica lives, and two is that everyone else is expendable. He nods at me as I pass through the beaded curtain.
The room is small and painted a deep rusty red. The floor is made of narrow planks of bamboo and there are several well kept bonsai trees on low platforms throughout the space. Mica is sitting barefoot and cross legged on the floor behind a wide mahogany table that supports a laptop computer, a large black softcover ledger book and various scattered file folders and loose sheets of paper. She smiles up at me warmly as I remove my shoes and take a seat across from her on a large forest green silk pillow.
“Good morning Mal,” she says sweetly. “I had kind of thought I would see you last night. Everything go okay?”
I nod the affirmative.
“Yeah, it was just late,” I say. “I wanted to try and catch Elle before she fell asleep.”
“I see,” she says.
There’s an extended moment of silence, made longer by unbroken eye contact.
“Well,” she says, finally looking away. “Here’s your fee.”
She lifts a wide business envelope off the table and holds it out to me. I stare at it for a moment before leaning forward and taking it out of her hand.
“Thanks,” I say.
She nods.
“So, I don’t have anything else for you today, but I’ll give you a call later this week when something comes up.”
I sit paralyzed, unable to get up, but equally unable to say the words I’ve been practicing for days. The moment grows and quickly becomes uncomfortable. Mica tilts her head and squints at me with a suspicious gaze.
“Everything go okay last night?” she asks again.
I nod silently feeling my face drain of blood.
“Was there something you wanted to talk about?” she asks.
I feel a lump form in my throat and my hands go cold and clammy. My tongue dries up and my stomach starts doing cartwheels.
“Mal, what’s on your mind?” she asks with a bit more urgency.
I feel myself breathing too heavily and I start to get light headed.
“Mal, if you need-”
“I want out!” I blurt.
Mica stops and stares at me blankly.
“I- I know what you did for me. I- I know I owe you- owed you I mean. Uh. I just. Ya know that was fifty- I mean fifteen years ago and I’m just- I’m not that kid anymore and uh-”
I’m spinning my wheels, trying to get traction on the subject. I’m trying to be cool, but it’s totally getting away from me.
“I love Elle. I- I want to have kids. I don’t want-”
I feel like I’m going to throw up. I put my hands out on the table for balance.
“Malcolm!” Mica says firmly.
The room is spinning and I lean forward and put my head on the table. Mica stands up and walks around to me. She kneels down and puts an arm around my shoulders.
“Slow down,” she says. “Take it easy. Slow down. Deep breath, it’s okay Mal. Don’t go passing out on me now.”
I start to calm down. My breath slows. I feel her delicate fingers on my back rubbing soft circles, then up and down, caressing my neck with her finger nails. I take a long deep breath and begin to regain my composure. I’m suddenly very embarrassed.
“Mica, I-”
“Shhh,” she hushes me. “I know it’s hard. It’s scary quitting your job for the first time. I know, I’ve been there too.”
I look over at her. Her face is soft and friendly. She has deep emerald eyes that sparkle against her campfire red hair. She pats me on the shoulder and smiles genuinely, then stands up and walks back around the table.
She crouches and lifts up an expertly hidden section of floor and presses her thumb against a raised glass square. Theres the sound of two hollow clicks and she lifts a door open and pulls a stack of manilla envelopes out of the hole in the floor. She flips through the stack until she finds what she is looking for, then removes a single envelope and places the rest back in the hole. She closes the heavy metal door and replaces the bamboo planks. When she’s finished I can’t tell where the spot even was. She reaches out to hand me the envelope.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Your retirement package,” she says.
“My what?”
“Like a pension,” she says. “I set a little aside after every job so when you’re done you have something to get you going on your own.”
I look at her dumbstruck.
“What did you think was going to happen Mal?”
I don’t say anything.
She smiles.
“Malcolm, you’ve done well. You’ve grown up and improved your character significantly. Hell, you worked for me and married a prosecutor. That takes a special kind of balls if you ask me. You deserve to enjoy the rest of your life. Go, move out of town, put a baby in your wife and enjoy being unemployed for a bit. I promise, we’ll get by without you.”
I let out a huge high and feel a thousand pounds of worry run off my shoulders like sand. I smile and grip the envelope tightly.
“Thank you,” I say.
Mica smiles.
I stand up and give a deferential bow.
“Thank you again,” I say.
I slip my shoes on and turn and walk out the doorway. I’m ten feet away when I hear Mica call Don into her room. As I walk out the front doors I see don stepping inside her office.
Chapter Six
I drive home with a smile. The first envelope Mica gave me has nine hundred dollars in it. That’s my fee per job. It’s an ironic statement because I didn’t set the rate, Mica did. Also because I didn’t choose the job. I was never given a choice. Mica’s guy saved my life that night in the city and the price has been my indentured servitude.
I’ve always believed that I would have to die to escape her grasp. I’ve never heard of anyone that retired, so I’m more than a little surprised to find the second envelope contains just over ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand one hundred seventy eight dollars to be exact. A retirement payout from a job I thought I’d have to die to leave. I’m over the moon.
I stop at the florist on the way home and grab a dozen roses and baby’s breath in a glass vase for Elle. Then I call and make reservations at our favorite french bistro for dinner. At home I clean the house to perfection, even dusting the vertical blinds and scrubbing the outside of the fridge with Windex.
I strip our bed and remake it with our “special” sheets, then set candles up around the room. I put on nice clothes. Ones with color in them and make Elle and I cocktails in our fancy glassware.
She walks in the door at eight p.m. with a sour look on her face. I’m on the sofa watching the news on a comedy station. I hop up and grab her by both hands. She sighs and wiggles a bit to try and escape, but I hold on tight. I crouch a bit to get eye level with her and flash her a big grin.
“What’s wrong with you grumpy pants?” I say playfully.
She sighs and pulls her hands out of mine.
“Nothing, just a rough day at work,” she says.
I turn and grab the flowers from the table next to us and hold them out to her.
“Maybe these will help,” I say.
She looks at them, then looks back at me with raised eyebrows.
“What did you do?” she asks.
I feign being wounded.
“What, a guy can’t buy his sexy wife flowers without being accused of committing some atrocity?”
She takes the flowers and inspects them.
“These are beautiful,” she says. “So beautiful in fact that if I had to guess, I’d say they cost at least a hundred bucks. So I’ll ask again Mal, what did you do?”
I look at her and grin. She sets the flowers down.
“Oh boy,” she sighs.
I dash to the kitchen and return with our drinks. I hold hers out to her.
“So I’m going to need a drink for this?”
I smile and she takes the glass.
“Yes,” I say. “For a toast.”
“And to what are we toasting?”
My smile widens and I hold up my glass.
“I quit my job today.”
Elle sets her drink down hard on the table.
“You did what?”
I nod my head.
“Yup, I went in and said that the job was interfering with our time together. That we were talking about starting a family and that I didn’t see anyway to make both work, so I wanted to leave.”
Well, ya know, close enough.
Elle stares at me dumbfounded for a moment, then a smile starts to spread across her face.
“For real?” she says.
“For real for real,” I say.
Now she’s laughing. I hold up my glass and she retrieves hers. We clink them together.
“To a fresh start?” I say.
“To a family,” she says.
We sip our drinks and she throws her arms around me. We kiss. Hard, like we did when we were dating. I’m holding her face and her arms are around my waist. She goes for my belt buckle and I grab her hands.
“We have dinner reservations,” I say.
“Honey, the only thing I want for dinner tonight is you.”
I look in her eyes and slowly let go of her hand. We hold eye contact and she undoes my belt and button and fly. She takes me out of my pants and kisses my mouth while she strokes me. When I’m hard she gets on her knees and takes me in her mouth.
I close my eyes and run my fingers through her hair, savoring every minute sensation. I relish her tongue and lips and cheeks. I shiver when I touch the back of her throat.
I pull her up and kiss her mouth. My hands run down her neck and back and around her ass. I reach down and pull her pencil skirt up around her waist. I run my fingers down her bare thighs to the tops of her stockings, then back up the insides to her damp panties. I push them aside without taking them off and lift her up on the table.
I stop kissing her and lift her chin with my fingers. I gaze into her deep hazel nut eyes. I tell her I love her. I whisper I need her, then slowly as our breath gets shallow I push myself inside her. She lets out a long, low moan and I pull her close and kiss her again.
We make love on the table, in the bed and again, clumsily, in the shower. When we’re done at last we lay sprawled out naked on the sofa. My fingers trace heart shapes on her bare tummy.
“We missed dinner,” I tell her.
“Yeah, we did,” she says. “But we had lots of dessert.”
I smile at the corny joke.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“No,” she says, “but I could use a cigarette.”
We both used to smoke, but quit when we started talking about getting pregnant. We still keep a small box though, for special occasions.
“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say.
“Take a walk with me?” she asks.
“Gladly,” I say.
We grab the box of Camels and the lighter from the drawer in the bedroom, throw on some sweats and head out the back to walk around the pond and smoke.
“So, what was rough at work today?” I ask.
“Oh, it’s just frustrating. We had a witness for this case die. He was killed actually. It looks like the suspects had it done and it means we may have to drop the charges.”
“Wow,” I say surprised. “I didn’t think things like that happened out here in the burbs.”
She chuckles.
“Thankfully they don’t really. He was in the city last night and it looks like the suspects’ gang took him out.”
I stop walking.
“Last night?” I say.
“Yeah,” she says. “He was out there tutoring some kids on the south side and got jumped on the way back to his car. Stabbed and shot in the head.”
I feel my throat close up and I start sweating.
“What was the case?” I ask.
“Sad one,” she says. “Young woman, a wife and mother. She was beaten pretty badly in a home invasion. Police think it was a robbery gone bad. Husband comes home in the middle of it and manages to chase the guys off, but the woman is in a coma in critical condition. Husband was able to pick two of the guys out in a photo lineup though. He was set to testify, but now we’re back to having nothing.”
I feel tears forming in the corners of my eyes. I choke on my words.
“I think I- uh- I think I read about that one. What’s her name again?”
My wife looks at me with sweet concern.
“Yeah, you might have. It was in the papers a lot about a month ago. Girl’s name was Kelly Phillips.”
My world comes crashing down around me. I picture the man lying on the wet pavement. I see his terrified eyes light up when I mention her name. I feel myself pull back the trigger and smell the acrid sulfur scent of the gunfire mixing with the copper odor of the blood as it pools on the ground. I bend over and throw up on my shoes.
“Oh my God, honey are you-”
There’s a clap of thunder and the sudden roar of rain, but the skies are clear and dry. I look up and see red. My nausea turns to panic and my eyes go wide as saucers. Elle turns, following my gaze and we stare together as our apartment building is consumed in flames.
I drive home with a smile. The first envelope Mica gave me has nine hundred dollars in it. That’s my fee per job. It’s an ironic statement because I didn’t set the rate, Mica did. Also because I didn’t choose the job. I was never given a choice. Mica’s guy saved my life that night in the city and the price has been my indentured servitude.
I’ve always believed that I would have to die to escape her grasp. I’ve never heard of anyone that retired, so I’m more than a little surprised to find the second envelope contains just over ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand one hundred seventy eight dollars to be exact. A retirement payout from a job I thought I’d have to die to leave. I’m over the moon.
I stop at the florist on the way home and grab a dozen roses and baby’s breath in a glass vase for Elle. Then I call and make reservations at our favorite french bistro for dinner. At home I clean the house to perfection, even dusting the vertical blinds and scrubbing the outside of the fridge with Windex.
I strip our bed and remake it with our “special” sheets, then set candles up around the room. I put on nice clothes. Ones with color in them and make Elle and I cocktails in our fancy glassware.
She walks in the door at eight p.m. with a sour look on her face. I’m on the sofa watching the news on a comedy station. I hop up and grab her by both hands. She sighs and wiggles a bit to try and escape, but I hold on tight. I crouch a bit to get eye level with her and flash her a big grin.
“What’s wrong with you grumpy pants?” I say playfully.
She sighs and pulls her hands out of mine.
“Nothing, just a rough day at work,” she says.
I turn and grab the flowers from the table next to us and hold them out to her.
“Maybe these will help,” I say.
She looks at them, then looks back at me with raised eyebrows.
“What did you do?” she asks.
I feign being wounded.
“What, a guy can’t buy his sexy wife flowers without being accused of committing some atrocity?”
She takes the flowers and inspects them.
“These are beautiful,” she says. “So beautiful in fact that if I had to guess, I’d say they cost at least a hundred bucks. So I’ll ask again Mal, what did you do?”
I look at her and grin. She sets the flowers down.
“Oh boy,” she sighs.
I dash to the kitchen and return with our drinks. I hold hers out to her.
“So I’m going to need a drink for this?”
I smile and she takes the glass.
“Yes,” I say. “For a toast.”
“And to what are we toasting?”
My smile widens and I hold up my glass.
“I quit my job today.”
Elle sets her drink down hard on the table.
“You did what?”
I nod my head.
“Yup, I went in and said that the job was interfering with our time together. That we were talking about starting a family and that I didn’t see anyway to make both work, so I wanted to leave.”
Well, ya know, close enough.
Elle stares at me dumbfounded for a moment, then a smile starts to spread across her face.
“For real?” she says.
“For real for real,” I say.
Now she’s laughing. I hold up my glass and she retrieves hers. We clink them together.
“To a fresh start?” I say.
“To a family,” she says.
We sip our drinks and she throws her arms around me. We kiss. Hard, like we did when we were dating. I’m holding her face and her arms are around my waist. She goes for my belt buckle and I grab her hands.
“We have dinner reservations,” I say.
“Honey, the only thing I want for dinner tonight is you.”
I look in her eyes and slowly let go of her hand. We hold eye contact and she undoes my belt and button and fly. She takes me out of my pants and kisses my mouth while she strokes me. When I’m hard she gets on her knees and takes me in her mouth.
I close my eyes and run my fingers through her hair, savoring every minute sensation. I relish her tongue and lips and cheeks. I shiver when I touch the back of her throat.
I pull her up and kiss her mouth. My hands run down her neck and back and around her ass. I reach down and pull her pencil skirt up around her waist. I run my fingers down her bare thighs to the tops of her stockings, then back up the insides to her damp panties. I push them aside without taking them off and lift her up on the table.
I stop kissing her and lift her chin with my fingers. I gaze into her deep hazel nut eyes. I tell her I love her. I whisper I need her, then slowly as our breath gets shallow I push myself inside her. She lets out a long, low moan and I pull her close and kiss her again.
We make love on the table, in the bed and again, clumsily, in the shower. When we’re done at last we lay sprawled out naked on the sofa. My fingers trace heart shapes on her bare tummy.
“We missed dinner,” I tell her.
“Yeah, we did,” she says. “But we had lots of dessert.”
I smile at the corny joke.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“No,” she says, “but I could use a cigarette.”
We both used to smoke, but quit when we started talking about getting pregnant. We still keep a small box though, for special occasions.
“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say.
“Take a walk with me?” she asks.
“Gladly,” I say.
We grab the box of Camels and the lighter from the drawer in the bedroom, throw on some sweats and head out the back to walk around the pond and smoke.
“So, what was rough at work today?” I ask.
“Oh, it’s just frustrating. We had a witness for this case die. He was killed actually. It looks like the suspects had it done and it means we may have to drop the charges.”
“Wow,” I say surprised. “I didn’t think things like that happened out here in the burbs.”
She chuckles.
“Thankfully they don’t really. He was in the city last night and it looks like the suspects’ gang took him out.”
I stop walking.
“Last night?” I say.
“Yeah,” she says. “He was out there tutoring some kids on the south side and got jumped on the way back to his car. Stabbed and shot in the head.”
I feel my throat close up and I start sweating.
“What was the case?” I ask.
“Sad one,” she says. “Young woman, a wife and mother. She was beaten pretty badly in a home invasion. Police think it was a robbery gone bad. Husband comes home in the middle of it and manages to chase the guys off, but the woman is in a coma in critical condition. Husband was able to pick two of the guys out in a photo lineup though. He was set to testify, but now we’re back to having nothing.”
I feel tears forming in the corners of my eyes. I choke on my words.
“I think I- uh- I think I read about that one. What’s her name again?”
My wife looks at me with sweet concern.
“Yeah, you might have. It was in the papers a lot about a month ago. Girl’s name was Kelly Phillips.”
My world comes crashing down around me. I picture the man lying on the wet pavement. I see his terrified eyes light up when I mention her name. I feel myself pull back the trigger and smell the acrid sulfur scent of the gunfire mixing with the copper odor of the blood as it pools on the ground. I bend over and throw up on my shoes.
“Oh my God, honey are you-”
There’s a clap of thunder and the sudden roar of rain, but the skies are clear and dry. I look up and see red. My nausea turns to panic and my eyes go wide as saucers. Elle turns, following my gaze and we stare together as our apartment building is consumed in flames.
Chapter Seven
Elle screamed for a little, cried a bit longer and now she’s sleeping in the grass with her head in my lap. The fire burned for two hours while the fire department doused it with hoses and carried people out in huge plastic masks that made them look like oversized insects. Now it just steamed in the moonlight as the last of the engines turns off its spinning red lights and quietly rolls away from the carnage.
As far as I can tell no one died. Everyone lost everything, but no one lost their life. I find some consolation in that, even if it’s only that it means the investigation will be less thorough. The police and fire marshal are still going through the wreckage with long heavy flashlights that throw harsh narrow beams of impossibly white light. Many of the residents have been taken to the hospital for examination, many others have already left for hotels or to stay with family or friends. I’ve been letting Elle get some sleep, but it’s getting late and I think it’s time to get going.
I shake her gently and brush the hair from her eyes. She opens them slowly, getting her bearings and remembering where she is.
“Fuck,” she says.
“Yeah, it’s for real,” I answer.
We get up and I walk her to my car. I put her in the passenger seat and grab the spare key from the magnetic box under the rear wheel well. As I walk around to the driver’s side I notice a tired looking man in a cheap wrinkled suit approaching me from the building. I stop at the driver’s door and watch as he walks up.
“You folks takin’ off?” he asks before he reaches me.
I nod a tired answer and gesture towards the car.
“I gotta get my wife to bed. She’s pretty shaken up,” I say.
“Sure sure,” he says agreeably. “I’m Detective Upton by the way.”
He puts out his hand for me to shake. I take it and oblige.
“Malcolm,” I say. “Malcolm Karma.”
“Karma?” he says surprised. “Any relation to-”
“A.D.A. Elle Karma, yeah. She’s my wife.”
He nods and smiles.
“Well, very nice to meet you Malcolm.”
“Likewise,” I say in my most exhausted tone.
He smiles, gives me a once over, then sighs and gives a little shrug.
“Well, I won’t keep you Malcolm, we are just trying to get a record of where everyone will be for the next day or so in case we have to get a hold of you for any reason.”
I nod understandingly.
“Right. Uh, we’ll be at the motor lodge on Roosevelt Rd.”
He scratches the information in a small squarish black notebook then looks up a little confused.
“The motel you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t really have a polite way of asking this, so I’m just going to say it. Why?”
“Well,” I say with a slight edge of condescension. “I guess mostly because my apartment building is- well, was just on fire.”
He looks up from his notebook.
“Right,” he says. “ But why some fleabag motel? There’s like a dozen decent hotels within five miles of this place.”
“Their sign says they have color TV,” I say.
He doesn’t seem to think this is funny.
“Look Detective, I don’t want to be rude or difficult, but I just don’t see how the place we stay in is, frankly, any of your business, and I really have to get my wife to bed, so unless there’s something else…”
He looks at me trying to mask his annoyance. Clearly he’s not used to people talking to him this way, but after a moment he shakes it off and smiles back at me.
“Of course, I’m very sorry. I was just curious. Call it a professional habit. It doesn’t matter at all. Just one more quick thing then. I just need your apartment number so we can make sure any personal items that may have survived are returned to you.”
I look past him at the charred remains of our building and try to imagine a scenario where anything in the whole place survived intact. I look back at him and rub my eyes with my palms in exhaustion.
“Uh, 206,” I say. “It’s around back.”
“Got it,” he says. “Thanks so much Mr. Karma. We’ll be in touch if we find anything out.”
“Great,” I say.
I climb into the driver’s seat of my car and turn the engine over until it screams like a jungle cat on fire. I drop the gearbox into second, feed it gas and pop the clutch. I let the tires squeal before gunning it out of the parking lot. It’s true what I said about the motor lodge. They do have color TV, but that’s not why we’re staying there. Someone just burnt down my home and no part of me thinks it was an accident.
I quit my job with Mica Kole and despite her kind words and the lump of cash that I, thankfully, left in the car this afternoon, I know that this was at best a warning. More likely it was intended to be my real retirement package. With any luck Human Resources thinks they did their job and isn’t looking any further, but I’m certainly not going to risk running my credit card at the fucking Holiday Inn. A cash room at an unlisted motel is what this night calls for. I need to get Elle some sleep and help her calm down. Tomorrow I’ll start figuring what comes next.
I have to deal with the fire, but also I have to look into the Kelly Phillips situation. Both of these mean dealing with Mica and now that’s going to be much much more complicated.
Elle screamed for a little, cried a bit longer and now she’s sleeping in the grass with her head in my lap. The fire burned for two hours while the fire department doused it with hoses and carried people out in huge plastic masks that made them look like oversized insects. Now it just steamed in the moonlight as the last of the engines turns off its spinning red lights and quietly rolls away from the carnage.
As far as I can tell no one died. Everyone lost everything, but no one lost their life. I find some consolation in that, even if it’s only that it means the investigation will be less thorough. The police and fire marshal are still going through the wreckage with long heavy flashlights that throw harsh narrow beams of impossibly white light. Many of the residents have been taken to the hospital for examination, many others have already left for hotels or to stay with family or friends. I’ve been letting Elle get some sleep, but it’s getting late and I think it’s time to get going.
I shake her gently and brush the hair from her eyes. She opens them slowly, getting her bearings and remembering where she is.
“Fuck,” she says.
“Yeah, it’s for real,” I answer.
We get up and I walk her to my car. I put her in the passenger seat and grab the spare key from the magnetic box under the rear wheel well. As I walk around to the driver’s side I notice a tired looking man in a cheap wrinkled suit approaching me from the building. I stop at the driver’s door and watch as he walks up.
“You folks takin’ off?” he asks before he reaches me.
I nod a tired answer and gesture towards the car.
“I gotta get my wife to bed. She’s pretty shaken up,” I say.
“Sure sure,” he says agreeably. “I’m Detective Upton by the way.”
He puts out his hand for me to shake. I take it and oblige.
“Malcolm,” I say. “Malcolm Karma.”
“Karma?” he says surprised. “Any relation to-”
“A.D.A. Elle Karma, yeah. She’s my wife.”
He nods and smiles.
“Well, very nice to meet you Malcolm.”
“Likewise,” I say in my most exhausted tone.
He smiles, gives me a once over, then sighs and gives a little shrug.
“Well, I won’t keep you Malcolm, we are just trying to get a record of where everyone will be for the next day or so in case we have to get a hold of you for any reason.”
I nod understandingly.
“Right. Uh, we’ll be at the motor lodge on Roosevelt Rd.”
He scratches the information in a small squarish black notebook then looks up a little confused.
“The motel you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t really have a polite way of asking this, so I’m just going to say it. Why?”
“Well,” I say with a slight edge of condescension. “I guess mostly because my apartment building is- well, was just on fire.”
He looks up from his notebook.
“Right,” he says. “ But why some fleabag motel? There’s like a dozen decent hotels within five miles of this place.”
“Their sign says they have color TV,” I say.
He doesn’t seem to think this is funny.
“Look Detective, I don’t want to be rude or difficult, but I just don’t see how the place we stay in is, frankly, any of your business, and I really have to get my wife to bed, so unless there’s something else…”
He looks at me trying to mask his annoyance. Clearly he’s not used to people talking to him this way, but after a moment he shakes it off and smiles back at me.
“Of course, I’m very sorry. I was just curious. Call it a professional habit. It doesn’t matter at all. Just one more quick thing then. I just need your apartment number so we can make sure any personal items that may have survived are returned to you.”
I look past him at the charred remains of our building and try to imagine a scenario where anything in the whole place survived intact. I look back at him and rub my eyes with my palms in exhaustion.
“Uh, 206,” I say. “It’s around back.”
“Got it,” he says. “Thanks so much Mr. Karma. We’ll be in touch if we find anything out.”
“Great,” I say.
I climb into the driver’s seat of my car and turn the engine over until it screams like a jungle cat on fire. I drop the gearbox into second, feed it gas and pop the clutch. I let the tires squeal before gunning it out of the parking lot. It’s true what I said about the motor lodge. They do have color TV, but that’s not why we’re staying there. Someone just burnt down my home and no part of me thinks it was an accident.
I quit my job with Mica Kole and despite her kind words and the lump of cash that I, thankfully, left in the car this afternoon, I know that this was at best a warning. More likely it was intended to be my real retirement package. With any luck Human Resources thinks they did their job and isn’t looking any further, but I’m certainly not going to risk running my credit card at the fucking Holiday Inn. A cash room at an unlisted motel is what this night calls for. I need to get Elle some sleep and help her calm down. Tomorrow I’ll start figuring what comes next.
I have to deal with the fire, but also I have to look into the Kelly Phillips situation. Both of these mean dealing with Mica and now that’s going to be much much more complicated.
Chapter Eight
At six a.m. I climb out of bet without having slept. Elle is still comatose and I figure I’ll let her sleep as long as I can. I put on my slacks and slide my bare feet into my loafers. I stretch my white undershirt on over my chest and head outside.
The morning sun hangs low over the city due east down Roosevelt Rd. Traffic on the road is light, but steady. The square parking lot that sits in the center of the U shaped motel however, is silent. I stretch and yawn in the morning sun and walk across the gravely parking lot to the manager’s office to get some coffee.
The office itself is old and musty. It looks as though the last time it was renovated wa 1973. Long gold shag carpet is wearing thin in the high traffic areas and the formerly clear glass coffee pitchers are now only a shade or two lighter than their contents. Next to the coffee post is a stack of small white Styrofoam cups and a couple of crusty bowls of sugar and powdered creamer.
I fill a cup with coffee barely dark enough to eschew the bottom of the cup and gulp it down. It’s weak and slightly bitter as though it’s been sitting in the pot for days, but I refill it and head back across the lot.
In my absence a couple of ladies have set up a small breakfast table in front of the room next to mine. They look young, late twenties or early thirties, but they are wearing old flannel night gowns that look like they might have been stolen from my grandmother’s closet. They have a rickety TV dinner stand between them and they’re sitting on collapsible card table chairs. There’s a tall thermos steaming into the crisp morning air on the table and two small paper plates holding toaster waffles and plastic silverware. They smile warmly at me as I approach.
“Good morning handsome,” one of them says in a thick and friendly Texan accent.
I smile back at the sound of her voice.
“Good morning ladies,” I say.
“You move in last night?” the other one says in a slightly subtler accent of the same origin.
I glance at my door.
“Move in?” I question. “God, I hope not, but yeah, got in last night. My apartment burned down so I needed a quick place to stay.”
“Oh shit! That’s what all that commotion was? I’m so sorry. Do they know what caused it?” the first one says.
“Not yet,” I answer. “Still investigating.
“Well, welcome to the off ramp to hell,” she goes on. “Satan doesn’t actually live here, but his place is walking distance.”
I laugh.
“I’m Erica,” she says. “This is my-”
She tilts her head a bit as if inspecting me, trying to determine what kind of man I am.
“My friend, Robin.”
I smile and nod that I understand.
“It’s very nice to meet you ladies.”
“The pleasure is undoubtedly all ours,” Robin says. “Now, why don’t you dump out that swill they pass off as coffee in there and pour yourself a real cup of joe.”
I raise my eyebrows and turn my cup over. Erica refills it with coffee from their thermos. It smells rich and nutty and has a deep mahogany color that color that seems incongruous with the cheap cup it’s swirling in. I take a long sip and sigh with contented satisfaction.
“That is good coffee,” I say.
Robin smiles.
“Only the best here,” she says with a twinge of irony.
“So, how long have you ladies been here at the Ritz?”
They look at each other and say in unison, “About three months.”
I choke a bit on my coffee.
“Three months? In this place?”
Erica laughs and nods her head.
“It’s actually not that bad. It has a kind of low rent romance to it.”
I look around the run down lot at the rows of brown steel doors wedged unevenly between the off white paint chipping off the cinder block walls. I suppose I can see what she’s saying.
“So, what brings you ladies up here?” I ask presumptuously.
Robin smiles, leans back in her chair and crosses her legs.
“Well, we’re bounty hunters of a sort,” she says with a glib satisfaction that gives me the impression that this usually knocks people right over. I have to admit, it does take me by surprise.
“Really?” I say with just the right amount of awe.
“That’s right,” Erica says, letting her accent sink back into place.
“So, you’re way up here chasin’ bail jumpers?”
“Well, we’re not so much that kind of bounty hunter,” Robin says. “We don’t do bail bond stuff no more.”
“Well, we would,” Erica cuts in, “but it doesn’t pay what it’s worth.”
“Exactly,” Robin agrees. “Plus, despite what they show in TV, it’s actually pretty boring. We like a bit more excitement.”
“Sure do,” Erica agrees with a gleam in her eye.
“That’s fascinating,” I say. “So what kind of bounty do you hunt then?”
“Well, right now we’re contracting with a private organization. I guess you might say we’re acting as debt collectors,” Erica explains.
“I see.”
The door to my room opens and Elle steps out looking like she’s just gone ten rounds. I smile at her and giver her a wave.
“Good morning sunshine,” I say. “You look like you could use a cup of coffee.”
I walk over and put my cup in her hands.
“I was just talking with our neighbors. Ladies, this is my wife Elle. Sweetheart, this is Robin and Erica. They are fascinating women and Robin makes a fantastic cup of coffee.”
“Very nice to meet you,” Elle manages.
“We make a few more pleasantries and refill our coffee from Robin’s thermos, then we excuse ourselves to our room for Elle to get cleaned up.
“Obviously I’m not going into work today,” she says.
“I figured as much,” I say. “But we’re gonna need some stuff. Everything was in the apartment.”
I hand her the envelope that has the nine hundred in it.
“Go get some clothes, some supplies, and some food. Use my car. I’ll get a cab and go to the dealership to get new keys for your car made and stop at the insurance agent to file a claim.”
She agrees. We clean up and she heads out for her chores. I use the phone in the room to call a cab. I do need to take care of the items I listed to Elle, but first I need supplies too, and the first item on that list is a gun.
At six a.m. I climb out of bet without having slept. Elle is still comatose and I figure I’ll let her sleep as long as I can. I put on my slacks and slide my bare feet into my loafers. I stretch my white undershirt on over my chest and head outside.
The morning sun hangs low over the city due east down Roosevelt Rd. Traffic on the road is light, but steady. The square parking lot that sits in the center of the U shaped motel however, is silent. I stretch and yawn in the morning sun and walk across the gravely parking lot to the manager’s office to get some coffee.
The office itself is old and musty. It looks as though the last time it was renovated wa 1973. Long gold shag carpet is wearing thin in the high traffic areas and the formerly clear glass coffee pitchers are now only a shade or two lighter than their contents. Next to the coffee post is a stack of small white Styrofoam cups and a couple of crusty bowls of sugar and powdered creamer.
I fill a cup with coffee barely dark enough to eschew the bottom of the cup and gulp it down. It’s weak and slightly bitter as though it’s been sitting in the pot for days, but I refill it and head back across the lot.
In my absence a couple of ladies have set up a small breakfast table in front of the room next to mine. They look young, late twenties or early thirties, but they are wearing old flannel night gowns that look like they might have been stolen from my grandmother’s closet. They have a rickety TV dinner stand between them and they’re sitting on collapsible card table chairs. There’s a tall thermos steaming into the crisp morning air on the table and two small paper plates holding toaster waffles and plastic silverware. They smile warmly at me as I approach.
“Good morning handsome,” one of them says in a thick and friendly Texan accent.
I smile back at the sound of her voice.
“Good morning ladies,” I say.
“You move in last night?” the other one says in a slightly subtler accent of the same origin.
I glance at my door.
“Move in?” I question. “God, I hope not, but yeah, got in last night. My apartment burned down so I needed a quick place to stay.”
“Oh shit! That’s what all that commotion was? I’m so sorry. Do they know what caused it?” the first one says.
“Not yet,” I answer. “Still investigating.
“Well, welcome to the off ramp to hell,” she goes on. “Satan doesn’t actually live here, but his place is walking distance.”
I laugh.
“I’m Erica,” she says. “This is my-”
She tilts her head a bit as if inspecting me, trying to determine what kind of man I am.
“My friend, Robin.”
I smile and nod that I understand.
“It’s very nice to meet you ladies.”
“The pleasure is undoubtedly all ours,” Robin says. “Now, why don’t you dump out that swill they pass off as coffee in there and pour yourself a real cup of joe.”
I raise my eyebrows and turn my cup over. Erica refills it with coffee from their thermos. It smells rich and nutty and has a deep mahogany color that color that seems incongruous with the cheap cup it’s swirling in. I take a long sip and sigh with contented satisfaction.
“That is good coffee,” I say.
Robin smiles.
“Only the best here,” she says with a twinge of irony.
“So, how long have you ladies been here at the Ritz?”
They look at each other and say in unison, “About three months.”
I choke a bit on my coffee.
“Three months? In this place?”
Erica laughs and nods her head.
“It’s actually not that bad. It has a kind of low rent romance to it.”
I look around the run down lot at the rows of brown steel doors wedged unevenly between the off white paint chipping off the cinder block walls. I suppose I can see what she’s saying.
“So, what brings you ladies up here?” I ask presumptuously.
Robin smiles, leans back in her chair and crosses her legs.
“Well, we’re bounty hunters of a sort,” she says with a glib satisfaction that gives me the impression that this usually knocks people right over. I have to admit, it does take me by surprise.
“Really?” I say with just the right amount of awe.
“That’s right,” Erica says, letting her accent sink back into place.
“So, you’re way up here chasin’ bail jumpers?”
“Well, we’re not so much that kind of bounty hunter,” Robin says. “We don’t do bail bond stuff no more.”
“Well, we would,” Erica cuts in, “but it doesn’t pay what it’s worth.”
“Exactly,” Robin agrees. “Plus, despite what they show in TV, it’s actually pretty boring. We like a bit more excitement.”
“Sure do,” Erica agrees with a gleam in her eye.
“That’s fascinating,” I say. “So what kind of bounty do you hunt then?”
“Well, right now we’re contracting with a private organization. I guess you might say we’re acting as debt collectors,” Erica explains.
“I see.”
The door to my room opens and Elle steps out looking like she’s just gone ten rounds. I smile at her and giver her a wave.
“Good morning sunshine,” I say. “You look like you could use a cup of coffee.”
I walk over and put my cup in her hands.
“I was just talking with our neighbors. Ladies, this is my wife Elle. Sweetheart, this is Robin and Erica. They are fascinating women and Robin makes a fantastic cup of coffee.”
“Very nice to meet you,” Elle manages.
“We make a few more pleasantries and refill our coffee from Robin’s thermos, then we excuse ourselves to our room for Elle to get cleaned up.
“Obviously I’m not going into work today,” she says.
“I figured as much,” I say. “But we’re gonna need some stuff. Everything was in the apartment.”
I hand her the envelope that has the nine hundred in it.
“Go get some clothes, some supplies, and some food. Use my car. I’ll get a cab and go to the dealership to get new keys for your car made and stop at the insurance agent to file a claim.”
She agrees. We clean up and she heads out for her chores. I use the phone in the room to call a cab. I do need to take care of the items I listed to Elle, but first I need supplies too, and the first item on that list is a gun.
Chapter Nine
The city is really two very different places. To the north lie the gleaming towers of glass and ivory colored concrete. To the south are rows of hollowed out shells where people live like colonies of roaches.
Crime exists in both places, but in the south it is unapologetic. Theft, intimidation, and assault occur in broad daylight without the fear of interference by the police. Citizens skitter about doing their best not to notice what is happening around them, or at least not to let anyone know they’ve noticed. Living in a place like this is hard. You have to keep your head down and do your very best not to stand out.
On the other hand, those very things make this the best place to come when you have errands like mine. The cab drops me off six blocks from where I want to be, but it doesn’t surprise me that he won’t go any further. I pay the fare and give the driver a nice tip for getting me as far as he did.
I left most of the money from my retirement package in the envelope back at the motel, still, I brought enough to take care of what I have to take care of and that means that I’m walking six blocks through the dust backstreets of the South Side in a seven hundred dollar suit with a grand in my breast pocket and no gun.
I’m walking east on 63rd street, watching the neighborhood deteriorate around me like a time lapse of the Armageddon. Folks on the street, sidewalks and porches stare at me. Some shout behavioral instructions that are suggestive of self love or impending violence. I finally reach my destination.
Southerby’s Law Office is a piecemeal brick and cinder block box with a few passing attempts at architectural flourish that do little to distinguish it from, say, an Afghan prison. It stands alone on an empty block, a bare dirt parking lot to it’s left and long unkempt shaggy green grass to the right. The second floor has a large picture window cutout that’s been sealed up with four narrow mismatched windows. The first floor has two doors that appear to be competing for the title of ‘last door you’d ever want to step though’. I smile to myself because I know it doesn’t matter which door you choose. They both lead to the same stripped out, bare beams, square room that serves as the law office of Adam Pilsen.
Adam is a private lawyer that provides legal services at little to no cost for the disenfranchised poor of the city. He named his practice Southerby’s to make it sound more elite in court. He’s good, very good in fact, and he wins a lot. Partly because he knows the law cold and knows how to work the system, but mostly because he has a reputation. A reputation for helping innocent people.
Most defense attorneys, especially those on this side of town, have a rule about not asking their clients if they’re guilty or not. Adam not only asks, he investigates, and he investigates hard. If you show up in court with Adam Pilsen as your council it’s because he believes you’re innocent, and if he believes it then chances are good the court will too.
The stories say that when Adam shows up for a meeting with the D.A., the D.A. rethinks the charges. More often than not charges are dropped or drastically reduced before any of his cases make it in front of a jury.
There are other stories too. Whispered ones. Low voices in the front seats of cars parked in empty lots late at night. Those stories say that Adam plays both sides. If you’re innocent he’ll get you off, but if you’re guilty, you’re better off taking a plea because if you walk, Adam will help make sure you get what’s coming to you.
They say that Adam got started in the law when a vigilante named Gavin Gayle bailed him out of a tough spot. After that Adam became a lawyer to help the innocent, but continued to use his previous underworld contacts to provide information and weapons to Gavin.
That was twenty years ago though, and Gavin Gayle is just and old urban legend. Mica Kole is the Angel of Death for baddies in this city now and Adam Pilsen is a straight laced upstanding lawyer that I just happen to know can get me a gun.
I cross the street and approach the building. There are three tough guys in their late teens or early twenties loitering outside. They see me walking over and take notice. The oldest one stands up and meets me at the curb.
“Keep walking Ringo,” he says.
I raise my eyebrows and put my hands in my pockets to make myself less threatening.
“It’s okay buddy,” I say. “I’m here to see Adam. I’m an old friend.”
That’s probably pushing it. I’m not really anyone’s friend, and I’m sure Adam Pilsen wouldn’t classify me that way if he was asked. Truth is, I’m just hoping that he’s more committed to justice than he is to Mica and that he gives me enough time to explain the difference before he has these kids turn me inside out.
“You don’t look like no one’s friend,” one of the teenagers says.
“Actually, you look like a cop,” the other one adds.
I chuckle a bit.
“How is that funny?” the leader says taking a step forward and puffing up his chest.
“Look kids, I-”
I take a right hook to my jaw and it drops me to one knee. The little ones jump on me throwing punches to my ribs, kidneys and liver. They’re persistent but weak and as soon as I shake off the ringing in my head from the sucker punch I grab one of them by the hand and give a quick twist. I can hear his wrist break and he rolls off me screaming and crying.
The other one jumps off me and scuttles back a dozen feet or so. I take a quick step in his direction and he jumps back further.
I turn back towards the leader of the trio and say again, “I’m here to see Adam.”
I wipe my cheek where he hit me and see blood soak into the cuff of my shite shirt.
The kid comes at me fast and sloppy. I step back and grab him by his right wrist with both hands. I two step around him and pull his arm up behind his back. I give it a jerk and fee the ball joint pull out of his shoulder socket, a trick Mica taught me when I first started working for her. I press my right hand hard on the injury and he drops to his knees with a scream.
“Thanks fella,” I say.
The two wounded men roll on the dirty asphalt street moaning and grabbing at their injuries. The third is is running away from the scene as fast as his overpriced sneakers will let him. I leave the two delinquents on the street and walk through the door on the right.
Adam Pilsen looks surprised to see me. Surprised may be an understatement. He looks like he’s seeing a ghost. He recovers quickly and give me a plastic smile that morphs into something more genuine.
“Mal, what a surprise,” he says honestly.
“I’m sure,” I say.
“I just mean, Mica didn’t say you were coming by today.”
I laugh.
“I imagine Mica said I wouldn’t be by at all anymore.”
“I don’t follow,” he says.
“I’m retired.”
Adam just about chokes on a sip of coffee.
“Retired? Wow, well good for you.”
“Yeah, sure. Mica was very gracious about it until she had my apartment building burned down.”
Adam’s face goes flush for a moment. This whole visit is clearly rattling him a bit.
“Have you talked to her lately?” I ask.
“A little bit this morning,” he says.
I nod and look around his room casually. I begin wandering around aimlessly.
“She didn’t say anything about me?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“No, not that I recall.”
“Adam,” I say with a condescending tone. “You’re a lawyer, you don’t forget things.”
He shrugs like he’s looking for words.
“I’ll get down to it,” I say. “I asked Mica to get out. She said it was no big deal. She gave me a retirement payment and said to enjoy myself, then I go home and someone sets fire to my place and burns it to the ground.”
“Mal,” he’s trying to sound professional now. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I couldn’t sell that in court. That’s a coincidence. I don’t see anything suggesting that it was Mica that set the fire.”
I lilt my head and give him a glare.
“I also found out last night that the job I did the night before, my last job, it was a mistake. The client wasn’t the right person. In fact, he was the witness. He was due to testify in court yesterday.”
He frowns and I can’t tell if it’s a put on or if he’s genuinely surprised.
“Here’s my problem,” I say. “I’ve known Mica a long time,”
Adam nods.
“Me too Mal.”
“I know, and what I’m saying is that she doesn’t make mistakes. I’ve never known her to fuck something up. She’s-”
“Meticulous,” Adam finishes.
I give a melancholy smile.
“Meticulous. That’s right. She’s meticulous.”
“So, you’re saying-”
“So I’m saying that, if you can spare one, I could really use a gun.”
Adam stares at me for a long moment. He’s thinking about what I’ve said and about what I’ve asked. He’s trying to decide. He’s playing a fast game of truth or consequences with himself. I stare back silently. There’s nothing more for me to add. He understands what I’m asking and he understands why. I can’t tell if he believes it, but I’m pretty sure he knows that I do.
He walks away from his desk and kneels down next to a tall stack of overstuffed file folders on the floor. He pushes them aside a couple feet and lifts a section of floor boards. It crosses my mind that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. When he returns to his desk he has an oily looking black handgun with a slide and a barrel like a large-mouth bass.
“It’s a .45,” he says. “I don’t have ammo, you’ll have to get that someplace else.”
I nod in understanding.
“Don’t come back here,” he says in a voice heavy with intent.
“I won’t,” I assure him. “Maybe don’t mention that I was here,” I counter.
“I most assuredly won't,” he says.
“You’re gonna need new thugs out front,” I say as an afterthought while I’m walking to the door.
Adam chuckles.
“Those fuckers don’t work for me,” he says. “They only think they do.”
I grab the door and swing it open.
“Mal!” Adam calls as I’m stepping out.
I turn and look him in the eyes.
“You’re living up to your name,” he says without a hint of humor.
I give a knowing nod.
“Watch yourself,” he says. This shit is bad karma.”
I leave his door open as I cross the deserted street and head back to civilization.
Chapter Ten
Once I’m out of the city’s demilitarized zone I start looking for some place to get new clothes. I’m still wearing my digs from the night before and they are wrinkled and smell like a house fire. I need something clean and a little formal because my next stop is the restaurant to see Mica.
I find a thrift store buried inside the first neighborhood I pass through. I’m able to put together some dark blue jeans with a black collared shirt and a herringbone tweed jacket with black suede patches on the elbows. I pay the girl at the counter in cash and change in the store’s dressing rooms. Afterwards I buy a used brown leather satchel style briefcase and stuff the dirty clothes inside.
Back towards the highway I find a gun shop and purchase a blue and white box of .45 rounds and a shoulder holster that will fit the gun that’s currently tucked in my waistband. Outside I put on the holster under my jacket, load the pistol, and stuff the rest of the amo in the briefcase. 40 minutes later I’m stepping out of the back of a black lincoln town car in front of Mica Scotti Sushi. I smile, she doesn’t cook her fish, just her employees.
I walk in and make eye contact with the hostess. She smiles, unalarmed to see me, and I walk past her into the dining room farthest from Mica’s office. I saunter up to the empty bar and find a seat.
“Morning partner,” the slim brunette bartender says casually as she empties a rack of glassware onto the shelves behind the bar.
“Too early for a drink?” I ask.
“No such thing my friend.”
I smile.
“Great,” I sigh. “Gin and tonic please. Double poor, Seagram's, with 2 lime wedges.”
“A man who knows what he wants,” she answers.
“I’m getting there, slowly,” I say.
“I’m Sarah,” she offers.
“Nice to meet you Sarah,” I say. “I’m Malcolm.”
“Yes, you are,” she says.
She looks over for a moment, past the entrance, then back at her work. I resist the urge to glance over and see what she’s looking at. She sets the drink down in front of me just as a looming presence appears at the stool to my left.
“On the house,” Sarah says and disappears through a set of saloon doors to the back room.
I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder and the deep gravely voice of a Teddy Bear with teeth says my name. I don’t look up, but sip my drink and say, “Don.”
The hand on my shoulder gives an unsubtle squeeze.
“What are you doing here Mal?”
I take another sip, swallow and give a refreshed sigh.
“I’m having a drink. Can I get you one?”
“Malcolm-”
“Oh, or did you mean what am I doing here, like on this plane of existence? Like what am I doing alive after you and your boss went through all that trouble to make me, well, not.”
Don uses the one hand on my shoulder to turn me 90 degrees on my stool so that I’m facing him. I reach for my drink, but he grabs it first and upends it on the bar. He sets the empty glass back on the surface next to me.
The hand on my shoulder gets a little tighter and I give an involuntary groan.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Well, I need to see Mica.”
“You know that isn’t going to happen,” he says with a slight tinge of sympathy in his voice.
“Actually,” I say. “I think I’m going to see her whether I want to or not.”
He frowns at me.
A cheerful but assertive voice breezes through the empty room.
“It’s okay Don, I’ve got this.”
We both look sideways and see Mica in a delicate cream colored sundress cut well above the knees pattering barefoot through the restaurant towards us.
Don looks at her with eyes that ask if she’s really sure about that. She wave him off casually. He glares at me and releases my shoulder before sulking away into the same back room that bartender Sarah disappeared into earlier.
Mica steps up to the bar and smiles a bright sunny smile that betrays no surprise or displeasure. She hops up on the stool next to me and crosses her legs, leaning casually on one elbow on the bar.
“How’s the drink?” she says with the friendly tone of a proprietor chatting with a customer.
“Free always tastes good.” I say.
She just stares at me with the same charming smile.
“It’s just well gin,” I say. “It’s fine for what it is.”
“You could have ordered better,” she says.
“I didn’t know that I wasn’t paying for it when I ordered. I’m on a fixed income at the moment.”
Her expression doesn’t change.
“What are you doing here Mal?”
I sigh.
“Well, I thought maybe we should have a little chat,” I say.
“I didn’t think we had anything left to say to each other,” she says.
“Ya know,” I say. “I didn’t either, but then I got homeless and thought maybe there were some things still to say.”
Finally she looks serious.
“What do you suppose that has to do with me?” she asks angrily.
“Well, that’s what I was hoping to find out.”
She sits up straight and crosses her legs the other way.
“Mal, you shouldn’t be here.”
“What’s going on Mica? Why don’t I have a place to live? And what’s the deal with the Phillips case? The guy didn’t do anything, he was the witness for christ’s sake. Since when do we client witnesses? When did we stop being the good guys?”
Mica’s face goes pale and earnest.
“Mal, you need to go. You need to leave, go home and never ever come back here. I gave you your out. I did my level best for you, but we’re done now. There is nothing else I can do for you. Go home. Go NOW!”
“Jesus Mica,” I shout. “You aren't listening. I don’t have a fucking home. You fucking burnt it down. What the hell happened? I know we weren’t good, but at least I thought we were on the good side. Or was it all a lie? We’re we ever trying to do what’s right?”
Mica is calm, even tempered, but stern and resolute.
“Malcom, there is no ‘we’. There is just you, and this is me telling you to get out of this restaurant now and go far away. Far away and never come back.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, then I feel that familiar hand on my shoulder.
I stand up.
“You had your shot Mica,” I say. “You fucked it up and now I know you’re coming. You won't get another chance. If I were you I’d think about letting it go.”
“Funny,” she says. “That’s exactly what I was going to say to you. Let it go Mal, just fucking let it go.”
Once I’m out of the city’s demilitarized zone I start looking for some place to get new clothes. I’m still wearing my digs from the night before and they are wrinkled and smell like a house fire. I need something clean and a little formal because my next stop is the restaurant to see Mica.
I find a thrift store buried inside the first neighborhood I pass through. I’m able to put together some dark blue jeans with a black collared shirt and a herringbone tweed jacket with black suede patches on the elbows. I pay the girl at the counter in cash and change in the store’s dressing rooms. Afterwards I buy a used brown leather satchel style briefcase and stuff the dirty clothes inside.
Back towards the highway I find a gun shop and purchase a blue and white box of .45 rounds and a shoulder holster that will fit the gun that’s currently tucked in my waistband. Outside I put on the holster under my jacket, load the pistol, and stuff the rest of the amo in the briefcase. 40 minutes later I’m stepping out of the back of a black lincoln town car in front of Mica Scotti Sushi. I smile, she doesn’t cook her fish, just her employees.
I walk in and make eye contact with the hostess. She smiles, unalarmed to see me, and I walk past her into the dining room farthest from Mica’s office. I saunter up to the empty bar and find a seat.
“Morning partner,” the slim brunette bartender says casually as she empties a rack of glassware onto the shelves behind the bar.
“Too early for a drink?” I ask.
“No such thing my friend.”
I smile.
“Great,” I sigh. “Gin and tonic please. Double poor, Seagram's, with 2 lime wedges.”
“A man who knows what he wants,” she answers.
“I’m getting there, slowly,” I say.
“I’m Sarah,” she offers.
“Nice to meet you Sarah,” I say. “I’m Malcolm.”
“Yes, you are,” she says.
She looks over for a moment, past the entrance, then back at her work. I resist the urge to glance over and see what she’s looking at. She sets the drink down in front of me just as a looming presence appears at the stool to my left.
“On the house,” Sarah says and disappears through a set of saloon doors to the back room.
I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder and the deep gravely voice of a Teddy Bear with teeth says my name. I don’t look up, but sip my drink and say, “Don.”
The hand on my shoulder gives an unsubtle squeeze.
“What are you doing here Mal?”
I take another sip, swallow and give a refreshed sigh.
“I’m having a drink. Can I get you one?”
“Malcolm-”
“Oh, or did you mean what am I doing here, like on this plane of existence? Like what am I doing alive after you and your boss went through all that trouble to make me, well, not.”
Don uses the one hand on my shoulder to turn me 90 degrees on my stool so that I’m facing him. I reach for my drink, but he grabs it first and upends it on the bar. He sets the empty glass back on the surface next to me.
The hand on my shoulder gets a little tighter and I give an involuntary groan.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Well, I need to see Mica.”
“You know that isn’t going to happen,” he says with a slight tinge of sympathy in his voice.
“Actually,” I say. “I think I’m going to see her whether I want to or not.”
He frowns at me.
A cheerful but assertive voice breezes through the empty room.
“It’s okay Don, I’ve got this.”
We both look sideways and see Mica in a delicate cream colored sundress cut well above the knees pattering barefoot through the restaurant towards us.
Don looks at her with eyes that ask if she’s really sure about that. She wave him off casually. He glares at me and releases my shoulder before sulking away into the same back room that bartender Sarah disappeared into earlier.
Mica steps up to the bar and smiles a bright sunny smile that betrays no surprise or displeasure. She hops up on the stool next to me and crosses her legs, leaning casually on one elbow on the bar.
“How’s the drink?” she says with the friendly tone of a proprietor chatting with a customer.
“Free always tastes good.” I say.
She just stares at me with the same charming smile.
“It’s just well gin,” I say. “It’s fine for what it is.”
“You could have ordered better,” she says.
“I didn’t know that I wasn’t paying for it when I ordered. I’m on a fixed income at the moment.”
Her expression doesn’t change.
“What are you doing here Mal?”
I sigh.
“Well, I thought maybe we should have a little chat,” I say.
“I didn’t think we had anything left to say to each other,” she says.
“Ya know,” I say. “I didn’t either, but then I got homeless and thought maybe there were some things still to say.”
Finally she looks serious.
“What do you suppose that has to do with me?” she asks angrily.
“Well, that’s what I was hoping to find out.”
She sits up straight and crosses her legs the other way.
“Mal, you shouldn’t be here.”
“What’s going on Mica? Why don’t I have a place to live? And what’s the deal with the Phillips case? The guy didn’t do anything, he was the witness for christ’s sake. Since when do we client witnesses? When did we stop being the good guys?”
Mica’s face goes pale and earnest.
“Mal, you need to go. You need to leave, go home and never ever come back here. I gave you your out. I did my level best for you, but we’re done now. There is nothing else I can do for you. Go home. Go NOW!”
“Jesus Mica,” I shout. “You aren't listening. I don’t have a fucking home. You fucking burnt it down. What the hell happened? I know we weren’t good, but at least I thought we were on the good side. Or was it all a lie? We’re we ever trying to do what’s right?”
Mica is calm, even tempered, but stern and resolute.
“Malcom, there is no ‘we’. There is just you, and this is me telling you to get out of this restaurant now and go far away. Far away and never come back.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, then I feel that familiar hand on my shoulder.
I stand up.
“You had your shot Mica,” I say. “You fucked it up and now I know you’re coming. You won't get another chance. If I were you I’d think about letting it go.”
“Funny,” she says. “That’s exactly what I was going to say to you. Let it go Mal, just fucking let it go.”
Chapter Eleven
I finish the rest of my chores, filing the insurance claim on our burnt down apartment and contacting our bank and credit card companies to get replacement cards. I stop by the BMW dealership to order a new set of keys for Elle’s car, then, before I go back to the motel I swing by the old apartment.
The place looks like it belongs on the same block as Alex Pilsen’s law office. It’s charred and hollowed out and the ash is a grayish mud, mixed with the water from the fire department’s hoses. I sit there on the curb in front of the building for a good half hour taking it all in. Part of me just wants to see how it makes me feel to look at the carnage, but most of me is just waiting to see if there are any cops or fire investigators lurking around. After half an hour of waiting I decide it’s clear and head in.
I step through the empty hole that was the building’s front door and make my way down the devastated hallway to the back of the building where our apartment was. The steel door is still standing, but the frame stands alone, unsupported by adjacent walls. I walk around it and stand for a moment in what was our living/dining room. The damage here seems even more intense. Any surface that remains is the most intense black and any trace of furniture has been reduced to soft ashen mud.
Past the kitchen I find the place in the wall that had held my safe. The wall and all it’s supports are gone and the safe is lying face down in a pile of rubble and debris. It’s heavy, but I manage to upright it and dial in the combination. The front pops open effortlessly and I find the contents to be more or less undisturbed.
I load the guns, knives and straight razor into my new briefcase along with a stack of cash wrapped in saran wrap and a small stack of various kinds of identification with my photo but different names. There’s a ring of 6 keys that I pocket in my jeans and a thick yellow paper envelope stuffed with color photographs that I tuck away in my jacket breast pocket.
I close the safe and tip it back over dusting the top with some of the surrounding debris to make it appear as it had when I arrived.
I backtrack out of the building the way I came in and pull my phone out to order an Uber to pick me up. As I step out onto the black tar asphalt parking lot I hear my name. Startled, I turn around and see Detective Upton walking towards me wearing the same suit he had on last night, and not looking like he has slept a wink since either.
“It is Malcolm right? Elle Karma’s husband?”
I smile and try to force the surprise off my face.
“Oh, hi. Yeah, it’s Malcolm, but ya know, Mal is fine. My friends call me Mal.”
He smiles at me with piercing eyes that feel to me as though they are seeing inside me without my permission.
“I’m surprised to see you here Malcolm.”
I rub the back of my neck with my left hand and feel my right arm involuntarily tighten around my briefcase on my right side.
“Why’s that?” I ask.
He looks around with a sardonic expression.
“Well Malcolm,” he says. “because no one else is here. The place is a dangerous disaster zone,and also a crime scene. I’d be surprised to see anyone here.”
“Ah, well, yeah. I suppose,” I concede. “I guess I just wanted to see it in the daylight. See how bad it really is.”
“Oh,” Upton says sounding a little disappointed. “I guess I figured you were here to clean out your safe.”
My heart stops.
“I’m sorry?”
“The safe in your apartment. I noticed you had a pretty substantial safe in your unit. I figured you must have some seriously important stuff in there. I know I’d want to get it out right away if it were me.”
“Oh, that,” I say without breathing. “Nah, nothing in it.”
Upton raises his eyebrows.
“Nothing in it? Nothing at all?”
“Nope, put it in hoping there would be someday, but haven’t gotten there yet.”
Now he looks really confused.
“You built an expensive safe into the wall of an apartment that you signed a 1 year lease on just in case you ever had anything to put in it...someday?”
I feel myself getting squeamish. Time to get out of this conversation.
“I was supposed to come into some money this year, but it ended up not happening. What are you doing here Detective Upton.”
He nods and smiles.
“Investigating Mr. Karma. Always investigating.”
“And have you found anything?” I ask.
He nods.
“I have,” he says.
There’s a long silence as we stare at each other.
“And…” I suggest.
“I’m not really at liberty to say yet,” he says. “It was good to see you Malcolm. I’ll be in touch if anything comes up.”
He turns and walks away across the parking lot just as my black Ford Flex pulls up. I climb in the back seat and breathe for the first time in 10 minutes.
I finish the rest of my chores, filing the insurance claim on our burnt down apartment and contacting our bank and credit card companies to get replacement cards. I stop by the BMW dealership to order a new set of keys for Elle’s car, then, before I go back to the motel I swing by the old apartment.
The place looks like it belongs on the same block as Alex Pilsen’s law office. It’s charred and hollowed out and the ash is a grayish mud, mixed with the water from the fire department’s hoses. I sit there on the curb in front of the building for a good half hour taking it all in. Part of me just wants to see how it makes me feel to look at the carnage, but most of me is just waiting to see if there are any cops or fire investigators lurking around. After half an hour of waiting I decide it’s clear and head in.
I step through the empty hole that was the building’s front door and make my way down the devastated hallway to the back of the building where our apartment was. The steel door is still standing, but the frame stands alone, unsupported by adjacent walls. I walk around it and stand for a moment in what was our living/dining room. The damage here seems even more intense. Any surface that remains is the most intense black and any trace of furniture has been reduced to soft ashen mud.
Past the kitchen I find the place in the wall that had held my safe. The wall and all it’s supports are gone and the safe is lying face down in a pile of rubble and debris. It’s heavy, but I manage to upright it and dial in the combination. The front pops open effortlessly and I find the contents to be more or less undisturbed.
I load the guns, knives and straight razor into my new briefcase along with a stack of cash wrapped in saran wrap and a small stack of various kinds of identification with my photo but different names. There’s a ring of 6 keys that I pocket in my jeans and a thick yellow paper envelope stuffed with color photographs that I tuck away in my jacket breast pocket.
I close the safe and tip it back over dusting the top with some of the surrounding debris to make it appear as it had when I arrived.
I backtrack out of the building the way I came in and pull my phone out to order an Uber to pick me up. As I step out onto the black tar asphalt parking lot I hear my name. Startled, I turn around and see Detective Upton walking towards me wearing the same suit he had on last night, and not looking like he has slept a wink since either.
“It is Malcolm right? Elle Karma’s husband?”
I smile and try to force the surprise off my face.
“Oh, hi. Yeah, it’s Malcolm, but ya know, Mal is fine. My friends call me Mal.”
He smiles at me with piercing eyes that feel to me as though they are seeing inside me without my permission.
“I’m surprised to see you here Malcolm.”
I rub the back of my neck with my left hand and feel my right arm involuntarily tighten around my briefcase on my right side.
“Why’s that?” I ask.
He looks around with a sardonic expression.
“Well Malcolm,” he says. “because no one else is here. The place is a dangerous disaster zone,and also a crime scene. I’d be surprised to see anyone here.”
“Ah, well, yeah. I suppose,” I concede. “I guess I just wanted to see it in the daylight. See how bad it really is.”
“Oh,” Upton says sounding a little disappointed. “I guess I figured you were here to clean out your safe.”
My heart stops.
“I’m sorry?”
“The safe in your apartment. I noticed you had a pretty substantial safe in your unit. I figured you must have some seriously important stuff in there. I know I’d want to get it out right away if it were me.”
“Oh, that,” I say without breathing. “Nah, nothing in it.”
Upton raises his eyebrows.
“Nothing in it? Nothing at all?”
“Nope, put it in hoping there would be someday, but haven’t gotten there yet.”
Now he looks really confused.
“You built an expensive safe into the wall of an apartment that you signed a 1 year lease on just in case you ever had anything to put in it...someday?”
I feel myself getting squeamish. Time to get out of this conversation.
“I was supposed to come into some money this year, but it ended up not happening. What are you doing here Detective Upton.”
He nods and smiles.
“Investigating Mr. Karma. Always investigating.”
“And have you found anything?” I ask.
He nods.
“I have,” he says.
There’s a long silence as we stare at each other.
“And…” I suggest.
“I’m not really at liberty to say yet,” he says. “It was good to see you Malcolm. I’ll be in touch if anything comes up.”
He turns and walks away across the parking lot just as my black Ford Flex pulls up. I climb in the back seat and breathe for the first time in 10 minutes.
Chapter Twelve
The sun is drowning in a bloody pool of sky when my cab rolls into the motel parking lot. Elle is sitting in an aluminum lawn chair next to Robin and Erica. They are smiling and laughing and Elle has some kind of red frozen drink in her hand.
I smile, glad that she’s been able to take her mind off of things for a bit, able to find a moment of levity. My mind has been racing all day, juggling thoughts of Mica and Detective Upton and Adam Pilsen.
If Mica wanted me dead, why the continued charade at the restaurant? Why tell me to leave town, to run essentially? Why not just have Don snap my neck at the bar and toss me out back with yesterday’s fry oil. And was Upton suggesting not so subtly that he thought I had something to do with the fire? How could he have that already? What would lead him to that conclusion? The safe? I admit, I can see how a safe like mine in an apartment like that could look suspicious, but I hardly think it would be the most suspicious thing going on in the whole damn building. Then there’s Adam Pilsen. The man was clearly surprised to see me, unpleasantly surprised at that, but he still went out on a limb to help me out. He could have just as easily had me carried out in half a dozen separate pieces, so why was he so ready to give me what I asked for? I’m generally not one to do a lot of extra unrequired thinking, but something is each of these encounters smells not unlike day old sushi.
I pay the cab in cash and walk over to the trio of ladies lounging outside my room. Elle looks at me with a wide warm smile and glassy eyes that tell me this isn’t her first cocktail.
“How are you ladies tonight?” I ask in a overly friendly tone.
“We are just fine as Tahiti sand,” Erica says.
“And your wife is sweet as my grand mama’s peach cobbler,” Robin adds.
Elle’s focus seems to swim past me, then rocks back and her gaze meets my eyes.
“Mal, these girls are so much fun.”
I smile.
“I may just leave you and run away with them,” she teases.
I raise my eyebrows.
“Is that so?” I say glancing at Elle’s new friends.
Robin give me a devilish wink and Erica looks Elle up and down slowly with a naughty smile.
“Well, I see how it is,” I say playfully.
Erica laughs.
“Sweet as peaches she may be, but I think my hands are full enough with just this little lady. I can’t imagine toting 2 of you broads around.”
Elle puts on a wounded pout and stands herself up. She stumbles forward a few steps and falls into my arms.
“Well Mal,” she says. “I guess my sweet peach is all yours.”
She giggles in a way I haven’t heard in years and whispers in my ear before straightening herself up and walking back to our room with a sway in her hips that has both of the ladies leaning over to watch her go.
I smile at them when she’s back in the room.
“Thanks for keeping her company,” I say. “It’s been a rough day.”
“It was our pleasure,” says Robin.
“Go get some before you’re stuck holding her hair.” Erica adds.
I smile again and turn towards our room. As I’m walking away Erica says, “Sleep safe Mal.”
The sun is drowning in a bloody pool of sky when my cab rolls into the motel parking lot. Elle is sitting in an aluminum lawn chair next to Robin and Erica. They are smiling and laughing and Elle has some kind of red frozen drink in her hand.
I smile, glad that she’s been able to take her mind off of things for a bit, able to find a moment of levity. My mind has been racing all day, juggling thoughts of Mica and Detective Upton and Adam Pilsen.
If Mica wanted me dead, why the continued charade at the restaurant? Why tell me to leave town, to run essentially? Why not just have Don snap my neck at the bar and toss me out back with yesterday’s fry oil. And was Upton suggesting not so subtly that he thought I had something to do with the fire? How could he have that already? What would lead him to that conclusion? The safe? I admit, I can see how a safe like mine in an apartment like that could look suspicious, but I hardly think it would be the most suspicious thing going on in the whole damn building. Then there’s Adam Pilsen. The man was clearly surprised to see me, unpleasantly surprised at that, but he still went out on a limb to help me out. He could have just as easily had me carried out in half a dozen separate pieces, so why was he so ready to give me what I asked for? I’m generally not one to do a lot of extra unrequired thinking, but something is each of these encounters smells not unlike day old sushi.
I pay the cab in cash and walk over to the trio of ladies lounging outside my room. Elle looks at me with a wide warm smile and glassy eyes that tell me this isn’t her first cocktail.
“How are you ladies tonight?” I ask in a overly friendly tone.
“We are just fine as Tahiti sand,” Erica says.
“And your wife is sweet as my grand mama’s peach cobbler,” Robin adds.
Elle’s focus seems to swim past me, then rocks back and her gaze meets my eyes.
“Mal, these girls are so much fun.”
I smile.
“I may just leave you and run away with them,” she teases.
I raise my eyebrows.
“Is that so?” I say glancing at Elle’s new friends.
Robin give me a devilish wink and Erica looks Elle up and down slowly with a naughty smile.
“Well, I see how it is,” I say playfully.
Erica laughs.
“Sweet as peaches she may be, but I think my hands are full enough with just this little lady. I can’t imagine toting 2 of you broads around.”
Elle puts on a wounded pout and stands herself up. She stumbles forward a few steps and falls into my arms.
“Well Mal,” she says. “I guess my sweet peach is all yours.”
She giggles in a way I haven’t heard in years and whispers in my ear before straightening herself up and walking back to our room with a sway in her hips that has both of the ladies leaning over to watch her go.
I smile at them when she’s back in the room.
“Thanks for keeping her company,” I say. “It’s been a rough day.”
“It was our pleasure,” says Robin.
“Go get some before you’re stuck holding her hair.” Erica adds.
I smile again and turn towards our room. As I’m walking away Erica says, “Sleep safe Mal.”
Chapter Thirteen
Elle rolls off of me slick with sweat and various other natural fluids. She sprawls out across the cheap motel sheets and labors to catch her breath, giggling every so often as if what we’ve just done was funny in some way. Like we’ve gotten away with something. I stand up and walk to the bathroom to get a drink of water and throw her a towel.
She wipes her face off, then stuffs the towel between her legs and rolls over on her stomach to face me. I bend over and take a long drink right from the faucet, then stand up and fill a glass and turn back to look at my wife. I lean against the door frame and stare at her, lit in a honey red glow from the end table lamp on her side of the bed. She grins at me in a satisfied tone.
“What did YOU do today?” she says playfully.
I laugh out loud and cross my arms.
“You mean besides potentially impregnate my wife?” I say.
“I know, right!?” she almost shouts.
“Shhh,” I caution. “It’s late and the walls here aren’t exactly soundproof, or, ya know, sound resistant.”
She laughs and rolls over on her back throwing her arms wide and mocks shouting, “Hey Erica, Robin, everyone, Malcolm put a baby in me.”
“You’re very funny,” I say.
“But seriously babe,” she says sternly all of a sudden. “We can’t do that again. You need to wear something. We can’t have a baby, we don’t even have a place to live.”
I roll my eyes.
“This is hardly permanent,” I say.
“Yeah, all the same, I was thinking it might not be a bad idea to give Mica a call and see if you can stay on a bit longer. Ya know, just until-”
“Absolutely not,” I almost shout. “Out of the question.”
“Mal-”
“No!” I straighten up and take a step towards the bed. “It’s not even an option, and besides, we don’t need it. Insurance is taking care of lost assets, car insurance is replacing car keys, and we’ll have a new apartment in no time. Hey, maybe we could even buy a place. A house maybe.”
She hops up on her knees and gives me a disapproving stare.
“We could move.”
“Where?” she says.
“Um, how about Rockford,” I offer. “Houses are cheap there, and from what I hear, they could really use a good prosecutor.”
“Very funny,” she says cracking a smile.
“I have my moments,” I say with a grin. “But in all seriousness Elle, maybe a move could be a good thing. Maybe this fire, ya know, right after I quit my job, maybe it’s a message telling us it’s time to move on.”
She looks at me questioningly for a long moment, then drops her shoulders with a sigh and. She smiles at me then shakes her head wildly, letting her gorgeous brunette hair flail about like it’s trying to leave the planet. She lets out a long loud guttural moan then throws herself backwards onto the bed.
“Whatever! We can talk about it later. For now, come back here and do that thing to me again.”
I stare at her madness and laugh.
“Which one?” I say.
“Duh,” She says. “All of them.”
Elle rolls off of me slick with sweat and various other natural fluids. She sprawls out across the cheap motel sheets and labors to catch her breath, giggling every so often as if what we’ve just done was funny in some way. Like we’ve gotten away with something. I stand up and walk to the bathroom to get a drink of water and throw her a towel.
She wipes her face off, then stuffs the towel between her legs and rolls over on her stomach to face me. I bend over and take a long drink right from the faucet, then stand up and fill a glass and turn back to look at my wife. I lean against the door frame and stare at her, lit in a honey red glow from the end table lamp on her side of the bed. She grins at me in a satisfied tone.
“What did YOU do today?” she says playfully.
I laugh out loud and cross my arms.
“You mean besides potentially impregnate my wife?” I say.
“I know, right!?” she almost shouts.
“Shhh,” I caution. “It’s late and the walls here aren’t exactly soundproof, or, ya know, sound resistant.”
She laughs and rolls over on her back throwing her arms wide and mocks shouting, “Hey Erica, Robin, everyone, Malcolm put a baby in me.”
“You’re very funny,” I say.
“But seriously babe,” she says sternly all of a sudden. “We can’t do that again. You need to wear something. We can’t have a baby, we don’t even have a place to live.”
I roll my eyes.
“This is hardly permanent,” I say.
“Yeah, all the same, I was thinking it might not be a bad idea to give Mica a call and see if you can stay on a bit longer. Ya know, just until-”
“Absolutely not,” I almost shout. “Out of the question.”
“Mal-”
“No!” I straighten up and take a step towards the bed. “It’s not even an option, and besides, we don’t need it. Insurance is taking care of lost assets, car insurance is replacing car keys, and we’ll have a new apartment in no time. Hey, maybe we could even buy a place. A house maybe.”
She hops up on her knees and gives me a disapproving stare.
“We could move.”
“Where?” she says.
“Um, how about Rockford,” I offer. “Houses are cheap there, and from what I hear, they could really use a good prosecutor.”
“Very funny,” she says cracking a smile.
“I have my moments,” I say with a grin. “But in all seriousness Elle, maybe a move could be a good thing. Maybe this fire, ya know, right after I quit my job, maybe it’s a message telling us it’s time to move on.”
She looks at me questioningly for a long moment, then drops her shoulders with a sigh and. She smiles at me then shakes her head wildly, letting her gorgeous brunette hair flail about like it’s trying to leave the planet. She lets out a long loud guttural moan then throws herself backwards onto the bed.
“Whatever! We can talk about it later. For now, come back here and do that thing to me again.”
I stare at her madness and laugh.
“Which one?” I say.
“Duh,” She says. “All of them.”
Chapter Fourteen
When I wake up someone is knocking on the door to our room. I sit up slowly and chug the rest of the water in the glass next to the bed. The knocking continues, 3 taps at a time followed by a pause; presumably waiting for a reply. They are light friendly knocks, but they are persistent and at this hour, unwelcomed.
Speaking of the hour, I wonder at the time and check my watch on the nightstand. 8:45am.
“Shit,” I think. It’s later than I thought. I glance around the room and see that Elle has already left.
I stand up, pull on some pants commando style and answer the door sans shirt. There are 2 gentlemen in front of me attempting to be well dressed. The first I already know, Detective Upton. The other man is taller, larger, and sporting a well kept if slightly graying beard. Upton smiles at my confused expression.
“Mr. Karma,” he says formally.
“Detective.” I say.
“This is Lt. Jeremy Rodden with the Fire Marshall’s Office of Arson Investigation. He and I were hoping you had a moment to talk.”
I glare skeptically at the two men, then open the door to its capacity and walk back to the bed to find a shirt. I pull a white undershirt over my head and drop myself into the threadbare armchair in the corner of the room.
“What’s the word gentlemen?”
Inspector Rodden looks around the room uncomfortably like he’s not sure where to sit or stand. Ultimately he just stands a single pace inside the room and lets Upton do most of the talking.
“We’ve determined an origin and cause for the fire at your apartment building,” Detective Upton says.
“Well, that sounds like good news,” I say.
Upton nods. Rodden wrinkles his brow and crosses his arms.
“Good news, sure, but the thing is Malcolm, the origin was in your unit and the mechanism seems to have been an explosive device.”
I try to mimic genuine surprise.
“A device?” I say affecting confusion. “What does that mean?”
“It was a gasoline bomb,” Rodden chimes in flatly.
“What, like a molotov cocktail?” I say.
Upton smiles and shakes his head.
“No, no not like that at all.”
My confused expression changes from an act to the real thing.
“Well, what then?”
“It was rather large,” Upton says as if he’s preparing me for unexpected bad news.
“At least 25 gallons,” Rodden clarifies.
“And it was on a remote detonator,” Upton says suggestively.
I shift in my seat and immediately regret it.
“Do you gentlemen think maybe you could stop dancing around the issue and just come out with it? Are you telling me that someone was trying to kill us? That they were targeting us specifically?”
Rodden steps forward and uncrosses his arms.
“Mr. Karma, your apartment building was destroyed when a 25 gallon gasoline bomb was detonated from inside your apartment unit. The bomb, which appears to have been located underneath your bed, was detonated via a cellular device wired into the mechanism. The time of the detonation has been able to be determined with a reliable level of specificity and accuracy due to numerous witnesses both inside the building and outside.”
Detective Upton takes a seat on the bed facing me. He leans in towards me and takes off his glasses.
“Malcolm,” he says in a low voice. “We ran your cell records and they show very clearly that you made a call to a pay as you go burner phone at the exact moment of the explosion.”
My jaw goes slack and small jewels of cold sweat dig their way out of my pores and onto the surface of my forehead.
“We were on a walk,” I say sounding a little too defensive. “At the time of the fire, we were on a walk outside. I didn’t even have my phone on me. It was in the apartment, it was destroyed in the fire.”
“No Mr. Karma,” Rodden says. “We have data showing that your phone was on and pinging off a cell tower less than half a mile from your apartment a full hour after the explosion.”
My mouth goes dry and I feel cold. I give a gradual slow nod of my head and stare at the floor.
“I see,” I say.
“Is there anything you’d like to add or amend?” Upon asks.
“I kind of think I need to talk to my wife,” I say.
Upton nods understandingly.
“Yeah, okay. Well you’ll get an opportunity to make that call,” he says. “But if I were you I’d take that time to call a lawyer. Have them contact your wife for you.”
“My wife is a lawyer,” I bark at him.
“I know Malcolm, but as I’m sure she’ll tell you, it’s better not to represent yourself, even if you are a lawyer.”
I look up into the detective’s eyes.
“You’re charging her too?”
“Her initial statement corroborated yours,” he says with a sympathetic tone. “So unless she’s willing to recant that and give a different picture of events we’ll have to assume she’s an accomplice.”
I get up and Upton jumps to his feet. Rodden steps back into the open door frame.
“Easy fellas,” I say.
“Mr. Karma, I’m going to have to ask you to turn around and place your hands on the back of your head.”
I look dumbfoundedly at Upton. He has his right hand on his holstered weapon and the other up and half reaching towards me in a defensive posture. Rodden has his gun drawn and is holding it with two hands, pointing at the floor in front of me. Slowly I raise my hands and put my palms on the back of my neck.
“Please turn around,” Upton says firmly.
I turn away from them and Upton ratchets one bracelet around my right wrist, then brings it down behind my back. He takes my left wrist and pulls it down to meet the other one and snaps the other cuff around it. He holds me by the chain between the cuffs and puts his other hand on my back between my shoulder blades and turns me towards the door.
“Malcolm Karma, you are under arrest for the crimes of Arson and attempted murder. You have the right to remain silent…”
When I wake up someone is knocking on the door to our room. I sit up slowly and chug the rest of the water in the glass next to the bed. The knocking continues, 3 taps at a time followed by a pause; presumably waiting for a reply. They are light friendly knocks, but they are persistent and at this hour, unwelcomed.
Speaking of the hour, I wonder at the time and check my watch on the nightstand. 8:45am.
“Shit,” I think. It’s later than I thought. I glance around the room and see that Elle has already left.
I stand up, pull on some pants commando style and answer the door sans shirt. There are 2 gentlemen in front of me attempting to be well dressed. The first I already know, Detective Upton. The other man is taller, larger, and sporting a well kept if slightly graying beard. Upton smiles at my confused expression.
“Mr. Karma,” he says formally.
“Detective.” I say.
“This is Lt. Jeremy Rodden with the Fire Marshall’s Office of Arson Investigation. He and I were hoping you had a moment to talk.”
I glare skeptically at the two men, then open the door to its capacity and walk back to the bed to find a shirt. I pull a white undershirt over my head and drop myself into the threadbare armchair in the corner of the room.
“What’s the word gentlemen?”
Inspector Rodden looks around the room uncomfortably like he’s not sure where to sit or stand. Ultimately he just stands a single pace inside the room and lets Upton do most of the talking.
“We’ve determined an origin and cause for the fire at your apartment building,” Detective Upton says.
“Well, that sounds like good news,” I say.
Upton nods. Rodden wrinkles his brow and crosses his arms.
“Good news, sure, but the thing is Malcolm, the origin was in your unit and the mechanism seems to have been an explosive device.”
I try to mimic genuine surprise.
“A device?” I say affecting confusion. “What does that mean?”
“It was a gasoline bomb,” Rodden chimes in flatly.
“What, like a molotov cocktail?” I say.
Upton smiles and shakes his head.
“No, no not like that at all.”
My confused expression changes from an act to the real thing.
“Well, what then?”
“It was rather large,” Upton says as if he’s preparing me for unexpected bad news.
“At least 25 gallons,” Rodden clarifies.
“And it was on a remote detonator,” Upton says suggestively.
I shift in my seat and immediately regret it.
“Do you gentlemen think maybe you could stop dancing around the issue and just come out with it? Are you telling me that someone was trying to kill us? That they were targeting us specifically?”
Rodden steps forward and uncrosses his arms.
“Mr. Karma, your apartment building was destroyed when a 25 gallon gasoline bomb was detonated from inside your apartment unit. The bomb, which appears to have been located underneath your bed, was detonated via a cellular device wired into the mechanism. The time of the detonation has been able to be determined with a reliable level of specificity and accuracy due to numerous witnesses both inside the building and outside.”
Detective Upton takes a seat on the bed facing me. He leans in towards me and takes off his glasses.
“Malcolm,” he says in a low voice. “We ran your cell records and they show very clearly that you made a call to a pay as you go burner phone at the exact moment of the explosion.”
My jaw goes slack and small jewels of cold sweat dig their way out of my pores and onto the surface of my forehead.
“We were on a walk,” I say sounding a little too defensive. “At the time of the fire, we were on a walk outside. I didn’t even have my phone on me. It was in the apartment, it was destroyed in the fire.”
“No Mr. Karma,” Rodden says. “We have data showing that your phone was on and pinging off a cell tower less than half a mile from your apartment a full hour after the explosion.”
My mouth goes dry and I feel cold. I give a gradual slow nod of my head and stare at the floor.
“I see,” I say.
“Is there anything you’d like to add or amend?” Upon asks.
“I kind of think I need to talk to my wife,” I say.
Upton nods understandingly.
“Yeah, okay. Well you’ll get an opportunity to make that call,” he says. “But if I were you I’d take that time to call a lawyer. Have them contact your wife for you.”
“My wife is a lawyer,” I bark at him.
“I know Malcolm, but as I’m sure she’ll tell you, it’s better not to represent yourself, even if you are a lawyer.”
I look up into the detective’s eyes.
“You’re charging her too?”
“Her initial statement corroborated yours,” he says with a sympathetic tone. “So unless she’s willing to recant that and give a different picture of events we’ll have to assume she’s an accomplice.”
I get up and Upton jumps to his feet. Rodden steps back into the open door frame.
“Easy fellas,” I say.
“Mr. Karma, I’m going to have to ask you to turn around and place your hands on the back of your head.”
I look dumbfoundedly at Upton. He has his right hand on his holstered weapon and the other up and half reaching towards me in a defensive posture. Rodden has his gun drawn and is holding it with two hands, pointing at the floor in front of me. Slowly I raise my hands and put my palms on the back of my neck.
“Please turn around,” Upton says firmly.
I turn away from them and Upton ratchets one bracelet around my right wrist, then brings it down behind my back. He takes my left wrist and pulls it down to meet the other one and snaps the other cuff around it. He holds me by the chain between the cuffs and puts his other hand on my back between my shoulder blades and turns me towards the door.
“Malcolm Karma, you are under arrest for the crimes of Arson and attempted murder. You have the right to remain silent…”
Chapter Fifteen
Surprisingly, I’ve never been to jail before. Unsurprisingly, it’s not as glamorous as it is on TV. At least not at a suburban county jail. There are 3 guys in my lockup besides me and 2 of them are still drunk.
I called Elle with my phone call. I wanted to make sure she was able to get out of the office before the cops showed up. I don’t imagine it would do her career a whole lot of good to be dragged out of the DA’s office in handcuffs. Thankfully I got to her in time.
She was able to get out of the office, call a lawyer for me and negotiate her own surrender before anyone showed up at work. After that I got a call from Ms. Allie Stanley, the lawyer Elle set me up with. I haven’t heard from Elle since then.
Allie spent a quick 15 minutes with me on the phone getting the jist of what went down, then told me she’d be over to see me as soon as she had a chance. She sounded young and energetic with a sarcastic wit that, surprisingly, put me at ease. The problem is, she’s not MY lawyer, she’s OUR lawyer, which means I’m limited in what I can share with her. I can’t tell her that it was Mica who had my apartment blown up, that she was trying to kill me because I left her mob of secret illegal enforcers. In short, I can’t tell her the truth.
I did tell her that bail was my priority. Since I can't tell her what’s going on, I need to get out of here so I can figure out what’s going on.
“Malcolm Karma?”
The cold metallic voice of the guard echoed in the cinderblock chamber making my eardrums sting. I stand up and raise my hand like I’m in the third grade.
“Yeah, that’s me officer.”
“Pack your crap man, you’re outta here.”
“I’m what?” I ask confused and a little nervous.
“Outta here. Now!”
“Where am I going?” I ask.
“As if I give a fuck.” the officer says.
I barely have time to process before they hand me an envelope full of everything that had been in my pockets this morning and boot me out into the empty parking lot.
I walk out into the sun and look back at the building.
“What the fuck is going on?” I wonder out loud.
“I told you to fucking leave.”
I spin around like someone set me on fire. Behind me Mica is standing about a dozen or so feet away in a sharp navy blue skirt suit and red heels. I feel myself get dizzy and I look around for one or more of her goons, here to take me out. I’m stunned partly because I’ve never seen Mica outside the city before. Hell, I’ve never seen her outside the restaurant before, but also and more so because I’ve never seen her DRESSED like this before. Mica is a barefoot and bell bottoms kind of girl and seeing her here dressed like she’s running a corporate takeover is unsettling in a very unspecific way.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I say almost out of breath.
“I told you to leave town. I thought I was pretty clear. It cost a lot of chits to get you out of that building, and this isn’t even the city. You stick around any longer and I won’t have the pull to get you out even if I was so inclined.”
“I don’t understand,” I say.
Mica crosses the space between us and hands me a large brown envelope from inside her purse.
“I had Don get it out of your Hotel room before the cops had a chance to search it.”
I squeeze the package and feel the unmistakable shape of a handgun.”
“I’m assuming that was for me,” Mica says. “That was misguided of you, but more than likely you’ll still need it, so I suggest you keep it on you.”
I squint and my mind does somersaults trying to connect the dots.
“Mal, it’s not important that you understand everything. What is important is that you don’t end up in jail. That’s important. To me it’s important, so go get your ass on a plane and take a little trip. Mexico is supposed to be great this time of year.
I stare blankly at her.
“Nod your head if you understand.”
I nod.
Mica turns and starts to walk away, then pauses.
“Mal.”
“Yeah.”
“Those ladies. The ones at the Hotel.”
“Erica and Robin,” I say.
“They aren’t your friends Mal. Don’t let them know where you’re going.”
I frown.
“Get gone now,” Mica says. “Stay gone.”
Surprisingly, I’ve never been to jail before. Unsurprisingly, it’s not as glamorous as it is on TV. At least not at a suburban county jail. There are 3 guys in my lockup besides me and 2 of them are still drunk.
I called Elle with my phone call. I wanted to make sure she was able to get out of the office before the cops showed up. I don’t imagine it would do her career a whole lot of good to be dragged out of the DA’s office in handcuffs. Thankfully I got to her in time.
She was able to get out of the office, call a lawyer for me and negotiate her own surrender before anyone showed up at work. After that I got a call from Ms. Allie Stanley, the lawyer Elle set me up with. I haven’t heard from Elle since then.
Allie spent a quick 15 minutes with me on the phone getting the jist of what went down, then told me she’d be over to see me as soon as she had a chance. She sounded young and energetic with a sarcastic wit that, surprisingly, put me at ease. The problem is, she’s not MY lawyer, she’s OUR lawyer, which means I’m limited in what I can share with her. I can’t tell her that it was Mica who had my apartment blown up, that she was trying to kill me because I left her mob of secret illegal enforcers. In short, I can’t tell her the truth.
I did tell her that bail was my priority. Since I can't tell her what’s going on, I need to get out of here so I can figure out what’s going on.
“Malcolm Karma?”
The cold metallic voice of the guard echoed in the cinderblock chamber making my eardrums sting. I stand up and raise my hand like I’m in the third grade.
“Yeah, that’s me officer.”
“Pack your crap man, you’re outta here.”
“I’m what?” I ask confused and a little nervous.
“Outta here. Now!”
“Where am I going?” I ask.
“As if I give a fuck.” the officer says.
I barely have time to process before they hand me an envelope full of everything that had been in my pockets this morning and boot me out into the empty parking lot.
I walk out into the sun and look back at the building.
“What the fuck is going on?” I wonder out loud.
“I told you to fucking leave.”
I spin around like someone set me on fire. Behind me Mica is standing about a dozen or so feet away in a sharp navy blue skirt suit and red heels. I feel myself get dizzy and I look around for one or more of her goons, here to take me out. I’m stunned partly because I’ve never seen Mica outside the city before. Hell, I’ve never seen her outside the restaurant before, but also and more so because I’ve never seen her DRESSED like this before. Mica is a barefoot and bell bottoms kind of girl and seeing her here dressed like she’s running a corporate takeover is unsettling in a very unspecific way.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I say almost out of breath.
“I told you to leave town. I thought I was pretty clear. It cost a lot of chits to get you out of that building, and this isn’t even the city. You stick around any longer and I won’t have the pull to get you out even if I was so inclined.”
“I don’t understand,” I say.
Mica crosses the space between us and hands me a large brown envelope from inside her purse.
“I had Don get it out of your Hotel room before the cops had a chance to search it.”
I squeeze the package and feel the unmistakable shape of a handgun.”
“I’m assuming that was for me,” Mica says. “That was misguided of you, but more than likely you’ll still need it, so I suggest you keep it on you.”
I squint and my mind does somersaults trying to connect the dots.
“Mal, it’s not important that you understand everything. What is important is that you don’t end up in jail. That’s important. To me it’s important, so go get your ass on a plane and take a little trip. Mexico is supposed to be great this time of year.
I stare blankly at her.
“Nod your head if you understand.”
I nod.
Mica turns and starts to walk away, then pauses.
“Mal.”
“Yeah.”
“Those ladies. The ones at the Hotel.”
“Erica and Robin,” I say.
“They aren’t your friends Mal. Don’t let them know where you’re going.”
I frown.
“Get gone now,” Mica says. “Stay gone.”
Chapter Sixteen
I’m staring out the window of the cadillac that picked me up at the jail. We are parked under a huge oak tree on a residential street across from a small brick house. The address is the same one that came up when I Googled ‘Allie Stanley Law Offices’ and at first I assume it made a mistake and gave me her home address, then I notice a small white sign posted on the brick wall next to the mailbox.
“A. Stanley Pet Rescue, Jewelry Design, and Legal Services.”
I lean forward and squint at the sign to make sure I read it right and scratch my head dumbfounded that this is who Elle would choose to represent us.
“I beat her a lot.”
I jump backwards and my heart tries to climb out of my throat as a pretty young brunette sticks her head in the window of the car.
“Hi!” she says cheerfully.
I choke and cough trying to catch my breath.
“You were trying to figure out why Elle had you come here right?”
I glare back and bob my head.
“Yeah, I suppose,” I say.
“Right, guess I can’t blame you, although, you’d be surprised how similar pet rescue and defense law can be.”
“I’m sure I would,” I stammer.
“Right, and well, I just like making jewelry so I decided to put it on the sign, but to be honest I’m not really all that good at it.”
“How did-”
“You’ve been parked out here staring at my house for like fifteen minutes,” she says. “Did you think I wasn’t going to notice a big black Cadillac?”
“I guess I didn’t think about it,” I confess.
“Right, seems like there’s been quite a bit of that going around, huh?”
“I’m sorry?” I say.
“I beat her a lot,” Allie says and opens up the car door and climbs in the back next to me. “That’s why Elle hired me. She’s a pretty good lawyer that wife of yours, but I beat her all the damn time.”
“Okay,” I say.
She smiles at me.
“Right, so, you’re in a lot of trouble Mal.”
I nod.
“I gather that much, but why?”
“Mmmm, right,” she sighs. “I suppose we’ll get to that too, in a minute, but right now you’re in trouble because I can’t be your lawyer.”
“Oh!” I say surprised.
“Yeah,” she says sounding disappointed. “But you really need me Mal. Like, for real, I don’t think anyone else can help you.”
“Okay,” I say sounding even more confused. “So, then, why can’t you be my lawyer?”
“Because,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She leans in close to me and whispers “Your wife.”
“Oh,” I say the fog only partly lifting. “Oh, you can’t represent us both?”
“Well yeah,” she snorts. “I mean, you know, legally I can, but…” she trails off and makes wide eyes at me. I look back completely lost.
She gives me a small pout and sighs again.
“Excuse me sir?” she says leaning forward into the front of the car. “Excuse me, would you mind leaving the car for a bit. Ya know, just take a little walk.”
The Uber driver looks back at her like she’s on meth.
“Uh, no. This is my car lady and y’all have been sitting in here too long anyways. Why don’t you get out and take a walk.”
Allie frowns and scoots closer to him.
“Actually,” she says. “Since I’m an officer of the court, and this man here is my client, under US statute 473.21B any space that we occupy together becomes a protected council space and we can demand privacy at any time even if the space is owned privately by a third party. Moreover, failure on your part to comply with a request for privacy entitles me to file a Higgins motion in federal court asking that you be-”
“Okay okay, fuck, I get it, I’m leaving. How long do you need?”
“fifteen minutes would be great,” Allie says sweetly. “Thanks so much.”
The driver shuts off the engine and gets out of the car grumbling something about none of this being worth it.
“Wow,” I say. “I have to say, I didn’t know any of that either.”
“Any of what?” she asks in an airy tone.
“That stuff you just said. About protected spaces and section b12 or whatever.”
She laughs.
“Oh, that. That’s all bullshit I made up. I just wanted him to leave so we could talk privately.”
I look back at her in awe.
“Look Mal,” Allie says. “I need to help you, but I’m hampered by Elle.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I blurt.
“Mal, she assumes that this is about her, but you and I know that this is about you and your relationship with Mica Kole.”
I feel like someone just hit me in the gut with a baseball bat.
“Uh, Mica was my- I mean I used to work for her. Uh, at the restaurant.”
“Mal, this is what I’m talking about.”
I run my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath.
“Mal, twenty-five gallons of gasoline was placed under your bed, and then detonated by a phone call made from your cell.”
I look over at Allie who is now staring at me with dead eyes.
“Mal, I can help you. I can, but first you and Elle have to get on the same page.”
“I can't do that!” I shout.
Allie puts a hand on my shoulder.
“I know Mal, but you’re gonna have to.”
There’s a long silence.
“Come on kiddo, “ she says. “We’ll do it together.”
She opens the car door and we climb out onto the serene suburban street under the warm midday sun.
“Ooh, I know what. You can buy her some jewelry, women LOVE jewelry. I’ll show you what I’ve got and help you pick something out. She’s a December stone right?”
I follow her up her driveway towards the front door.
“Oh hey, by the way Mal, how’d you get out of jail so fast?”
“Mica got me out,” I chuckle.
Allie stops walking.
“Oh Mal, you are in a lot of trouble.”
I’m staring out the window of the cadillac that picked me up at the jail. We are parked under a huge oak tree on a residential street across from a small brick house. The address is the same one that came up when I Googled ‘Allie Stanley Law Offices’ and at first I assume it made a mistake and gave me her home address, then I notice a small white sign posted on the brick wall next to the mailbox.
“A. Stanley Pet Rescue, Jewelry Design, and Legal Services.”
I lean forward and squint at the sign to make sure I read it right and scratch my head dumbfounded that this is who Elle would choose to represent us.
“I beat her a lot.”
I jump backwards and my heart tries to climb out of my throat as a pretty young brunette sticks her head in the window of the car.
“Hi!” she says cheerfully.
I choke and cough trying to catch my breath.
“You were trying to figure out why Elle had you come here right?”
I glare back and bob my head.
“Yeah, I suppose,” I say.
“Right, guess I can’t blame you, although, you’d be surprised how similar pet rescue and defense law can be.”
“I’m sure I would,” I stammer.
“Right, and well, I just like making jewelry so I decided to put it on the sign, but to be honest I’m not really all that good at it.”
“How did-”
“You’ve been parked out here staring at my house for like fifteen minutes,” she says. “Did you think I wasn’t going to notice a big black Cadillac?”
“I guess I didn’t think about it,” I confess.
“Right, seems like there’s been quite a bit of that going around, huh?”
“I’m sorry?” I say.
“I beat her a lot,” Allie says and opens up the car door and climbs in the back next to me. “That’s why Elle hired me. She’s a pretty good lawyer that wife of yours, but I beat her all the damn time.”
“Okay,” I say.
She smiles at me.
“Right, so, you’re in a lot of trouble Mal.”
I nod.
“I gather that much, but why?”
“Mmmm, right,” she sighs. “I suppose we’ll get to that too, in a minute, but right now you’re in trouble because I can’t be your lawyer.”
“Oh!” I say surprised.
“Yeah,” she says sounding disappointed. “But you really need me Mal. Like, for real, I don’t think anyone else can help you.”
“Okay,” I say sounding even more confused. “So, then, why can’t you be my lawyer?”
“Because,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She leans in close to me and whispers “Your wife.”
“Oh,” I say the fog only partly lifting. “Oh, you can’t represent us both?”
“Well yeah,” she snorts. “I mean, you know, legally I can, but…” she trails off and makes wide eyes at me. I look back completely lost.
She gives me a small pout and sighs again.
“Excuse me sir?” she says leaning forward into the front of the car. “Excuse me, would you mind leaving the car for a bit. Ya know, just take a little walk.”
The Uber driver looks back at her like she’s on meth.
“Uh, no. This is my car lady and y’all have been sitting in here too long anyways. Why don’t you get out and take a walk.”
Allie frowns and scoots closer to him.
“Actually,” she says. “Since I’m an officer of the court, and this man here is my client, under US statute 473.21B any space that we occupy together becomes a protected council space and we can demand privacy at any time even if the space is owned privately by a third party. Moreover, failure on your part to comply with a request for privacy entitles me to file a Higgins motion in federal court asking that you be-”
“Okay okay, fuck, I get it, I’m leaving. How long do you need?”
“fifteen minutes would be great,” Allie says sweetly. “Thanks so much.”
The driver shuts off the engine and gets out of the car grumbling something about none of this being worth it.
“Wow,” I say. “I have to say, I didn’t know any of that either.”
“Any of what?” she asks in an airy tone.
“That stuff you just said. About protected spaces and section b12 or whatever.”
She laughs.
“Oh, that. That’s all bullshit I made up. I just wanted him to leave so we could talk privately.”
I look back at her in awe.
“Look Mal,” Allie says. “I need to help you, but I’m hampered by Elle.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I blurt.
“Mal, she assumes that this is about her, but you and I know that this is about you and your relationship with Mica Kole.”
I feel like someone just hit me in the gut with a baseball bat.
“Uh, Mica was my- I mean I used to work for her. Uh, at the restaurant.”
“Mal, this is what I’m talking about.”
I run my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath.
“Mal, twenty-five gallons of gasoline was placed under your bed, and then detonated by a phone call made from your cell.”
I look over at Allie who is now staring at me with dead eyes.
“Mal, I can help you. I can, but first you and Elle have to get on the same page.”
“I can't do that!” I shout.
Allie puts a hand on my shoulder.
“I know Mal, but you’re gonna have to.”
There’s a long silence.
“Come on kiddo, “ she says. “We’ll do it together.”
She opens the car door and we climb out onto the serene suburban street under the warm midday sun.
“Ooh, I know what. You can buy her some jewelry, women LOVE jewelry. I’ll show you what I’ve got and help you pick something out. She’s a December stone right?”
I follow her up her driveway towards the front door.
“Oh hey, by the way Mal, how’d you get out of jail so fast?”
“Mica got me out,” I chuckle.
Allie stops walking.
“Oh Mal, you are in a lot of trouble.”
Chapter Seventeen
Elle stares at me with cow’s eyes as I go through the story. I explain everything. How I met Mica, the kinds of things I did for her, the other people under her thumb and how I got out. I tell her about the money I got when she let me go and that she told me to get out of town. I tell her about the gun I got from Adam Pilsen and about Don Lorah retrieving it from the hotel room. I explain the situation with the safe and Detective Upton and Fire Inspector Rodden. I finish with who got me out of jail and what she said when she did.
It’s pretty quiet for a while after I finish. Elle looks away from me and avoids looking back. She’s got a peculiar frown on her face that I’ve seen many times before. I call it her “thinking face” and it’s never good news if it’s there because of you. I assume she’s angry, but that’s an emotion not betrayed by her expression.
After a while Elle lets out a long sigh, runs her fingers through her hair and stands up. She paces back and forth in Allie’s office pausing to say something, then, not finding the words, goes back to pacing without saying anything at all. This cycle repeats for what seems like hours.
“Malcolm,” Allie finally says.
I look up at her.
“Are you sure that’s really his name?” Elle spits under her breath.
“Elle-”
“Mal,” Allie interrupts. “I think, well, do you think, uh maybe I need to talk to Elle alone for a minute.”
I glance at her, then look back at Elle who is still facing away from me. I stand up silently and walk out of the room.
I pace around the small reception space for a bit, then wander out and find the living space of the house. The inside is meticulously clean and tastefully decorated in a modern country motif. I wander through the living room, dining room and kitchen until I find a large screened in porch out back.
It has two walls lined with at least a dozen clean stainless steel cages, each containing a small to medium sized dog yapping or barking respectively. The last cage on the end has a slightly larger dog with seven itty-bitty puppies suckling at it’s tit.
The mother dog as well as six of the puppies appear to be some kind of yellow lab mutt, but the seventh pup looks a little lost. It’s shaped the same at the others, but with the coloring and markings of a German Sheppard.
I open the cage and pick him up off of his mother. He wiggles in my hands and gives a chirpy bark. I nuzzle him to my face and kiss the soft hair on the top of his head.
“Ooh ooh ooh!” comes the flighty excited voice of my lawyer. “Ya know what women love more than jewelry?”
I look up and see Elle standing next to her staring down at me.
“Puppies!” Allie squeals.
I smile.
“What about it Mal?” Elle says softly, her voice cracking slightly. “Ya wanna get a dog?”
I look at her with all my love and nod once.
“What’s this fella’s name?” I ask.
“Actually,” Allie says. “I’ve been calling him Malcolm.”
Elle stares at me with cow’s eyes as I go through the story. I explain everything. How I met Mica, the kinds of things I did for her, the other people under her thumb and how I got out. I tell her about the money I got when she let me go and that she told me to get out of town. I tell her about the gun I got from Adam Pilsen and about Don Lorah retrieving it from the hotel room. I explain the situation with the safe and Detective Upton and Fire Inspector Rodden. I finish with who got me out of jail and what she said when she did.
It’s pretty quiet for a while after I finish. Elle looks away from me and avoids looking back. She’s got a peculiar frown on her face that I’ve seen many times before. I call it her “thinking face” and it’s never good news if it’s there because of you. I assume she’s angry, but that’s an emotion not betrayed by her expression.
After a while Elle lets out a long sigh, runs her fingers through her hair and stands up. She paces back and forth in Allie’s office pausing to say something, then, not finding the words, goes back to pacing without saying anything at all. This cycle repeats for what seems like hours.
“Malcolm,” Allie finally says.
I look up at her.
“Are you sure that’s really his name?” Elle spits under her breath.
“Elle-”
“Mal,” Allie interrupts. “I think, well, do you think, uh maybe I need to talk to Elle alone for a minute.”
I glance at her, then look back at Elle who is still facing away from me. I stand up silently and walk out of the room.
I pace around the small reception space for a bit, then wander out and find the living space of the house. The inside is meticulously clean and tastefully decorated in a modern country motif. I wander through the living room, dining room and kitchen until I find a large screened in porch out back.
It has two walls lined with at least a dozen clean stainless steel cages, each containing a small to medium sized dog yapping or barking respectively. The last cage on the end has a slightly larger dog with seven itty-bitty puppies suckling at it’s tit.
The mother dog as well as six of the puppies appear to be some kind of yellow lab mutt, but the seventh pup looks a little lost. It’s shaped the same at the others, but with the coloring and markings of a German Sheppard.
I open the cage and pick him up off of his mother. He wiggles in my hands and gives a chirpy bark. I nuzzle him to my face and kiss the soft hair on the top of his head.
“Ooh ooh ooh!” comes the flighty excited voice of my lawyer. “Ya know what women love more than jewelry?”
I look up and see Elle standing next to her staring down at me.
“Puppies!” Allie squeals.
I smile.
“What about it Mal?” Elle says softly, her voice cracking slightly. “Ya wanna get a dog?”
I look at her with all my love and nod once.
“What’s this fella’s name?” I ask.
“Actually,” Allie says. “I’ve been calling him Malcolm.”
Chapter Eighteen
“What do you know about Gavin Gayle?” Allie asks.
I feel my muscles stiffen and my stomach somersault. Elle just laughs.
“Come on Allie,” she says. “I see where you’re going with this, but Gavin Gayle is a story. It’s a morality tale about where things can go when government corruption gets out of control. Besides, the parallels aren’t quite there. Mica is a restaurateur that, apparently, runs a gang of thugs on the side not some big city State’s Attorney using her power to create a personal assassin; and Mal’s never been to prison.
I shift in my seat, I too see where Allie is going, but I immediately know she’s right and Elle is looking at it the wrong way.
“My thing is,” I chime in, “I’m starting to get the feeling that it isn’t Mica who tried to kill us. Tried to kill me. I’m actually starting to suspect that she really is trying to help.”
Allie nods.
“I agree,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean she’s not involved. If anything, it suggests that she does know what’s going on and probably exactly who’s behind it.”
“But it’s just a STORY!” Elle insists again. “None of this is real. We are in REAL trouble. REAL danger. We need to be looking at REAL solutions.”
Allie gives a pitying smile to Elle and sighs.
“Elle, you’d be surprised how many of the urban legends and old wives tales you hear are actually based in reality. Gavin was, well, he is a real man, and the stories you’ve heard are more truth than fiction.”
“I highly doubt-” Elle starts, but Allie cuts her off.
“Elle, you’re just going to have to take my word on this one. Gavin is in the past, he’s not active any more, but, I promise you friend, he exists and he did exactly what you’ve heard he did.”
“How do you know?” Elle asks skeptically.
“Do you really imagine that that’s something I’d be able to tell you Elle?”
Elle frowns.
“If I told you that the tooth fairy was real, but that you’d just have to take my word for it, would you?”
“Well, if you’d just introduced me to the Easter Bunny,” Allie looks at me then back to Elle, “Then yeah, I probably would.”
Elle stays quiet.
“Look,” Allie says. “What you have to understand is that Gavin was a symptom, not of a corrupt individual, but of an entrenched culture of corruption. That’s not something that goes away overnight.”
Elle nods.
“When Gavin got out it left a hole. An empty role that the culture didn’t know how to fill any other way.”
“Okay,” Elle says. “But we already know from Mal that Mica has a whole team of guys like him out there doing this shit. Him getting out isn’t leaving that same kind of hole in the system.”
Allie shakes her head in frustration.
“You’re not getting it Elle.”
“What am I not getting?”
I stand up and walk over to Elle and put my hand on her shoulder.
“Elle sweetheart,”
She looks up at me with frightened and confused eyes.
“Elle, I’m not the one that replaced Gavin. I’m not the one that filled the hole. Mica is.”
“What do you know about Gavin Gayle?” Allie asks.
I feel my muscles stiffen and my stomach somersault. Elle just laughs.
“Come on Allie,” she says. “I see where you’re going with this, but Gavin Gayle is a story. It’s a morality tale about where things can go when government corruption gets out of control. Besides, the parallels aren’t quite there. Mica is a restaurateur that, apparently, runs a gang of thugs on the side not some big city State’s Attorney using her power to create a personal assassin; and Mal’s never been to prison.
I shift in my seat, I too see where Allie is going, but I immediately know she’s right and Elle is looking at it the wrong way.
“My thing is,” I chime in, “I’m starting to get the feeling that it isn’t Mica who tried to kill us. Tried to kill me. I’m actually starting to suspect that she really is trying to help.”
Allie nods.
“I agree,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean she’s not involved. If anything, it suggests that she does know what’s going on and probably exactly who’s behind it.”
“But it’s just a STORY!” Elle insists again. “None of this is real. We are in REAL trouble. REAL danger. We need to be looking at REAL solutions.”
Allie gives a pitying smile to Elle and sighs.
“Elle, you’d be surprised how many of the urban legends and old wives tales you hear are actually based in reality. Gavin was, well, he is a real man, and the stories you’ve heard are more truth than fiction.”
“I highly doubt-” Elle starts, but Allie cuts her off.
“Elle, you’re just going to have to take my word on this one. Gavin is in the past, he’s not active any more, but, I promise you friend, he exists and he did exactly what you’ve heard he did.”
“How do you know?” Elle asks skeptically.
“Do you really imagine that that’s something I’d be able to tell you Elle?”
Elle frowns.
“If I told you that the tooth fairy was real, but that you’d just have to take my word for it, would you?”
“Well, if you’d just introduced me to the Easter Bunny,” Allie looks at me then back to Elle, “Then yeah, I probably would.”
Elle stays quiet.
“Look,” Allie says. “What you have to understand is that Gavin was a symptom, not of a corrupt individual, but of an entrenched culture of corruption. That’s not something that goes away overnight.”
Elle nods.
“When Gavin got out it left a hole. An empty role that the culture didn’t know how to fill any other way.”
“Okay,” Elle says. “But we already know from Mal that Mica has a whole team of guys like him out there doing this shit. Him getting out isn’t leaving that same kind of hole in the system.”
Allie shakes her head in frustration.
“You’re not getting it Elle.”
“What am I not getting?”
I stand up and walk over to Elle and put my hand on her shoulder.
“Elle sweetheart,”
She looks up at me with frightened and confused eyes.
“Elle, I’m not the one that replaced Gavin. I’m not the one that filled the hole. Mica is.”
Chapter One
She stood in the long florescent hallway feeling the tingle of anticipation run over her skin like a thousand tiny ants. The chaos and activity were unmistakable, it was the first day of school and her first day of Senior year.
She walked slowly to her locker, letting herself take it all in. Letting her brain make these memories that she would carry with her into adulthood. The way she saw it there were turning points in a person’s life. Periods of time that pointed you in the direction you would travel down for years afterwards. Senior year of High School was one of those times.
She had worked hard to put in place the pieces she would need for an amazing year. She had gotten herself elected treasurer of the student body, a position that in her mind was MORE prestigious than Student Body President. It had all the hallmarks of the executive branch of student government, but it also had the inherent responsibility of raising and managing the cashflow of a large organization, a plus on her application to the Department of Economics at University of Chicago.
She was also about to take the test to earn her black belt in Taekwondo, an achievement she’s been working on for 8 years. She was especially proud of this because she’d studied at one of the most difficult dojos in the city. It was common these days for dojos to pass students up the levels as long as they showed even the most rudimentary ability to mimic the forms and had the ability to pay the testing fee, but her master wouldn’t pass his students up until they demonstrated an absolute mastery of not only the forms, but the discipline and mindset associated with the rank. Meditation was key as was knowledge of the history of the art and a respect for your peers. As a result, she often bested even those ranked well above her in cross dojo competitions.
The final piece to her trifecta of the perfect senior year was the perfect boyfriend. Mark Farley asked her out halfway through the summer after she had spent a month and a half flirting and dropping not very subtle hints. He was handsome. Not an athlete, but in good shape, and very smart. He headed the debate team, was editor of the school newspaper and yearbook, and was ranked 3rd on the school's chess team. On top of all that, he was English. Right off the boat English too, having just moved to the states 2 ½ years ago in the middle of their freshman year. She loved to listen to him talk, his accent was divine.
She spun the dial on her locker, grinning ear to ear with eager anticipation of the year to come. A pair of hands slipped over her eyes and a voice in an awful fake American accent said,
“Guess who Mica!”
She laughed.
“Well, this must be my strong American boyfriend Joey!”
The hands fell to her waist and spun her around.
“That’s not funny young lady,” Mark said shaking a finger at her.
“You’re literally one month older than me old man,” Mica said rolling her eyes.
“Hey, a lot can happen in a month.”
“I kind of doubt that a single month could be that life altering.”
“Well, give me a dark room and a soft bed and I can make 5 minutes change your life.”
Mica leaned back against her locker and crossed her arms.
“It’s funny that you think that makes you sound good,” she said.
“What?” Mark said not following.
“Oh, did I say funny, sorry, I meant sad.”
“Oh come on Mica, you know what I meant.”
Mica pouted her lower lip.
“Yes, sadly I do,” she said and leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
“Mica!” another voice shouted from down the hall.
A petite blonde girl in a cheer uniform top and black sweatpants was running down the hall waving a pink slip of paper at them.
“Hey Whitney,” Mica said with a giggle. “Take a breath girl, it’s like 7am. Nobody’s ready for your energy this early.”
“Sorry,” Whitney said holding out the piece of paper. “But the fundraiser flyers are done and need to be picked up from the printer today after school. Can you drive?”
Whitney Hemsath was the Secretary of the student body and captain of the cheer squad all of which despite the fact that she didn’t have a car.
“Damn, I can’t,” Mica spat. “My parents have my car today. They’re uh, getting the grease replaced or some shit.”
Whitney sighed.
“I can drive,” Mark offered.
Mica and Whitney both turned and stared at Mark with their mouths hanging open.
“You know the steering wheel is on the left side of the car, right?” Mica said dryly.
“This coming from a girl that doesn’t know that cars need OIL!” Mark jabbed.
“The printer is on the South Side of the city,” Whitney added. “You okay with that?”
“Jesus girls,” Mark said. “We’re getting paper from the press, what’s gonna happen?”
She stood in the long florescent hallway feeling the tingle of anticipation run over her skin like a thousand tiny ants. The chaos and activity were unmistakable, it was the first day of school and her first day of Senior year.
She walked slowly to her locker, letting herself take it all in. Letting her brain make these memories that she would carry with her into adulthood. The way she saw it there were turning points in a person’s life. Periods of time that pointed you in the direction you would travel down for years afterwards. Senior year of High School was one of those times.
She had worked hard to put in place the pieces she would need for an amazing year. She had gotten herself elected treasurer of the student body, a position that in her mind was MORE prestigious than Student Body President. It had all the hallmarks of the executive branch of student government, but it also had the inherent responsibility of raising and managing the cashflow of a large organization, a plus on her application to the Department of Economics at University of Chicago.
She was also about to take the test to earn her black belt in Taekwondo, an achievement she’s been working on for 8 years. She was especially proud of this because she’d studied at one of the most difficult dojos in the city. It was common these days for dojos to pass students up the levels as long as they showed even the most rudimentary ability to mimic the forms and had the ability to pay the testing fee, but her master wouldn’t pass his students up until they demonstrated an absolute mastery of not only the forms, but the discipline and mindset associated with the rank. Meditation was key as was knowledge of the history of the art and a respect for your peers. As a result, she often bested even those ranked well above her in cross dojo competitions.
The final piece to her trifecta of the perfect senior year was the perfect boyfriend. Mark Farley asked her out halfway through the summer after she had spent a month and a half flirting and dropping not very subtle hints. He was handsome. Not an athlete, but in good shape, and very smart. He headed the debate team, was editor of the school newspaper and yearbook, and was ranked 3rd on the school's chess team. On top of all that, he was English. Right off the boat English too, having just moved to the states 2 ½ years ago in the middle of their freshman year. She loved to listen to him talk, his accent was divine.
She spun the dial on her locker, grinning ear to ear with eager anticipation of the year to come. A pair of hands slipped over her eyes and a voice in an awful fake American accent said,
“Guess who Mica!”
She laughed.
“Well, this must be my strong American boyfriend Joey!”
The hands fell to her waist and spun her around.
“That’s not funny young lady,” Mark said shaking a finger at her.
“You’re literally one month older than me old man,” Mica said rolling her eyes.
“Hey, a lot can happen in a month.”
“I kind of doubt that a single month could be that life altering.”
“Well, give me a dark room and a soft bed and I can make 5 minutes change your life.”
Mica leaned back against her locker and crossed her arms.
“It’s funny that you think that makes you sound good,” she said.
“What?” Mark said not following.
“Oh, did I say funny, sorry, I meant sad.”
“Oh come on Mica, you know what I meant.”
Mica pouted her lower lip.
“Yes, sadly I do,” she said and leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
“Mica!” another voice shouted from down the hall.
A petite blonde girl in a cheer uniform top and black sweatpants was running down the hall waving a pink slip of paper at them.
“Hey Whitney,” Mica said with a giggle. “Take a breath girl, it’s like 7am. Nobody’s ready for your energy this early.”
“Sorry,” Whitney said holding out the piece of paper. “But the fundraiser flyers are done and need to be picked up from the printer today after school. Can you drive?”
Whitney Hemsath was the Secretary of the student body and captain of the cheer squad all of which despite the fact that she didn’t have a car.
“Damn, I can’t,” Mica spat. “My parents have my car today. They’re uh, getting the grease replaced or some shit.”
Whitney sighed.
“I can drive,” Mark offered.
Mica and Whitney both turned and stared at Mark with their mouths hanging open.
“You know the steering wheel is on the left side of the car, right?” Mica said dryly.
“This coming from a girl that doesn’t know that cars need OIL!” Mark jabbed.
“The printer is on the South Side of the city,” Whitney added. “You okay with that?”
“Jesus girls,” Mark said. “We’re getting paper from the press, what’s gonna happen?”
Chapter Two
School let out at 2:40 and by 5 minutes to 3 Mica, Whitney and Mark were squished into Mark’s 20 year old red Ford Escort and headed down the 15 mile long county highway that connected the North and South sides of the city. The car was small and smelled of potent teenage boy and cheap pink mall perfume. The radio was on loudly, spilling pop punk ballads out the open windows that served as the only air conditioning in the vehicle.
Mark drove the car wearing a shit eating grin, silently basking in the company of two beautiful women. Mica and Whitney shouted day 1 gossip at each other over the squeal of guitars and the roar of the wind pouring in the open windows. The weather was still warm and the afternoon sun made their skin and hair glow and sparkle. The mood was light and jovial, full of summertime lust and new school year hopefulness. Then they pulled off the smooth winding ribbon of asphalt that wrapped around the great lake and found themselves in a place of rot and decay.
The South Side of the city was a gray place. No effort was made by the municipal government to maintain greenery. Places that should be all trees, grass and cedar chips were, instead, poured concrete and wrought iron fences. The sky seemed to go steely and the atmosphere transformed to one of frigidity, even in the late summer swelter.
The trio of teenagers went abruptly quiet, turning the radio off and rolling up the windows despite the sticky wet air. They leaned forward in their seats, eyeing every street sign, anxious to find a place of purpose and remove themselves from the category of people who didn’t belong.
After 10 minutes and 2 wrong turns they found their way to the print shop and pulled up to the wid black gate and the stainless steel intercom box.
“What’s it to ya?” came the twangy voice on the other end of the wire.
Whitney leaned over Mark’s shoulder from the back seat and shouted.
“Hi there. Yeah, we’re here from Henry Higgins High to pi-”
A loud buzzer sounded and the gate shook and slowly slid open.
“Rude!” Whitney said.
“Just keep it simple, okay?” Mark said.
“I thought you said you weren’t scared,” Mica teased.
“I just want to be professional,” Mark said.
Mica chortled.
“You’re 17,” Whitney jabbed. “The only plastic in your wallet is your library card. I think your a couple yards short of professional.”
“Huh?” Mark grunted.
“It’s a football metaphor sweetheart,” Mica said.
The gate clanged at the end of its rail and Mark pulled in and found a parking spot. The kids hopped out and went into the stout brick building single file and silent.
At the front desk was a round woman with rust colored hair and enough freckles to make the prospect of melanoma cross one’s mind. She looked up at the teens with annoyance and then leaned under her desk.
“Hi, we’re here to pick up-”
The woman dropped a box the size of a sheet of copier paper and about 5 inches thick on the desk in front of her then went back to typing on her computer.
Mica picked up the box, said thank you, and turned to walk out the door. Mark turned to follow, but Whitney didn’t move.
“You’re very rude,” she said to the receptionist.
The woman behind the counter paused and looked at Whitney then raised her eyebrows in a manner that said ‘what’s your point’.
“We could take our business elsewhere.”
The round woman crossed her arms and sat back in her chair.
“Listen Barbie, our minimum order is 10,000 prints. That’s 20 of those boxes your friend is holding. We only do this shitty order for your school because the owner’s daughter went there like 100 years ago or something, and even at that he gives you a stupid big discount. So sweetie, if you want to go to Kinkos be my guest.”
Whitney stared at the woman with horror painted across her face.
“Ta ta,” the lady said and went back to her computer.
Whitney took a deep breath, pulled back her shoulders, and walked out the front door. Mark chuckled and Mica punched him in the shoulder.
“Ow,” Mark said.
“Don’t be a girl,” Mica mocked, and they walked out.
Back at the car Whitney slumped in the back seat.
“We are never going back there.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound like that’s any skin off their back.”
Mark started the car and the big black gate slid open. The trio sat silently as the small car rolled out of the lot and onto the broken, uneven pavement of the street. The gate closed slowly behind them. The car made it a block before the engine cut out and the car stopped.
“Mark.”
“Whitney, please don’t start. Please just don’t-”
“Mark, why is the car stopped?”
“We’re out of gas,” Mica said in her calm angry voice.
“Mark?”
“Whitney, just-”
“Mark are we out of gas? Mica? Are you serious? Mark?”
“For fuck’s sake Whitney! Yes! We’re out of gas! I thought I could make it back to the highway, but I guess I was off a bit.”
“Jesus fuck Mark!” Whitney screamed. “What were you going to do then?”
“There’s a station there. I was going to fill up then.”
“Jesus Christ Mark! What the fuck? Didn’t your parents teach you not to run down your tank so low?”
“Says the girl without a car!” Mark shouted back.
“Yeah, and even I fucking know that ass hole. Shit, Mica, why are you so calm?”
“It’s happened before.”
The car went silent.
“It’s what?” Whitney said softly.
“Thanks for that hun,” Mark said.
Mica looked at him with dagger eyes.
“Really? I wouldn’t start shifting aggravations right now darling.”
“Mark, I’m not in a happy place right now. Mica, why do you date this looser anyway?”
“That’s a question worth visiting once we’re back on the road,” Mica said. “Right now it’s more important to find some gas.”
“Maybe we should go back to the print shop,” Mark offered.
Whitney swung a wide arc and slapped Mark hard behind his ear.
“I think that’s a no babe,” Mica said.
“I guess I’ll walk up the road to the station then,” Mark said.
“Have fun with that,” Whitney joked.
“No way,” Mica injected. “You’re not walking around this neighborhood alone.”
“Don’t you have AAA?”
“I don’t have a CD player Princess Moneybags.”
“Then y’all better start walkin’”
Mica smiled at Whitney.
“You’re not staying here alone either.”
“What?!” Whitney shouted.
“We’re all walking,” Mica said.
“The fuck I am.”
“Curse all you want, you’re not staying here alone. We stick together, and that means we’re all going to get gas.”
“But what about my car?” Mark protested.
“It’s out of gas darling,” Mica said sardonically.
“But my rims…” Mark argued.
“Jesus Mark, you drive a 20 year old Escort. No one wants your fucking hubcaps.”
There was a long moment of silence, then the 3 of them moving as 1 climbed out of the car and began walking quietly up the street towards the highway.
The station ended up being a full mile and a half away and they were sticky and exhausted when they got there. Mark had $8 on him which, after buying the gas can, only left $1.50 for actual gasoline. Mica paid another $5.50 which filled up the can and got them each a bottle of water.
“You’re a class act Mark!” Whitney whispered under her breath as Mica slid the cash under the 3 inch thick bulletproof glass that the attendant stood behind.
The 3 of them walked silently back towards the car, sipping their water and staring at the ground. About 5 minutes later they could no longer see the gas station behind them and the sun was starting to hug the tops of the buildings to their right.
They came to a 5 way intersection and a group of 5 boys acting like they wanted the world to think less of them. 4 were young black teenagers and the 5th was a white boy in his early 20s trying desperately to impress them. He was making pistols with his fingers and holding them sideways like he’d seen in the movies.
The black kids seemed unimpressed and were waving him off and mocking him. Mica and her group saw the scene and began making a wide arc around the intersection. The caucasian boy saw them and shouted.
“Awe, hey girlies, lookin’ fine. Why don’t you come over here and party?”
One of the black kids smacked him on the back of the head.
“You stupid pedo mother fucker, them are just kids.”
“Hey, old enough for me!” the white boy said and made grotesque gestures at the girls with his hips.
The 4 black kids all made various faces of disgust and left the intersection down a residential street. The white boy flipped them all the bird and started walking towards Mica and Whitney.
“Hey sugar, looks like more for me.”
The 3 of them avoided looking up at the thug and kept walking, but the white boy jogged up and stood in their path.
“How ‘bout it ladies? You wanna party?”
“Mark, you gonna do something?” Whitney asked.
Mark stepped forward and put up a hand.
“Why don’t you just leave us alone?”
“Us?” the thug said. “I ain’t talkin’ to your ass in any case white boy.”
Mark squinted confused.
“You’re white too.”
“Uh, you’re white too,” the gang banger said in a mockingly nasal voice.
“Just leave us-”
“Shut the fuck up!” the delinquent shouted in Mark’s face.
Mark reached a hand out and laid it on the boy’s shoulder. The kid went wide eyed crazy, blew a lungful of air out of pursed lips and cold cocked Mark square in the nose.
Blood sprayed across Mark’s face and the boy’s fist. Mark let out a deep guttural moan and collapsed to the ground. He screamed and sobbed holding his broken face. Whitney shrieked and turned to run, but the boy caught her by her uniform collar and threw her hard to the ground. Her head bounced hard off the rough concrete and a deep scarlet pool of blood began to form under her golden blonde hair.
Mica took a step backwards, fighting the urge to dart away and trying to keep her breath even like she’d been taught in her martial arts classes. The boy stepped forward twice as fast and reached and eager hand out for her hair. Mica grabbed his wrist with 2 hands, turned it, ducked under the arm and yanked it up behind his back. She heard a loud crack in his shoulder and a pop in his elbow and he screamed. She kept pulling until he dropped to his knees, then stepped back and kicked her heel hard into the back of his head. His body fell forward and she heard his nose crack against the pavement. She dropped down letting gravity take her full weight and landed her elbow straight on his limp spine and heard the sound of a thick tree branch breaking and the boy emptied his lungs all at once.
Mica layed there hyperventilating against the boy’s unmoving body. Soon there were police, then ambulances, then darkness and sleep. In the morning there was HER.
School let out at 2:40 and by 5 minutes to 3 Mica, Whitney and Mark were squished into Mark’s 20 year old red Ford Escort and headed down the 15 mile long county highway that connected the North and South sides of the city. The car was small and smelled of potent teenage boy and cheap pink mall perfume. The radio was on loudly, spilling pop punk ballads out the open windows that served as the only air conditioning in the vehicle.
Mark drove the car wearing a shit eating grin, silently basking in the company of two beautiful women. Mica and Whitney shouted day 1 gossip at each other over the squeal of guitars and the roar of the wind pouring in the open windows. The weather was still warm and the afternoon sun made their skin and hair glow and sparkle. The mood was light and jovial, full of summertime lust and new school year hopefulness. Then they pulled off the smooth winding ribbon of asphalt that wrapped around the great lake and found themselves in a place of rot and decay.
The South Side of the city was a gray place. No effort was made by the municipal government to maintain greenery. Places that should be all trees, grass and cedar chips were, instead, poured concrete and wrought iron fences. The sky seemed to go steely and the atmosphere transformed to one of frigidity, even in the late summer swelter.
The trio of teenagers went abruptly quiet, turning the radio off and rolling up the windows despite the sticky wet air. They leaned forward in their seats, eyeing every street sign, anxious to find a place of purpose and remove themselves from the category of people who didn’t belong.
After 10 minutes and 2 wrong turns they found their way to the print shop and pulled up to the wid black gate and the stainless steel intercom box.
“What’s it to ya?” came the twangy voice on the other end of the wire.
Whitney leaned over Mark’s shoulder from the back seat and shouted.
“Hi there. Yeah, we’re here from Henry Higgins High to pi-”
A loud buzzer sounded and the gate shook and slowly slid open.
“Rude!” Whitney said.
“Just keep it simple, okay?” Mark said.
“I thought you said you weren’t scared,” Mica teased.
“I just want to be professional,” Mark said.
Mica chortled.
“You’re 17,” Whitney jabbed. “The only plastic in your wallet is your library card. I think your a couple yards short of professional.”
“Huh?” Mark grunted.
“It’s a football metaphor sweetheart,” Mica said.
The gate clanged at the end of its rail and Mark pulled in and found a parking spot. The kids hopped out and went into the stout brick building single file and silent.
At the front desk was a round woman with rust colored hair and enough freckles to make the prospect of melanoma cross one’s mind. She looked up at the teens with annoyance and then leaned under her desk.
“Hi, we’re here to pick up-”
The woman dropped a box the size of a sheet of copier paper and about 5 inches thick on the desk in front of her then went back to typing on her computer.
Mica picked up the box, said thank you, and turned to walk out the door. Mark turned to follow, but Whitney didn’t move.
“You’re very rude,” she said to the receptionist.
The woman behind the counter paused and looked at Whitney then raised her eyebrows in a manner that said ‘what’s your point’.
“We could take our business elsewhere.”
The round woman crossed her arms and sat back in her chair.
“Listen Barbie, our minimum order is 10,000 prints. That’s 20 of those boxes your friend is holding. We only do this shitty order for your school because the owner’s daughter went there like 100 years ago or something, and even at that he gives you a stupid big discount. So sweetie, if you want to go to Kinkos be my guest.”
Whitney stared at the woman with horror painted across her face.
“Ta ta,” the lady said and went back to her computer.
Whitney took a deep breath, pulled back her shoulders, and walked out the front door. Mark chuckled and Mica punched him in the shoulder.
“Ow,” Mark said.
“Don’t be a girl,” Mica mocked, and they walked out.
Back at the car Whitney slumped in the back seat.
“We are never going back there.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound like that’s any skin off their back.”
Mark started the car and the big black gate slid open. The trio sat silently as the small car rolled out of the lot and onto the broken, uneven pavement of the street. The gate closed slowly behind them. The car made it a block before the engine cut out and the car stopped.
“Mark.”
“Whitney, please don’t start. Please just don’t-”
“Mark, why is the car stopped?”
“We’re out of gas,” Mica said in her calm angry voice.
“Mark?”
“Whitney, just-”
“Mark are we out of gas? Mica? Are you serious? Mark?”
“For fuck’s sake Whitney! Yes! We’re out of gas! I thought I could make it back to the highway, but I guess I was off a bit.”
“Jesus fuck Mark!” Whitney screamed. “What were you going to do then?”
“There’s a station there. I was going to fill up then.”
“Jesus Christ Mark! What the fuck? Didn’t your parents teach you not to run down your tank so low?”
“Says the girl without a car!” Mark shouted back.
“Yeah, and even I fucking know that ass hole. Shit, Mica, why are you so calm?”
“It’s happened before.”
The car went silent.
“It’s what?” Whitney said softly.
“Thanks for that hun,” Mark said.
Mica looked at him with dagger eyes.
“Really? I wouldn’t start shifting aggravations right now darling.”
“Mark, I’m not in a happy place right now. Mica, why do you date this looser anyway?”
“That’s a question worth visiting once we’re back on the road,” Mica said. “Right now it’s more important to find some gas.”
“Maybe we should go back to the print shop,” Mark offered.
Whitney swung a wide arc and slapped Mark hard behind his ear.
“I think that’s a no babe,” Mica said.
“I guess I’ll walk up the road to the station then,” Mark said.
“Have fun with that,” Whitney joked.
“No way,” Mica injected. “You’re not walking around this neighborhood alone.”
“Don’t you have AAA?”
“I don’t have a CD player Princess Moneybags.”
“Then y’all better start walkin’”
Mica smiled at Whitney.
“You’re not staying here alone either.”
“What?!” Whitney shouted.
“We’re all walking,” Mica said.
“The fuck I am.”
“Curse all you want, you’re not staying here alone. We stick together, and that means we’re all going to get gas.”
“But what about my car?” Mark protested.
“It’s out of gas darling,” Mica said sardonically.
“But my rims…” Mark argued.
“Jesus Mark, you drive a 20 year old Escort. No one wants your fucking hubcaps.”
There was a long moment of silence, then the 3 of them moving as 1 climbed out of the car and began walking quietly up the street towards the highway.
The station ended up being a full mile and a half away and they were sticky and exhausted when they got there. Mark had $8 on him which, after buying the gas can, only left $1.50 for actual gasoline. Mica paid another $5.50 which filled up the can and got them each a bottle of water.
“You’re a class act Mark!” Whitney whispered under her breath as Mica slid the cash under the 3 inch thick bulletproof glass that the attendant stood behind.
The 3 of them walked silently back towards the car, sipping their water and staring at the ground. About 5 minutes later they could no longer see the gas station behind them and the sun was starting to hug the tops of the buildings to their right.
They came to a 5 way intersection and a group of 5 boys acting like they wanted the world to think less of them. 4 were young black teenagers and the 5th was a white boy in his early 20s trying desperately to impress them. He was making pistols with his fingers and holding them sideways like he’d seen in the movies.
The black kids seemed unimpressed and were waving him off and mocking him. Mica and her group saw the scene and began making a wide arc around the intersection. The caucasian boy saw them and shouted.
“Awe, hey girlies, lookin’ fine. Why don’t you come over here and party?”
One of the black kids smacked him on the back of the head.
“You stupid pedo mother fucker, them are just kids.”
“Hey, old enough for me!” the white boy said and made grotesque gestures at the girls with his hips.
The 4 black kids all made various faces of disgust and left the intersection down a residential street. The white boy flipped them all the bird and started walking towards Mica and Whitney.
“Hey sugar, looks like more for me.”
The 3 of them avoided looking up at the thug and kept walking, but the white boy jogged up and stood in their path.
“How ‘bout it ladies? You wanna party?”
“Mark, you gonna do something?” Whitney asked.
Mark stepped forward and put up a hand.
“Why don’t you just leave us alone?”
“Us?” the thug said. “I ain’t talkin’ to your ass in any case white boy.”
Mark squinted confused.
“You’re white too.”
“Uh, you’re white too,” the gang banger said in a mockingly nasal voice.
“Just leave us-”
“Shut the fuck up!” the delinquent shouted in Mark’s face.
Mark reached a hand out and laid it on the boy’s shoulder. The kid went wide eyed crazy, blew a lungful of air out of pursed lips and cold cocked Mark square in the nose.
Blood sprayed across Mark’s face and the boy’s fist. Mark let out a deep guttural moan and collapsed to the ground. He screamed and sobbed holding his broken face. Whitney shrieked and turned to run, but the boy caught her by her uniform collar and threw her hard to the ground. Her head bounced hard off the rough concrete and a deep scarlet pool of blood began to form under her golden blonde hair.
Mica took a step backwards, fighting the urge to dart away and trying to keep her breath even like she’d been taught in her martial arts classes. The boy stepped forward twice as fast and reached and eager hand out for her hair. Mica grabbed his wrist with 2 hands, turned it, ducked under the arm and yanked it up behind his back. She heard a loud crack in his shoulder and a pop in his elbow and he screamed. She kept pulling until he dropped to his knees, then stepped back and kicked her heel hard into the back of his head. His body fell forward and she heard his nose crack against the pavement. She dropped down letting gravity take her full weight and landed her elbow straight on his limp spine and heard the sound of a thick tree branch breaking and the boy emptied his lungs all at once.
Mica layed there hyperventilating against the boy’s unmoving body. Soon there were police, then ambulances, then darkness and sleep. In the morning there was HER.
Chapter Three
The sunlight snuck in in skinny slices through sterile white vertical blinds. It made jaunty white lines across the equally blank white wall at the foot of Mica’s bed.
She found it odd to be waking up on her back. It was an unnatural position for her, and uncomfortable. She always slept on her side and woke up with her left hand numb from being tucked under the pillow in just the wrong way. Now she was on her back, left hand stretched out and away from her, but still with that familiar numbness.
She gave her arm a shake to try and get the blood moving, but found that she couldn’t move it more than an inch or two in any direction. It was stuck in place and there was something wrapped around it cutting off the circulation to her hand.
Groggely she tugged at her arm again with the same results, then opened her eyes to see what exactly she was stuck on. She had a headache and her body was sore and for a moment she wondered what had happened to make her ache all over so. Had she been in a car accident?
Then it happened. The rush of memory like waves crashing on the jagged rocks of reality. She bolted upright in bed, her hand stubbornly staying where it was and pulling painfully at the muscles and tendons in her elbow and shoulder.
She screamed.
She was in a tiny, sparse hospital room. There was a whiteboard at the foot of her bed with two names scribbled hastily in fading red marker. The bed was narrow and long with sturdy plastic rails on either side and a small remote near her right hand that had a single red button on it that said “Call”. Her left hand, still stuck where it had been since she woke up was attached to the left hand rail by heavy steel handcuffs.
Mica continued screaming as she looked around frantically trying to figure out where she was and how she had arrived there. She began pressing the call button over and over again while she screamed.
A moment later 2 nurses burst into the room putting hands on her, shouting numbers and meaningless words at each other. They were reading screens on machines and scratching messy letters on lined paper stuck to metal clipboards. A policeman stepped into the room, his right hand resting uneasy on his pistol, still holstered on his right hip, but unsettlingly unstrapped. He asked in an urgent tone if everything was alright. When no answer came back he seemed to evaluate the situation for himself and stepped back outside the room.
One of the nurses, the older one, put down her clipboard and took a seat on the edge of Mica’s bed. She grabbed her hands and pushed them gently into her lap and held them firmly. She began speaking very softly in a firm but caring voice while she stroked the backs of Mica’s hands.
“Mica.”
Mica’s eyes were wide and wild. She swung her head around in frantic stabby motions.
“Where am I? What happened? There was a man. He tried to- where’s Whitney? Where am I?”
The nurse put a soft hand on the side of Mica’s face and brought her eyes in line with her own.”
“Mica, you’re in City Hospital. You were in an altercation. You’re going to be alright, but I need you to calm down now.”
Mica took a couple heaping gulps of air and stopped screaming. She stared at the woman next to her and waited, waited for someone to tell her what was going on.
The officer who had been in the room earlier stepped back in now that the screaming had stopped.
“We all good in here?”
The nurse nodded without breaking her eye contact with Mica. The officer nodded silently and stepped back out into the hall. Mica heard the crackle of his radio and his voice saying 3-7-1 at City Hospital reporting. The girl is awake. Repeat the girl Mica Kole is awake.”
“It’s okay sweetheart. You’re alright. Just a minor concussion. You’re going to be okay.”
Mica breathed deeply. She wasn’t a doctor, but she had friends who had had concussions before from playing sports and never had she heard that it wasn’t a big deal.
“Where are my friends?” she asked. “Where are Whitney and Mark? Why am I handcuffed to the bed? Where are my parents? What’s going on?”
“Right now just rest,” the nurse said sweetly but forcefully. I’ll get someone who knows the answers to your questions soon, but please try and rest.”
Mica frowned.
“Where are my parents? Why aren’t they here?”
The nurse patted Mica’s hands.
“Your parents have been contacted. You’ll be able to see them soon, I promise. Just get some rest. You really need to rest.”
The nurse put a hand on Mica’s shoulder and stood up.
“I’ll get you some food.”
“But-”
The woman walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.
The food came about 20 minutes later, but still with no answers. No one could, or would, say what had happened to her or her friends, why she was handcuffed, and why she couldn’t talk to her parents. That was the strangest part. Her parents were what is commonly called helicopter parents. If she was 15 minutes late getting home they would be calling everyone in the school directory trying to find her. There is just no way that she could be so seriously hurt in an altercation like she had been in without her parents beating her to the hospital and standing watch over her until she was 100% better. Also, she was under 18 so Mica was pretty sure it was illegal for the hospital to refuse her requests to speak with her parents, yet that is exactly what they had done over and over again since she had woken up here.
After she had finished eating she pressed the call button to have the nurse come and retrieve the tray. This time when she came in Mica would not let her leave without letting her talk with her parents, but instead of the nurse, the police officer opened the door and stepped into the room. He gave a quick look around and nodded to himself. He walked up to the bed and took Mica’s left hand in his hands and inspected the handcuffs. He gave a tug at the bracelet around her wrist and another at the one around the bed rail. Once he was satisfied that they were secure he grabbed her food tray and headed towards the door.
“Hey, thanks for the help there. I was worried they were getting loose,” Mica shouted at him.
The cop didn’t react, he just carried the tray and disappeared out the door.
“Everyone here is so helpful,” she said under her breath.
As the door to her room swung shut it was stopped at the halfway mark and swung back open in a long slow arc. As it opened a new woman walked into the room. Mica had never seen this woman before, but she knew for sure that she wasn’t a doctor or a nurse. In fact, she was certain that this woman didn’t work for the hospital at all. This woman didn’t look like a woman who helped people, she looked like a woman who owned them.
She was tall, but not overly so. Just above average she’d have said, but that was the only thing close to average about her. She was beautiful, devastatingly so, but with an icy quality that was intimidating and bordering on frightening. She had long shapely legs that jutted out of a form fitting skirt that ended just above her knees. Her blouse was black silk and sleeveless with a neckline that was professional, but only just. Her skin was tan and smooth and taut against her collarbone and her slender neck was interrupted by a black choker band that somehow defied the odds and made her look sophisticated instead of slutty. She had high cheekbones dusted conservatively with rouge and black horn rimmed glasses that enhanced her deep brown eyes.
Mica shuddered. In her life she had never seen a woman, a person, who walked so casually but carried such authority. She had no idea who this woman was, but she knew one thing; she was scared of her.
“Mica, I’m State’s Attorney Autumn Faraday,” the lady said in a voice as sweet as Mica had ever heard, but a tone that was cold at December steel.
Mica tried to speak, but she found herself choking on her words unable to articulate anything useful.
“Don’t worry young lady, you’ll have plenty of time to talk, for now, why don’t you just listen.”
Mica stared back unmoving, unresponsive.
“Good, as I said, I’m S.A. Faraday. I know you’ve been asking a lot of questions, and I’ll do my best to answer them as soon as I get some answers of my own. Does that make sense?”
Mica’s mouth was dry and she was feeling light headed. She felt her heart starting to race and she was beginning to sweat.
“My-” she coughed. “My, parents. Can I see my parents first.”
The woman smiled.
“I can’t legally stop you from seeing your parents seeing as how you’re under 18, and God knows they are eager to see you, but why don’t you listen to what I have to say and then decide if you want to see them first or not.”
Mica frowned. She couldn’t think of anything that would make her want to wait to see her parents. She took a deep breath, but the woman cut her off.
“Trust me Mica, there’s 2 ways this moment can go and you’re going to prefer to hear what they are before you go making choices you can’t take back.”
“What’s going on?” Mica choked out.
The woman pulled up a chair and sat down. She crossed her legs and her arms and leaned back in the seat.
“Mica, you’re in the hospital because you suffered a head injury during an altercation yesterday afternoon on the South Side of the city. You’re handcuffed because during that altercation you assaulted and killed an undercover police officer.”
Mica’s heart stopped. She felt her face drain of it’s blood and her whole body went cold. The woman sitting across from her seemed to disappear down a long tunnel. Her face was blurry and indistinguishable and her voice was thin and hollow as if it were very far away.
“My friends,” Mica started, but couldn’t put the rest of it together.
“Your friends,” the woman stated coldly. “Whitney Hemsath died this morning due to complications surrounding the head injury she sustained. Mark Farley is stable, but in a medically induced coma while he is recovering from his injuries.”
Mica felt like she was going to throw up. She didn’t remember Mark getting hurt that bad. A bump on the head, probably a concussion like she had, but she couldn’t see how that would wind him up in a coma.
“Mica, here is your choice. This is the moment that will decide the rest of your life. I need you to listen very carefully, and think very clearly. Do you think you can do that?”
Mica couldn’t move, she couldn’t think at all let alone clearly. What was happening? How was this the moment that would decide her whole life?
“Mica, I need you to nod your head if you understand me.”
Mica nodded.
“Good. Listen closely. I can go out into the waiting room right now and get your parents. I can bring them in here and with them as witnesses I can call in the officer from earlier. I’ll give you a moment with them, and then, in front of your mother and your father I will place you under arrest for the attempted purchase of heroin, and the murder of an undercover police officer.”
Mica’s eyes went wild. She opened her mouth to scream at this woman, to tell her that she never tried to buy any heroin. That she was trying to avoid the whole situation. That she was protecting herself and her friends, but the woman uncrossed her arms and held up her hand.
“That’s what I’ll do. You can say what you like, but you have nothing to contradict me and I have a lot of evidence, including statements from the other young men who were there at the time of the altercation.”
Mica’s mouth shut and she felt the room start to spin.
“So that’s option A,” the woman said. “Now, option B is I call that nice officer in here now, before I get your parents, and he uncuffs you. We get you set up nice and straight, clean you up a bit, call your parents in here and send you home to enjoy your senior year of High School.”
Mica frowned and looked bewildered.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
Autumn crossed her arms again.
“It’s simple Mica, either you choose now to spend the rest of your life in prison for murder, or you choose to go home with mommy and daddy. Is that too much to wrap your brain around?”
“But-” Mica’s voice was soft and horse.
“Oh, right, the but” the woman said. “The ‘but’ is that if you choose to go home, choose to leave this dreadful mistake you made in the past, if you choose that path the luggage that comes with it is that you will work for me. I lost a good officer at your hands Mica, so it’s up to you to replace him.”
Mica bit her lower lip.
“You want me to become a police officer?”
The woman laughed.
“No, Mica. Not a police officer. I need you for something special, but here’s the thing Mica, you need to do everything I ask, no questions. Also, you can never tell anyone, ANYONE, that you work for me or what you do, and if you do, if you tell anyone, even a single sole, I’ll put you in prison for life, I’ll seek the death penalty, I will leave your parents childless and alone wondering where they went wrong.”
Mica couldn’t breathe.
“So what is it kid? Shall I call in your parents and read you your rights, or shall we get that officer in here to uncuff you?”
Mica stared at Autumn with fear and disbelief.
“Mica?”
She nodded.
“Good choice girl. Good choice.”
The sunlight snuck in in skinny slices through sterile white vertical blinds. It made jaunty white lines across the equally blank white wall at the foot of Mica’s bed.
She found it odd to be waking up on her back. It was an unnatural position for her, and uncomfortable. She always slept on her side and woke up with her left hand numb from being tucked under the pillow in just the wrong way. Now she was on her back, left hand stretched out and away from her, but still with that familiar numbness.
She gave her arm a shake to try and get the blood moving, but found that she couldn’t move it more than an inch or two in any direction. It was stuck in place and there was something wrapped around it cutting off the circulation to her hand.
Groggely she tugged at her arm again with the same results, then opened her eyes to see what exactly she was stuck on. She had a headache and her body was sore and for a moment she wondered what had happened to make her ache all over so. Had she been in a car accident?
Then it happened. The rush of memory like waves crashing on the jagged rocks of reality. She bolted upright in bed, her hand stubbornly staying where it was and pulling painfully at the muscles and tendons in her elbow and shoulder.
She screamed.
She was in a tiny, sparse hospital room. There was a whiteboard at the foot of her bed with two names scribbled hastily in fading red marker. The bed was narrow and long with sturdy plastic rails on either side and a small remote near her right hand that had a single red button on it that said “Call”. Her left hand, still stuck where it had been since she woke up was attached to the left hand rail by heavy steel handcuffs.
Mica continued screaming as she looked around frantically trying to figure out where she was and how she had arrived there. She began pressing the call button over and over again while she screamed.
A moment later 2 nurses burst into the room putting hands on her, shouting numbers and meaningless words at each other. They were reading screens on machines and scratching messy letters on lined paper stuck to metal clipboards. A policeman stepped into the room, his right hand resting uneasy on his pistol, still holstered on his right hip, but unsettlingly unstrapped. He asked in an urgent tone if everything was alright. When no answer came back he seemed to evaluate the situation for himself and stepped back outside the room.
One of the nurses, the older one, put down her clipboard and took a seat on the edge of Mica’s bed. She grabbed her hands and pushed them gently into her lap and held them firmly. She began speaking very softly in a firm but caring voice while she stroked the backs of Mica’s hands.
“Mica.”
Mica’s eyes were wide and wild. She swung her head around in frantic stabby motions.
“Where am I? What happened? There was a man. He tried to- where’s Whitney? Where am I?”
The nurse put a soft hand on the side of Mica’s face and brought her eyes in line with her own.”
“Mica, you’re in City Hospital. You were in an altercation. You’re going to be alright, but I need you to calm down now.”
Mica took a couple heaping gulps of air and stopped screaming. She stared at the woman next to her and waited, waited for someone to tell her what was going on.
The officer who had been in the room earlier stepped back in now that the screaming had stopped.
“We all good in here?”
The nurse nodded without breaking her eye contact with Mica. The officer nodded silently and stepped back out into the hall. Mica heard the crackle of his radio and his voice saying 3-7-1 at City Hospital reporting. The girl is awake. Repeat the girl Mica Kole is awake.”
“It’s okay sweetheart. You’re alright. Just a minor concussion. You’re going to be okay.”
Mica breathed deeply. She wasn’t a doctor, but she had friends who had had concussions before from playing sports and never had she heard that it wasn’t a big deal.
“Where are my friends?” she asked. “Where are Whitney and Mark? Why am I handcuffed to the bed? Where are my parents? What’s going on?”
“Right now just rest,” the nurse said sweetly but forcefully. I’ll get someone who knows the answers to your questions soon, but please try and rest.”
Mica frowned.
“Where are my parents? Why aren’t they here?”
The nurse patted Mica’s hands.
“Your parents have been contacted. You’ll be able to see them soon, I promise. Just get some rest. You really need to rest.”
The nurse put a hand on Mica’s shoulder and stood up.
“I’ll get you some food.”
“But-”
The woman walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.
The food came about 20 minutes later, but still with no answers. No one could, or would, say what had happened to her or her friends, why she was handcuffed, and why she couldn’t talk to her parents. That was the strangest part. Her parents were what is commonly called helicopter parents. If she was 15 minutes late getting home they would be calling everyone in the school directory trying to find her. There is just no way that she could be so seriously hurt in an altercation like she had been in without her parents beating her to the hospital and standing watch over her until she was 100% better. Also, she was under 18 so Mica was pretty sure it was illegal for the hospital to refuse her requests to speak with her parents, yet that is exactly what they had done over and over again since she had woken up here.
After she had finished eating she pressed the call button to have the nurse come and retrieve the tray. This time when she came in Mica would not let her leave without letting her talk with her parents, but instead of the nurse, the police officer opened the door and stepped into the room. He gave a quick look around and nodded to himself. He walked up to the bed and took Mica’s left hand in his hands and inspected the handcuffs. He gave a tug at the bracelet around her wrist and another at the one around the bed rail. Once he was satisfied that they were secure he grabbed her food tray and headed towards the door.
“Hey, thanks for the help there. I was worried they were getting loose,” Mica shouted at him.
The cop didn’t react, he just carried the tray and disappeared out the door.
“Everyone here is so helpful,” she said under her breath.
As the door to her room swung shut it was stopped at the halfway mark and swung back open in a long slow arc. As it opened a new woman walked into the room. Mica had never seen this woman before, but she knew for sure that she wasn’t a doctor or a nurse. In fact, she was certain that this woman didn’t work for the hospital at all. This woman didn’t look like a woman who helped people, she looked like a woman who owned them.
She was tall, but not overly so. Just above average she’d have said, but that was the only thing close to average about her. She was beautiful, devastatingly so, but with an icy quality that was intimidating and bordering on frightening. She had long shapely legs that jutted out of a form fitting skirt that ended just above her knees. Her blouse was black silk and sleeveless with a neckline that was professional, but only just. Her skin was tan and smooth and taut against her collarbone and her slender neck was interrupted by a black choker band that somehow defied the odds and made her look sophisticated instead of slutty. She had high cheekbones dusted conservatively with rouge and black horn rimmed glasses that enhanced her deep brown eyes.
Mica shuddered. In her life she had never seen a woman, a person, who walked so casually but carried such authority. She had no idea who this woman was, but she knew one thing; she was scared of her.
“Mica, I’m State’s Attorney Autumn Faraday,” the lady said in a voice as sweet as Mica had ever heard, but a tone that was cold at December steel.
Mica tried to speak, but she found herself choking on her words unable to articulate anything useful.
“Don’t worry young lady, you’ll have plenty of time to talk, for now, why don’t you just listen.”
Mica stared back unmoving, unresponsive.
“Good, as I said, I’m S.A. Faraday. I know you’ve been asking a lot of questions, and I’ll do my best to answer them as soon as I get some answers of my own. Does that make sense?”
Mica’s mouth was dry and she was feeling light headed. She felt her heart starting to race and she was beginning to sweat.
“My-” she coughed. “My, parents. Can I see my parents first.”
The woman smiled.
“I can’t legally stop you from seeing your parents seeing as how you’re under 18, and God knows they are eager to see you, but why don’t you listen to what I have to say and then decide if you want to see them first or not.”
Mica frowned. She couldn’t think of anything that would make her want to wait to see her parents. She took a deep breath, but the woman cut her off.
“Trust me Mica, there’s 2 ways this moment can go and you’re going to prefer to hear what they are before you go making choices you can’t take back.”
“What’s going on?” Mica choked out.
The woman pulled up a chair and sat down. She crossed her legs and her arms and leaned back in the seat.
“Mica, you’re in the hospital because you suffered a head injury during an altercation yesterday afternoon on the South Side of the city. You’re handcuffed because during that altercation you assaulted and killed an undercover police officer.”
Mica’s heart stopped. She felt her face drain of it’s blood and her whole body went cold. The woman sitting across from her seemed to disappear down a long tunnel. Her face was blurry and indistinguishable and her voice was thin and hollow as if it were very far away.
“My friends,” Mica started, but couldn’t put the rest of it together.
“Your friends,” the woman stated coldly. “Whitney Hemsath died this morning due to complications surrounding the head injury she sustained. Mark Farley is stable, but in a medically induced coma while he is recovering from his injuries.”
Mica felt like she was going to throw up. She didn’t remember Mark getting hurt that bad. A bump on the head, probably a concussion like she had, but she couldn’t see how that would wind him up in a coma.
“Mica, here is your choice. This is the moment that will decide the rest of your life. I need you to listen very carefully, and think very clearly. Do you think you can do that?”
Mica couldn’t move, she couldn’t think at all let alone clearly. What was happening? How was this the moment that would decide her whole life?
“Mica, I need you to nod your head if you understand me.”
Mica nodded.
“Good. Listen closely. I can go out into the waiting room right now and get your parents. I can bring them in here and with them as witnesses I can call in the officer from earlier. I’ll give you a moment with them, and then, in front of your mother and your father I will place you under arrest for the attempted purchase of heroin, and the murder of an undercover police officer.”
Mica’s eyes went wild. She opened her mouth to scream at this woman, to tell her that she never tried to buy any heroin. That she was trying to avoid the whole situation. That she was protecting herself and her friends, but the woman uncrossed her arms and held up her hand.
“That’s what I’ll do. You can say what you like, but you have nothing to contradict me and I have a lot of evidence, including statements from the other young men who were there at the time of the altercation.”
Mica’s mouth shut and she felt the room start to spin.
“So that’s option A,” the woman said. “Now, option B is I call that nice officer in here now, before I get your parents, and he uncuffs you. We get you set up nice and straight, clean you up a bit, call your parents in here and send you home to enjoy your senior year of High School.”
Mica frowned and looked bewildered.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
Autumn crossed her arms again.
“It’s simple Mica, either you choose now to spend the rest of your life in prison for murder, or you choose to go home with mommy and daddy. Is that too much to wrap your brain around?”
“But-” Mica’s voice was soft and horse.
“Oh, right, the but” the woman said. “The ‘but’ is that if you choose to go home, choose to leave this dreadful mistake you made in the past, if you choose that path the luggage that comes with it is that you will work for me. I lost a good officer at your hands Mica, so it’s up to you to replace him.”
Mica bit her lower lip.
“You want me to become a police officer?”
The woman laughed.
“No, Mica. Not a police officer. I need you for something special, but here’s the thing Mica, you need to do everything I ask, no questions. Also, you can never tell anyone, ANYONE, that you work for me or what you do, and if you do, if you tell anyone, even a single sole, I’ll put you in prison for life, I’ll seek the death penalty, I will leave your parents childless and alone wondering where they went wrong.”
Mica couldn’t breathe.
“So what is it kid? Shall I call in your parents and read you your rights, or shall we get that officer in here to uncuff you?”
Mica stared at Autumn with fear and disbelief.
“Mica?”
She nodded.
“Good choice girl. Good choice.”
Chapter Four
Mica stepped out of the enormous gothic arch that surrounded the front doors of her high school. The sun was high in the clear blue sky and the magnolia tree that stood in the middle of the small grass oval at the center of the circle driveway in front of the school was starting to show tiny pink buds on its dense thicket of branches. It was the last day of school before the start of spring break and Mica was looking forward to a week of decompression and rejuvenation. Senior year had been daunting thus far, more so than she had expected and a respite from term papers, college applications, and the relentless efforts of her parents, teachers, and peers to pin her down to a life plan was just what she needed.
The beginning of the year had been so devastating, with the assault on the south side, the loss of her friend Whitney and her boyfriend’s lapse into a coma from which he still hadn’t recovered; added to that was the looming threat of The Woman. That’s how Mica thought of her, Autumn Faraday was simply The Woman.
For weeks Mica had waited, living on pins and needles, ready for the moment that The Woman would show up wanting her for whatever it was she had planned. Mica laid awake at night trying to imagine what kind of work it was The Woman wanted her for. Clearly it wasn’t anything good, and Mica assumed it was something decidedly bad. Why else would she have insisted on such secrecy with such severe penalties for revealing their association. The question that haunted Mica was a matter of degree. Bad to what extent would the request be?
Mica doubted that it would be anything illegal, The Woman was, after all, a lawyer and a law enforcement officer of the court. Legality aside though, there were things that were bad; immoral or perhaps dangerous that would still fall inside the letter of the law. The not knowing of it all was brutal and bordered on torture.
As the weeks went on though she began to worry less. She hadn’t heard from The Woman since she had walked out of the hospital and as weeks turned into months the anxiety subsided until, finally, she had days that passed without even thinking of The Woman. Soon days of peace turned into weeks of it and now as she walked out of school for a week of teenage frivolity she realized it had been more than a month since The Woman and her ominous demands had even crossed her mind.
She still thought of her absent friends daily and she visited Mark in the hospital every Saturday night, but the connection of that day and its events to The Woman had faded in her consciousness and she was beginning to let herself believe that the day that The Woman came to collect would never come.
Mica smiled and lifted her face to the warm spring sun. She reveled in the greenery of the returning grass and the leaves budding on the trees and thought deliciously of a week without worry. She was so intoxicated by the imagined days ahead that she walked right into the hood of the long black Jaguar parked at the end of the circle drive.
Her hands came down hard on the soft glossy steel of the car and for a split second she thought she had dented the gorgeous shell of a machine that cost more than her dad made in a year. She backed up frantically, her palms up and waving in front of her.
“Oh my God, I’m so so sorry,” she said over and over.
The car was running and it’s windows were up and tinted almost to mirrors. The man in the driver’s seat wore a plain black suit with a flat topped cap that suggested to Mica that he was most likely the valet and not the owner of the vehicle. He looked up at Mica, squinted slightly and nodded. He opened his door and stepped out of the car, but rather than inspect the spot that still had the foggy outlines of Mica’s handprints on the otherwise flawless hood, he stepped back and opened the rear driver’s side door.
“Oh, no,” Mica said. “I’m sorry for running into you, but I don’t need a-”
She was cut off by a sugary sweet voice that poured out of the open door like honey out of a bear shaped bottle.
“It’s okay Mica. You can get in. We’ll give you a ride home.”
Mica felt like someone had suddenly pumped ice water into her arteries. A long and agonizing shiver ran down her neck and through her spine. She threw up a little in her mouth. The voice felt sticky in her mind, like tree sap you can’t wash off your hands with soap and water. She took another step backwards, away from the car and swallowed hard, feeling a jagged rock like lump in her throat.
“That’s the wrong direction Mica. Come on, it’s a beautiful day. We’ll take a ride in the country and talk.”
It crossed her mind to turn and run, but there was no way she could outrun the car, and Mica doubted that The Woman would have been careless enough to bring a driver that couldn’t hold his own against any moves that Mica might try and use in her own self defense. Instead she just stood there, blankly staring at the open door and trying to will herself to do something.
After a moment an exasperated sigh rolled out of the dark hole in the car and a pair of long legs in sheer black stockings and slender heels poured out. The Woman was dressed considerably different this time in a tight fitting black dress that left little to the imagination in terms of her form. She had on a long necklace with large gleaming white pearls and a black summer hat with a wide flat brim. Her lips were painted a light glossy pink and her long manicured fingernails matched them exactly.
“Mica darling,” she said in the tone of a mother who has asked a chore of a child one time more than she has patience for. “As you can see, I have somewhere to be, so if you would please hop in the car so we can have our chat and I can move on with my day, I would greatly appreciate it. Otherwise I’ll have to have Pete here put you in the car and then you’ll have to figure out a convincing excuse as to why a man was shoving you in the back of a black Jaguar when you get home tonight.”
Pete took a step towards Mica and interlaced his fingers before cracking each of his knuckles one at a time. Mica felt her face go cold and clammy. Her skin felt like a thick rubber mask pulled loosely over her skull and still sagging at the corners, and weighing down her whole head. She was shaking now, and the whole world seemed small and very far away.
The Woman sighed again and shrugged. She nodded towards Mica and Pete gave a crooked smile and took another step towards her. Mica panicked. She took another step backwards and waved her hands in surrender. Pete stopped walking and Mica crept slowly past him and slid into the back seat of the car.
When she was inside the car the door slammed shut and Pete climbed back behind the steering wheel. He shut his door and put the car in gear and they pulled smoothly away from the school. Mica felt trapped. The inside of the car was spacious enough, and was exceedingly luxurious with black leather and deep walnut appointments, but it was dark and she felt as though the ceiling was closing in on her.
“How have you been?” The Woman asked.
Mica looked back at her bewildered.
“It’s been a while,” she went on. “It’s your senior year right? That’s a big deal. Have you had any fun? Have you made any memories?”
“Mostly ones I’d like to forget,” Mica managed to get out.
“I see,” The Woman said sweetly. “Mica, I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve tried to stay away, to give you space. I know what you went through was difficult and I wanted to give you the time you needed to recover; both physically and emotionally, but I’m in a spot now and I need to call in my condition. I need your help Mica.”
Mica stared back in utter astonishment. The Woman spoke so sweetly. So sincerely. She spoke with the tone of a person who felt terrible about an inconvenience she was imposing. Mica thought it sounded like The Woman really was sorry. She found herself almost feeling bad for The Woman, almost wanting to help her.
“So here’s my pickle dear,” The Woman said. “I’ve been in the process of prosecuting this very bad man. He is thirty-six years old and he raped his son’s sixteen year old babysitter. Pretty brutally too. He put her in the hospital for four weeks.
“Thankfully she was able to identify him and he should be going to prison for the rest of his life, but his wife, for reasons I can’t begin to fathom, has given him an alibi. That, with the fact that the M.E. found ecstasy in her blood at the time of the rape kit gave the jury reasonable doubt. They let him off. Scott free. No punishment at all.”
Mica stared blankly.
“Right,” The Woman continued. “So, yeah, this guy is going to walk away after doing this, this, unspeakable thing to this young woman. An act that she is going to carry with her for the rest of her life, and there is nothing I can do about it.”
Mica’s face contorted into an expression of panic and confusion.
“So, what do you want me to do?” she asked.
The Woman smiled. She reached down and stuck her hand into her purse that was sitting between her feet on the floor. When her hand came back out it was holding a sleek looking black handgun. It was almost aerodynamic looking and smelled of steel and oil. The Woman placed it on the seat of the car between herself and Mica.
“Well Mica,” she said. “I’d like you to kill him.”
Mica stepped out of the enormous gothic arch that surrounded the front doors of her high school. The sun was high in the clear blue sky and the magnolia tree that stood in the middle of the small grass oval at the center of the circle driveway in front of the school was starting to show tiny pink buds on its dense thicket of branches. It was the last day of school before the start of spring break and Mica was looking forward to a week of decompression and rejuvenation. Senior year had been daunting thus far, more so than she had expected and a respite from term papers, college applications, and the relentless efforts of her parents, teachers, and peers to pin her down to a life plan was just what she needed.
The beginning of the year had been so devastating, with the assault on the south side, the loss of her friend Whitney and her boyfriend’s lapse into a coma from which he still hadn’t recovered; added to that was the looming threat of The Woman. That’s how Mica thought of her, Autumn Faraday was simply The Woman.
For weeks Mica had waited, living on pins and needles, ready for the moment that The Woman would show up wanting her for whatever it was she had planned. Mica laid awake at night trying to imagine what kind of work it was The Woman wanted her for. Clearly it wasn’t anything good, and Mica assumed it was something decidedly bad. Why else would she have insisted on such secrecy with such severe penalties for revealing their association. The question that haunted Mica was a matter of degree. Bad to what extent would the request be?
Mica doubted that it would be anything illegal, The Woman was, after all, a lawyer and a law enforcement officer of the court. Legality aside though, there were things that were bad; immoral or perhaps dangerous that would still fall inside the letter of the law. The not knowing of it all was brutal and bordered on torture.
As the weeks went on though she began to worry less. She hadn’t heard from The Woman since she had walked out of the hospital and as weeks turned into months the anxiety subsided until, finally, she had days that passed without even thinking of The Woman. Soon days of peace turned into weeks of it and now as she walked out of school for a week of teenage frivolity she realized it had been more than a month since The Woman and her ominous demands had even crossed her mind.
She still thought of her absent friends daily and she visited Mark in the hospital every Saturday night, but the connection of that day and its events to The Woman had faded in her consciousness and she was beginning to let herself believe that the day that The Woman came to collect would never come.
Mica smiled and lifted her face to the warm spring sun. She reveled in the greenery of the returning grass and the leaves budding on the trees and thought deliciously of a week without worry. She was so intoxicated by the imagined days ahead that she walked right into the hood of the long black Jaguar parked at the end of the circle drive.
Her hands came down hard on the soft glossy steel of the car and for a split second she thought she had dented the gorgeous shell of a machine that cost more than her dad made in a year. She backed up frantically, her palms up and waving in front of her.
“Oh my God, I’m so so sorry,” she said over and over.
The car was running and it’s windows were up and tinted almost to mirrors. The man in the driver’s seat wore a plain black suit with a flat topped cap that suggested to Mica that he was most likely the valet and not the owner of the vehicle. He looked up at Mica, squinted slightly and nodded. He opened his door and stepped out of the car, but rather than inspect the spot that still had the foggy outlines of Mica’s handprints on the otherwise flawless hood, he stepped back and opened the rear driver’s side door.
“Oh, no,” Mica said. “I’m sorry for running into you, but I don’t need a-”
She was cut off by a sugary sweet voice that poured out of the open door like honey out of a bear shaped bottle.
“It’s okay Mica. You can get in. We’ll give you a ride home.”
Mica felt like someone had suddenly pumped ice water into her arteries. A long and agonizing shiver ran down her neck and through her spine. She threw up a little in her mouth. The voice felt sticky in her mind, like tree sap you can’t wash off your hands with soap and water. She took another step backwards, away from the car and swallowed hard, feeling a jagged rock like lump in her throat.
“That’s the wrong direction Mica. Come on, it’s a beautiful day. We’ll take a ride in the country and talk.”
It crossed her mind to turn and run, but there was no way she could outrun the car, and Mica doubted that The Woman would have been careless enough to bring a driver that couldn’t hold his own against any moves that Mica might try and use in her own self defense. Instead she just stood there, blankly staring at the open door and trying to will herself to do something.
After a moment an exasperated sigh rolled out of the dark hole in the car and a pair of long legs in sheer black stockings and slender heels poured out. The Woman was dressed considerably different this time in a tight fitting black dress that left little to the imagination in terms of her form. She had on a long necklace with large gleaming white pearls and a black summer hat with a wide flat brim. Her lips were painted a light glossy pink and her long manicured fingernails matched them exactly.
“Mica darling,” she said in the tone of a mother who has asked a chore of a child one time more than she has patience for. “As you can see, I have somewhere to be, so if you would please hop in the car so we can have our chat and I can move on with my day, I would greatly appreciate it. Otherwise I’ll have to have Pete here put you in the car and then you’ll have to figure out a convincing excuse as to why a man was shoving you in the back of a black Jaguar when you get home tonight.”
Pete took a step towards Mica and interlaced his fingers before cracking each of his knuckles one at a time. Mica felt her face go cold and clammy. Her skin felt like a thick rubber mask pulled loosely over her skull and still sagging at the corners, and weighing down her whole head. She was shaking now, and the whole world seemed small and very far away.
The Woman sighed again and shrugged. She nodded towards Mica and Pete gave a crooked smile and took another step towards her. Mica panicked. She took another step backwards and waved her hands in surrender. Pete stopped walking and Mica crept slowly past him and slid into the back seat of the car.
When she was inside the car the door slammed shut and Pete climbed back behind the steering wheel. He shut his door and put the car in gear and they pulled smoothly away from the school. Mica felt trapped. The inside of the car was spacious enough, and was exceedingly luxurious with black leather and deep walnut appointments, but it was dark and she felt as though the ceiling was closing in on her.
“How have you been?” The Woman asked.
Mica looked back at her bewildered.
“It’s been a while,” she went on. “It’s your senior year right? That’s a big deal. Have you had any fun? Have you made any memories?”
“Mostly ones I’d like to forget,” Mica managed to get out.
“I see,” The Woman said sweetly. “Mica, I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve tried to stay away, to give you space. I know what you went through was difficult and I wanted to give you the time you needed to recover; both physically and emotionally, but I’m in a spot now and I need to call in my condition. I need your help Mica.”
Mica stared back in utter astonishment. The Woman spoke so sweetly. So sincerely. She spoke with the tone of a person who felt terrible about an inconvenience she was imposing. Mica thought it sounded like The Woman really was sorry. She found herself almost feeling bad for The Woman, almost wanting to help her.
“So here’s my pickle dear,” The Woman said. “I’ve been in the process of prosecuting this very bad man. He is thirty-six years old and he raped his son’s sixteen year old babysitter. Pretty brutally too. He put her in the hospital for four weeks.
“Thankfully she was able to identify him and he should be going to prison for the rest of his life, but his wife, for reasons I can’t begin to fathom, has given him an alibi. That, with the fact that the M.E. found ecstasy in her blood at the time of the rape kit gave the jury reasonable doubt. They let him off. Scott free. No punishment at all.”
Mica stared blankly.
“Right,” The Woman continued. “So, yeah, this guy is going to walk away after doing this, this, unspeakable thing to this young woman. An act that she is going to carry with her for the rest of her life, and there is nothing I can do about it.”
Mica’s face contorted into an expression of panic and confusion.
“So, what do you want me to do?” she asked.
The Woman smiled. She reached down and stuck her hand into her purse that was sitting between her feet on the floor. When her hand came back out it was holding a sleek looking black handgun. It was almost aerodynamic looking and smelled of steel and oil. The Woman placed it on the seat of the car between herself and Mica.
“Well Mica,” she said. “I’d like you to kill him.”
Chapter Five
The car rolled to a stop in front of Mica’s building. Neither Mica nor The Woman had said anything for some time, now they sat next to each other silent, sitting in the weight of the last words, each of them waiting for the other to say something first. The sun was getting lower in the sky and it shone through the windshield giving the car’s interior a strange otherworldly glow that made the silence seem somehow louder than it had been before. Finally Mica spoke.
“Ms. Faraday, I don’t think I-”
The Woman held up her hand silencing Mica.
“Mica, I wasn’t kidding about what I said back in the hospital that day. I will send you to death row. I know that sounds harsh. I know that you can’t believe I’d really do it, but I will and I promise you you don’t want to test me.”
Mica convulsed and her eyes began spilling huge tears down her cheeks. She felt all the world rolling over her, pushing her guts up through her chest and out her throat.
“Mica, you were able to to it to my officer, you killed him with your bare hands. This is a bad man and you don’t even have to get close. Ten feet away and you pull a little trigger. You’ll barely feel the gun go pop.”
Mica shook her head and wiped her face with her open palms.
“That was different,” she shouted. “He attacked us. He was going to hurt me, I was just defending myself.”
The Woman nodded.
“So you say, but it seems unlikely to me that an undercover police officer would attack a couple of innocent high school kids unprovoked. Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore. We’re past the time of choices, now we are in the time of action. There’s going to be an action now Mica, either you’re action or mine. Either you pick up this gun and kill the man like I’ve asked you to, or I call my office and we get an arrest warrant issued for you and you get a needle in your arm.”
Mica was shaking and her vision was blurry through the onslaught of tears that kept overflowing out of her eyes like a sink left on too long.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “You’re a lawyer, one of the good guys. Why are you asking for this. Why. Why would you want me to-”
The Woman put a hand on Mica’s shoulder.
“There are reasons. Maybe they’re even good reasons. Maybe they’re not. I really couldn’t say anymore, but Mica, they’re my reasons. For you, reasons don’t matter. What matters to you is that I tell you what to do and you do it.”
The Woman’s voice was calm, smooth and without any sense of agitation, but it carried a finality as well. There wasn’t going to be any arguing. Mica had stopped crying now, but her face was red and swollen and she still felt that crushing pressure in her chest. Her mouth tasted sour and her teeth were covered in a sickening film like you get after you’ve been throwing up. She looked at The Woman, stared at her with fear and hate and felt a final sob wrestle it’s way up her throat.
Mica gave a single nod.
The Woman tapped the headrest on the front passenger seat and the driver opened his door and stepped out. A moment later Mica’s door opened. The woman again reached into her bag, this time producing a small flip style cell phone. She held it out to Mica.
“From now on this is the only way you will hear from me. If we ever see each other again it will because I’m standing across from you asking a jury to put you to death.”
Mica grabbed the phone.
“Keep it charged and keep it on,” The Woman said in the most threatening voice she had used with Mica thus far in their entire relationship.
Mica climbed out of the car and turned to walk away.
“Mica!”
She paused. She turned around and saw The Woman sitting cross legged in the back of her Jag holding out the small sleek pistol in Mica’s direction. Mica took a step towards the car, reached her arm out and slammed the car door. The driver stared at her a moment then climbed back into the car and shut his door. After another moment the car rolled away down her street. Mica stuffed the small cell phone in her jeans pocket and walked in the front door of her apartment building.
The car rolled to a stop in front of Mica’s building. Neither Mica nor The Woman had said anything for some time, now they sat next to each other silent, sitting in the weight of the last words, each of them waiting for the other to say something first. The sun was getting lower in the sky and it shone through the windshield giving the car’s interior a strange otherworldly glow that made the silence seem somehow louder than it had been before. Finally Mica spoke.
“Ms. Faraday, I don’t think I-”
The Woman held up her hand silencing Mica.
“Mica, I wasn’t kidding about what I said back in the hospital that day. I will send you to death row. I know that sounds harsh. I know that you can’t believe I’d really do it, but I will and I promise you you don’t want to test me.”
Mica convulsed and her eyes began spilling huge tears down her cheeks. She felt all the world rolling over her, pushing her guts up through her chest and out her throat.
“Mica, you were able to to it to my officer, you killed him with your bare hands. This is a bad man and you don’t even have to get close. Ten feet away and you pull a little trigger. You’ll barely feel the gun go pop.”
Mica shook her head and wiped her face with her open palms.
“That was different,” she shouted. “He attacked us. He was going to hurt me, I was just defending myself.”
The Woman nodded.
“So you say, but it seems unlikely to me that an undercover police officer would attack a couple of innocent high school kids unprovoked. Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore. We’re past the time of choices, now we are in the time of action. There’s going to be an action now Mica, either you’re action or mine. Either you pick up this gun and kill the man like I’ve asked you to, or I call my office and we get an arrest warrant issued for you and you get a needle in your arm.”
Mica was shaking and her vision was blurry through the onslaught of tears that kept overflowing out of her eyes like a sink left on too long.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “You’re a lawyer, one of the good guys. Why are you asking for this. Why. Why would you want me to-”
The Woman put a hand on Mica’s shoulder.
“There are reasons. Maybe they’re even good reasons. Maybe they’re not. I really couldn’t say anymore, but Mica, they’re my reasons. For you, reasons don’t matter. What matters to you is that I tell you what to do and you do it.”
The Woman’s voice was calm, smooth and without any sense of agitation, but it carried a finality as well. There wasn’t going to be any arguing. Mica had stopped crying now, but her face was red and swollen and she still felt that crushing pressure in her chest. Her mouth tasted sour and her teeth were covered in a sickening film like you get after you’ve been throwing up. She looked at The Woman, stared at her with fear and hate and felt a final sob wrestle it’s way up her throat.
Mica gave a single nod.
The Woman tapped the headrest on the front passenger seat and the driver opened his door and stepped out. A moment later Mica’s door opened. The woman again reached into her bag, this time producing a small flip style cell phone. She held it out to Mica.
“From now on this is the only way you will hear from me. If we ever see each other again it will because I’m standing across from you asking a jury to put you to death.”
Mica grabbed the phone.
“Keep it charged and keep it on,” The Woman said in the most threatening voice she had used with Mica thus far in their entire relationship.
Mica climbed out of the car and turned to walk away.
“Mica!”
She paused. She turned around and saw The Woman sitting cross legged in the back of her Jag holding out the small sleek pistol in Mica’s direction. Mica took a step towards the car, reached her arm out and slammed the car door. The driver stared at her a moment then climbed back into the car and shut his door. After another moment the car rolled away down her street. Mica stuffed the small cell phone in her jeans pocket and walked in the front door of her apartment building.
Chapter Six
It was his third slice of pizza and Lt. Don Lorah didn’t feel good about it at all. It wasn’t that he felt bad about eating three pieces. The man was six foot five inches tall and built like an Abrams Tank. His fellow officers on the force joked that Angel Armor used Don to protect their bullet proof vests. No, he could eat a pizza and a half and he wouldn’t gain or lose a pound; what he was upset about was that this was gluten free vegan pizza and the principal of the thing turned his stomach.
He hated it. It tasted like cardboard smeared with bad ketchup, the kind that come in the small single serve packets at your third tier fast food joints, and topped with sawdust. He hated it, but he loved his daughter, and ever since her uncle, his brother, had died of a serious heart attack last year, she’d been insistent on them cleaning up their diet.
“It doesn’t matter how big your pecs are dad, cholesterol can kill you as fast as a bullet,” was her new favorite mantra.
So now he ate this, and meat free hot dogs, egg-less scrambled eggs and drank water instead of Coke. If he could have only one of them back it would be the Coke. A cold Coca Cola on a hot day was like the goddess Venus tongue kissing you. Water tasted like drinking someone else’s sweat, but he did it and he didn’t complain.
Tonight he was eating it in his car. Not his squad car, his personal car. It was becoming a routine for him of late, and he wasn’t really sure how much longer it would go on. It couldn’t go on forever, his daughter was already asking why he was home late every night. She assumed he had a girlfriend, and no matter how much he denied it she still kept at it?
“Will you be home on time tonight, or are you having dinner with Claudia again?”
Claudia was today’s name. Yesterday it was Phyllis and the day before it had been Amy. Don wasn’t sure if she was just having fun, or if the detective’s gene had gotten into her blood and she was honestly trying to deduce who he was spending time with. He just smiled and said he might have to work a little late. The truth is, there was someone, just not a girl.
Scott was the name of the man. Six months ago he had come home drunk from a night out with friends. His wife had been working late at the hospital where she was a nurse, and the babysitter, a sweet girl of sixteen, had fallen asleep on the sofa. Scott came in, and seeing her sleeping, had forced himself on her. When she woke up and tried to resist he punched her in the face breaking her nose and right eye socket as well as his own hand.. Then he finished himself before climbing off of her. Then he dragged her bloody unconscious body out of his house and dumped her in the park behind his back yard.
When a man walking his dog found her lying in the grass, jeans on the ground and panties torn he called 911. Twenty minutes later she was in intensive care at the ER and Don was pulling up to go in and take her statement.
He looked at the young girl lying there in that hospital bed, her face purple and brown and yellow, tubes running in and out of her in all kinds of places and thought about his own daughter. He thought about her babysitting for the neighbors, and then friends of the neighbors, and then friends of theirs. He realized at that moment that he let her go into homes of people he didn’t know. Strangers’ homes, late at night, that this could be his daughter.
He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. He took her hand in his and held it, silently. He sat there with her until her parents arrived and then he sat with them. He sat with them and held their hands and told them that he was going to get the man who did this to her. He promised them that the man would pay. That he would never ever get to do this to anyone else ever again. He promised.
Then he broke that promise. The man’s wife somehow alibied her husband. She said that he had come to have dinner with her at the hospital and wasn’t home until after the girl was found. She said, with a straight face, that the girl was unreliable and probably had a boy over who did it. It didn’t help that the Medical Examiner had found traces of what may have been ecstasy in her blood. Inconclusive evidence, but that and the wife’s lies and a good lawyer and the man, that filthy vomit bag of a human being, got to walk out of court a free man and that poor girl got to live the rest of her life knowing that no one cared what he did to her.
So now Don spent his nights in his car, sitting outside the man’s house, following him to the grocery store, parent teacher conferences, and far too regularly the strip club. He spent his nights making sure that he wasn’t hurting other women, other girls. He spent his nights eating vegan pizza in the driver’s seat of his car watching the scum of the earth living a life he didn’t deserve. He spent his nights keeping his promise.
Tonight had been quiet. The man was at home, his wife was out and had the kid with her. He could see the glow of the television in the family room from the windows in the front of the house. He could see Scott every time he walked across the room to get another beer from the fridge. He was bored, but his anger still overwhelmed the boredom and kept him focused.
How long could he keep doing this? How long could he keep his promise to that babysitter who would never be able to trust a man again? He didn’t know, but for now the answer was for tonight.
The sun was creeping down behind the houses leaving an ironically beautiful scene around the neighborhood when he saw her. She was walking, coming up the sidewalk in a manner of manufactured casualness. This was something he was used to seeing. People, sometimes even completely innocent people, seemed to feel the need to act overly casual around police officers. They see a cop car and drive one mile under the speed limit. They walk with their hands hanging awkwardly at their sides or look straight ahead rather than allowing the natural movement that comes to us all when we walk. People are always acting that way around him, but this was odd. Odd because he was in his personal car. He didn’t think she could see him inside the car and the car itself was nothing that would draw anyone’s attention.
He watched the girl walk up the sidewalk and stop in front of Scott’s house. She stared at it for a long time. She was young, high school for sure. She was thin and very pretty with long red hair tied back in a plain ponytail. She was dressed casually too, not to impress for sure. Simple bell bottom jeans, tennis shoes and a t-shirt for a brother/sister rock band that was popular a few years ago. She didn’t have a purse on her, or a backpack, which Don thought odd for a girl of that age.
After a few moments of staring at the house she walked up to the front door and rang the bell. There was a moment’s pause, then the porch light came on and Don could see Scott walking with a slight sway to the door. The door opened and the girl started saying something. Scott stared at her with slight confusion at first, then a smile spread across his face. He shook his head. She said something else and he shook his head again, still smiling with a slimy expression.
Then the girl, fast as lightning, spun sideways and raised her leg and kicked the door open with a force that shattered Don’s mind. Quickly he turned the car off and opened the door and jumped out, but before he could even cross the street the girl had walked into the house and shut the door behind her.
It was his third slice of pizza and Lt. Don Lorah didn’t feel good about it at all. It wasn’t that he felt bad about eating three pieces. The man was six foot five inches tall and built like an Abrams Tank. His fellow officers on the force joked that Angel Armor used Don to protect their bullet proof vests. No, he could eat a pizza and a half and he wouldn’t gain or lose a pound; what he was upset about was that this was gluten free vegan pizza and the principal of the thing turned his stomach.
He hated it. It tasted like cardboard smeared with bad ketchup, the kind that come in the small single serve packets at your third tier fast food joints, and topped with sawdust. He hated it, but he loved his daughter, and ever since her uncle, his brother, had died of a serious heart attack last year, she’d been insistent on them cleaning up their diet.
“It doesn’t matter how big your pecs are dad, cholesterol can kill you as fast as a bullet,” was her new favorite mantra.
So now he ate this, and meat free hot dogs, egg-less scrambled eggs and drank water instead of Coke. If he could have only one of them back it would be the Coke. A cold Coca Cola on a hot day was like the goddess Venus tongue kissing you. Water tasted like drinking someone else’s sweat, but he did it and he didn’t complain.
Tonight he was eating it in his car. Not his squad car, his personal car. It was becoming a routine for him of late, and he wasn’t really sure how much longer it would go on. It couldn’t go on forever, his daughter was already asking why he was home late every night. She assumed he had a girlfriend, and no matter how much he denied it she still kept at it?
“Will you be home on time tonight, or are you having dinner with Claudia again?”
Claudia was today’s name. Yesterday it was Phyllis and the day before it had been Amy. Don wasn’t sure if she was just having fun, or if the detective’s gene had gotten into her blood and she was honestly trying to deduce who he was spending time with. He just smiled and said he might have to work a little late. The truth is, there was someone, just not a girl.
Scott was the name of the man. Six months ago he had come home drunk from a night out with friends. His wife had been working late at the hospital where she was a nurse, and the babysitter, a sweet girl of sixteen, had fallen asleep on the sofa. Scott came in, and seeing her sleeping, had forced himself on her. When she woke up and tried to resist he punched her in the face breaking her nose and right eye socket as well as his own hand.. Then he finished himself before climbing off of her. Then he dragged her bloody unconscious body out of his house and dumped her in the park behind his back yard.
When a man walking his dog found her lying in the grass, jeans on the ground and panties torn he called 911. Twenty minutes later she was in intensive care at the ER and Don was pulling up to go in and take her statement.
He looked at the young girl lying there in that hospital bed, her face purple and brown and yellow, tubes running in and out of her in all kinds of places and thought about his own daughter. He thought about her babysitting for the neighbors, and then friends of the neighbors, and then friends of theirs. He realized at that moment that he let her go into homes of people he didn’t know. Strangers’ homes, late at night, that this could be his daughter.
He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. He took her hand in his and held it, silently. He sat there with her until her parents arrived and then he sat with them. He sat with them and held their hands and told them that he was going to get the man who did this to her. He promised them that the man would pay. That he would never ever get to do this to anyone else ever again. He promised.
Then he broke that promise. The man’s wife somehow alibied her husband. She said that he had come to have dinner with her at the hospital and wasn’t home until after the girl was found. She said, with a straight face, that the girl was unreliable and probably had a boy over who did it. It didn’t help that the Medical Examiner had found traces of what may have been ecstasy in her blood. Inconclusive evidence, but that and the wife’s lies and a good lawyer and the man, that filthy vomit bag of a human being, got to walk out of court a free man and that poor girl got to live the rest of her life knowing that no one cared what he did to her.
So now Don spent his nights in his car, sitting outside the man’s house, following him to the grocery store, parent teacher conferences, and far too regularly the strip club. He spent his nights making sure that he wasn’t hurting other women, other girls. He spent his nights eating vegan pizza in the driver’s seat of his car watching the scum of the earth living a life he didn’t deserve. He spent his nights keeping his promise.
Tonight had been quiet. The man was at home, his wife was out and had the kid with her. He could see the glow of the television in the family room from the windows in the front of the house. He could see Scott every time he walked across the room to get another beer from the fridge. He was bored, but his anger still overwhelmed the boredom and kept him focused.
How long could he keep doing this? How long could he keep his promise to that babysitter who would never be able to trust a man again? He didn’t know, but for now the answer was for tonight.
The sun was creeping down behind the houses leaving an ironically beautiful scene around the neighborhood when he saw her. She was walking, coming up the sidewalk in a manner of manufactured casualness. This was something he was used to seeing. People, sometimes even completely innocent people, seemed to feel the need to act overly casual around police officers. They see a cop car and drive one mile under the speed limit. They walk with their hands hanging awkwardly at their sides or look straight ahead rather than allowing the natural movement that comes to us all when we walk. People are always acting that way around him, but this was odd. Odd because he was in his personal car. He didn’t think she could see him inside the car and the car itself was nothing that would draw anyone’s attention.
He watched the girl walk up the sidewalk and stop in front of Scott’s house. She stared at it for a long time. She was young, high school for sure. She was thin and very pretty with long red hair tied back in a plain ponytail. She was dressed casually too, not to impress for sure. Simple bell bottom jeans, tennis shoes and a t-shirt for a brother/sister rock band that was popular a few years ago. She didn’t have a purse on her, or a backpack, which Don thought odd for a girl of that age.
After a few moments of staring at the house she walked up to the front door and rang the bell. There was a moment’s pause, then the porch light came on and Don could see Scott walking with a slight sway to the door. The door opened and the girl started saying something. Scott stared at her with slight confusion at first, then a smile spread across his face. He shook his head. She said something else and he shook his head again, still smiling with a slimy expression.
Then the girl, fast as lightning, spun sideways and raised her leg and kicked the door open with a force that shattered Don’s mind. Quickly he turned the car off and opened the door and jumped out, but before he could even cross the street the girl had walked into the house and shut the door behind her.
Chapter Seven
Mica stood at the end of the sidewalk that led up to the man’s house. She stood and stared at the house with an empty mind. She wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen next, wasn’t sure because she didn’t really know why she was here. The whole mess that led her to this spot, to this small three foot by three foot square of cement poured into the ground in front of this nondescript home in a middle class neighborhood, the whole mess was too much for her brain to process.
She took a breath. Then another. Then another. She had to remind herself not to hyperventilate.
He was bad. She told herself that over and over again. He was bad and it was okay for him to pay for what he had done to that girl. The woman had sent her pictures. Blurry snapshots of court documents that showed the girl's face, her skull, her elbows where she’d been dragged across the pavement.
Mica closed her eyes and saw them. She saw them but not as they really were. When she saw them she saw Whitney’s face. Whitney, her friend who’s only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whitney would never get to go to her senior prom, graduation, college, her wedding. Her whole life cut short because they had run out of gas.
She opened her eyes and looked at the house. Perhaps this man did deserve to die. Maybe the system had failed that girl and maybe Mica was the only way that those poor parents would have justice. That girl that also had her life destroyed by a man. She may not have died, but he still took her life. Mica felt her face harden.
She strode up to the front door of the small home and, once again, paused. This was it. This was the moment that would decide. Either she turned around now, walked back down the path and back out of the neighborhood, back onto the L train and back to her own home, or she rang the bell and come what may.
She rang the bell.
For a moment nothing happened. She thought perhaps he wasn’t home, or maybe he was asleep. What then? She wasn’t leaving and coming back. If she left now it was over. If she walked away she would throw the small flip phone in a public trash can, go home, lock the doors to her house and-
The porch light came on.
Mica looked up just in time to see the door open about half way and a man lean his head out. He was, well, handsome almost. He was in good shape and wore a fitted t-shirt that let you know he had a flat stomach without being nauseating, clinging to each and every ab muscle. His hair was short and well groomed. He had five o’clock shadow, but legitimately, not on purpose. If Mica had seen him on the street she might have given him a second look.
“Can I help you?” he said with a slightly confused look on his face.
Mica felt a chill run down her spine and it made her shiver. She tried to cover it up with a casual smile.
“Maybe,” she said. “Are you Scott?”
His eyes narrowed and he gave a subtle glance from side to side.
“Yeah,” he said hesitantly.
“Oh, hi there,” Mica said trying to hard to sound casual. “Uh, is your wife home Scott?”
The man hesitated, then a grin cracked across his face like the plaster of a settling house. He leaned against the door frame in a confident manner and shook his head.
“No, no she’s not.”
Mica felt her blood go icy and suddenly the man ceased to be anything close to handsome. Suddenly his whole being became repugnant and disgusting.
“Is your son here?” she asked trying to choke back her own vomit.
His smile grew wider and he shook his head again.
“Nope. Just me here. Well, just us I guess.”
The world seemed to collapse around Mica and Scott, the hideous monster in front of her seemed to vanish down a long dark tunnel. She felt flame rising up her cheeks and setting her scalp on fire. She felt needles hanging out of every pore in her skin and acid filling up her mouth. Her breath was hot and acrid and her eyes felt as though they were bulging out of her sockets. Suddenly the tunnel vision collapsed and Scott seemed to be hurtling towards her with that sickening sadistic grin smeared across his face, and her body snapped like a spring coiled too tight.
She didn’t think about it. It was complete reflex. Her body pulled into itself and she pivoted, then exploded. Her left leg sprang out and she felt the heel of her foot crash into the heavy oak door in front of her. There was the sound of air leaving the man’s lungs and the crash of his body hitting the floor behind him while the door crashed into the inside wall.
Mica centered herself. She looked down at the man lying on the floor. He was disoriented but conscious and regaining his composure quickly. She sensed some other movement around her but pushed it away. She focused on the man like a laser on a sniper’s rifle and stepped over the threshold into the house. The man was on his knees now, leaning against the wall trying to get his eyes to focus.
Mica took a quick step forward and threw her fist into his nose.
The cartilage inside his face broke easily under the pressure of her closed hand, but the bone in his face was sturdy and hard and she felt the thin bone in her middle finger crack. She winced and turned momentarily to close the front door.
When she turned back the man was on his feet, blood pouring down his face and covering his mouth and chin. He was wobbly on his feet, but his eyes were on fire and his lips were smeared in a ghoulish smile. He laughed and as he did the blood ran from his open mouth and dripped on his shirt and shoes.
“You’re a spunky one,” he said.
Mica’s face was contorted into a war like jack o'lantern that made the man’s smarmy smile diminish ever so slightly. She took a step forward and he countered stepping back. She threw a punch, but he flinched and she missed her target. She threw another and he caught it with his left hand.
The man laughed deeply.
“Ya know, I teach girls like you. I teach them this. Self defense, down at the gym. You’re not bad, not bad at all, but defense is very different from assault.”
Mica growled and rushed at him bringing her knee up to meet his groin. He stopped it easily and slipped his arm under her knee bringing it up to his chest. Mica felt herself leave the floor and wriggled violently to break the man’s grip, but it was no use.
“I bet you’re a black belt,” he said with what sounded like genuine admiration. “First degree right? I’m a third degree myself. Been doing it since I was six. You are really very very pretty.”
Mica shrieked and screamed. She shook and fought and swung her head at him in spastic jabs.
“You’re going to be really really fun to-”
The front door frame shattered into splinters and the door flew right off it’s hinges. In the square box of darkness stood a towering creature roaring in anger. The man dropped Mica and she fell flat on the floor slamming her head on the tile of the entryway. The beast stormed into the room and breathed fire from his eyes. The man screamed, took one step and fell to the floor in a heap. Mica screamed and stared up at the gargantuan monster, and then mercifully, the world went black.
Mica stood at the end of the sidewalk that led up to the man’s house. She stood and stared at the house with an empty mind. She wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen next, wasn’t sure because she didn’t really know why she was here. The whole mess that led her to this spot, to this small three foot by three foot square of cement poured into the ground in front of this nondescript home in a middle class neighborhood, the whole mess was too much for her brain to process.
She took a breath. Then another. Then another. She had to remind herself not to hyperventilate.
He was bad. She told herself that over and over again. He was bad and it was okay for him to pay for what he had done to that girl. The woman had sent her pictures. Blurry snapshots of court documents that showed the girl's face, her skull, her elbows where she’d been dragged across the pavement.
Mica closed her eyes and saw them. She saw them but not as they really were. When she saw them she saw Whitney’s face. Whitney, her friend who’s only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whitney would never get to go to her senior prom, graduation, college, her wedding. Her whole life cut short because they had run out of gas.
She opened her eyes and looked at the house. Perhaps this man did deserve to die. Maybe the system had failed that girl and maybe Mica was the only way that those poor parents would have justice. That girl that also had her life destroyed by a man. She may not have died, but he still took her life. Mica felt her face harden.
She strode up to the front door of the small home and, once again, paused. This was it. This was the moment that would decide. Either she turned around now, walked back down the path and back out of the neighborhood, back onto the L train and back to her own home, or she rang the bell and come what may.
She rang the bell.
For a moment nothing happened. She thought perhaps he wasn’t home, or maybe he was asleep. What then? She wasn’t leaving and coming back. If she left now it was over. If she walked away she would throw the small flip phone in a public trash can, go home, lock the doors to her house and-
The porch light came on.
Mica looked up just in time to see the door open about half way and a man lean his head out. He was, well, handsome almost. He was in good shape and wore a fitted t-shirt that let you know he had a flat stomach without being nauseating, clinging to each and every ab muscle. His hair was short and well groomed. He had five o’clock shadow, but legitimately, not on purpose. If Mica had seen him on the street she might have given him a second look.
“Can I help you?” he said with a slightly confused look on his face.
Mica felt a chill run down her spine and it made her shiver. She tried to cover it up with a casual smile.
“Maybe,” she said. “Are you Scott?”
His eyes narrowed and he gave a subtle glance from side to side.
“Yeah,” he said hesitantly.
“Oh, hi there,” Mica said trying to hard to sound casual. “Uh, is your wife home Scott?”
The man hesitated, then a grin cracked across his face like the plaster of a settling house. He leaned against the door frame in a confident manner and shook his head.
“No, no she’s not.”
Mica felt her blood go icy and suddenly the man ceased to be anything close to handsome. Suddenly his whole being became repugnant and disgusting.
“Is your son here?” she asked trying to choke back her own vomit.
His smile grew wider and he shook his head again.
“Nope. Just me here. Well, just us I guess.”
The world seemed to collapse around Mica and Scott, the hideous monster in front of her seemed to vanish down a long dark tunnel. She felt flame rising up her cheeks and setting her scalp on fire. She felt needles hanging out of every pore in her skin and acid filling up her mouth. Her breath was hot and acrid and her eyes felt as though they were bulging out of her sockets. Suddenly the tunnel vision collapsed and Scott seemed to be hurtling towards her with that sickening sadistic grin smeared across his face, and her body snapped like a spring coiled too tight.
She didn’t think about it. It was complete reflex. Her body pulled into itself and she pivoted, then exploded. Her left leg sprang out and she felt the heel of her foot crash into the heavy oak door in front of her. There was the sound of air leaving the man’s lungs and the crash of his body hitting the floor behind him while the door crashed into the inside wall.
Mica centered herself. She looked down at the man lying on the floor. He was disoriented but conscious and regaining his composure quickly. She sensed some other movement around her but pushed it away. She focused on the man like a laser on a sniper’s rifle and stepped over the threshold into the house. The man was on his knees now, leaning against the wall trying to get his eyes to focus.
Mica took a quick step forward and threw her fist into his nose.
The cartilage inside his face broke easily under the pressure of her closed hand, but the bone in his face was sturdy and hard and she felt the thin bone in her middle finger crack. She winced and turned momentarily to close the front door.
When she turned back the man was on his feet, blood pouring down his face and covering his mouth and chin. He was wobbly on his feet, but his eyes were on fire and his lips were smeared in a ghoulish smile. He laughed and as he did the blood ran from his open mouth and dripped on his shirt and shoes.
“You’re a spunky one,” he said.
Mica’s face was contorted into a war like jack o'lantern that made the man’s smarmy smile diminish ever so slightly. She took a step forward and he countered stepping back. She threw a punch, but he flinched and she missed her target. She threw another and he caught it with his left hand.
The man laughed deeply.
“Ya know, I teach girls like you. I teach them this. Self defense, down at the gym. You’re not bad, not bad at all, but defense is very different from assault.”
Mica growled and rushed at him bringing her knee up to meet his groin. He stopped it easily and slipped his arm under her knee bringing it up to his chest. Mica felt herself leave the floor and wriggled violently to break the man’s grip, but it was no use.
“I bet you’re a black belt,” he said with what sounded like genuine admiration. “First degree right? I’m a third degree myself. Been doing it since I was six. You are really very very pretty.”
Mica shrieked and screamed. She shook and fought and swung her head at him in spastic jabs.
“You’re going to be really really fun to-”
The front door frame shattered into splinters and the door flew right off it’s hinges. In the square box of darkness stood a towering creature roaring in anger. The man dropped Mica and she fell flat on the floor slamming her head on the tile of the entryway. The beast stormed into the room and breathed fire from his eyes. The man screamed, took one step and fell to the floor in a heap. Mica screamed and stared up at the gargantuan monster, and then mercifully, the world went black.
Chapter Eight
Lt. Lorah moved like a gorilla. Gorillas are large and solid and heavy, but move surprisingly quickly when it’s required of them. Don sprinted across the street, not even taking the time to close the door to his car on the way out.
That girl, what was she thinking? What the hell would motivate a girl of that age to try and attack a grown man in fantastic shape? Clearly she was a friend of the girl he attacked. Clearly she was trying to avenge her friend, but what would make her think that she could accomplish that, and if she did how did she plan to get away with it?
Don jumped over the curb of the street catching his toe on the raised concrete barrier. He stumbled a moment but caught his footing and dashed up the walk leading to the stoop.
He thought of the girl, the last girl. He thought about her lying in that hospital bed. About holding her hand and looking into her swollen eyes. He thought about her parents and making them promises. He thought about the way they looked at him and pleaded for some kind of understanding. He thought about his daughter, sweet and kind and always looking to do her part. He thought again about her walking into strangers’ homes to watch strangers’ kids and he saw her face on the girl’s body lying in that hospital bed.
He bounded up the two stairs to the low porch in front of the house. He leaned briefly to the side and peered into the front window. He saw the man holding this new girl’s closed fist in his hand. He saw her expertly pivot and bring her knee up to pound his balls into his throat, but then Scott blocked her with a downward swipe of an open palm. His hand moved up and slipped effortlessly under her knee and he lifted her off the floor like a basket of dirty laundry.
The girl squirmed and fought and tried like mad to free herself, but Scott had her and he wasn’t going to be letting go. Don saw a sickening grin spread across his face like ink soaking into expensive stationary and he was saying something to her.
Don felt the blood in his body swell and he felt like it was going to burst out his ears. His right hand drew the weapon from his holster on his hip and a scream escaped his throat like water crashing through a broken dam. He stepped back and raised his right foot in the air and letting gravity do it’s job he dropped it hard onto the door right next to the door knob.
The door blasted open spraying timber pieces all over the room. The door itself tumbled like a gaming die off it’s hinges and onto the stairs to the left of the doorway. Don roared as he stepped through the hole in the wall and both the girl and the man stopped and stared at him.
The man was in bad shape. Blood was pouring out of his nose and down his face. His shirt was soaked in blood and his face was already starting to swell into shapes that reminded Don of the creature Sloth from the movie The Goonies. He was breathing hard and smiling a terrible horrific smile while his eyes glowed with hellish intensity.
The girl actually looked okay so far. Clearly she had been a greater threat than Don had given her credit for, but she was still helpless and snared in the man’s pythonic arms.
After a moment of hesitation the man dropped the girl like a bag of flour on the floor and stepped backwards to run. The sweet redhead hit the floor with a thud and Don heard her head crack on the ceramic tile beneath them. He raised his service weapon and unloaded the full clip into the man, still facing him.
Scott fell like a rock and sprawled out on the floor spilling blood the color of strawberry jam across the white tile. The girl groaned and looked up at him as he took a slow and hesitant step towards her. As he got a little closer he saw her eyes roll back into her skull and her head dropped back onto the ground.
Don approached gently. He put two fingers on her neck to check for a pulse, and on finding one, he scooped her up and carried her out of the house and put her in his car. He thought long and hard about just leaving. Driving away and letting that monster rot on his own entryway floor, but he had shot him with his official police issue gun. Those rounds would be instantly identifiable. He couldn’t just walk away.
He looked at the sleeping girl in his passenger seat and wondered so many things. Who was she? Why had she come here? He couldn’t put her though what was about to happen. She had been like his angel. A sacrificial child who put herself in harm's way so that he could do what he needed to to keep his promises forever. He needed to help her now. He needed to protect her, not just from the physical danger, but from the trauma of what would come next.
He stared at her for a long time deciding what to do, then he picked up his phone and called his station desk.
Lt. Lorah moved like a gorilla. Gorillas are large and solid and heavy, but move surprisingly quickly when it’s required of them. Don sprinted across the street, not even taking the time to close the door to his car on the way out.
That girl, what was she thinking? What the hell would motivate a girl of that age to try and attack a grown man in fantastic shape? Clearly she was a friend of the girl he attacked. Clearly she was trying to avenge her friend, but what would make her think that she could accomplish that, and if she did how did she plan to get away with it?
Don jumped over the curb of the street catching his toe on the raised concrete barrier. He stumbled a moment but caught his footing and dashed up the walk leading to the stoop.
He thought of the girl, the last girl. He thought about her lying in that hospital bed. About holding her hand and looking into her swollen eyes. He thought about her parents and making them promises. He thought about the way they looked at him and pleaded for some kind of understanding. He thought about his daughter, sweet and kind and always looking to do her part. He thought again about her walking into strangers’ homes to watch strangers’ kids and he saw her face on the girl’s body lying in that hospital bed.
He bounded up the two stairs to the low porch in front of the house. He leaned briefly to the side and peered into the front window. He saw the man holding this new girl’s closed fist in his hand. He saw her expertly pivot and bring her knee up to pound his balls into his throat, but then Scott blocked her with a downward swipe of an open palm. His hand moved up and slipped effortlessly under her knee and he lifted her off the floor like a basket of dirty laundry.
The girl squirmed and fought and tried like mad to free herself, but Scott had her and he wasn’t going to be letting go. Don saw a sickening grin spread across his face like ink soaking into expensive stationary and he was saying something to her.
Don felt the blood in his body swell and he felt like it was going to burst out his ears. His right hand drew the weapon from his holster on his hip and a scream escaped his throat like water crashing through a broken dam. He stepped back and raised his right foot in the air and letting gravity do it’s job he dropped it hard onto the door right next to the door knob.
The door blasted open spraying timber pieces all over the room. The door itself tumbled like a gaming die off it’s hinges and onto the stairs to the left of the doorway. Don roared as he stepped through the hole in the wall and both the girl and the man stopped and stared at him.
The man was in bad shape. Blood was pouring out of his nose and down his face. His shirt was soaked in blood and his face was already starting to swell into shapes that reminded Don of the creature Sloth from the movie The Goonies. He was breathing hard and smiling a terrible horrific smile while his eyes glowed with hellish intensity.
The girl actually looked okay so far. Clearly she had been a greater threat than Don had given her credit for, but she was still helpless and snared in the man’s pythonic arms.
After a moment of hesitation the man dropped the girl like a bag of flour on the floor and stepped backwards to run. The sweet redhead hit the floor with a thud and Don heard her head crack on the ceramic tile beneath them. He raised his service weapon and unloaded the full clip into the man, still facing him.
Scott fell like a rock and sprawled out on the floor spilling blood the color of strawberry jam across the white tile. The girl groaned and looked up at him as he took a slow and hesitant step towards her. As he got a little closer he saw her eyes roll back into her skull and her head dropped back onto the ground.
Don approached gently. He put two fingers on her neck to check for a pulse, and on finding one, he scooped her up and carried her out of the house and put her in his car. He thought long and hard about just leaving. Driving away and letting that monster rot on his own entryway floor, but he had shot him with his official police issue gun. Those rounds would be instantly identifiable. He couldn’t just walk away.
He looked at the sleeping girl in his passenger seat and wondered so many things. Who was she? Why had she come here? He couldn’t put her though what was about to happen. She had been like his angel. A sacrificial child who put herself in harm's way so that he could do what he needed to to keep his promises forever. He needed to help her now. He needed to protect her, not just from the physical danger, but from the trauma of what would come next.
He stared at her for a long time deciding what to do, then he picked up his phone and called his station desk.
Chapter Nine
Mica woke to the steady rhythm of rain on glass. She was warm and dry and felt snug in what felt like an easy chair. She wasn’t sure where she was or how she had gotten there, but she felt safe. Safe, that is, until she opened her eyes.
Mica jolted up and found herself restrained. Not by the wrists, but by a seatbelt strapped across her lap and chest. She was in a car that she didn’t recognize and moving at a pretty rapid rate down the winding ribbon of road that wrapped along the lake and connected the north and south sides of the sprawling city.
Next to her was an enormous bearded man in a dark navy police uniform, but the car she was in was not a police cruiser, it was just an average run down twenty year old sedan. It had a tape deck in the radio and no CD player. It had cloth seats and a dusty beige dashboard. The doors, as far as she could tell, weren’t locked and the man behind the wheel had a relaxed and unthreatening manner to his body.
Mica jolted and tugged at the shoulder belt across her chest.
“What the fuck is going on?” she shouted at no one in particular. “Where the fuck am I? What happened?”
The man turned and looked at her with kind and understanding eyes, then turned back and gazed out the windshield as it was pelted with alligator tear raindrops.
Mica reached to unbuckle her seat belt.
“Please don’t do that,” the man’s voice was impossibly deep and sounded as though it was traveling through a hundred feet of underground cave. “It’s raining pretty hard and I’d hate to have anything happen to you if we had an accident.”
Mica let her hands fall into her lap, but she shifted in her seat, wedging herself against the passenger door as far from the driver as she could and turned so she was facing him. Her eyes were wide and alert and she felt like she was crouching at the edge of a very tall cliff.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He turned and looked at her again.
“I’m Lt. Don Lorah. I’m with the police.”
Mica squinted and inspected him. As they drove through the darkness, the rain smearing across the windows making shallow yellow rings from the street lights and headlights outside, the man fell into silhouette for a moment and Mica gasped.
“Oh my God!” She choked out. “It’s you, you’re- You’re the beast.”
Don turned and looked at her with serious confusion.
“The what?” he said indignantly.
“The- The beas- The monster,” she said. “You’re the one who burst in as I was fighting the man.”
Don nodded and chuckled.
“Fighting him? Is that what you were doing?”
Mica gave a wrinkled snyd grimace.
“Yes,” she said nastily. “I was fighting him.”
“It looked to me more like he was swinging you like a set of golf clubs.”
Mica relaxed just a little. She let herself sink back into the seat and faced forward staring out the front of the car.
“He was bleeding wasn’t he?” she said under her breath.
Don nodded.
“Yes he was. You must have gotten in a few good licks before he swept you off your feet.”
Mica sank into the seat a little.
“So where are we going now? To the station? Am I under arrest?”
“No,” Don said. “You’re not under arrest. I’m taking you home.”
Mica looked up at him.
“He’s not pressing charges?”
Don glared at her.
“What?” she said defensively.
“Young lady, the man you were fighting with is dead.”
Mica shot up in her seat again.
“Dead?” she shouted. “I killed him?”
Don glanced over at her and gave a big sigh. Then he put on his hazards and pulled the car over to the side of the road and set the transmission to park. He turned and looked at her.
“Young lady, what’s your name?”
Mica looked suspicious.
“Why?”
“What’s your name?” he said louder and with practiced authority.
“Mica,” she said. “Mica Kole.”
“Mica, Scott, the man that you were assaulting back at that house, he’s dead because I killed him. I did so in the line of duty. Protecting you. He’s dead because I fired my weapon and what I want now is to know what you were doing there?”
Mica stared at him in disbelief.
“I was ah…”
“Stop,” Don inserted. “Mica, it’s important that you understand, it’s a big deal when an officer fires his weapon. I have a lot of explaining to do now. A lot of paperwork and probably a disciplinary investigation since the target died. I stepped up to help you. To save your life, because the man who you were wrestling with, he would have killed you.”
Mica sank back down.
“I stepped up. I stopped him from hurting you. I got you out of there so that you weren’t connected to the scene, so you don’t have to go through the questions and the investigations. I stepped in to save your life, and now I want some, excuse me, but I want some fucking answers.”
Mica started to sob. She crumbled in the front seat of Don’s car and let all her pieces fall apart. She cried and cried and when there were no more tears to cry, she dry heaved into her hands. Don watched her with sympathetic eyes and an undying patience. When Mica finished. When she coughed out the last of her haggard breath and gulped in a long and cleansing final one, Don put his hand on her shoulder and spoke.
“Why were you there Mica?”
Mica woke to the steady rhythm of rain on glass. She was warm and dry and felt snug in what felt like an easy chair. She wasn’t sure where she was or how she had gotten there, but she felt safe. Safe, that is, until she opened her eyes.
Mica jolted up and found herself restrained. Not by the wrists, but by a seatbelt strapped across her lap and chest. She was in a car that she didn’t recognize and moving at a pretty rapid rate down the winding ribbon of road that wrapped along the lake and connected the north and south sides of the sprawling city.
Next to her was an enormous bearded man in a dark navy police uniform, but the car she was in was not a police cruiser, it was just an average run down twenty year old sedan. It had a tape deck in the radio and no CD player. It had cloth seats and a dusty beige dashboard. The doors, as far as she could tell, weren’t locked and the man behind the wheel had a relaxed and unthreatening manner to his body.
Mica jolted and tugged at the shoulder belt across her chest.
“What the fuck is going on?” she shouted at no one in particular. “Where the fuck am I? What happened?”
The man turned and looked at her with kind and understanding eyes, then turned back and gazed out the windshield as it was pelted with alligator tear raindrops.
Mica reached to unbuckle her seat belt.
“Please don’t do that,” the man’s voice was impossibly deep and sounded as though it was traveling through a hundred feet of underground cave. “It’s raining pretty hard and I’d hate to have anything happen to you if we had an accident.”
Mica let her hands fall into her lap, but she shifted in her seat, wedging herself against the passenger door as far from the driver as she could and turned so she was facing him. Her eyes were wide and alert and she felt like she was crouching at the edge of a very tall cliff.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He turned and looked at her again.
“I’m Lt. Don Lorah. I’m with the police.”
Mica squinted and inspected him. As they drove through the darkness, the rain smearing across the windows making shallow yellow rings from the street lights and headlights outside, the man fell into silhouette for a moment and Mica gasped.
“Oh my God!” She choked out. “It’s you, you’re- You’re the beast.”
Don turned and looked at her with serious confusion.
“The what?” he said indignantly.
“The- The beas- The monster,” she said. “You’re the one who burst in as I was fighting the man.”
Don nodded and chuckled.
“Fighting him? Is that what you were doing?”
Mica gave a wrinkled snyd grimace.
“Yes,” she said nastily. “I was fighting him.”
“It looked to me more like he was swinging you like a set of golf clubs.”
Mica relaxed just a little. She let herself sink back into the seat and faced forward staring out the front of the car.
“He was bleeding wasn’t he?” she said under her breath.
Don nodded.
“Yes he was. You must have gotten in a few good licks before he swept you off your feet.”
Mica sank into the seat a little.
“So where are we going now? To the station? Am I under arrest?”
“No,” Don said. “You’re not under arrest. I’m taking you home.”
Mica looked up at him.
“He’s not pressing charges?”
Don glared at her.
“What?” she said defensively.
“Young lady, the man you were fighting with is dead.”
Mica shot up in her seat again.
“Dead?” she shouted. “I killed him?”
Don glanced over at her and gave a big sigh. Then he put on his hazards and pulled the car over to the side of the road and set the transmission to park. He turned and looked at her.
“Young lady, what’s your name?”
Mica looked suspicious.
“Why?”
“What’s your name?” he said louder and with practiced authority.
“Mica,” she said. “Mica Kole.”
“Mica, Scott, the man that you were assaulting back at that house, he’s dead because I killed him. I did so in the line of duty. Protecting you. He’s dead because I fired my weapon and what I want now is to know what you were doing there?”
Mica stared at him in disbelief.
“I was ah…”
“Stop,” Don inserted. “Mica, it’s important that you understand, it’s a big deal when an officer fires his weapon. I have a lot of explaining to do now. A lot of paperwork and probably a disciplinary investigation since the target died. I stepped up to help you. To save your life, because the man who you were wrestling with, he would have killed you.”
Mica sank back down.
“I stepped up. I stopped him from hurting you. I got you out of there so that you weren’t connected to the scene, so you don’t have to go through the questions and the investigations. I stepped in to save your life, and now I want some, excuse me, but I want some fucking answers.”
Mica started to sob. She crumbled in the front seat of Don’s car and let all her pieces fall apart. She cried and cried and when there were no more tears to cry, she dry heaved into her hands. Don watched her with sympathetic eyes and an undying patience. When Mica finished. When she coughed out the last of her haggard breath and gulped in a long and cleansing final one, Don put his hand on her shoulder and spoke.
“Why were you there Mica?”
Chapter Ten
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to swim in the darkness for a while. She felt the heavy hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder. She heard the prattle of heavy rain on the windows and steel roof, and the ferocious whoosh of passing cars. She held her breath, she squeezed her fists and slowly she composed herself and began to think.
She surprised herself when her first thoughts were not of the dead man lying alone on the tile floor of his own home’s entryway, or the creature slash savior that had literally dragged her out of there lucky to be alive. No, her first thoughts were of her parents, at home in their warm kitchen, probably cooking the night’s supper. Heavy savory aromas filling the air and soft incandescent lighting wrapping everything in a comfortable Hallmark glow.
She thought of them and what they thought of her. Their sweet, perfect, overachiever daughter who always did the right thing and tried so hard to please them. Where did they think she was now? Could they even imagine it? What would they think if they knew what had happened. What had happened that day with Whitney and Mark, what had happened with The Woman in the hospital, in the car. What had happened in a stranger’s home tonight. What was happening right goddamn now.
Her breath got choppy again and she squeezed her eyelids together even tighter. She felt the last vestiges of her tears press out the corners of her eyes like the final drops of juice from a well pressed grape, ready to become wine.
Finally she let her mind turn to the events of the evening. She replayed the walk from the L stop to the brownstone house. She lingered in the memory of standing on the sidewalk deciding on her future. With trepidation she eased into her recollection of ringing the doorbell, and…
And that was it. That’s all she could remember with any honesty. She tried to skirt around the edges of the encounter. Tried peer in and grab glimpses of the fists and bruises and blood, but all she could see was that smirk. That sick oily smile that made her feel like he was going to eat her for dinner and lick the juices from his fingertips. That picture floated in her consciousness and burned her eyes behind her closed lids. It burned them, she could actually feel them burning, then-
Then the face was gone and in it’s place was The Beast. The Monster that blew down the door like the big bad wolf; roared and shot fire from it’s eyes and felled the man with the sound of thunder. His eyes, fierce but kind faded into view through the fog of silhouette and looked at Mica with an expression of understanding and compassion.
Mica rubbed her eyes with her thumbs and let out a long and stuttered sigh, then opened her eyes and looked up at the man that saved her life.
“You won’t believe me,” she said softly with a grave tone that carried the weight of her fear.
“Why don’t you try me?” Don said patiently.
Mica turned in her seat crossing her right leg over her left ankle.
“I’m going to. I’ll tell you, I’m just warning you now. You aren’t going to believe it.”
And she did.
And he didn’t.
“Do you know her?”
That’s what he kept asking.
“The other girl. The one who- the one he attacked. Do you know her? Is she a friend of yours?”
She kept shaking her head.
“No. I’ve told you a dozen times now. I don’t know her. I’ve never even met her. I don’t live around here. I don’t go to her school.”
He looked at her skeptically, and rephrased the question.
“Maybe at a party? An event outside of school? Maybe a friend of a friend?”
Mica slumped in the seat.
“Officer…”
“Lorah. Lieutenant Lorah,” he corrected.
She sighed.
“Lieutenant, I promise you, I’ve never met that poor girl. It’s awful what happened to her, but I promise, I swear to god and all things holy that I do not know her. Not at all.”
Don let out a long breath and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.
“Mica, I’m trying my best to understand what’s going on. You show up at this guy’s house. A guy who just recently was acquitted of a serious physical assault on a young woman close to your age. You claim you’ve never met the man or had any interaction with him or anyone who has. You ring his bell, and then without provocation you attack him with, as far as I can tell, the intent to kill him.”
He glances at Mica and she nods silently.
“But he’s never done anything to you personally.”
She shakes her head.
“Or anyone you know personally.”
“That’s right.”
“Okay, but you know what he did? You were familiar with him and what he’s been accused of. Familiar before you visited him.”
“I’ve read about it,” Mica said in an exhausted voice.
“Right, but you don’t know her. The other girl. The one he assaulted. You’ve never even met her?”
“That’s right.”
Don ran his fingers through his hair and gripped and pulled at the muscles in the back of his neck.
“So what? Was it like, I don’t know, the principal of the thing? Just righting a wrong that society let slide? ‘Cause I gotta say Mica, you don’t look like the vigilante type. No cape. No cowl.”
Mica stared out her rain streaked window and felt herself giving up.
“Lieutenant, I told you what happened. I told you you weren’t going to believe me, but I told you anyway.”
Don took a breath to speak, but Mica didn’t let him get a word in.
“I appreciate what you did for me tonight. I don’t think I’ve said that yet. Thank you. Thank you so much for being there, for not leaving me to die. Thank you for risking your own life and your career to save my life. Thank you for getting me out of there so I didn’t have to face whatever it is that’s coming next. Seriously, with all my heart, thank you.”
Mica turned and looked him right in the eyes.
“But Don, I’ve told you why I was there and who sent me, and there’s nothing else I can say or do to help you understand. You don’t have to believe me. I can’t make you, and honestly I didn’t expect you to in the first place, but my story isn’t changing and I have no more evidence to persuade you, so, unfortunately we are at the point now where you either have to arrest me, or you need to take me home.”
Don stared at her with frustration. Her story was crazy and she knew it. She said he wouldn’t believe it and she was right. There was a time, maybe; maybe that he would have considered it, but that was a long time ago, back when he was a rookie.
He had to admit that her story had stayed consistent. The entire time he made her retell it, over and over. Front to back, then back to front. Questioning her about different parts of the story, out of order, hopping around, trying to trip her up. Through all of it she hadn’t faltered, but that didn’t mean it was true, only that she knew the story very well.
She had details, but everyone knows that details are the most important part of a convincing story. If you’re going to lie about something make sure you have details. Tiny insignificant bits that lend weight to the bigger claims. Remember a wristwatch, or a strange pair of glasses. A kid on a bike or a dog that wouldn’t stop barking. Details sell the story, and of those she had plenty.
Also, her story was thorough, she didn’t skip steps or hop around in time. She knew everything that happened from the morning of the first day of school when the first incident had supposedly happened until this afternoon when he dragged her unconscious out of the house of a man she had tried to kill. There was a logical narrative that, other than being bat shit crazy, made a kind of awful sense.
Still, it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Fifteen years ago, sure, something like that could have happened. Hell, something like that had happened. Something exactly like that. He had seen it, met the people involved, but he had also seen it end. He had seen the bodies of the State’s Attorney and the FBI woman. He had watched with the rest of the city as the investigation into the SA’s corruption had revealed everything from bribery to murder, and he had seen the city clean up it’s act and move on from the black eye the whole thing had left them with. But even then, even when things like what she was describing had actually happened, even then it wouldn’t have involved a seventeen year old high school student. Even then that would have been preposterous.
Sure she was stubborn, and sure she was sticking to her story, but she was lying and he knew that if he grilled her long enough, she would break. She would crack open and spill out. The truth would come pouring out of her like water from a shattered vase and she wouldn’t be able to stop it anymore than you could catch the water with your bare hands.
The question now, the question he rolled around in his head like a steel ball bearing in one of those labyrinth mazes that you have to tilt to navigate and avoid the holes in the floor, was should he? That was the dilemma. Should he push this poor girl? Should he keep rolling her, keep pressing until he squeezed out what he wanted to hear. Was it worth damaging her more than she already would be from this encounter? Was it worth the chance that she could end up really broken just to satisfy his own curiosity?
Because that’s what it came down to, it was his own personal interest he needed satisfying. He had already removed her from the scene. Already covered up her involvement in the death of Scott the rapist. He could no more bring her in now than he could put the bullets that were resting in Scott’s chest back into his gun.
Her answers to his questions were not for the official record. They wouldn’t appear on any report or be entered as testimony in any investigation. He had taken on the full burden of that terrible man’s untimely end, and he had done it to save this girl. To spare her from further suffering. So why now was he pushing her; pressing her, making her suffer at his hands.
He let out a long disheartened breath and turned away from her. He put the car in gear and pulled off the shoulder of the road and back into the increasingly heavy traffic.
“Tell me where you live,” he said.
Mica turned forward and gave him her address. She leaned her head against the cold glass of the window and stared out at the slick asphalt as it slipped by under the tires of the car.
At her house he stopped the car in the street without pulling to the curb. They sat silently for a moment, then Mica opened her door.
“Mica,” Don said sadly.
She turned and looked at him. He slipped his fingers into the breast pocket of his uniform and produced a small white card.
“If you change your mind, if you decide you want to talk; give me a call. I’m here to help you. Really. I’m here to help.”
She took the card.
“No offense Lieutenant, but I kinda hope I never see you again.”
She climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. Don watched her walk slowly and casually through the rain to her front door, then watched the door swing open and her disappear into the soft yellow light of her home.
“I’m sure you do,” he said to the empty car. “But I have a feeling we will see each other again soon.”
He was right, it only took one day.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to swim in the darkness for a while. She felt the heavy hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder. She heard the prattle of heavy rain on the windows and steel roof, and the ferocious whoosh of passing cars. She held her breath, she squeezed her fists and slowly she composed herself and began to think.
She surprised herself when her first thoughts were not of the dead man lying alone on the tile floor of his own home’s entryway, or the creature slash savior that had literally dragged her out of there lucky to be alive. No, her first thoughts were of her parents, at home in their warm kitchen, probably cooking the night’s supper. Heavy savory aromas filling the air and soft incandescent lighting wrapping everything in a comfortable Hallmark glow.
She thought of them and what they thought of her. Their sweet, perfect, overachiever daughter who always did the right thing and tried so hard to please them. Where did they think she was now? Could they even imagine it? What would they think if they knew what had happened. What had happened that day with Whitney and Mark, what had happened with The Woman in the hospital, in the car. What had happened in a stranger’s home tonight. What was happening right goddamn now.
Her breath got choppy again and she squeezed her eyelids together even tighter. She felt the last vestiges of her tears press out the corners of her eyes like the final drops of juice from a well pressed grape, ready to become wine.
Finally she let her mind turn to the events of the evening. She replayed the walk from the L stop to the brownstone house. She lingered in the memory of standing on the sidewalk deciding on her future. With trepidation she eased into her recollection of ringing the doorbell, and…
And that was it. That’s all she could remember with any honesty. She tried to skirt around the edges of the encounter. Tried peer in and grab glimpses of the fists and bruises and blood, but all she could see was that smirk. That sick oily smile that made her feel like he was going to eat her for dinner and lick the juices from his fingertips. That picture floated in her consciousness and burned her eyes behind her closed lids. It burned them, she could actually feel them burning, then-
Then the face was gone and in it’s place was The Beast. The Monster that blew down the door like the big bad wolf; roared and shot fire from it’s eyes and felled the man with the sound of thunder. His eyes, fierce but kind faded into view through the fog of silhouette and looked at Mica with an expression of understanding and compassion.
Mica rubbed her eyes with her thumbs and let out a long and stuttered sigh, then opened her eyes and looked up at the man that saved her life.
“You won’t believe me,” she said softly with a grave tone that carried the weight of her fear.
“Why don’t you try me?” Don said patiently.
Mica turned in her seat crossing her right leg over her left ankle.
“I’m going to. I’ll tell you, I’m just warning you now. You aren’t going to believe it.”
And she did.
And he didn’t.
“Do you know her?”
That’s what he kept asking.
“The other girl. The one who- the one he attacked. Do you know her? Is she a friend of yours?”
She kept shaking her head.
“No. I’ve told you a dozen times now. I don’t know her. I’ve never even met her. I don’t live around here. I don’t go to her school.”
He looked at her skeptically, and rephrased the question.
“Maybe at a party? An event outside of school? Maybe a friend of a friend?”
Mica slumped in the seat.
“Officer…”
“Lorah. Lieutenant Lorah,” he corrected.
She sighed.
“Lieutenant, I promise you, I’ve never met that poor girl. It’s awful what happened to her, but I promise, I swear to god and all things holy that I do not know her. Not at all.”
Don let out a long breath and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.
“Mica, I’m trying my best to understand what’s going on. You show up at this guy’s house. A guy who just recently was acquitted of a serious physical assault on a young woman close to your age. You claim you’ve never met the man or had any interaction with him or anyone who has. You ring his bell, and then without provocation you attack him with, as far as I can tell, the intent to kill him.”
He glances at Mica and she nods silently.
“But he’s never done anything to you personally.”
She shakes her head.
“Or anyone you know personally.”
“That’s right.”
“Okay, but you know what he did? You were familiar with him and what he’s been accused of. Familiar before you visited him.”
“I’ve read about it,” Mica said in an exhausted voice.
“Right, but you don’t know her. The other girl. The one he assaulted. You’ve never even met her?”
“That’s right.”
Don ran his fingers through his hair and gripped and pulled at the muscles in the back of his neck.
“So what? Was it like, I don’t know, the principal of the thing? Just righting a wrong that society let slide? ‘Cause I gotta say Mica, you don’t look like the vigilante type. No cape. No cowl.”
Mica stared out her rain streaked window and felt herself giving up.
“Lieutenant, I told you what happened. I told you you weren’t going to believe me, but I told you anyway.”
Don took a breath to speak, but Mica didn’t let him get a word in.
“I appreciate what you did for me tonight. I don’t think I’ve said that yet. Thank you. Thank you so much for being there, for not leaving me to die. Thank you for risking your own life and your career to save my life. Thank you for getting me out of there so I didn’t have to face whatever it is that’s coming next. Seriously, with all my heart, thank you.”
Mica turned and looked him right in the eyes.
“But Don, I’ve told you why I was there and who sent me, and there’s nothing else I can say or do to help you understand. You don’t have to believe me. I can’t make you, and honestly I didn’t expect you to in the first place, but my story isn’t changing and I have no more evidence to persuade you, so, unfortunately we are at the point now where you either have to arrest me, or you need to take me home.”
Don stared at her with frustration. Her story was crazy and she knew it. She said he wouldn’t believe it and she was right. There was a time, maybe; maybe that he would have considered it, but that was a long time ago, back when he was a rookie.
He had to admit that her story had stayed consistent. The entire time he made her retell it, over and over. Front to back, then back to front. Questioning her about different parts of the story, out of order, hopping around, trying to trip her up. Through all of it she hadn’t faltered, but that didn’t mean it was true, only that she knew the story very well.
She had details, but everyone knows that details are the most important part of a convincing story. If you’re going to lie about something make sure you have details. Tiny insignificant bits that lend weight to the bigger claims. Remember a wristwatch, or a strange pair of glasses. A kid on a bike or a dog that wouldn’t stop barking. Details sell the story, and of those she had plenty.
Also, her story was thorough, she didn’t skip steps or hop around in time. She knew everything that happened from the morning of the first day of school when the first incident had supposedly happened until this afternoon when he dragged her unconscious out of the house of a man she had tried to kill. There was a logical narrative that, other than being bat shit crazy, made a kind of awful sense.
Still, it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Fifteen years ago, sure, something like that could have happened. Hell, something like that had happened. Something exactly like that. He had seen it, met the people involved, but he had also seen it end. He had seen the bodies of the State’s Attorney and the FBI woman. He had watched with the rest of the city as the investigation into the SA’s corruption had revealed everything from bribery to murder, and he had seen the city clean up it’s act and move on from the black eye the whole thing had left them with. But even then, even when things like what she was describing had actually happened, even then it wouldn’t have involved a seventeen year old high school student. Even then that would have been preposterous.
Sure she was stubborn, and sure she was sticking to her story, but she was lying and he knew that if he grilled her long enough, she would break. She would crack open and spill out. The truth would come pouring out of her like water from a shattered vase and she wouldn’t be able to stop it anymore than you could catch the water with your bare hands.
The question now, the question he rolled around in his head like a steel ball bearing in one of those labyrinth mazes that you have to tilt to navigate and avoid the holes in the floor, was should he? That was the dilemma. Should he push this poor girl? Should he keep rolling her, keep pressing until he squeezed out what he wanted to hear. Was it worth damaging her more than she already would be from this encounter? Was it worth the chance that she could end up really broken just to satisfy his own curiosity?
Because that’s what it came down to, it was his own personal interest he needed satisfying. He had already removed her from the scene. Already covered up her involvement in the death of Scott the rapist. He could no more bring her in now than he could put the bullets that were resting in Scott’s chest back into his gun.
Her answers to his questions were not for the official record. They wouldn’t appear on any report or be entered as testimony in any investigation. He had taken on the full burden of that terrible man’s untimely end, and he had done it to save this girl. To spare her from further suffering. So why now was he pushing her; pressing her, making her suffer at his hands.
He let out a long disheartened breath and turned away from her. He put the car in gear and pulled off the shoulder of the road and back into the increasingly heavy traffic.
“Tell me where you live,” he said.
Mica turned forward and gave him her address. She leaned her head against the cold glass of the window and stared out at the slick asphalt as it slipped by under the tires of the car.
At her house he stopped the car in the street without pulling to the curb. They sat silently for a moment, then Mica opened her door.
“Mica,” Don said sadly.
She turned and looked at him. He slipped his fingers into the breast pocket of his uniform and produced a small white card.
“If you change your mind, if you decide you want to talk; give me a call. I’m here to help you. Really. I’m here to help.”
She took the card.
“No offense Lieutenant, but I kinda hope I never see you again.”
She climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. Don watched her walk slowly and casually through the rain to her front door, then watched the door swing open and her disappear into the soft yellow light of her home.
“I’m sure you do,” he said to the empty car. “But I have a feeling we will see each other again soon.”
He was right, it only took one day.
Chapter Eleven
It was still raining the next morning when Mica’s mother woke her up. She was lying in bed listening to the heavy drops cascading off the flat roof of her building like machine gun fire. She was warm and cozy stuffed in her bed under her lavender comforter with Mozart’s Magic Flute playing softly out of the speaker on her clock radio.
Her mom tapped lightly three times on her bedroom door before opening it a crack and poking her head into Mica’s room. She was a lovely woman in her early to mid forties, pretty, but not stunning. She was maternal; born to be someone’s mother. She took care of herself, but never made herself her first priority. Mica was her pride and joy and it showed in everything she did.
“Darling, are you awake?” she asked in a soft, early morning tone.
Mica rolled over under her enormous bedding and looked at her mother.
“Yeah mom, I’m awake. Just enjoying the Sunday rain.”
Her mother paused and listened, gazing dreamily off into space.
“You do have the best room for it,” she said. “It’s so loud in here.”
Mica smiled.
“Do you need me to get up for something?” she asked.
Her mom snapped back into the present and put on a serious face.
“Well, I don’t,” she said. “But your teacher’s here. He’s downstairs. He said you’re late for some student government thing. They’ve been trying to reach you all morning. They were starting to get worried.”
Mica frowned and wrinkled her nose up into an impossible knot.
“What?” she said confused. “I don’t have anything today. What teacher is it?”
Her mother opened her door the rest of the way and stepped into the doorway. She leaned casually against the frame as if settling in for a long conversation.
“Um, Mr. Cataldo I think he said.”
Mica’s frown shifted but didn’t leave her face.
“Yeah, Pete Cataldo. He said you had a meeting to go over the project you were supposed to do yesterday. He said your partner has been waiting for you down at the-”
Mica jumped out of bed.
“He’s HERE?” she shouted frantically.
“Well, yeah,” her mother said sounding confused by her daughter’s sudden change in attitude. “He said he was going to give you a ride to the school.”
Mica was pacing back and forth now on her bedroom carpet staring at the floor.
“Is everything okay?” her mother asked beginning to sound concerned.
Mica looked up at her with panic painted on her face. She put her arms up in front of her as if to say ‘how should I know?’ then sat down on the edge of her bed and leaned her elbows on her knees. She hung her head between her legs, then sat bolt upright and stared daggers at her mom.
“Tell him I can’t go. Tell him I’m sick. I don’t feel well. Tell him I’m sorry, but I can’t get out of bed.”
Mica’s mom gave her a disappointed stare.
“Mica, come on,” she reprimanded. “This isn’t like you. It sounds like people are counting on you. You can’t let your partner down. This stuff is important. Why don’t you get dressed, go with Mr. Cataldo, get done what you need to get done, then come home and we’ll watch an old black and white movie together.”
Mica gazed at her trying to think of a better excuse, then she felt the warm water of acceptance rush over her and she dropped her shoulders and let out a long breath.
“Okay,” she said to her mother. “Let him know I’ll be right down.”
Her mother smiled sweetly at her.
“I’m so proud of you,” she said.
Mica rolled her eyes and whispered, “You shouldn’t be,” under her breath.
Twenty minutes later Mica was sitting in the backseat of Autumn’s black Lincoln Towncar being driven by ‘Mr. Peter Caltado’ to the downtown offices of the city’s State’s Attorney's office. He was chatting away at her, but she had mostly tuned him out. She was dumbfounded at the gall to send Pete to pick her up at her parents’ house. It was a ballsy move, and clearly intended to show her that she wasn’t afraid to do whatever it took to keep Mica in line.
“I said, I’m surprised your parents went for the teacher story. They saw me pull up in the Lincoln. Are they just the oblivious types?”
Mica snapped out of it for a moment and looked at Pete in the rearview mirror.
“I go to a really good school,” Mica said. “They probably just assumed you were one of the poor teachers.”
Pete blew a breath out through his teeth.
“Okay, princess.”
“Fuck off,” Mica whispered.
“What?” Pete asked.
Mica squinted into Pete’s eyes in the mirror then slumped down in her seat and let herself drift off into thought. When she came out of it they were in the parking garage of the city center. Pete stepped out of the car and opened Mica’s door. She stepped out and was greeted by another man.
He was slightly taller than average, chiseled face with slicked back jet black hair and a well manicured beard. He wore a nice suit, but it was clearly off the rack and didn’t fit right in the sleeves or chest. He was polished and professional and very very serious.
“Mica Kole?” he said.
“Obviously,” she replied with a tone of exhaustion.
“Very good,” he said. “I’m Chris Marshall, I’m S.A. Faraday’s assistant.”
Mica chuckled.
“Of course,” she said. “Always two there are. No more. No less. A master and an apprentice.”
Chris looked at her confused.
“Take me to The Emperor.” she said.
It was a long elevator ride and a quick stroll through beige carpeted hallways and past glass walled offices. Finally they arrived at a small waiting area just outside two large maple wood doors.
“Have a seat,” Chris said nodding at a set of overstuffed chairs against the far wall. “Let me just make sure she’s ready for you.”
Chris disappeared through the huge wooden doors and then reappeared moments later. He waved at Mica and told her that S.A. Faraday would see her now.
Mica stood and shuffled slowly past reception and into the dragon’s lair. Inside she found a vast space filled with every cliche ever put into a lawyer movie or TV show. There was the large, ornately carved wooden desk with the huge high backed leather chair complete with brass tacks. Two slightly, very slightly, smaller leather chairs sat opposite the desk. There was a small conference table with ergonomically designed chairs around it. There was a large flat panel tv hanging above what had to be a fake fireplace. There were floor to ceiling bookshelves on two walls, all filled with the kinds of volumes you see on lawyers’ bookshelves in television commercials for attorneys who will help you sue if you have Mesothelioma. The office gave a vibe that felt more like the theatre than the law.
The Woman was sitting in the ridiculous throne behind the desk watching Mica as she took it all in. Mica walked up to the desk and stood in silent attention waiting for instructions to sit. None came.
“Well, you kind of fucked that up last night didn’t you?” was the first thing The Woman said.
Mica sat without an invitation.
“Did the job get done?” Mica asked.
She was nervous, terrified actually, but she was determined not to let this woman control her, not her feelings, not her mind. She could control her actions, she had that power, but she would not let her break her, not her spirit.
The door to the office opened and Chris stepped back in the room.
“Ms. Faraday, Lieutenant Lorah is here.”
The Woman smiled, Mica went white.
“Send him in,” she said and looked back at Mica. “Well, now that we have both halves of the dynamic duo here we can figure out exactly what went wrong.”
Mica’s mouth went dry and she heard the door open and close again. The Woman stood up and ran her hands over her suit to flatten any wrinkles, then held out her right hand for a handshake. The beast’s huge paw slid into her delicate palm and The Woman sat back down.
“You are in some serious trouble Lieutenant,” she said.
There was a pause, then the same deep growl that Mica woke up to after the encounter at the house last night.
“Yes Ma’am,” it said.
“Do you have an explanation as to why you emptied your weapon into an innocent man?”
Mica listened to the silence and took a breath to speak, but was cut off by The Woman.
“What I want to know Lieutenant Lorah is, where you there watching Mr. Mahoney, or were you there following the girl?”
There was a pause, then Don sounding confused.
“I’m sorry Ma’am, I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
The Woman laughed and looked over at Mica. There was a moment and then Don’s towering frame came into Mica’s view. He looked down at her and his whole face went white as a sheet of copier paper.
“You two are like the fucking Keystone Cops, ya know that.”
“Mica, what are you-”
He stopped himself and the switches all turned to the on position.
“You were telling the truth.”
Mica nodded.
“You need to be more trusting Lieutenant,” The Woman said.
He looked back at her with fire in his eyes.
“You bitch. You psycho bitch. You’re going to prison for this you crazy monster.”
The Woman just smiled.
“You’re right of course. Mica fucked it up pretty badly despite my easy to follow instructions. The whole thing was a disaster and I most certainly would have been finished, but then you stepped in and fixed it all for me.”
Don gazed at her, stupefied.
“You stepped in and fixed the whole thing Lieutenant. You emptied your gun into an unarmed man and then you cleared the crime scene of the only evidence that you were defending a poor innocent girl. Now the whole incident is on you. You are the one who’s going to go to prison Don. Your career is over and you are going to spend the rest of your life face to face with the trash that you spent your career putting away.”
Mica was sobbing now. Long heavy tears streaked across her face leaving itchy salt on her porcelain skin. She shook and convulsed and choked on her own breath.
Don stared at The Woman then at Mica. His face went from angry to afraid, to defeated before his body crumpled and he fell into the chair next to Mica.
“You two made a mess the likes of which I couldn’t have ever imagined,” The Woman said, “but I have a way out. Since I am in the unique position to clear up the matter and make all of this trouble go away, I have options for the both of you.”
Don and Mica both looked up at The Woman who was now standing behind her desk, holding court and conducting the two of them as if they were musicians in an orchestra.
“Mica, you are not done here. Not by a long shot, and lucky for you, I have your next assignment right here.”
She tapped a cream colored file folder sitting on the center of her desk.
“I’ll be sending this with you when you leave. You’ll have two days to complete it or you’ll be spending some quality time with Chris out there, and let me tell you, is he ever eager to please me. He goes above and beyond in everything he’s tasked with.”
Mica looked down into her lap.
“Lieutenant, you have a bit of a choice to make.”
Don glared at her with the anger of a great vicious cat.
“You can get up and walk out now, and I’ll be forced to issue a warrant for your arrest. You’ll be tried and convicted of Mr. Mahoney’s murder and spend the rest of your life in prison. How would your daughter feel about that? How would your little girl handle her daddy going to prison. Going to prison for murder? How would your teenager feel, your baby? What’s the little one’s name? Elle? You don’t want little Elle growing up without her father do you? Or-”
“Or,” he growled back.
“Or, you can help Miss Kole here out. Make sure she’s safe and that the job gets done. You can keep an eye on her. Think of it as a protection detail. Advise her on strategy and make sure nothing bad happens. You do that and I’ll clean up the Mahoney mess.”
Don stood up suddenly and paced the space behind Mica’s seat.
“I make sure she stays safe, make sure nothing bad happens to her and you take care of the rest?”
“That’s right,” The Woman said.
“What’s the job?” He asked.
The Woman handed him the folder and he flipped through it. He glanced down at Mica a few times and frowned a serious frown, then handed the folder back to The Woman.
“Yeah, okay,” he whispered in a gravely voice.
The Woman smiled.
“Good. Well, that’s it. Two days.”
Don nodded, looked down at Mica pityingly then turned and stormed out of the office.
“You can go now too,” The Woman said turning her attention to Mica.
Mica stood hesitantly and looked around the room. The Woman lifted the file off her desk and held it out for Mica to take. Mica stared at it for a long time, then took it out of her hand.
“It’s going to be okay Mica,” she said.
Mica looked at her feeling sick and frightened.
“I promise, it’s going to get easier. It’s going to be alright.”
Mica turned without a word and walked out of The Woman’s office feeling more broken than she thought possible.
It was still raining the next morning when Mica’s mother woke her up. She was lying in bed listening to the heavy drops cascading off the flat roof of her building like machine gun fire. She was warm and cozy stuffed in her bed under her lavender comforter with Mozart’s Magic Flute playing softly out of the speaker on her clock radio.
Her mom tapped lightly three times on her bedroom door before opening it a crack and poking her head into Mica’s room. She was a lovely woman in her early to mid forties, pretty, but not stunning. She was maternal; born to be someone’s mother. She took care of herself, but never made herself her first priority. Mica was her pride and joy and it showed in everything she did.
“Darling, are you awake?” she asked in a soft, early morning tone.
Mica rolled over under her enormous bedding and looked at her mother.
“Yeah mom, I’m awake. Just enjoying the Sunday rain.”
Her mother paused and listened, gazing dreamily off into space.
“You do have the best room for it,” she said. “It’s so loud in here.”
Mica smiled.
“Do you need me to get up for something?” she asked.
Her mom snapped back into the present and put on a serious face.
“Well, I don’t,” she said. “But your teacher’s here. He’s downstairs. He said you’re late for some student government thing. They’ve been trying to reach you all morning. They were starting to get worried.”
Mica frowned and wrinkled her nose up into an impossible knot.
“What?” she said confused. “I don’t have anything today. What teacher is it?”
Her mother opened her door the rest of the way and stepped into the doorway. She leaned casually against the frame as if settling in for a long conversation.
“Um, Mr. Cataldo I think he said.”
Mica’s frown shifted but didn’t leave her face.
“Yeah, Pete Cataldo. He said you had a meeting to go over the project you were supposed to do yesterday. He said your partner has been waiting for you down at the-”
Mica jumped out of bed.
“He’s HERE?” she shouted frantically.
“Well, yeah,” her mother said sounding confused by her daughter’s sudden change in attitude. “He said he was going to give you a ride to the school.”
Mica was pacing back and forth now on her bedroom carpet staring at the floor.
“Is everything okay?” her mother asked beginning to sound concerned.
Mica looked up at her with panic painted on her face. She put her arms up in front of her as if to say ‘how should I know?’ then sat down on the edge of her bed and leaned her elbows on her knees. She hung her head between her legs, then sat bolt upright and stared daggers at her mom.
“Tell him I can’t go. Tell him I’m sick. I don’t feel well. Tell him I’m sorry, but I can’t get out of bed.”
Mica’s mom gave her a disappointed stare.
“Mica, come on,” she reprimanded. “This isn’t like you. It sounds like people are counting on you. You can’t let your partner down. This stuff is important. Why don’t you get dressed, go with Mr. Cataldo, get done what you need to get done, then come home and we’ll watch an old black and white movie together.”
Mica gazed at her trying to think of a better excuse, then she felt the warm water of acceptance rush over her and she dropped her shoulders and let out a long breath.
“Okay,” she said to her mother. “Let him know I’ll be right down.”
Her mother smiled sweetly at her.
“I’m so proud of you,” she said.
Mica rolled her eyes and whispered, “You shouldn’t be,” under her breath.
Twenty minutes later Mica was sitting in the backseat of Autumn’s black Lincoln Towncar being driven by ‘Mr. Peter Caltado’ to the downtown offices of the city’s State’s Attorney's office. He was chatting away at her, but she had mostly tuned him out. She was dumbfounded at the gall to send Pete to pick her up at her parents’ house. It was a ballsy move, and clearly intended to show her that she wasn’t afraid to do whatever it took to keep Mica in line.
“I said, I’m surprised your parents went for the teacher story. They saw me pull up in the Lincoln. Are they just the oblivious types?”
Mica snapped out of it for a moment and looked at Pete in the rearview mirror.
“I go to a really good school,” Mica said. “They probably just assumed you were one of the poor teachers.”
Pete blew a breath out through his teeth.
“Okay, princess.”
“Fuck off,” Mica whispered.
“What?” Pete asked.
Mica squinted into Pete’s eyes in the mirror then slumped down in her seat and let herself drift off into thought. When she came out of it they were in the parking garage of the city center. Pete stepped out of the car and opened Mica’s door. She stepped out and was greeted by another man.
He was slightly taller than average, chiseled face with slicked back jet black hair and a well manicured beard. He wore a nice suit, but it was clearly off the rack and didn’t fit right in the sleeves or chest. He was polished and professional and very very serious.
“Mica Kole?” he said.
“Obviously,” she replied with a tone of exhaustion.
“Very good,” he said. “I’m Chris Marshall, I’m S.A. Faraday’s assistant.”
Mica chuckled.
“Of course,” she said. “Always two there are. No more. No less. A master and an apprentice.”
Chris looked at her confused.
“Take me to The Emperor.” she said.
It was a long elevator ride and a quick stroll through beige carpeted hallways and past glass walled offices. Finally they arrived at a small waiting area just outside two large maple wood doors.
“Have a seat,” Chris said nodding at a set of overstuffed chairs against the far wall. “Let me just make sure she’s ready for you.”
Chris disappeared through the huge wooden doors and then reappeared moments later. He waved at Mica and told her that S.A. Faraday would see her now.
Mica stood and shuffled slowly past reception and into the dragon’s lair. Inside she found a vast space filled with every cliche ever put into a lawyer movie or TV show. There was the large, ornately carved wooden desk with the huge high backed leather chair complete with brass tacks. Two slightly, very slightly, smaller leather chairs sat opposite the desk. There was a small conference table with ergonomically designed chairs around it. There was a large flat panel tv hanging above what had to be a fake fireplace. There were floor to ceiling bookshelves on two walls, all filled with the kinds of volumes you see on lawyers’ bookshelves in television commercials for attorneys who will help you sue if you have Mesothelioma. The office gave a vibe that felt more like the theatre than the law.
The Woman was sitting in the ridiculous throne behind the desk watching Mica as she took it all in. Mica walked up to the desk and stood in silent attention waiting for instructions to sit. None came.
“Well, you kind of fucked that up last night didn’t you?” was the first thing The Woman said.
Mica sat without an invitation.
“Did the job get done?” Mica asked.
She was nervous, terrified actually, but she was determined not to let this woman control her, not her feelings, not her mind. She could control her actions, she had that power, but she would not let her break her, not her spirit.
The door to the office opened and Chris stepped back in the room.
“Ms. Faraday, Lieutenant Lorah is here.”
The Woman smiled, Mica went white.
“Send him in,” she said and looked back at Mica. “Well, now that we have both halves of the dynamic duo here we can figure out exactly what went wrong.”
Mica’s mouth went dry and she heard the door open and close again. The Woman stood up and ran her hands over her suit to flatten any wrinkles, then held out her right hand for a handshake. The beast’s huge paw slid into her delicate palm and The Woman sat back down.
“You are in some serious trouble Lieutenant,” she said.
There was a pause, then the same deep growl that Mica woke up to after the encounter at the house last night.
“Yes Ma’am,” it said.
“Do you have an explanation as to why you emptied your weapon into an innocent man?”
Mica listened to the silence and took a breath to speak, but was cut off by The Woman.
“What I want to know Lieutenant Lorah is, where you there watching Mr. Mahoney, or were you there following the girl?”
There was a pause, then Don sounding confused.
“I’m sorry Ma’am, I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
The Woman laughed and looked over at Mica. There was a moment and then Don’s towering frame came into Mica’s view. He looked down at her and his whole face went white as a sheet of copier paper.
“You two are like the fucking Keystone Cops, ya know that.”
“Mica, what are you-”
He stopped himself and the switches all turned to the on position.
“You were telling the truth.”
Mica nodded.
“You need to be more trusting Lieutenant,” The Woman said.
He looked back at her with fire in his eyes.
“You bitch. You psycho bitch. You’re going to prison for this you crazy monster.”
The Woman just smiled.
“You’re right of course. Mica fucked it up pretty badly despite my easy to follow instructions. The whole thing was a disaster and I most certainly would have been finished, but then you stepped in and fixed it all for me.”
Don gazed at her, stupefied.
“You stepped in and fixed the whole thing Lieutenant. You emptied your gun into an unarmed man and then you cleared the crime scene of the only evidence that you were defending a poor innocent girl. Now the whole incident is on you. You are the one who’s going to go to prison Don. Your career is over and you are going to spend the rest of your life face to face with the trash that you spent your career putting away.”
Mica was sobbing now. Long heavy tears streaked across her face leaving itchy salt on her porcelain skin. She shook and convulsed and choked on her own breath.
Don stared at The Woman then at Mica. His face went from angry to afraid, to defeated before his body crumpled and he fell into the chair next to Mica.
“You two made a mess the likes of which I couldn’t have ever imagined,” The Woman said, “but I have a way out. Since I am in the unique position to clear up the matter and make all of this trouble go away, I have options for the both of you.”
Don and Mica both looked up at The Woman who was now standing behind her desk, holding court and conducting the two of them as if they were musicians in an orchestra.
“Mica, you are not done here. Not by a long shot, and lucky for you, I have your next assignment right here.”
She tapped a cream colored file folder sitting on the center of her desk.
“I’ll be sending this with you when you leave. You’ll have two days to complete it or you’ll be spending some quality time with Chris out there, and let me tell you, is he ever eager to please me. He goes above and beyond in everything he’s tasked with.”
Mica looked down into her lap.
“Lieutenant, you have a bit of a choice to make.”
Don glared at her with the anger of a great vicious cat.
“You can get up and walk out now, and I’ll be forced to issue a warrant for your arrest. You’ll be tried and convicted of Mr. Mahoney’s murder and spend the rest of your life in prison. How would your daughter feel about that? How would your little girl handle her daddy going to prison. Going to prison for murder? How would your teenager feel, your baby? What’s the little one’s name? Elle? You don’t want little Elle growing up without her father do you? Or-”
“Or,” he growled back.
“Or, you can help Miss Kole here out. Make sure she’s safe and that the job gets done. You can keep an eye on her. Think of it as a protection detail. Advise her on strategy and make sure nothing bad happens. You do that and I’ll clean up the Mahoney mess.”
Don stood up suddenly and paced the space behind Mica’s seat.
“I make sure she stays safe, make sure nothing bad happens to her and you take care of the rest?”
“That’s right,” The Woman said.
“What’s the job?” He asked.
The Woman handed him the folder and he flipped through it. He glanced down at Mica a few times and frowned a serious frown, then handed the folder back to The Woman.
“Yeah, okay,” he whispered in a gravely voice.
The Woman smiled.
“Good. Well, that’s it. Two days.”
Don nodded, looked down at Mica pityingly then turned and stormed out of the office.
“You can go now too,” The Woman said turning her attention to Mica.
Mica stood hesitantly and looked around the room. The Woman lifted the file off her desk and held it out for Mica to take. Mica stared at it for a long time, then took it out of her hand.
“It’s going to be okay Mica,” she said.
Mica looked at her feeling sick and frightened.
“I promise, it’s going to get easier. It’s going to be alright.”
Mica turned without a word and walked out of The Woman’s office feeling more broken than she thought possible.
Chapter One
The question hangs there in the air. It’s quiet and uncomfortable and no one seems to want to be the first one to speak. After a couple moments I can't remember if they’re waiting for me to talk or not. Finally I take a breath.
“I think-”
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Elle says flatly.
I look up and meet her eyes. She looks at me cold, stoic and unfriendly.
“Shouldn’t what?” I ask.
“Think.”
“Elle,” Allie cuts in.
“No Allie,” She says. “I’m serious. If I was you Mal, I wouldn’t think about anything. It seems to me that your fucking thinking is what got us into this fucking situation in the first place. Maybe thinking isn’t your strong suit.”
I let out a deep breath.
“I need to talk to Mica,” I say.
Elle lets out a laugh like a bomb going off.
“You most certainly do not,” she says with a forcefulness I’ve never heard from her before.
“Elle,” Allie starts again, but again Elle cuts her off at the knees.
“No way Allie. No way! We just got out from under that bitch.”
“Does it feel like you’re out?” Allie asks bluntly.
Elle stares at her, anger smoldering in her eyes.
“She burn down our home.” Elle says, the forcefulness having left her voice. Now she sounds pleading, vulnerable, frightened even. “She sent people to our home to kill us. More than that. To kill everyone. She’s mad at Mal so she tries to kill innocent people.”
“What?” I say. “What are you talking about Elle.”
“They blew up our building Mal. Our building. We’re not the only ones who lost everything. I can’t believe I have to remind you of that. Other people could have died. Other people lost their homes.”
She was getting frantic again.
“You may have been the target Mal, but what they did, how they did it. They could have killed a lot of people.”
“That’s true,” I admit and suddenly there’s something needling around in my brain. I’m not sure what it is, but there’s something that itches. Something that feels wrong. Something about what Elle said makes me feel, somehow off. I start rolling it over, trying to isolate it. “That’s true,” I say again.
“I’m still not so certain it actually was Mica though,” Allie says.
“Seriously Allie?” Elle says baffled. “After everything you’ve told me about Mica and what she’s done. What she’s had you do,” she says throwing an open hand in my direction. “All of that and now you’re saying she isn’t responsible for this?”
Allie has an apologetic look on her face.
“So what then? If it’s not Mica than who? Who Goddammit? Com-Ed? Did you forget to pay the fucking electric bill Mal?”
“Elle,” I say, but she won’t hear it.
“No, oh my God no! No to both of you. I can’t take this anymore. You’re both hopeless. I don’t know if you’re delusional or just stupid, but I can’t do this. I- I just can’t-”
Elle is standing now, pacing the room and dragging her nails through her long auburn hair like stone plows through spring soil. Her eyes are frantic and her body is shaking like she just came down with sudden onset Parkinson’s Disease.
“I forbid it!” she shouts at me. “Do you hear me? I fucking forbid it. I should be divorcing you right now. Fuck! I’m a prosecutor, I should be turning you into the police right now.”
She stops moving and plants herself in the center of the room. She takes a deep breath and lowers her voice to a soft growl.
“I love you, for fuck knows why, but I do. So I’m not leaving you, and I’m not turning you in. Yet. I’m giving you a chance to make this right. To fix this and fix our lives, but that chance is predicated on you never ever, fucking ever, seeing Mica again.”
She stops. She gulps down air and lets her body relax a little. She looks, for a moment, like one of those plastic and string figures that collapses when you squeeze the base if you squeezed it just a little bit.
Allie and I sit motionless staring at the wild eyed creature standing in front of us. Elle straightens herself up, smooths out her hair and finds a way to center herself. She cocks her head and puts on a shallow plastic smile.
“Do I make myself clear?” she asks calmly.
Allie and I nod without making a sound.
“Good,” Elle says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go get some ice cream.”
Elle turns, runs her hands over her suit, rolls her shoulders slightly, cracks her neck and walks out the door. A moment later we hear her car start in the driveway and disappear down the road.
Allie and I are still sitting motionless and silent in her living room.
“Malcolm,” she says finally.
“Yeah?” I say without looking at her.
“You need to go see Mica right away.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
“Right away.”
“Yeah.”
The question hangs there in the air. It’s quiet and uncomfortable and no one seems to want to be the first one to speak. After a couple moments I can't remember if they’re waiting for me to talk or not. Finally I take a breath.
“I think-”
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Elle says flatly.
I look up and meet her eyes. She looks at me cold, stoic and unfriendly.
“Shouldn’t what?” I ask.
“Think.”
“Elle,” Allie cuts in.
“No Allie,” She says. “I’m serious. If I was you Mal, I wouldn’t think about anything. It seems to me that your fucking thinking is what got us into this fucking situation in the first place. Maybe thinking isn’t your strong suit.”
I let out a deep breath.
“I need to talk to Mica,” I say.
Elle lets out a laugh like a bomb going off.
“You most certainly do not,” she says with a forcefulness I’ve never heard from her before.
“Elle,” Allie starts again, but again Elle cuts her off at the knees.
“No way Allie. No way! We just got out from under that bitch.”
“Does it feel like you’re out?” Allie asks bluntly.
Elle stares at her, anger smoldering in her eyes.
“She burn down our home.” Elle says, the forcefulness having left her voice. Now she sounds pleading, vulnerable, frightened even. “She sent people to our home to kill us. More than that. To kill everyone. She’s mad at Mal so she tries to kill innocent people.”
“What?” I say. “What are you talking about Elle.”
“They blew up our building Mal. Our building. We’re not the only ones who lost everything. I can’t believe I have to remind you of that. Other people could have died. Other people lost their homes.”
She was getting frantic again.
“You may have been the target Mal, but what they did, how they did it. They could have killed a lot of people.”
“That’s true,” I admit and suddenly there’s something needling around in my brain. I’m not sure what it is, but there’s something that itches. Something that feels wrong. Something about what Elle said makes me feel, somehow off. I start rolling it over, trying to isolate it. “That’s true,” I say again.
“I’m still not so certain it actually was Mica though,” Allie says.
“Seriously Allie?” Elle says baffled. “After everything you’ve told me about Mica and what she’s done. What she’s had you do,” she says throwing an open hand in my direction. “All of that and now you’re saying she isn’t responsible for this?”
Allie has an apologetic look on her face.
“So what then? If it’s not Mica than who? Who Goddammit? Com-Ed? Did you forget to pay the fucking electric bill Mal?”
“Elle,” I say, but she won’t hear it.
“No, oh my God no! No to both of you. I can’t take this anymore. You’re both hopeless. I don’t know if you’re delusional or just stupid, but I can’t do this. I- I just can’t-”
Elle is standing now, pacing the room and dragging her nails through her long auburn hair like stone plows through spring soil. Her eyes are frantic and her body is shaking like she just came down with sudden onset Parkinson’s Disease.
“I forbid it!” she shouts at me. “Do you hear me? I fucking forbid it. I should be divorcing you right now. Fuck! I’m a prosecutor, I should be turning you into the police right now.”
She stops moving and plants herself in the center of the room. She takes a deep breath and lowers her voice to a soft growl.
“I love you, for fuck knows why, but I do. So I’m not leaving you, and I’m not turning you in. Yet. I’m giving you a chance to make this right. To fix this and fix our lives, but that chance is predicated on you never ever, fucking ever, seeing Mica again.”
She stops. She gulps down air and lets her body relax a little. She looks, for a moment, like one of those plastic and string figures that collapses when you squeeze the base if you squeezed it just a little bit.
Allie and I sit motionless staring at the wild eyed creature standing in front of us. Elle straightens herself up, smooths out her hair and finds a way to center herself. She cocks her head and puts on a shallow plastic smile.
“Do I make myself clear?” she asks calmly.
Allie and I nod without making a sound.
“Good,” Elle says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go get some ice cream.”
Elle turns, runs her hands over her suit, rolls her shoulders slightly, cracks her neck and walks out the door. A moment later we hear her car start in the driveway and disappear down the road.
Allie and I are still sitting motionless and silent in her living room.
“Malcolm,” she says finally.
“Yeah?” I say without looking at her.
“You need to go see Mica right away.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
“Right away.”
“Yeah.”
Chapter Two
Elle drove with intensity. Her foot lay like a stone on the gas pedal and her arms jerked wildly at the steering wheel and gear shift lever. The car cut through the city on diagonal streets then wound around it’s edge on the long waterfront drive. She kept the speed up and took every shortcut available to move herself towards her goal.
And what was that goal? Well right now she wasn’t entirely sure. Her world was in shambles. Her marriage was a mess, her job at risk, and even her life itself in jeopardy. The solution to it all was unclear. Even trying to think about it made her slip into an anxious sweat. Ultimately she didn’t see any way of closing this business, not without someone ending up dead.
Malcolm, the police, they both thought that the explosion at their building had been intended to kill. Malcolm saw himself as the target of a savage mob boss determined to end him for trying to get out of the organization. The cops thought it was Malcolm trying to, who knows what. Their line of thinking was less clear, but what else could you expect from wet behind the ears suburban cops that never had to look into anything more complicated than a stolen ten speed bicycle. Perhaps they thought he was trying to kill her.
“Ha!” she laughed out loud.
That was absurd. Malcolm may have been a killer, but he was no murderer and the distinction is as wide as the Pacific Ocean. He could no more have killed Elle than he could have sucked his own cock, and she had made many efforts to assure he’d never have to think of trying either.
The idea that the explosion was intended to kill either of them was equally absurd to her, but she was a prosecutor and was trained to look at things differently. If it had been city cops, city detectives, investigating the explosion they would have been able to tell right away that the bombing was more of a message than an actual attempt. People with the cunning and ability to set off a bomb like that don’t make mistakes. They knew that Malcolm wasn’t in the building when they set it off. They knew he was out, but nearby. They knew he would see it.
All that aside though, this was not the time to try and put together answers or plan for the future. Right now her focus wasn’t on trying to resolve the problems, she wouldn’t be able to do that alone. She would need help, guidance, advice, and ultimately instructions. No, what she needed now was comfort. Comfort and protection. What she needed now was home.
She swung the wheel hard and the car shrieked and fishtailed onto a narrow street just a few blocks from the nicer of the two ballparks in the city. It was dark and lined with cars on both sides. She gunned the engine and let her German luxury car sail over the speed bumps in the road. She swung it again pointing the nose down an ancient concrete ally that was mostly crumbled to gravel now and slammed on the breaks.
She sat, the car still running, between two medium sized brick apartment buildings and let herself breathe. She closed her eyes. She pictured a warm quiet place. A place of safety and comfort. A place where she could cry, scream, let out all her anger and frustration. A place to recollect herself and find the strength she would need to take on the next steps.
She looked out the passenger window at the red brick wall of her father’s building. She imagined his kitchen all amber in the soft incandescent glow of forty watt light bulbs. She imagined the comforting smells of something savory in the oven and a glass of plummy red wine in a glass in her hand. The reassuring feeling of her father's large hands on her shoulders and his deep gravely voice telling her it would all be okay.
She cut the engine and stepped out of the car. She composed herself again and walked around the building to the front door. This building, like every other one on the block, had four floors and a sub level. Each floor had two flats except the sub level which had three studios. Next to the front door was a row of eleven small black buttons, each with a small white card next to it with a name scribbled in handwritten blue ink. She scanned through them, found the button labeled “D. Lorah” and pressed it.
Elle drove with intensity. Her foot lay like a stone on the gas pedal and her arms jerked wildly at the steering wheel and gear shift lever. The car cut through the city on diagonal streets then wound around it’s edge on the long waterfront drive. She kept the speed up and took every shortcut available to move herself towards her goal.
And what was that goal? Well right now she wasn’t entirely sure. Her world was in shambles. Her marriage was a mess, her job at risk, and even her life itself in jeopardy. The solution to it all was unclear. Even trying to think about it made her slip into an anxious sweat. Ultimately she didn’t see any way of closing this business, not without someone ending up dead.
Malcolm, the police, they both thought that the explosion at their building had been intended to kill. Malcolm saw himself as the target of a savage mob boss determined to end him for trying to get out of the organization. The cops thought it was Malcolm trying to, who knows what. Their line of thinking was less clear, but what else could you expect from wet behind the ears suburban cops that never had to look into anything more complicated than a stolen ten speed bicycle. Perhaps they thought he was trying to kill her.
“Ha!” she laughed out loud.
That was absurd. Malcolm may have been a killer, but he was no murderer and the distinction is as wide as the Pacific Ocean. He could no more have killed Elle than he could have sucked his own cock, and she had made many efforts to assure he’d never have to think of trying either.
The idea that the explosion was intended to kill either of them was equally absurd to her, but she was a prosecutor and was trained to look at things differently. If it had been city cops, city detectives, investigating the explosion they would have been able to tell right away that the bombing was more of a message than an actual attempt. People with the cunning and ability to set off a bomb like that don’t make mistakes. They knew that Malcolm wasn’t in the building when they set it off. They knew he was out, but nearby. They knew he would see it.
All that aside though, this was not the time to try and put together answers or plan for the future. Right now her focus wasn’t on trying to resolve the problems, she wouldn’t be able to do that alone. She would need help, guidance, advice, and ultimately instructions. No, what she needed now was comfort. Comfort and protection. What she needed now was home.
She swung the wheel hard and the car shrieked and fishtailed onto a narrow street just a few blocks from the nicer of the two ballparks in the city. It was dark and lined with cars on both sides. She gunned the engine and let her German luxury car sail over the speed bumps in the road. She swung it again pointing the nose down an ancient concrete ally that was mostly crumbled to gravel now and slammed on the breaks.
She sat, the car still running, between two medium sized brick apartment buildings and let herself breathe. She closed her eyes. She pictured a warm quiet place. A place of safety and comfort. A place where she could cry, scream, let out all her anger and frustration. A place to recollect herself and find the strength she would need to take on the next steps.
She looked out the passenger window at the red brick wall of her father’s building. She imagined his kitchen all amber in the soft incandescent glow of forty watt light bulbs. She imagined the comforting smells of something savory in the oven and a glass of plummy red wine in a glass in her hand. The reassuring feeling of her father's large hands on her shoulders and his deep gravely voice telling her it would all be okay.
She cut the engine and stepped out of the car. She composed herself again and walked around the building to the front door. This building, like every other one on the block, had four floors and a sub level. Each floor had two flats except the sub level which had three studios. Next to the front door was a row of eleven small black buttons, each with a small white card next to it with a name scribbled in handwritten blue ink. She scanned through them, found the button labeled “D. Lorah” and pressed it.
Chapter Three
I sat silently at the bar sipping a neat bourbon and spinning my wedding ring on my finger. It's an aimless habit and I think most men do it. Most married men. When they have something troubling on their minds. I have such troubling things. Things that are hanging on me, gnawing at me, drowning me in angst and unrest.
Two days ago I had a job. It was a bad job and I didn't like it. I didn't like what it made me do and I didn't like how it made me feel. I didn't like the person I had to be when I did it, but it was a job and I imagine that a lot of folks, regular people I mean, I imagine they don't all like their jobs either so I try to keep a little perspective on the matter. I had a shitty job but it came with financial security, stability, and personal safety. I also had a dead sexy wife who was successful, rich-ish, and for reasons unknown, crazy about me. Things were okay. Not perfect mind you, but okay.
But now here I am, drinking at a bar I've already been kicked out of once this week waiting for a person who may or may not want me dead, and being investigated by the cops for a crime that I legitimately did not commit. Sure, I may be responsible for it tangentially speaking, but I didn't actually do the thing, ya know.
And the worst part of it is, I'd love to shake my head and act like I can't figure out how any of this is happening, but I can't do that. I know the score, and if I had two working brain cells I could have seen it coming. I knew when I walked in that morning that no one quit Mica. No one did that job then just left and went and did whatever. I knew it then so I can't act surprised now.
But that's the rub. I do feel surprised. Something about the way Mica let me go that day, the way she looked at me. I really thought that was it. I really thought I was out.
Then the bomb. Something sits wrong with me about that too. Something about what Elle said. It could have killed a lot of people. Even if I was the target, it *could have* killed more. Innocent people. That wasn't Mica's style. My jobs have always been laid out very specifically, very planned out. The details were worked out for me; timelines, locations, even methods. Always planned with the lowest impact on the outside world. Never a witness to silence or an innocent bystander. Never a single piece of collateral damage. Never once a person hurt that wasn't the intended target. Never a person who didn't have it coming.
But that's not true. The Phillips Kid. My last job. Elle had said he was a witness. He hadn't done anything wrong. He was a witness to his sister's attack and he was going to testify against the assailant. Mica had sent him after an innocent kid. That wasn't like her, and neither was the bomb.
I've used a lot of methods to kill a lot of people. I'm not proud of that, and if I could change my life and take it all back I would. If I could go back to that moment when I was nineteen and let that disgusting shitsack in that tower of roaches kill me dead, I would take that chance in a heartbeat. I'm not proud of the things I've done. I justify it by telling myself that these things need doing, but deep down I know it's not true. I know that killing a bad guy is exactly the same as killing a good one and the games we play to tell ourselves it's not are just that; games. I know it's all crap and that I'm no better than a toilet, but that said, in all the years and all the times I've killed, I've never killed with a bomb.
I've shot people with all manner of guns. I've stabbed and cut men and women. I've smothered and strangled and poisoned adults and even teenagers, and when the situation called for it, I've beaten men to death with my bare hands, but I've never, not ever, blown someone up. Neither has anyone else working for Mica as far as I know. I've never really given it much thought until now, but when I think about it, it's true. I've never been asked to use an explosive of any kind before and it seems so clear why.
Bombs are messy and they attract attention. Gunfire is loud, people notice it, but they run away from it. No one hears shots fired and runs to see what's happening. An explosion though, when people hear that bang and see that fireball, they all come sprinting to see what's burning. Worse than the attention though is the mess. You never know what's going to happen with a bomb. You have to be far away when it goes off, far enough at least that you don't go up with it. Distance robs you of control. You can't control who you hit. You never know who's going to be walking by when it's time to set the damn thing off. You don't know if your target is going to be with somebody else. It's true for cars, offices, houses, and especially appartments.
Mica would not have set a bomb. Mica would not have risked hurting others, and Mica would not have sent me after that Phillips kid. Not on purpose. Not knowing who he was. That's two events in two days. Two times that someone has died or almost died under circumstances outside of Mica's M.O. I'm starting to think these two things are connected. Unfortunately the only person who can confirm it is unavailable at the moment.
I feel a light hand on my shoulder and I jump.
"Whoa there tiger," Mica's soft voice says.
I turn and see her back in her usual uniform. Barefoot in soft denim bell bottom jeans and a loose fitting cotton shirt that's hanging off one shoulder.
"Didn't I already kick you out of here once this week. And didn't I bail your ass out of jail just today and tell you to get the fuck out of Dodge? You're not very good at following instructions Malcolm."
I lean back in my bar stool and take the rest of my drink in one swallow.
"Who is Kelly Phillips?" I ask dryly.
Mica's face hardens and her body stiffens up. She leans back against the stool behind her and lets out a long sigh.
"Shit," she whispers.
I nod, and she pulls herself up on the stool and leans in towards me.
"Mal," she says seriously, "do you have a smoke?"
I sat silently at the bar sipping a neat bourbon and spinning my wedding ring on my finger. It's an aimless habit and I think most men do it. Most married men. When they have something troubling on their minds. I have such troubling things. Things that are hanging on me, gnawing at me, drowning me in angst and unrest.
Two days ago I had a job. It was a bad job and I didn't like it. I didn't like what it made me do and I didn't like how it made me feel. I didn't like the person I had to be when I did it, but it was a job and I imagine that a lot of folks, regular people I mean, I imagine they don't all like their jobs either so I try to keep a little perspective on the matter. I had a shitty job but it came with financial security, stability, and personal safety. I also had a dead sexy wife who was successful, rich-ish, and for reasons unknown, crazy about me. Things were okay. Not perfect mind you, but okay.
But now here I am, drinking at a bar I've already been kicked out of once this week waiting for a person who may or may not want me dead, and being investigated by the cops for a crime that I legitimately did not commit. Sure, I may be responsible for it tangentially speaking, but I didn't actually do the thing, ya know.
And the worst part of it is, I'd love to shake my head and act like I can't figure out how any of this is happening, but I can't do that. I know the score, and if I had two working brain cells I could have seen it coming. I knew when I walked in that morning that no one quit Mica. No one did that job then just left and went and did whatever. I knew it then so I can't act surprised now.
But that's the rub. I do feel surprised. Something about the way Mica let me go that day, the way she looked at me. I really thought that was it. I really thought I was out.
Then the bomb. Something sits wrong with me about that too. Something about what Elle said. It could have killed a lot of people. Even if I was the target, it *could have* killed more. Innocent people. That wasn't Mica's style. My jobs have always been laid out very specifically, very planned out. The details were worked out for me; timelines, locations, even methods. Always planned with the lowest impact on the outside world. Never a witness to silence or an innocent bystander. Never a single piece of collateral damage. Never once a person hurt that wasn't the intended target. Never a person who didn't have it coming.
But that's not true. The Phillips Kid. My last job. Elle had said he was a witness. He hadn't done anything wrong. He was a witness to his sister's attack and he was going to testify against the assailant. Mica had sent him after an innocent kid. That wasn't like her, and neither was the bomb.
I've used a lot of methods to kill a lot of people. I'm not proud of that, and if I could change my life and take it all back I would. If I could go back to that moment when I was nineteen and let that disgusting shitsack in that tower of roaches kill me dead, I would take that chance in a heartbeat. I'm not proud of the things I've done. I justify it by telling myself that these things need doing, but deep down I know it's not true. I know that killing a bad guy is exactly the same as killing a good one and the games we play to tell ourselves it's not are just that; games. I know it's all crap and that I'm no better than a toilet, but that said, in all the years and all the times I've killed, I've never killed with a bomb.
I've shot people with all manner of guns. I've stabbed and cut men and women. I've smothered and strangled and poisoned adults and even teenagers, and when the situation called for it, I've beaten men to death with my bare hands, but I've never, not ever, blown someone up. Neither has anyone else working for Mica as far as I know. I've never really given it much thought until now, but when I think about it, it's true. I've never been asked to use an explosive of any kind before and it seems so clear why.
Bombs are messy and they attract attention. Gunfire is loud, people notice it, but they run away from it. No one hears shots fired and runs to see what's happening. An explosion though, when people hear that bang and see that fireball, they all come sprinting to see what's burning. Worse than the attention though is the mess. You never know what's going to happen with a bomb. You have to be far away when it goes off, far enough at least that you don't go up with it. Distance robs you of control. You can't control who you hit. You never know who's going to be walking by when it's time to set the damn thing off. You don't know if your target is going to be with somebody else. It's true for cars, offices, houses, and especially appartments.
Mica would not have set a bomb. Mica would not have risked hurting others, and Mica would not have sent me after that Phillips kid. Not on purpose. Not knowing who he was. That's two events in two days. Two times that someone has died or almost died under circumstances outside of Mica's M.O. I'm starting to think these two things are connected. Unfortunately the only person who can confirm it is unavailable at the moment.
I feel a light hand on my shoulder and I jump.
"Whoa there tiger," Mica's soft voice says.
I turn and see her back in her usual uniform. Barefoot in soft denim bell bottom jeans and a loose fitting cotton shirt that's hanging off one shoulder.
"Didn't I already kick you out of here once this week. And didn't I bail your ass out of jail just today and tell you to get the fuck out of Dodge? You're not very good at following instructions Malcolm."
I lean back in my bar stool and take the rest of my drink in one swallow.
"Who is Kelly Phillips?" I ask dryly.
Mica's face hardens and her body stiffens up. She leans back against the stool behind her and lets out a long sigh.
"Shit," she whispers.
I nod, and she pulls herself up on the stool and leans in towards me.
"Mal," she says seriously, "do you have a smoke?"
Chapter Four
Her father's home was nice, but not what she'd grown up in. She was eight when her parents had split up and her dad had moved out of their home and into a small studio apartment. Elle could remember those days, the tension in the home and the endless fighting. Her mother had said terrible things about him after that, awful things that Elle had never believed.
Her father had always tried to be a good man. He had never known his father. He had left him and his mother when he was only three years old and his mother had had to work two or sometimes three jobs at a time just to keep them fed and clothed. Don had vowed from childhood that he would be better. That he would help people and take care of his family at any cost. He had passed up football scholarships at prestigious universities so that he could go to the Acadamy and become a police officer. He had dreams of working his way up in the force to a position of leadership so that he could change the organization, make it more focused on serving the people and helping out in poorer communities. All he had ever wanted was to make the world a better place.
It was ironic, she thought as she sat in his warm but sparse living room, that helping someone out, someone who couldn't help themselves, was how it all fell apart for him. She remembered that night. She remembered how he wept and how her mother shouted. She remembered her mom's anger when he left the force, and when she found out what he was doing and who he was working for. She remembered how she called him a coward and a fraud and forbid him to see his own daughter. It wasn't until much later, when she learned the whole truth, that she understood and saw her father for real for the first time.
Don walked into the room carrying a tray with two glasses of red wine and a plate of Triscuts and soft cheese. He set it down on a low coffee table in front of Elle and handed her one of the glasses. She smiled softly in appreciation and took it, setting aside her small clutch purse.
He lifted a glass for himself and walked across the small room to a high backed leather chair and sank himself into it like an old habit. They sat like that for a while, silently sipping their wine and inspecting each other as if from a long absence. Elle shifted in her seat and pulled her legs up onto the sofa.
"It's good to see you sweetheart," Don said finally.
Elle looked him in the eyes, then diverted her attention to the floor.
"Yeah, I miss you dad."
"I miss you too," he said. "But coming here is a bad idea. You know that. What if she found out? What if- what if Mal found out? How would you explain that?"
Elle was already nodding her head.
"I know," she said. "I know, I know, but-"
He stared at her with sympathy and understanding, but with an undertone of disapproval that only a parent knows how to weave in.
"I didn't know where else to go. I don't know what to do. Everything's gone to shit and I don't see any way out of it."
Her father nodded his head and sipped his wine. There was another pregnant pause before he leaned back in his chair.
"What happened with the bomb?" he asked.
Elle straightened up and put her feet back on the floor. She set her glass down and picked up her purse. She stood and began pacing the space, her finger absently rubbing at the gold clasp fastener on the clutch. Her father set his glass down as well and folded his hands in his lap.
"That's what I'm saying," Elle said harsher than she intended to. "I don't know."
"That was supposed to be a contingency, a last resort," he said exactly like a father reprimanding a daughter.
"I know dad!" she snapped. "You're not hearing me. It wasn't me! I didn't do it!"
He leaned forward with a frown.
"You didn't set it off?"
"That's what I've been trying to say."
Don tilted his head in thought.
"Was it an accident?"
Elle shook hers in the negative.
"No! It was called in. Called in on a cell spoofing Mal's signal."
"But who else knew it was there? You didn't tell anyone you planted it? Who even knew it existed?"
Elle was still shaking her head.
"That's just it dad. No one. Who would I tell. It's just you me and her."
Don let out a long sigh. He wiped his face with his palms and put his hands on the arms of the chair.
"So then you think it's her? You think she was trying to kill him?"
Elle shook her head.
"No. No dad, she doesn't make mistakes. If she wanted him dead he'd be dead. She never misses."
"So?" he said drawing out the vowl.
"So, I think it was her, but I think it was a message. I think it was a message for me."
Don squirmed.
"You think she wants you to kill him? That doesn't sound right. She's never asked you to do anything like that before, has she?"
Elle shook her head.
"No, not Mal. Well, not just Mal. I think she wants the whole thing shut down. The whole group. I think she's closing up shop."
Her father looked at her skeptically.
"You mean-"
Elle nodded.
"Did she actually tell you this?"
Elle sat back down. She was rigid, nervous, her knees pressed tightly together and her hands white knuckled around her small purse.
"A long time ago," she said. "Before Mal, before anything really. Well anything involving me. Sometime in high school I think. She didn't say anything explicitly, but she told me a story. It was weird and I didn't really understand at the time, but it stuck with me. Then later on, when she brought me into the, well, whatever, sometimes I'd think about it and it started to make a little more sense. It wasn't until yesterday that I really understood though."
Elle lowered her head and went quiet. She was very still.
"This story," Don said. "It was about you killing Mica?"
Elle looked up at her dad with tears in her eyes. She shook her head.
"No," she said.
The gun went off and the small blue clutch fell to the floor open. She felt the recoil move up through her wrists and elbows and disperse into her shoulders and back. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the space and her father fell forward out of the now blood soaked chair and onto the floor.
Elle wept. She sat on the sofa sobbing. Feeling the sharp pains of shame and regret stabbing at her heart and lungs. She wept until her eyes burned and her bones ached. Then she wiped the tears from her face and the prints from the gun. She laid the small revolver on the floor next to her father's body, then took out her phone and opened the camera.
She sent a text message, then she walked out the front door of the building and into her car and drove towards the lights of the city.
Her father's home was nice, but not what she'd grown up in. She was eight when her parents had split up and her dad had moved out of their home and into a small studio apartment. Elle could remember those days, the tension in the home and the endless fighting. Her mother had said terrible things about him after that, awful things that Elle had never believed.
Her father had always tried to be a good man. He had never known his father. He had left him and his mother when he was only three years old and his mother had had to work two or sometimes three jobs at a time just to keep them fed and clothed. Don had vowed from childhood that he would be better. That he would help people and take care of his family at any cost. He had passed up football scholarships at prestigious universities so that he could go to the Acadamy and become a police officer. He had dreams of working his way up in the force to a position of leadership so that he could change the organization, make it more focused on serving the people and helping out in poorer communities. All he had ever wanted was to make the world a better place.
It was ironic, she thought as she sat in his warm but sparse living room, that helping someone out, someone who couldn't help themselves, was how it all fell apart for him. She remembered that night. She remembered how he wept and how her mother shouted. She remembered her mom's anger when he left the force, and when she found out what he was doing and who he was working for. She remembered how she called him a coward and a fraud and forbid him to see his own daughter. It wasn't until much later, when she learned the whole truth, that she understood and saw her father for real for the first time.
Don walked into the room carrying a tray with two glasses of red wine and a plate of Triscuts and soft cheese. He set it down on a low coffee table in front of Elle and handed her one of the glasses. She smiled softly in appreciation and took it, setting aside her small clutch purse.
He lifted a glass for himself and walked across the small room to a high backed leather chair and sank himself into it like an old habit. They sat like that for a while, silently sipping their wine and inspecting each other as if from a long absence. Elle shifted in her seat and pulled her legs up onto the sofa.
"It's good to see you sweetheart," Don said finally.
Elle looked him in the eyes, then diverted her attention to the floor.
"Yeah, I miss you dad."
"I miss you too," he said. "But coming here is a bad idea. You know that. What if she found out? What if- what if Mal found out? How would you explain that?"
Elle was already nodding her head.
"I know," she said. "I know, I know, but-"
He stared at her with sympathy and understanding, but with an undertone of disapproval that only a parent knows how to weave in.
"I didn't know where else to go. I don't know what to do. Everything's gone to shit and I don't see any way out of it."
Her father nodded his head and sipped his wine. There was another pregnant pause before he leaned back in his chair.
"What happened with the bomb?" he asked.
Elle straightened up and put her feet back on the floor. She set her glass down and picked up her purse. She stood and began pacing the space, her finger absently rubbing at the gold clasp fastener on the clutch. Her father set his glass down as well and folded his hands in his lap.
"That's what I'm saying," Elle said harsher than she intended to. "I don't know."
"That was supposed to be a contingency, a last resort," he said exactly like a father reprimanding a daughter.
"I know dad!" she snapped. "You're not hearing me. It wasn't me! I didn't do it!"
He leaned forward with a frown.
"You didn't set it off?"
"That's what I've been trying to say."
Don tilted his head in thought.
"Was it an accident?"
Elle shook hers in the negative.
"No! It was called in. Called in on a cell spoofing Mal's signal."
"But who else knew it was there? You didn't tell anyone you planted it? Who even knew it existed?"
Elle was still shaking her head.
"That's just it dad. No one. Who would I tell. It's just you me and her."
Don let out a long sigh. He wiped his face with his palms and put his hands on the arms of the chair.
"So then you think it's her? You think she was trying to kill him?"
Elle shook her head.
"No. No dad, she doesn't make mistakes. If she wanted him dead he'd be dead. She never misses."
"So?" he said drawing out the vowl.
"So, I think it was her, but I think it was a message. I think it was a message for me."
Don squirmed.
"You think she wants you to kill him? That doesn't sound right. She's never asked you to do anything like that before, has she?"
Elle shook her head.
"No, not Mal. Well, not just Mal. I think she wants the whole thing shut down. The whole group. I think she's closing up shop."
Her father looked at her skeptically.
"You mean-"
Elle nodded.
"Did she actually tell you this?"
Elle sat back down. She was rigid, nervous, her knees pressed tightly together and her hands white knuckled around her small purse.
"A long time ago," she said. "Before Mal, before anything really. Well anything involving me. Sometime in high school I think. She didn't say anything explicitly, but she told me a story. It was weird and I didn't really understand at the time, but it stuck with me. Then later on, when she brought me into the, well, whatever, sometimes I'd think about it and it started to make a little more sense. It wasn't until yesterday that I really understood though."
Elle lowered her head and went quiet. She was very still.
"This story," Don said. "It was about you killing Mica?"
Elle looked up at her dad with tears in her eyes. She shook her head.
"No," she said.
The gun went off and the small blue clutch fell to the floor open. She felt the recoil move up through her wrists and elbows and disperse into her shoulders and back. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the space and her father fell forward out of the now blood soaked chair and onto the floor.
Elle wept. She sat on the sofa sobbing. Feeling the sharp pains of shame and regret stabbing at her heart and lungs. She wept until her eyes burned and her bones ached. Then she wiped the tears from her face and the prints from the gun. She laid the small revolver on the floor next to her father's body, then took out her phone and opened the camera.
She sent a text message, then she walked out the front door of the building and into her car and drove towards the lights of the city.
Chapter Five
It was three o'clock in the morning when her car pulled off the street into the abandoned lot. The rain had stopped a few hours ago, but it was still eighty-five degrees outside and it left the air heavy and soup like. There was no moon, and the floodlights that normally lit the parking area outside the restaurant had been turned off after closing leaving the woodsy parking lot feeling more like a clearing in some ancient Asian forrest.
She stepped out of her car slowly. One foot on the wet pavement, then a considerable pause before the next. She stood up and leaned against her machine a moment before closing the driver's door softly and making her way through the muggy early morning air. She wasn't being cautious, though she was a cautious person, but there was no need for additional care here. This was a safe place. Safe like home is safe. Safe like family.
She wasn't moving slowly out of fear, or prudence, but out of sheer exhaustion. It had been a long night. A night of physically and emotionally draining work. Her job was hard and it took a lot out of her leaving her body aching and her mind foggy. Normally she would just go home. Climb into bed and let the sweet tide of sleep ease her muscles and cool her brain. She would wake up in the morning refreshed and ready for the new day's challenges, but tonight she couldn't. Tonight she had to deliver something to her boss. Normally this could wait until morning, but tonight she felt it had to be now.
She cut through the thick swampy air, sweaty and sticky feeling to all the world like she was walking through sand. At the huge double doors she dug in her pockets and found her key, a heavy cylinder with teeth at one end and an ornate decoration at the other. She stuck it in the brass plated key hole and gave a firm turn to the left. A heavy leadened clunk came from inside the thick wood door and the heavy slab of mahogany released and hung loose in front of her. She grabbed hold of the black cast iron handle and swung the considerable door open.
The first thing she noticed was that the alarm was not set. There was no bothersome chirping asking for her to enter a four digit alarm code. She took a moment to compose herself, wiping sweat from her forehead and running her fingers through her long dark hair. She rolled her neck and shoulders and let her body crack and pop and straighten out. She rubbed her face and eyes with the palms of her hands and took a long deep cleansing breath. She licked her thumb and wiped a smudge of blood from the pinkie fingernail of her left hand.
That's when she noticed the second thing. The lights were on. Normally at this time everyone was gone and the place was silent and dark, but no, the lights were on and she could hear muffled voices, and over at the bar there was a young woman sitting alone. She was pretty, pale, and young. She looked like she was in her mid twenties and had unsettling blue hair the hue of clouds over the sea before a storm. She was poised, sitting on her stool with perfect posture and sipping a dark red wine from and over-sized glass. She was distinct, the kind of person you wouldn't forget, which was disturbing because she felt like she'd seen her before.
After a moment of sludging through the cloudy archives of her memory she gave up and set herself back to her task at hand. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a flat black leather wallet. She opened it and stared at its contents, then snapped it shut and made a B-line to the back room where Mica would be. As she pushed through the beaded curtain that hung between the main dining room and Mica's office two things happened. First, she heard the sound of a bar stool scraping across the tile floor on the other side of the restaurant, and second Mica's eyes went wide as saucers.
In the room were four people. Mica stood behind her floor level desk looking shocked and even a little frightened. Across from her was Don Lorah, Mica's bodyguard, and two women she'd never seen before, or wait, maybe she had. One she was sure was a stranger, fit but curvy with dark black hair and black horn rimmed glasses. She stood back farther in the room, concealed mostly in the shadows. The other felt familiar, tall and slender with the figure of a 1950's pin up girl. She wore a narrow black skirt and white blouse with white vertical stripes. Her hair was auburn and fell preternaturally across her shoulders. She was confident looking, powerful even and very very unnerving. The gears in her mind churned and turned looking for the connection and then-
"Oh! Kelly, what are you doing here?" Mica stammored. "This is, uh-"
Click
"Faraday?" Kelly said confused. "State's Attorney Faraday?"
Mica went white.
The woman glared at Kelly.
"Nice to make your acquaintance," Faraday said.
Kelly felt a hand on her shoulder and another grabbed the wallet from her right hand. She spun to see the blue haired girl standing behind her.
"That's Lexi, my personal, personal assistant," S.A. Faraday said in way of introduction.
Kelly took another step into the room and Mica gave a slight shake of her head, a gesture that made Kelly's already palpable anxiety worsen by a matter of degrees.
The blue haired girl, Lexi, handed the wallet to Faraday who opened it and gave a whistle of surprise.
"Very nice work, uh, Kelly is it? Very nice indeed. I'm impressed, especially given that I specifically asked that this job be handled by Mr. Karma."
Kelly looked at Mica who was staring back with wide eyes that betrayed a sense of fear that Kelly had never seen in her boss.
"I do kind of wish you hadn't found this though," Faraday said tossing the wallet onto Mica's desk. It landed open displaying a flat gold shield adorned with an eagle and a blue and white Identification card.
"You're just supposed to put them down, not take their tags."
Kelly's mind started working. Pulling in blood and adrenaline that cleared the fog and brought sharpness of attention allowing it to make calculations even in her tired state. She wasn't supposed to be here. Not tonight. She wasn't supposed to see this meeting. This group of people, meeting in this place, there was something wrong here, something off.
She inched closer to Mica and examined the room anew. The Faraday woman stood across from them dressed exactly as you would expect a State's Attorney to be dressed. Behind her was the dark haired woman she didn't recognize. She looked to be in the same basic uniform as Faraday. To her right was the blue haired Lexi with a silver ring through her lip and wearing black jeans, combat boots, a white t-shirt and black leather jacket. Her right hand stuffed unnaturally in the jacket's pocket. To her left was Don wearing the same black suit they all wore. He had his hands stuffed casually in his pants pockets and his jacket open letting his Beretta handgun hang out in his shoulder holster. He looked calm and stern. The stoic picture of power without an ounce of fear.
Kelly was afraid though, and so was Mica. That much was clear, but it felt wrong. Kelly had never seen Mica look frightened. Not ever. And why would she? Everyone feared and respected Mica. Mica was a badass, and even if she wasn't she had Don. Don would never let-
Kelly froze.
She looked over the room again.
On one side was Mica and her.
On the other side Faraday, the mystery woman, the Lexi girl and-
Kelly stepped closer still to Mica. Now they were shoulder to shoulder.
"Why did you come here Kelly?" Mica said softly.
Kelly didn't say anything.
Faraday took a step forward.
"Because she thought you'd want to know that the person you sent her to kill tonight was an agent with the F.B.I."
No one moved.
"She thought you'd want to know that because she didn't know that you already knew it. Right Kelly?"
Kelly turned and looked at Mica dumbstruck.
Mica stared back at the woman with a cold expression of pure hate.
"It's easier, we've found," the woman said, "to get you all to do what we need you to do if you think you're the good guys."
Kelly stepped away from Mica.
"Kelly, I'm-"
Kelly waved her off.
"If it helps any, in the big picture, you really are. I assure you. You just don't see the whole picture."
Kelly choked on her breath and backed up.
"So, we have a little problem here," Faraday continued. "I needed to get this agent out of the way. Really, he was becoming a nuisance. Big picture here remember. It was Mica's job to get that done. It's always been Mica's job. I don't much care how she does it. If she want's to bring in you grunts to go out and do the dirty work that's her prerogative, but ultimately it's her job. That's our arrangement. Mica's job, Mica's responsibility, and Mica's secret."
Kelly stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and backed herself against the wall.
"But now there's you," the woman said. "Now you know too, and you know what they say about two people keeping a secret?"
Kelly nodded.
Then the room exploded.
It was three o'clock in the morning when her car pulled off the street into the abandoned lot. The rain had stopped a few hours ago, but it was still eighty-five degrees outside and it left the air heavy and soup like. There was no moon, and the floodlights that normally lit the parking area outside the restaurant had been turned off after closing leaving the woodsy parking lot feeling more like a clearing in some ancient Asian forrest.
She stepped out of her car slowly. One foot on the wet pavement, then a considerable pause before the next. She stood up and leaned against her machine a moment before closing the driver's door softly and making her way through the muggy early morning air. She wasn't being cautious, though she was a cautious person, but there was no need for additional care here. This was a safe place. Safe like home is safe. Safe like family.
She wasn't moving slowly out of fear, or prudence, but out of sheer exhaustion. It had been a long night. A night of physically and emotionally draining work. Her job was hard and it took a lot out of her leaving her body aching and her mind foggy. Normally she would just go home. Climb into bed and let the sweet tide of sleep ease her muscles and cool her brain. She would wake up in the morning refreshed and ready for the new day's challenges, but tonight she couldn't. Tonight she had to deliver something to her boss. Normally this could wait until morning, but tonight she felt it had to be now.
She cut through the thick swampy air, sweaty and sticky feeling to all the world like she was walking through sand. At the huge double doors she dug in her pockets and found her key, a heavy cylinder with teeth at one end and an ornate decoration at the other. She stuck it in the brass plated key hole and gave a firm turn to the left. A heavy leadened clunk came from inside the thick wood door and the heavy slab of mahogany released and hung loose in front of her. She grabbed hold of the black cast iron handle and swung the considerable door open.
The first thing she noticed was that the alarm was not set. There was no bothersome chirping asking for her to enter a four digit alarm code. She took a moment to compose herself, wiping sweat from her forehead and running her fingers through her long dark hair. She rolled her neck and shoulders and let her body crack and pop and straighten out. She rubbed her face and eyes with the palms of her hands and took a long deep cleansing breath. She licked her thumb and wiped a smudge of blood from the pinkie fingernail of her left hand.
That's when she noticed the second thing. The lights were on. Normally at this time everyone was gone and the place was silent and dark, but no, the lights were on and she could hear muffled voices, and over at the bar there was a young woman sitting alone. She was pretty, pale, and young. She looked like she was in her mid twenties and had unsettling blue hair the hue of clouds over the sea before a storm. She was poised, sitting on her stool with perfect posture and sipping a dark red wine from and over-sized glass. She was distinct, the kind of person you wouldn't forget, which was disturbing because she felt like she'd seen her before.
After a moment of sludging through the cloudy archives of her memory she gave up and set herself back to her task at hand. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a flat black leather wallet. She opened it and stared at its contents, then snapped it shut and made a B-line to the back room where Mica would be. As she pushed through the beaded curtain that hung between the main dining room and Mica's office two things happened. First, she heard the sound of a bar stool scraping across the tile floor on the other side of the restaurant, and second Mica's eyes went wide as saucers.
In the room were four people. Mica stood behind her floor level desk looking shocked and even a little frightened. Across from her was Don Lorah, Mica's bodyguard, and two women she'd never seen before, or wait, maybe she had. One she was sure was a stranger, fit but curvy with dark black hair and black horn rimmed glasses. She stood back farther in the room, concealed mostly in the shadows. The other felt familiar, tall and slender with the figure of a 1950's pin up girl. She wore a narrow black skirt and white blouse with white vertical stripes. Her hair was auburn and fell preternaturally across her shoulders. She was confident looking, powerful even and very very unnerving. The gears in her mind churned and turned looking for the connection and then-
"Oh! Kelly, what are you doing here?" Mica stammored. "This is, uh-"
Click
"Faraday?" Kelly said confused. "State's Attorney Faraday?"
Mica went white.
The woman glared at Kelly.
"Nice to make your acquaintance," Faraday said.
Kelly felt a hand on her shoulder and another grabbed the wallet from her right hand. She spun to see the blue haired girl standing behind her.
"That's Lexi, my personal, personal assistant," S.A. Faraday said in way of introduction.
Kelly took another step into the room and Mica gave a slight shake of her head, a gesture that made Kelly's already palpable anxiety worsen by a matter of degrees.
The blue haired girl, Lexi, handed the wallet to Faraday who opened it and gave a whistle of surprise.
"Very nice work, uh, Kelly is it? Very nice indeed. I'm impressed, especially given that I specifically asked that this job be handled by Mr. Karma."
Kelly looked at Mica who was staring back with wide eyes that betrayed a sense of fear that Kelly had never seen in her boss.
"I do kind of wish you hadn't found this though," Faraday said tossing the wallet onto Mica's desk. It landed open displaying a flat gold shield adorned with an eagle and a blue and white Identification card.
"You're just supposed to put them down, not take their tags."
Kelly's mind started working. Pulling in blood and adrenaline that cleared the fog and brought sharpness of attention allowing it to make calculations even in her tired state. She wasn't supposed to be here. Not tonight. She wasn't supposed to see this meeting. This group of people, meeting in this place, there was something wrong here, something off.
She inched closer to Mica and examined the room anew. The Faraday woman stood across from them dressed exactly as you would expect a State's Attorney to be dressed. Behind her was the dark haired woman she didn't recognize. She looked to be in the same basic uniform as Faraday. To her right was the blue haired Lexi with a silver ring through her lip and wearing black jeans, combat boots, a white t-shirt and black leather jacket. Her right hand stuffed unnaturally in the jacket's pocket. To her left was Don wearing the same black suit they all wore. He had his hands stuffed casually in his pants pockets and his jacket open letting his Beretta handgun hang out in his shoulder holster. He looked calm and stern. The stoic picture of power without an ounce of fear.
Kelly was afraid though, and so was Mica. That much was clear, but it felt wrong. Kelly had never seen Mica look frightened. Not ever. And why would she? Everyone feared and respected Mica. Mica was a badass, and even if she wasn't she had Don. Don would never let-
Kelly froze.
She looked over the room again.
On one side was Mica and her.
On the other side Faraday, the mystery woman, the Lexi girl and-
Kelly stepped closer still to Mica. Now they were shoulder to shoulder.
"Why did you come here Kelly?" Mica said softly.
Kelly didn't say anything.
Faraday took a step forward.
"Because she thought you'd want to know that the person you sent her to kill tonight was an agent with the F.B.I."
No one moved.
"She thought you'd want to know that because she didn't know that you already knew it. Right Kelly?"
Kelly turned and looked at Mica dumbstruck.
Mica stared back at the woman with a cold expression of pure hate.
"It's easier, we've found," the woman said, "to get you all to do what we need you to do if you think you're the good guys."
Kelly stepped away from Mica.
"Kelly, I'm-"
Kelly waved her off.
"If it helps any, in the big picture, you really are. I assure you. You just don't see the whole picture."
Kelly choked on her breath and backed up.
"So, we have a little problem here," Faraday continued. "I needed to get this agent out of the way. Really, he was becoming a nuisance. Big picture here remember. It was Mica's job to get that done. It's always been Mica's job. I don't much care how she does it. If she want's to bring in you grunts to go out and do the dirty work that's her prerogative, but ultimately it's her job. That's our arrangement. Mica's job, Mica's responsibility, and Mica's secret."
Kelly stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and backed herself against the wall.
"But now there's you," the woman said. "Now you know too, and you know what they say about two people keeping a secret?"
Kelly nodded.
Then the room exploded.
Chapter Six
"My lawyer's in the car," I say as we walk through the kitchen to the back door of the restaurant.
Mica laughs at this. She runs her fingers through her long red hair and shakes it out like a movie star.
"Are you considering legal action against me Malcolm?"
"No," I say. "I'm just letting you know that she knows where I am and who I'm seeing. If I was to disappear or anything, ya know."
She pushes open the emergency exit which swings wide without a sound despite multiple signs warning that an alarm will sound. She leads us out to an open air garden area walled in by a huge cedar privacy fence. It's small, four ten by ten raised garden plots criss crossed by paths of black river stone. Over the paths are wires dangling Chinese lanterns glowing dimly red and yellow.
Mica walks us to the back corner and sits on the low garden wall under a flaming red Japanese maple tree. She gestures for me to join her and I do.
"Got that smoke?" she asks.
I reach into my coat and produce a pack of Pal Mals and a lighter. She takes them and lights up immediately. She takes a deep long drag and holds it in for a long time before releasing the cloud of silver smoke into the air. We sit together silently for what seems like ages. We share a glance here and there, spend some time staring at our shoes and Mica smokes the cigarette I gave her down to the filter. When she finally squeezes the dim cherry off the butt and into the stones at our feet she turns and looks at me sadly.
"Malcolm," she says. "Who do you think I am?"
I'm taken aback by the question. It's shocking to me in a way I wouldn't have expected. It's a question I've asked myself a million times, and in all those times never come to a satisfactory answer. There are stories obviously. It's a question everyone asks and everyone has their theory. It's like asking who is John Galt. Mica Kole, sure, did you know she's the great great granddaughter of Al Capone? No, I heard she's a disgruntled former director of the F.B.I. Nope, she's more than that, she's the immortal personification of the wrath of God. The Old Testament God. The god of the Hebrews sent to punish the world for it's sins. You hear these things. All of them, I swear. You hear them in crack dens, and whore houses, and tent cities in the park. You hear them, but you don't really believe them, or at least I don't.
To me all Mica has ever been is a boss. She's the only authority figure I ever took seriously in my whole life because she's the only person I was ever actually afraid of. Parents, teachers, even the cops, they couldn't really hurt you. Not really, but Mica, I never doubted for a minute that she would kill me dead if I ever crossed her even once.
I lean forward, my elbows on my knees with my hands clasped between them and I sigh.
"I don't know. Honestly, I have no idea. I think I have less of an idea now than I did before, which trust me, wasn't much. You could be anyone, any one of the things they say about you. None of them would surprise me now. Hell, I'd probably be least surprised if you did turn out to be the fuckin' Angel of Death."
To this Mica nearly chokes on her own laughter. She turns to face me crossing one leg under the other, looks straight into my eyes and suddenly relaxes. Her shoulders drop and her hands fall into her lap. Suddenly she looks more human than I've ever seen her. She could be anyone. Just a girl you pass on the street. She could be someone's sister. Suddenly she looks young and beautiful and vulnerable.
"That one is my favorite too," she says.
I wince. Seeing her this way has the opposite effect than I would have thought. It makes me nervous; uneasy. It puts me on guard. It's as if the ground I thought was solid rock just turned out to me paper thin ice and I'm terrified that if I move I'll fall through and drown in dark arctic water.
"I am not the arm of the lord," she says with an air of disappointment. "I am, at best, the left toe of Saint Jude."
I frown.
"I'm sorry, I'm not- well, I'm not anything I guess. I've never been to church."
She smiles sadly.
"I'm nobody Mal. I'm middle management in a company that doesn't exist. I'm a slave to an idea that wandered off it's path a long time ago, and I can't do anything about it. I can't quit because if I do, all the people that I am protecting will be punished for it. All the people I care about will die."
I turn to face her holding my breath, waiting for the right words to come to me. I loosen my tie and undo the top button of my shirt. I run my fingers through my hair and bite my lower lip.
"Mica, who's-"
"Kelly Phillips?"
I nod.
Mica lets out a long and tired sigh.
"Kelly was like you. She was one of my soldiers. Like you she had a troubled youth and like you one of my people found her and brought her into the fold."
I notice my mouth is hanging open in shock and quickly close it.
Mica nods.
"She did the same kinds of jobs you did. There's more of you than you know Mal."
"And you-"
Mica shakes her head.
"I didn't," she says. "And therein lies the problem."
My brow wrinkles and I shift my weight.
"I love you guys," she says wistfully. "You don't know it, but I do. It's why I put the money aside for each of you. I want each and every one of you to reach the point where you can't stand what you're doing anymore. Where each of you comes to me and demands out. When you become the kind of person who knows that this is wrong and wants a life that's right."
My brain somersaults in my skull. I'm lost. I stand up and begin pacing back and forth in front of her trying to find my center of gravity.
"The problem is, I'm not in charge. That's what you have to understand Mal. I'm a pawn on the board, not the queen, and the person moving all the pieces; she doesn't care about anyone."
I stop and look at her, panic painted on my face.
"What do you mean you're not in charge? Who is? Who's running this shit show?"
"I can't tell you that Mal. For your own safety I can't tell you that."
I laugh.
"My safety? Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Mal-"
"And Kelly? Is that what happened to her?"
Mica doesn't move.
"What, did Kelly figure it out? Did she get a glimpse behind the curtain? And then what? You had her killed for that?"
"No!" she shouts. "No, it wasn't me! That's what I'm trying to tell you Mal. The person above me made that happen."
"But it was you that sent me after her brother. You sent me to kill an innocent man."
Mica looks at her feet, then up into my eyes.
"Yes," she says.
"I just don't understand," I say. "How did this happen. I mean how did you get here? I mean, Jesus. Who could get to you like that? Yeah! Wait! How did it happen? Why didn't you just send Don to fix…"
I trail off.
Mica stares up at me.
"Don doesn't work for you."
She nods.
"Don doesn't protect you, he watches you. He's not a bodyguard he's a babysitter."
She just stares back blankly.
I walk over and sit back down next to her.
"Well you have me," I say. "And who else? How many more? Let's get them. Let's get them all and let's go after whoever it is that's controlling you. Why don't we tear the whole thing down?"
Mica gives me the same sad smile.
"I don't know who I can trust Mal. Until someone wants out, like you did, until they say they don't want any part of this anymore they may as well work for her."
I look up.
"Her?"
Mica shrugs.
"The Woman. That's what I call her."
I gaze at her.
"Kelly wanted out?"
She smiles.
"I don't know. I think so. I think she had figured it out. She came to see me, but she walked in on a meeting. Once she knew for sure, once The Woman knew she knew, there was no way she was going to get out of it alive. She tried. She shot up the place something good, managed to get out of here, but-"
"They followed her," I say.
She nods.
"Found her at her brother's place. She was packing a bag. They beat her so bad Malcolm. They beat her just about to death. Then her brother walked in. They emptied a clip at him but someone he got away. That's when she called me and told me to have you take him out."
I reach out and put a hand on her shoulder.
"You can trust me," I say. "Me and Elle, and I've got a very strange but also very sharp woman in my car that wants to help us."
She shakes her head.
"There's nothing to be done Mal. You just need to leave. Leave your car here and run. Just run as fast and as far as you can. If you can get out of the country, that would be even better. Just you. Just you Mal. I made my bed a long time ago and now it looks like it's time for me to lie down in it."
I stand up and look down at the broken soul of the woman I used to work for. Suddenly I feel a sense of strength wash over me and I straighten up with an eagerness of purpose.
"No," I say.
She looks up at me.
"Nope, sorry. I don't work for you anymore. You don't give me orders. Now, I'm going to figure out who is behind this and I'm going to put a stop to it. It would be considerably easier if you were with me on this, but with or without you I'm not going anywhere until the whole fucking thing is a burning pile of rubble at my feet."
"Or you're dead," she offered helpfully.
"Yeah, that's right," I say, my confidence faltering for just a moment. "Or until I'm dead."
She looks at me with a more terrified expression than I've never seen on anyone before, then it melts slowly away and the steely eyed resolve that I'm used to seeing on my boss returns. She stands up and puts a hand on my shoulder. There's a long silence between us.
"Then we need to go see Adam," she says.
"My lawyer's in the car," I say as we walk through the kitchen to the back door of the restaurant.
Mica laughs at this. She runs her fingers through her long red hair and shakes it out like a movie star.
"Are you considering legal action against me Malcolm?"
"No," I say. "I'm just letting you know that she knows where I am and who I'm seeing. If I was to disappear or anything, ya know."
She pushes open the emergency exit which swings wide without a sound despite multiple signs warning that an alarm will sound. She leads us out to an open air garden area walled in by a huge cedar privacy fence. It's small, four ten by ten raised garden plots criss crossed by paths of black river stone. Over the paths are wires dangling Chinese lanterns glowing dimly red and yellow.
Mica walks us to the back corner and sits on the low garden wall under a flaming red Japanese maple tree. She gestures for me to join her and I do.
"Got that smoke?" she asks.
I reach into my coat and produce a pack of Pal Mals and a lighter. She takes them and lights up immediately. She takes a deep long drag and holds it in for a long time before releasing the cloud of silver smoke into the air. We sit together silently for what seems like ages. We share a glance here and there, spend some time staring at our shoes and Mica smokes the cigarette I gave her down to the filter. When she finally squeezes the dim cherry off the butt and into the stones at our feet she turns and looks at me sadly.
"Malcolm," she says. "Who do you think I am?"
I'm taken aback by the question. It's shocking to me in a way I wouldn't have expected. It's a question I've asked myself a million times, and in all those times never come to a satisfactory answer. There are stories obviously. It's a question everyone asks and everyone has their theory. It's like asking who is John Galt. Mica Kole, sure, did you know she's the great great granddaughter of Al Capone? No, I heard she's a disgruntled former director of the F.B.I. Nope, she's more than that, she's the immortal personification of the wrath of God. The Old Testament God. The god of the Hebrews sent to punish the world for it's sins. You hear these things. All of them, I swear. You hear them in crack dens, and whore houses, and tent cities in the park. You hear them, but you don't really believe them, or at least I don't.
To me all Mica has ever been is a boss. She's the only authority figure I ever took seriously in my whole life because she's the only person I was ever actually afraid of. Parents, teachers, even the cops, they couldn't really hurt you. Not really, but Mica, I never doubted for a minute that she would kill me dead if I ever crossed her even once.
I lean forward, my elbows on my knees with my hands clasped between them and I sigh.
"I don't know. Honestly, I have no idea. I think I have less of an idea now than I did before, which trust me, wasn't much. You could be anyone, any one of the things they say about you. None of them would surprise me now. Hell, I'd probably be least surprised if you did turn out to be the fuckin' Angel of Death."
To this Mica nearly chokes on her own laughter. She turns to face me crossing one leg under the other, looks straight into my eyes and suddenly relaxes. Her shoulders drop and her hands fall into her lap. Suddenly she looks more human than I've ever seen her. She could be anyone. Just a girl you pass on the street. She could be someone's sister. Suddenly she looks young and beautiful and vulnerable.
"That one is my favorite too," she says.
I wince. Seeing her this way has the opposite effect than I would have thought. It makes me nervous; uneasy. It puts me on guard. It's as if the ground I thought was solid rock just turned out to me paper thin ice and I'm terrified that if I move I'll fall through and drown in dark arctic water.
"I am not the arm of the lord," she says with an air of disappointment. "I am, at best, the left toe of Saint Jude."
I frown.
"I'm sorry, I'm not- well, I'm not anything I guess. I've never been to church."
She smiles sadly.
"I'm nobody Mal. I'm middle management in a company that doesn't exist. I'm a slave to an idea that wandered off it's path a long time ago, and I can't do anything about it. I can't quit because if I do, all the people that I am protecting will be punished for it. All the people I care about will die."
I turn to face her holding my breath, waiting for the right words to come to me. I loosen my tie and undo the top button of my shirt. I run my fingers through my hair and bite my lower lip.
"Mica, who's-"
"Kelly Phillips?"
I nod.
Mica lets out a long and tired sigh.
"Kelly was like you. She was one of my soldiers. Like you she had a troubled youth and like you one of my people found her and brought her into the fold."
I notice my mouth is hanging open in shock and quickly close it.
Mica nods.
"She did the same kinds of jobs you did. There's more of you than you know Mal."
"And you-"
Mica shakes her head.
"I didn't," she says. "And therein lies the problem."
My brow wrinkles and I shift my weight.
"I love you guys," she says wistfully. "You don't know it, but I do. It's why I put the money aside for each of you. I want each and every one of you to reach the point where you can't stand what you're doing anymore. Where each of you comes to me and demands out. When you become the kind of person who knows that this is wrong and wants a life that's right."
My brain somersaults in my skull. I'm lost. I stand up and begin pacing back and forth in front of her trying to find my center of gravity.
"The problem is, I'm not in charge. That's what you have to understand Mal. I'm a pawn on the board, not the queen, and the person moving all the pieces; she doesn't care about anyone."
I stop and look at her, panic painted on my face.
"What do you mean you're not in charge? Who is? Who's running this shit show?"
"I can't tell you that Mal. For your own safety I can't tell you that."
I laugh.
"My safety? Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Mal-"
"And Kelly? Is that what happened to her?"
Mica doesn't move.
"What, did Kelly figure it out? Did she get a glimpse behind the curtain? And then what? You had her killed for that?"
"No!" she shouts. "No, it wasn't me! That's what I'm trying to tell you Mal. The person above me made that happen."
"But it was you that sent me after her brother. You sent me to kill an innocent man."
Mica looks at her feet, then up into my eyes.
"Yes," she says.
"I just don't understand," I say. "How did this happen. I mean how did you get here? I mean, Jesus. Who could get to you like that? Yeah! Wait! How did it happen? Why didn't you just send Don to fix…"
I trail off.
Mica stares up at me.
"Don doesn't work for you."
She nods.
"Don doesn't protect you, he watches you. He's not a bodyguard he's a babysitter."
She just stares back blankly.
I walk over and sit back down next to her.
"Well you have me," I say. "And who else? How many more? Let's get them. Let's get them all and let's go after whoever it is that's controlling you. Why don't we tear the whole thing down?"
Mica gives me the same sad smile.
"I don't know who I can trust Mal. Until someone wants out, like you did, until they say they don't want any part of this anymore they may as well work for her."
I look up.
"Her?"
Mica shrugs.
"The Woman. That's what I call her."
I gaze at her.
"Kelly wanted out?"
She smiles.
"I don't know. I think so. I think she had figured it out. She came to see me, but she walked in on a meeting. Once she knew for sure, once The Woman knew she knew, there was no way she was going to get out of it alive. She tried. She shot up the place something good, managed to get out of here, but-"
"They followed her," I say.
She nods.
"Found her at her brother's place. She was packing a bag. They beat her so bad Malcolm. They beat her just about to death. Then her brother walked in. They emptied a clip at him but someone he got away. That's when she called me and told me to have you take him out."
I reach out and put a hand on her shoulder.
"You can trust me," I say. "Me and Elle, and I've got a very strange but also very sharp woman in my car that wants to help us."
She shakes her head.
"There's nothing to be done Mal. You just need to leave. Leave your car here and run. Just run as fast and as far as you can. If you can get out of the country, that would be even better. Just you. Just you Mal. I made my bed a long time ago and now it looks like it's time for me to lie down in it."
I stand up and look down at the broken soul of the woman I used to work for. Suddenly I feel a sense of strength wash over me and I straighten up with an eagerness of purpose.
"No," I say.
She looks up at me.
"Nope, sorry. I don't work for you anymore. You don't give me orders. Now, I'm going to figure out who is behind this and I'm going to put a stop to it. It would be considerably easier if you were with me on this, but with or without you I'm not going anywhere until the whole fucking thing is a burning pile of rubble at my feet."
"Or you're dead," she offered helpfully.
"Yeah, that's right," I say, my confidence faltering for just a moment. "Or until I'm dead."
She looks at me with a more terrified expression than I've never seen on anyone before, then it melts slowly away and the steely eyed resolve that I'm used to seeing on my boss returns. She stands up and puts a hand on my shoulder. There's a long silence between us.
"Then we need to go see Adam," she says.
Chapter Seven
When I climb back in the car Allie is sitting, relaxed in the passenger seat, sipping a coffee from a thermal mug. She has the radio playing music that was popular twenty years ago and looks to me like she doesn't have a care in the world.
I shut the door and say, "Hey."
"Hey," she says back nonchalantly. "How'd-"
The back drivers side door opens and Mica climbs in. She shuts the door and buckles her seatbelt.
"All set," she says.
Allie looks back then forward, there's a brief pause, then she sprays coffee across my windshield. She coughs, chokes almost and turns around in her seat. She gapes at mica, then turns and stares at me.
"Allie," I say. "I'd like you to meet Mica Kole."
Allie freezes. Slowly her face melts into the warmest of smiles and she turns back around to face Mica. She extends her hand back over the seat.
"So very nice to make your acquaintance," she says.
Mica smiles and shakes her hand.
"Absolutely. My pleasure entirely Allie. I've heard so many great things about you."
"Oh stop it," Allie says charmingly. "You're making me blush."
She waves off Mica's compliment and turns back to face me.
"Malcolm, would it be possible to speak to you outside for a moment.
I sigh and turn my head to look at her. She mouths the word 'outside' without actually speaking.
I roll my eyes and open the car door. I step out and lean against the vehicle and wait. Allie steps out and quickly starts walking away from the car. After a few strides she stops and looks back at me. She waves her hand quickly three times at me to suggest that I should follow her. I stick my head back in the car.
"Sorry Mica, I'll be right back."
Mica smiles.
"Take your time," she says.
I close the door and follow Allie into the dark. About thirty feet away she stops. I follow suit. She smiles at me, though it's hard to see in the dark.
"Yes?" I say.
"Hey," she says in a chipper voice. "How'd the meeting go?"
"Alright," I say. "I think we've got a plan now at least. We've got to get some supplies, but then we're going after the ringleader of this whole shit show. This is all such a mess, and I know that none of it will hold up in court so don't even remind me of that little nugget, but the legal battle is going to have to be separate. Ultimately, I didn't do what they are charging me of, but proving that may require me to face up to the things I did do. I don't really know how you're going to defend me against that, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. My main focus now is tearing down this whole messed up organization."
Allie is nodding.
"That's great. Good to hear," she's saying in a sing song voice that suggests she's not really listening to me in the first place. "Quick question. Are you fucking insane?"
"It's okay Allie," I reassure her. "Mica is with us on this. She's a victim here too. Just like I was, she's under someone else's thumb. She's not the one pulling the strings; never has been. This whole time she's just a slave like me."
Allie stares at me with a dumb look on her face.
"Oh my God Malcolm,"
I let out a sigh.
"Do you think I'm fucking stupid?" she says. "I know that. I know there are people above her. That's people by the way Malcolm. Not one person. People is plural. That's my point. You can't trust her because you have no idea if she's acting on her own motives, or the motives of the people controlling her."
I grunt and throw my hands up.
"I don't know anything Allie. Shit. I only just met you today, but you're here with me too. I've got nothing left Allie. Nothing left to lose. I'm trusting you, and I'm trusting her too. So you can come and be a part of it, or you can walk out now, but either way I'm going back to the car and I'm going to put an end to this fucking insanity. Now. Fucking tonight!"
Allie stares at me for a moment, then shrugs, smiles again and starts walking back to the car. I stand motionless watching her leave again. Finally she shouts back over her shoulder without stopping.
"Okay. Jesus Mal, are you coming?"
When we get back to the car Mica is wiping coffee off the window and dashboard with old Taco Bell napkins I keep in my glovebox. She steps out of the car and gives us a timid smile.
"Everything okay?"
"Oh sure," Allie says. "Just a little lawyer client chat. You know how it is."
Mica looks at her unconvinced.
"Oh, one thing though," Allie adds. "If you do decide to betray us, try and just kill him. I've just got so much stuff to do next week."
Mica looks at Allie like a crazy person and mutters, "Uh, yeah. Sure. No problem."
"Phew, thanks so much," Allie says with exaggerated gratitude.
We all climb back in the car and I rev up the engine to go.
"Alex won't be at his office at this time of night," Mica says. "We're going to have to go to his house. I don't have a way to contact him there and let him know we're coming so you might want to let me be the one to knock on the front door."
"That's fine," I say. "But I want to swing by the motel first and get Elle-"
I'm interrupted by both of the women in my car shouting, "No!"
When I climb back in the car Allie is sitting, relaxed in the passenger seat, sipping a coffee from a thermal mug. She has the radio playing music that was popular twenty years ago and looks to me like she doesn't have a care in the world.
I shut the door and say, "Hey."
"Hey," she says back nonchalantly. "How'd-"
The back drivers side door opens and Mica climbs in. She shuts the door and buckles her seatbelt.
"All set," she says.
Allie looks back then forward, there's a brief pause, then she sprays coffee across my windshield. She coughs, chokes almost and turns around in her seat. She gapes at mica, then turns and stares at me.
"Allie," I say. "I'd like you to meet Mica Kole."
Allie freezes. Slowly her face melts into the warmest of smiles and she turns back around to face Mica. She extends her hand back over the seat.
"So very nice to make your acquaintance," she says.
Mica smiles and shakes her hand.
"Absolutely. My pleasure entirely Allie. I've heard so many great things about you."
"Oh stop it," Allie says charmingly. "You're making me blush."
She waves off Mica's compliment and turns back to face me.
"Malcolm, would it be possible to speak to you outside for a moment.
I sigh and turn my head to look at her. She mouths the word 'outside' without actually speaking.
I roll my eyes and open the car door. I step out and lean against the vehicle and wait. Allie steps out and quickly starts walking away from the car. After a few strides she stops and looks back at me. She waves her hand quickly three times at me to suggest that I should follow her. I stick my head back in the car.
"Sorry Mica, I'll be right back."
Mica smiles.
"Take your time," she says.
I close the door and follow Allie into the dark. About thirty feet away she stops. I follow suit. She smiles at me, though it's hard to see in the dark.
"Yes?" I say.
"Hey," she says in a chipper voice. "How'd the meeting go?"
"Alright," I say. "I think we've got a plan now at least. We've got to get some supplies, but then we're going after the ringleader of this whole shit show. This is all such a mess, and I know that none of it will hold up in court so don't even remind me of that little nugget, but the legal battle is going to have to be separate. Ultimately, I didn't do what they are charging me of, but proving that may require me to face up to the things I did do. I don't really know how you're going to defend me against that, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. My main focus now is tearing down this whole messed up organization."
Allie is nodding.
"That's great. Good to hear," she's saying in a sing song voice that suggests she's not really listening to me in the first place. "Quick question. Are you fucking insane?"
"It's okay Allie," I reassure her. "Mica is with us on this. She's a victim here too. Just like I was, she's under someone else's thumb. She's not the one pulling the strings; never has been. This whole time she's just a slave like me."
Allie stares at me with a dumb look on her face.
"Oh my God Malcolm,"
I let out a sigh.
"Do you think I'm fucking stupid?" she says. "I know that. I know there are people above her. That's people by the way Malcolm. Not one person. People is plural. That's my point. You can't trust her because you have no idea if she's acting on her own motives, or the motives of the people controlling her."
I grunt and throw my hands up.
"I don't know anything Allie. Shit. I only just met you today, but you're here with me too. I've got nothing left Allie. Nothing left to lose. I'm trusting you, and I'm trusting her too. So you can come and be a part of it, or you can walk out now, but either way I'm going back to the car and I'm going to put an end to this fucking insanity. Now. Fucking tonight!"
Allie stares at me for a moment, then shrugs, smiles again and starts walking back to the car. I stand motionless watching her leave again. Finally she shouts back over her shoulder without stopping.
"Okay. Jesus Mal, are you coming?"
When we get back to the car Mica is wiping coffee off the window and dashboard with old Taco Bell napkins I keep in my glovebox. She steps out of the car and gives us a timid smile.
"Everything okay?"
"Oh sure," Allie says. "Just a little lawyer client chat. You know how it is."
Mica looks at her unconvinced.
"Oh, one thing though," Allie adds. "If you do decide to betray us, try and just kill him. I've just got so much stuff to do next week."
Mica looks at Allie like a crazy person and mutters, "Uh, yeah. Sure. No problem."
"Phew, thanks so much," Allie says with exaggerated gratitude.
We all climb back in the car and I rev up the engine to go.
"Alex won't be at his office at this time of night," Mica says. "We're going to have to go to his house. I don't have a way to contact him there and let him know we're coming so you might want to let me be the one to knock on the front door."
"That's fine," I say. "But I want to swing by the motel first and get Elle-"
I'm interrupted by both of the women in my car shouting, "No!"
Chapter Eight
There was a list. Seven addresses in and around the city. It had been texted to Elle earlier that day, while they were at Allie's place, just before they found Malcolm playing with those stupid puppies. That's all it was, seven addresses. There were no names attached, no explicit instructions spelled out, just the list of seven addresses from an unknown cell phone.
Elle knew what it meant. She didn't need to have it explained. She knew what it was even before she started reading it and she knew what she was supposed to do. These were the addresses of the people in S.A. Faraday's organization. These were the people that Elle was supposed to eliminate tonight.
"In eight hundred feet stay straight onto Sheridan Road" the vaguely feminine voice of Elle's GPS said.
She was on her way to the third address on the list, a house in Roger’s Park on the far north side of the city. She didn't know who lived there, or how they were connected to Faraday, but she knew they were on the list and it was her job to make them gone.
The first two addresses she knew. The first one was hers. It was the apartment that she had shared with Malcolm. It was gone now, blown to pieces by a bomb she set, but someone else detonated. That explosion, that night, that was the beginning of the end. That was when the pieces of this whole charade started to fall apart.
She was pretty sure that the explosion was a message, not a mistake. She was fairly certain that it was intended to tell her that it was time to start cleaning things up. Things had gotten sloppy and mistakes were being made in the outer echelons of the group. People putting things together that they shouldn't, including her husband. He had begun to figure out that he wasn't doing what he thought he was, at least not always, and he was beginning to suspect that he might not be doing it for the person he thought he was.
He was getting suspicious and he was getting brave. Brave enough that he walked into Mica's office and quit. People didn't do that. Faraday had worked very hard over the years to make sure the people Mica brought in believed that she was a monster and that they could never get out alive. For the most part Mica let that impression stand, she let Faraday run her exactly the way she ran her soldiers, but what Mica couldn't do was follow through. It had been a problem with her from the very beginning. It's the reason Elle's dad had gotten sucked into this company in the first place. When push came to shove Mica couldn't pull the trigger. So when her people came to her, when Malcolm came to her and wanted out, she let him go. She let him walk away and start a new life.
That's why they blew up her building. Faraday wanted to let Elle know that enough was enough. It was time to end it. It was time to get rid of all the deadwood and start over from scratch. She was telling Elle it was time to kill Malcolm. The list confirmed this. There it was, right at the top of the list, their apartment. It was gone now, but the message was the same, she had to kill Mal. He was first on the list.
First on the list, but he'd be the last one she took care of that night. She needed time to prepare herself for that job. Malcolm may have been a killer, but she wasn't, not by vocation at least. Her role in the organization had been administrative so to speak. Intelligence perhaps. Her job was to keep track of Malcolm, to know his every move and every thought. Her job was to be his wife.
The truth was that she'd actually grown rather fond of him over the years. At first when S.A. Faraday had told her that she wanted her to keep close tabs on him she had been fine with it, but when that became dating him, and then marrying him, well she was less agreeable to that. Marrying a man just to spy on him seemed disturbing, disgusting even. Letting him touch her, letting him kiss her, letting him fuck her, that was more than she thought could be reasonably asked.
But Faraday wasn't reasonable. She was single minded and determined and she demanded the same of her personnel, and Malcolm was charming. He was very charming in fact and within a few weeks of sharing a bed with him on not so subtle threats of death or worse from her boss she found that she was warming to him. By the end of their first year together she had found that she genuinely liked him.
She would never go so far as to say she loved him. That was a bridge too far. She liked him and didn't mind her role of playing house with him, and fucking him, when she had to, well it was better than a bullet, so she found she could even enjoy that, or at least she could fool herself into thinking she could. Still, he was a co-worker and nothing more. They served the same agenda and had the same boss, even if Malcolm didn't know it.
The second address on the list is where she had just been. It was her father's apartment. Her dad had worked for Faraday for as long as she could remember, and though he had expressly forbidden it, she knew from an early age that she would too. She was brought up to be in Autumn's army, the pavement being laid from her childhood.
That Faraday Woman, as her mother had always called her, had begun contacting Elle secretly when she was only ten years old. By then her parents had already split up and her mother had made it clear that it was almost entirely because of Faraday, or rather her father's inability to put his wife and family before Faraday and her mission. She's why he quit the police force, she's why they lost their health insurance and pension. She's why he was always working late and coming home stressed out. She's why her dad cried at night, alone in the dark when he thought everyone else was asleep.
Elle knew now, with thirty years of hindsight, that it wasn't that her father chose Faraday over them, it was that he never had that choice in the first place. He would either do what he was told. Go where she told him to go, scare who she told him to scare, and sometimes even kill who she told him to kill because if he didn't, not only would she kill him, but she would kill the woman he loved and his only daughter. Her father let his wife, whom he loved dearly, leave him and take his daughter to save their lives.
The other five addresses were anyone's guess. They could be five more soldiers like Malcolm, or other kinds of service providers. One of them could be Faraday's attendant Lexi Lefevre, the blue haired ice queen that was never far from Faraday's side. She would be a challenge. She was smart and strong. Cunning problem solving skills and athleticism that surprised most people. On the surface she was Faraday's porter, but the general belief was that she was more like a bodyguard and that she was not a person to be trifled with.
One of the addresses could be Mica Kole herself. Elle wasn't sure she'd ever been to Mica's actual home. In fact if you had asked her a few hours ago she would have said she assumed that Mica lived at the restaurant, but now, well, it only made sense that one of these was her home. If Faraday's intention really was to gut the entire operation and start over, Mica would have to go too.
Of course Elle had no way of knowing for certain that that's what was happening. She had never been told it was, nor had she ever asked, it was just an assumption. An assumption made based on a story. A story she'd heard twenty-five years ago.
When she was sixteen years old and a junior in high school Elle had been made captain of her school debate team. It was an honor that she'd worked hard to achieve and she was very very proud of it. She wasn't in athletics, but she bought a letterman's jacket anyway so that she could display the big "G" that stood for the school's name and the pin that indicated that she was a captain.
Debate in school is different than most people think. You aren't casually arguing a notion back and forth with a snarky opponent. It's not like presidential debates you see on television. You have to talk fast, auctioneer fast, micro-machines guy fast. You have to talk fast and you have to list facts. It's a crazy skill set to master and she was just that, a master. She worked with her other team members and held coaching sessions every day after school, but the truth was that while she was a star in the sport, the rest of her team were average at best.
She was leaving a competition in the suburbs one weekend when she ran into That Faraday Woman in the parking lot. This happened a lot. Faraday would just show up places and pull Elle aside for a little chat. Little life lessons like she was some sexy Yoda and not green. It happened frequently enough that Elle had stopped being surprised by it.
"Elle," The Faraday Woman shouted from a row over in the parking lot.
Elle looked up and let out a short breath.
"Ms. Faraday. Hi there, what are you doing here?"
Faraday walked over to Elle's car and leaned over the roof in a casual manner and smiled.
"I came to see you speak. You're good."
Elle smiled shyly and said thank you.
"No, I mean it," Faraday gushed. "You are really really good. Your teammates a little less so, but you are really amazing. You should go into law."
Elle blushed.
"Really though, that team of yours needs… well it needs something."
"I know," Elle said.
Faraday shifted positions and gave a wry smile.
"Can I tell you a story Elle?" she said.
Elle looked at her watch then shrugged and shut her car door. She leaned against the car as well and looked across the roof at That Faraday Woman.
Faraday took a breath.
"So, there was this sailor, I say sailor but really he was a pirate. Ya know, Jack Sparrow type. Back in the time of the East India company. So he was a pirate, but not the captain. He was the first mate and he worked really hard and followed all the orders the captain gave, but eventually it wasn't enough for him.
"Now pirates, they don't have a lot of upward mobility as it were. You pretty much live and die for your captain and that's the most you're ever going to have, but this fellow, we'll call him Michael, he just couldn't settle for that. So one day Michael goes into the captain's quarters and blows his head off with an old ball and powder pistol.
"Ya see, he just up and kills the captain of the ship. He then marches all of the other crew onto the deck and tells them what he's done and informs them that he's the captain of the boat now. But ya know what he does now?"
Elle stares for a moment, confused by where this is going, then shakes her head.
"Right, so the new captain, our guy Michael, he gives the crew members a choice. They can stay and work for him, or they can get off at the next port and go their separate ways. He gives them a choice. So, ya know, most of them stay, but a few of them decide they want to leave. So a day or so later they arrive at some port in the Caribbean and the one's who chose to leave, they get off the boat and walk away."
Elle looks surprised.
"Not what you thought would happen right?"
"No, not at all," Elle says.
"So," Faraday continues. "The next day the ship sets sail with the remaining crew. When they get out to sea Captain Michael calls the crew out on deck and thanks them for choosing to stay with him. He then takes out his scabbard and kills each and every one of them and throws them overboard. They all died, except, in point of fact, one of them. He spared a single ship's mate. A thirteen year old boy. He said, 'you're young and no not what loyalty means yet, but I will let you live and you will be my first mate, and together will said these seas and I will teach you what it is to be a man.'"
Elle looked stunned.
Faraday smiled.
"And?" Elle asked.
"And? And they did. They sailed together for years and years and built a new crew and the boy was his first mate."
Elle frowned.
"Anyway," Faraday said. "Good performance today. Just gotta do something with the rest of the team."
She patted the roof of the car and turned and walked away.
Elle was profoundly confused and bewildered. She didn't understand what the point of that was. She couldn't fire any of the kids from the team, and she wasn't going to kill anyone. It was one of those stories, one of those moments that are so baffling that you may never understand them, but you never forget them either. It haunted Elle for years, that story. She would think of it at the strangest times, and never at any point did she understand what it meant, until now.
It meant it was time to kill the crew. It meant that no one who knows where power comes from can respect that power for very long. It meant that when people start to understand how, or why the Captain is captain then it's time to get rid of that crew and find a new one. It meant that Elle was the child and it was her job to clean house and then she would take her place as second in command. She wouldn't have to live with a man she didn't love or work at a job she wasn't passionate about. It meant that her's would be the name that was feared and respected.
Elle pulled into the driveway of a small brick and siding town home. She popped open her glove box and pulled out a small pink SCCY CPX-2 9mm pistol. She pressed the magazine release and slid out the clip. She counted ten rounds and slid it back up into the grip. She pulled back the slide, chambered a round and climbed out of the car.
There was a list. Seven addresses in and around the city. It had been texted to Elle earlier that day, while they were at Allie's place, just before they found Malcolm playing with those stupid puppies. That's all it was, seven addresses. There were no names attached, no explicit instructions spelled out, just the list of seven addresses from an unknown cell phone.
Elle knew what it meant. She didn't need to have it explained. She knew what it was even before she started reading it and she knew what she was supposed to do. These were the addresses of the people in S.A. Faraday's organization. These were the people that Elle was supposed to eliminate tonight.
"In eight hundred feet stay straight onto Sheridan Road" the vaguely feminine voice of Elle's GPS said.
She was on her way to the third address on the list, a house in Roger’s Park on the far north side of the city. She didn't know who lived there, or how they were connected to Faraday, but she knew they were on the list and it was her job to make them gone.
The first two addresses she knew. The first one was hers. It was the apartment that she had shared with Malcolm. It was gone now, blown to pieces by a bomb she set, but someone else detonated. That explosion, that night, that was the beginning of the end. That was when the pieces of this whole charade started to fall apart.
She was pretty sure that the explosion was a message, not a mistake. She was fairly certain that it was intended to tell her that it was time to start cleaning things up. Things had gotten sloppy and mistakes were being made in the outer echelons of the group. People putting things together that they shouldn't, including her husband. He had begun to figure out that he wasn't doing what he thought he was, at least not always, and he was beginning to suspect that he might not be doing it for the person he thought he was.
He was getting suspicious and he was getting brave. Brave enough that he walked into Mica's office and quit. People didn't do that. Faraday had worked very hard over the years to make sure the people Mica brought in believed that she was a monster and that they could never get out alive. For the most part Mica let that impression stand, she let Faraday run her exactly the way she ran her soldiers, but what Mica couldn't do was follow through. It had been a problem with her from the very beginning. It's the reason Elle's dad had gotten sucked into this company in the first place. When push came to shove Mica couldn't pull the trigger. So when her people came to her, when Malcolm came to her and wanted out, she let him go. She let him walk away and start a new life.
That's why they blew up her building. Faraday wanted to let Elle know that enough was enough. It was time to end it. It was time to get rid of all the deadwood and start over from scratch. She was telling Elle it was time to kill Malcolm. The list confirmed this. There it was, right at the top of the list, their apartment. It was gone now, but the message was the same, she had to kill Mal. He was first on the list.
First on the list, but he'd be the last one she took care of that night. She needed time to prepare herself for that job. Malcolm may have been a killer, but she wasn't, not by vocation at least. Her role in the organization had been administrative so to speak. Intelligence perhaps. Her job was to keep track of Malcolm, to know his every move and every thought. Her job was to be his wife.
The truth was that she'd actually grown rather fond of him over the years. At first when S.A. Faraday had told her that she wanted her to keep close tabs on him she had been fine with it, but when that became dating him, and then marrying him, well she was less agreeable to that. Marrying a man just to spy on him seemed disturbing, disgusting even. Letting him touch her, letting him kiss her, letting him fuck her, that was more than she thought could be reasonably asked.
But Faraday wasn't reasonable. She was single minded and determined and she demanded the same of her personnel, and Malcolm was charming. He was very charming in fact and within a few weeks of sharing a bed with him on not so subtle threats of death or worse from her boss she found that she was warming to him. By the end of their first year together she had found that she genuinely liked him.
She would never go so far as to say she loved him. That was a bridge too far. She liked him and didn't mind her role of playing house with him, and fucking him, when she had to, well it was better than a bullet, so she found she could even enjoy that, or at least she could fool herself into thinking she could. Still, he was a co-worker and nothing more. They served the same agenda and had the same boss, even if Malcolm didn't know it.
The second address on the list is where she had just been. It was her father's apartment. Her dad had worked for Faraday for as long as she could remember, and though he had expressly forbidden it, she knew from an early age that she would too. She was brought up to be in Autumn's army, the pavement being laid from her childhood.
That Faraday Woman, as her mother had always called her, had begun contacting Elle secretly when she was only ten years old. By then her parents had already split up and her mother had made it clear that it was almost entirely because of Faraday, or rather her father's inability to put his wife and family before Faraday and her mission. She's why he quit the police force, she's why they lost their health insurance and pension. She's why he was always working late and coming home stressed out. She's why her dad cried at night, alone in the dark when he thought everyone else was asleep.
Elle knew now, with thirty years of hindsight, that it wasn't that her father chose Faraday over them, it was that he never had that choice in the first place. He would either do what he was told. Go where she told him to go, scare who she told him to scare, and sometimes even kill who she told him to kill because if he didn't, not only would she kill him, but she would kill the woman he loved and his only daughter. Her father let his wife, whom he loved dearly, leave him and take his daughter to save their lives.
The other five addresses were anyone's guess. They could be five more soldiers like Malcolm, or other kinds of service providers. One of them could be Faraday's attendant Lexi Lefevre, the blue haired ice queen that was never far from Faraday's side. She would be a challenge. She was smart and strong. Cunning problem solving skills and athleticism that surprised most people. On the surface she was Faraday's porter, but the general belief was that she was more like a bodyguard and that she was not a person to be trifled with.
One of the addresses could be Mica Kole herself. Elle wasn't sure she'd ever been to Mica's actual home. In fact if you had asked her a few hours ago she would have said she assumed that Mica lived at the restaurant, but now, well, it only made sense that one of these was her home. If Faraday's intention really was to gut the entire operation and start over, Mica would have to go too.
Of course Elle had no way of knowing for certain that that's what was happening. She had never been told it was, nor had she ever asked, it was just an assumption. An assumption made based on a story. A story she'd heard twenty-five years ago.
When she was sixteen years old and a junior in high school Elle had been made captain of her school debate team. It was an honor that she'd worked hard to achieve and she was very very proud of it. She wasn't in athletics, but she bought a letterman's jacket anyway so that she could display the big "G" that stood for the school's name and the pin that indicated that she was a captain.
Debate in school is different than most people think. You aren't casually arguing a notion back and forth with a snarky opponent. It's not like presidential debates you see on television. You have to talk fast, auctioneer fast, micro-machines guy fast. You have to talk fast and you have to list facts. It's a crazy skill set to master and she was just that, a master. She worked with her other team members and held coaching sessions every day after school, but the truth was that while she was a star in the sport, the rest of her team were average at best.
She was leaving a competition in the suburbs one weekend when she ran into That Faraday Woman in the parking lot. This happened a lot. Faraday would just show up places and pull Elle aside for a little chat. Little life lessons like she was some sexy Yoda and not green. It happened frequently enough that Elle had stopped being surprised by it.
"Elle," The Faraday Woman shouted from a row over in the parking lot.
Elle looked up and let out a short breath.
"Ms. Faraday. Hi there, what are you doing here?"
Faraday walked over to Elle's car and leaned over the roof in a casual manner and smiled.
"I came to see you speak. You're good."
Elle smiled shyly and said thank you.
"No, I mean it," Faraday gushed. "You are really really good. Your teammates a little less so, but you are really amazing. You should go into law."
Elle blushed.
"Really though, that team of yours needs… well it needs something."
"I know," Elle said.
Faraday shifted positions and gave a wry smile.
"Can I tell you a story Elle?" she said.
Elle looked at her watch then shrugged and shut her car door. She leaned against the car as well and looked across the roof at That Faraday Woman.
Faraday took a breath.
"So, there was this sailor, I say sailor but really he was a pirate. Ya know, Jack Sparrow type. Back in the time of the East India company. So he was a pirate, but not the captain. He was the first mate and he worked really hard and followed all the orders the captain gave, but eventually it wasn't enough for him.
"Now pirates, they don't have a lot of upward mobility as it were. You pretty much live and die for your captain and that's the most you're ever going to have, but this fellow, we'll call him Michael, he just couldn't settle for that. So one day Michael goes into the captain's quarters and blows his head off with an old ball and powder pistol.
"Ya see, he just up and kills the captain of the ship. He then marches all of the other crew onto the deck and tells them what he's done and informs them that he's the captain of the boat now. But ya know what he does now?"
Elle stares for a moment, confused by where this is going, then shakes her head.
"Right, so the new captain, our guy Michael, he gives the crew members a choice. They can stay and work for him, or they can get off at the next port and go their separate ways. He gives them a choice. So, ya know, most of them stay, but a few of them decide they want to leave. So a day or so later they arrive at some port in the Caribbean and the one's who chose to leave, they get off the boat and walk away."
Elle looks surprised.
"Not what you thought would happen right?"
"No, not at all," Elle says.
"So," Faraday continues. "The next day the ship sets sail with the remaining crew. When they get out to sea Captain Michael calls the crew out on deck and thanks them for choosing to stay with him. He then takes out his scabbard and kills each and every one of them and throws them overboard. They all died, except, in point of fact, one of them. He spared a single ship's mate. A thirteen year old boy. He said, 'you're young and no not what loyalty means yet, but I will let you live and you will be my first mate, and together will said these seas and I will teach you what it is to be a man.'"
Elle looked stunned.
Faraday smiled.
"And?" Elle asked.
"And? And they did. They sailed together for years and years and built a new crew and the boy was his first mate."
Elle frowned.
"Anyway," Faraday said. "Good performance today. Just gotta do something with the rest of the team."
She patted the roof of the car and turned and walked away.
Elle was profoundly confused and bewildered. She didn't understand what the point of that was. She couldn't fire any of the kids from the team, and she wasn't going to kill anyone. It was one of those stories, one of those moments that are so baffling that you may never understand them, but you never forget them either. It haunted Elle for years, that story. She would think of it at the strangest times, and never at any point did she understand what it meant, until now.
It meant it was time to kill the crew. It meant that no one who knows where power comes from can respect that power for very long. It meant that when people start to understand how, or why the Captain is captain then it's time to get rid of that crew and find a new one. It meant that Elle was the child and it was her job to clean house and then she would take her place as second in command. She wouldn't have to live with a man she didn't love or work at a job she wasn't passionate about. It meant that her's would be the name that was feared and respected.
Elle pulled into the driveway of a small brick and siding town home. She popped open her glove box and pulled out a small pink SCCY CPX-2 9mm pistol. She pressed the magazine release and slid out the clip. She counted ten rounds and slid it back up into the grip. She pulled back the slide, chambered a round and climbed out of the car.
Chapter Nine
It’s a hard conversation to follow. Both women talking at the same time. Talking over each other sometimes and finishing each other’s sentences at others. The details are all smeared and overlapping, but the broad strokes are that Elle is not who I think she is.
“Don’t you think it’s odd Mal?” Mica asks. “Strange I mean, that you never met her parents.”
“They passed away before we met,” I say. “A house fire.”
“No, they didn’t actually,” Allie says.
“What do you mean they didn’t?”
“Look Mal.”
“No, you look! I’ve been married to this woman for five years. We share everything. We share a bed. We share our whole lives! We-”
“And when did you share what you actually do for Mica?” Allie asks.
I stare back incredulously.
“Well?” she says.
“You know when,” I say. “You were there.”
“Exactly.” Allie says. “You think you have a monopoly on secrets? You think only you could be that sly? Malcolm, you just told her today, but she’s know the truth all along. She’s known since the day you met her. She’s actually known longer than that.”
I stare back blankly.
“It’s true,” Mica says.
I turn and look at her with disbelief.
“Wait,”
Mica looks back at me with sad eyes.
“Are you saying Elle works for you?”
I turn and look at Allie.
“Does she? Does my wife work for her?”
Allie shakes her head.
“No,” Mica says. “Elle doesn’t work for me. She works for my boss.”
“Here we go again,” I sigh. “Ya know Mica, if we’re gonna work together on this, you’re going to have to let me in. I’m going to need to know who we’re fighting. Who you work for. Who’s running all this? Who does my wife work for?”
Mica stares back at me. She looks frightened and unsure.
“Mica, I need to-”
“Faraday,” Allie interrupts.
Mica’s face goes white as death. Her eyes dilate and she jerks to look at Allie.
“How’d you-” she starts.
“She works for Autumn Faraday Mal. Mica, Don, your wife. They all work for the Cook County State’s Attorney. Do you get it? Do you understand how big this is? Do you see why we have to be so careful?”
I choke a little on my own spit and gape at Mica. She gives a sad nod and turns to look out the window.
I look back at Allie.
“How do you-”
“Jesus Mal, I tap your phones. How do you think I beat your wife in court so Goddamn always. She’s a good lawyer Mal, I tap your phones. All of them. Your cell, Elle’s cell, your home phone. Everything, well, except her office because it turns out it’s hard to get an illegal phone tap on a government phone line.”
I feel like I’m drowning.
“Mal,” Mica says without moving.
“Yeah,” I say.
“One more thing.”
I sigh.
“Somehow I doubt that very much.”
Mica looks at Allie who nods her approval.
“Elle’s not the person you thought she was, but not just because of who she works for and what she does. She’s actually not the person you thought. Her maiden name. It’s not Smith, or Miller, or Jones or whatever it was she told you. Your wife’s name is Lorah. She’s Elle Lorah. Your wife is Don’s daughter.”
It’s a hard conversation to follow. Both women talking at the same time. Talking over each other sometimes and finishing each other’s sentences at others. The details are all smeared and overlapping, but the broad strokes are that Elle is not who I think she is.
“Don’t you think it’s odd Mal?” Mica asks. “Strange I mean, that you never met her parents.”
“They passed away before we met,” I say. “A house fire.”
“No, they didn’t actually,” Allie says.
“What do you mean they didn’t?”
“Look Mal.”
“No, you look! I’ve been married to this woman for five years. We share everything. We share a bed. We share our whole lives! We-”
“And when did you share what you actually do for Mica?” Allie asks.
I stare back incredulously.
“Well?” she says.
“You know when,” I say. “You were there.”
“Exactly.” Allie says. “You think you have a monopoly on secrets? You think only you could be that sly? Malcolm, you just told her today, but she’s know the truth all along. She’s known since the day you met her. She’s actually known longer than that.”
I stare back blankly.
“It’s true,” Mica says.
I turn and look at her with disbelief.
“Wait,”
Mica looks back at me with sad eyes.
“Are you saying Elle works for you?”
I turn and look at Allie.
“Does she? Does my wife work for her?”
Allie shakes her head.
“No,” Mica says. “Elle doesn’t work for me. She works for my boss.”
“Here we go again,” I sigh. “Ya know Mica, if we’re gonna work together on this, you’re going to have to let me in. I’m going to need to know who we’re fighting. Who you work for. Who’s running all this? Who does my wife work for?”
Mica stares back at me. She looks frightened and unsure.
“Mica, I need to-”
“Faraday,” Allie interrupts.
Mica’s face goes white as death. Her eyes dilate and she jerks to look at Allie.
“How’d you-” she starts.
“She works for Autumn Faraday Mal. Mica, Don, your wife. They all work for the Cook County State’s Attorney. Do you get it? Do you understand how big this is? Do you see why we have to be so careful?”
I choke a little on my own spit and gape at Mica. She gives a sad nod and turns to look out the window.
I look back at Allie.
“How do you-”
“Jesus Mal, I tap your phones. How do you think I beat your wife in court so Goddamn always. She’s a good lawyer Mal, I tap your phones. All of them. Your cell, Elle’s cell, your home phone. Everything, well, except her office because it turns out it’s hard to get an illegal phone tap on a government phone line.”
I feel like I’m drowning.
“Mal,” Mica says without moving.
“Yeah,” I say.
“One more thing.”
I sigh.
“Somehow I doubt that very much.”
Mica looks at Allie who nods her approval.
“Elle’s not the person you thought she was, but not just because of who she works for and what she does. She’s actually not the person you thought. Her maiden name. It’s not Smith, or Miller, or Jones or whatever it was she told you. Your wife’s name is Lorah. She’s Elle Lorah. Your wife is Don’s daughter.”
Chapter Ten
The red door swung open and Elle stepped out of the house onto the small cement stoop. Her heart was pounding and the night air felt cool and refreshing. She took a long deep breath and focused on the starry sky above her. Her body was high as a paper kite on adrenaline and she needed to come down before she made her next decision.
She saw it all the time in court. Over and over, criminals that might have gotten away with it but for making bad choices in the heat of the moment. Detailed plans that got changed mid execution because of emotions or a foggy mind. They'd get sloppy and make mistakes that got them caught. Mistakes that they could have avoided if they had just taken a moment to regroup and calm down.
She walked back to her car and climbed into the driver's seat. She took a pack of tissues out of the center console and wiped the tiny droplets of blood off her face. She looked at the tissue getting damp and red and felt the panic swell up and then pass and her heart began to slow.
There had been two of them in the house. An attractive man in his early thirties wearing an expensive looking grey suit with a paisley collar and a modern looking haircut; and a girl, mid to late twenties, in shape and wearing brand name workout clothes. They were in the kitchen eating some kind of takeout off the granite counters and sipping a pale yellow white wine. They both looked up in confusion when Elle had walked in the room. Then, quickly, the girls expression changed to fear while the man's changed to anger.
Elle didn't know which of them was the target, but since they were both here they both had to go. Which to do first posed itself as a question for a split second before the answer shouted in her face. The man would be a tougher fight if it came to blows. Better to risk a tussle with his partner than to have to go hand to hand with him.
She raised her little pink pistol and put a quick bullet through his windpipe. He dropped to the ground and blood sprayed in heavy streams across the counter, cabinets, and hardwood floor. Elle quickly re-aimed and put another 9mm round through the side of his head. His body went still and Elle turned her attention to the girl.
She was screaming and tears had already run her mascara halfway down her tan cheeks. Elle raised the gun and without pausing to aim squeezed the trigger twice. The glass cabinet door behind the girl shattered spraying shards of frosted glass and an assortment of herbs and spices across the room. The girl bolted, charging forward towards Elle, looking as if she was going to shoulder check her on the left. Elle knew she was trying to make it to the door down the hall, and she wasn't going to let her make it there. She tracked her movement down the sight of the gun and just as the girl closed in on five feet from Elle she pulled the trigger and blew the girl's head clean off.
The body dropped like a bag of flour and sprayed blood across Elle's face and clothes. On the floor it gushed crimson across Elle's feet soaking into her shoes and between her toes. She lowered the gun and used her left thumb to wipe the liquid off her eyes.
Now she was using Kleenex to get the sticky stuff off her hands. She picked up her phone to see what was next on the list when the screen lit up and the caller I.D. said 'Malcolm'.
"Hello darling," she said after swiping the green 'answer' button across the screen. "No love, I'm still at work. I have a few items I have to cross off my to-do list before I can leave."
She listened to Malcolm's voice on the other end of the line.
"No Hun, I won't be too late, and actually I do really need to see you tonight. I'll see you back at the motel in two hours."
Malcolm spoke again and she made a sour face.
"No Mal. No, it's really important. I need to see you."
She let out a loud sigh.
"Malcolm, if you are not at our room in two hours you may not be married in the morning. You understand?"
Silence.
"Okay?"
Malcolm agreed.
"Okay then. See you soon."
Elle hung up and went back to her text messages. She found the next address and punched it into the GPS, then pulled out of the driveway of the house and headed back to the main drag. The address she was headed to was deep on the south side of the city.
Thirty-five minutes later she pulled her car up to the curb in front of a battered and dirty concrete box that served as low income housing. She reloaded the gun and hopped out of the car to head into the building. At the front door she found the entrance locked and a long panel of buzzer buttons next to the doors. She scanned through the buttons until she found what she was looking for.
307 - A. Pilsen.
The shallowest of grins spread across Elle's face, and she reaches out and presses 306.
The red door swung open and Elle stepped out of the house onto the small cement stoop. Her heart was pounding and the night air felt cool and refreshing. She took a long deep breath and focused on the starry sky above her. Her body was high as a paper kite on adrenaline and she needed to come down before she made her next decision.
She saw it all the time in court. Over and over, criminals that might have gotten away with it but for making bad choices in the heat of the moment. Detailed plans that got changed mid execution because of emotions or a foggy mind. They'd get sloppy and make mistakes that got them caught. Mistakes that they could have avoided if they had just taken a moment to regroup and calm down.
She walked back to her car and climbed into the driver's seat. She took a pack of tissues out of the center console and wiped the tiny droplets of blood off her face. She looked at the tissue getting damp and red and felt the panic swell up and then pass and her heart began to slow.
There had been two of them in the house. An attractive man in his early thirties wearing an expensive looking grey suit with a paisley collar and a modern looking haircut; and a girl, mid to late twenties, in shape and wearing brand name workout clothes. They were in the kitchen eating some kind of takeout off the granite counters and sipping a pale yellow white wine. They both looked up in confusion when Elle had walked in the room. Then, quickly, the girls expression changed to fear while the man's changed to anger.
Elle didn't know which of them was the target, but since they were both here they both had to go. Which to do first posed itself as a question for a split second before the answer shouted in her face. The man would be a tougher fight if it came to blows. Better to risk a tussle with his partner than to have to go hand to hand with him.
She raised her little pink pistol and put a quick bullet through his windpipe. He dropped to the ground and blood sprayed in heavy streams across the counter, cabinets, and hardwood floor. Elle quickly re-aimed and put another 9mm round through the side of his head. His body went still and Elle turned her attention to the girl.
She was screaming and tears had already run her mascara halfway down her tan cheeks. Elle raised the gun and without pausing to aim squeezed the trigger twice. The glass cabinet door behind the girl shattered spraying shards of frosted glass and an assortment of herbs and spices across the room. The girl bolted, charging forward towards Elle, looking as if she was going to shoulder check her on the left. Elle knew she was trying to make it to the door down the hall, and she wasn't going to let her make it there. She tracked her movement down the sight of the gun and just as the girl closed in on five feet from Elle she pulled the trigger and blew the girl's head clean off.
The body dropped like a bag of flour and sprayed blood across Elle's face and clothes. On the floor it gushed crimson across Elle's feet soaking into her shoes and between her toes. She lowered the gun and used her left thumb to wipe the liquid off her eyes.
Now she was using Kleenex to get the sticky stuff off her hands. She picked up her phone to see what was next on the list when the screen lit up and the caller I.D. said 'Malcolm'.
"Hello darling," she said after swiping the green 'answer' button across the screen. "No love, I'm still at work. I have a few items I have to cross off my to-do list before I can leave."
She listened to Malcolm's voice on the other end of the line.
"No Hun, I won't be too late, and actually I do really need to see you tonight. I'll see you back at the motel in two hours."
Malcolm spoke again and she made a sour face.
"No Mal. No, it's really important. I need to see you."
She let out a loud sigh.
"Malcolm, if you are not at our room in two hours you may not be married in the morning. You understand?"
Silence.
"Okay?"
Malcolm agreed.
"Okay then. See you soon."
Elle hung up and went back to her text messages. She found the next address and punched it into the GPS, then pulled out of the driveway of the house and headed back to the main drag. The address she was headed to was deep on the south side of the city.
Thirty-five minutes later she pulled her car up to the curb in front of a battered and dirty concrete box that served as low income housing. She reloaded the gun and hopped out of the car to head into the building. At the front door she found the entrance locked and a long panel of buzzer buttons next to the doors. She scanned through the buttons until she found what she was looking for.
307 - A. Pilsen.
The shallowest of grins spread across Elle's face, and she reaches out and presses 306.
Chapter Eleven
I pull up to the curb in front of Adam's building and kill the engine. It's quiet There are no people milling about the neigborhood, no loud music coming from inside the houses. The building itself is like an anchor dropped on the earth. It looks like a giant brick battering ram with an old Victorian porch glued hastily on the front.
"You guys should stay here," Mica says. "Adam can be… grumpy sometimes, and I don't suppose he's going to be crazy about being woke at three o'clock in the morning."
It's not an order, more of a suggestion, but Allie and I both agree without argument and watch as Mica climbs out of the car. I watch her walk to the building and climb the stairs of the porch and notice, not for the first time, that there is a powerful elegance to the way she moves. She has the confidence and class of a New York society woman in the carefree 'fuck-it-all' package of a Seattle hippie.
She presses a button on a panel of black dots next to the front door and waits. It's a long wait, but that's not surprising for a three A.M. visit to someone who isn't expecting it. She rings the buzzer again and waits another few moments. She bends over and looks closely at the panel of buttons and presses the same one a third time, then her head turns and she stands bolt upright. There's another pause and she leans back over the front door handle.
She looks back over her shoulder at Allie and I sitting in the car, then takes her phone out of her pocket and turns on the flashlight function. She shines it on the door then sweeps the light down to the floor of the porch and back up to the door knob again. Her expressing melts from confused to worried.
She presses a flat palm against the right edge of the door and it swings open freely. She plays with her phone again, then disapears into the apartment house. My phone chirps and upon inspection see a text from Mica.
"u guys stay there. k"
I show the phone to Allie who gives me a 'what are you gonna do' shurg.
"Yeah," I say.
We sit ther in the car watching the open front door of the building. It's silent and the anxiety of the moment begins to build on itself until I can't take it anymore.
"Stay here," I say opening the car door.
"Like hell," Allie says and nearly throws herself out of the car.
We half run to the porch and Allie has her phone out with the flashlight on before we even get to the stairs. She shines it on the buzzer pannel and sweeps it across to the door and down to the floor. The floor and pannel are clean, but the door handle has a small smudge of red on the inside lip of the worn brass sphere.
Allie and I look at each other and she quickly glances back at the line of buttons.
"Three-Oh-Seven," she says and the two of us begin bounding up the stairs.
At the top of the stairway is a long narrow hallway with low ceilings and seriously battered hard-wood floors. There are doors staggered on either side of the corridor one of which is standing open about half way down the hall. We race down the space and skid to a stop a the open doorway.
The room is small. It's a perfect square twenty-five feet on a side and covered in cream colored walpaper that is peeling at the seams and looks as though it was probably pure white when it was new. There's a small electric stove and oven in one corner next to a tiny stainless steel sink and folding card table that's surounded by mismatched wooden chairs. The rest of the space is cluttered with stacks of papers, file folders, and piles of thick hard cover books. There's an unmade twin size bed in the corner oposite the stove and an ancient looking steamer trunk next to it acting as a bedstand. The floors are the same scarred and dirty hardwood as the hallway.
Crouching low on the floor in the center of the room is Mica. She is inspecting the lifeless body of Adam Pilsen. He's face up in boxer shorts and a worn out University of Chicago t-shirt that is soaked in red. There are two visible entry wounds in his chest and a gaping hole in his face under his left eye. He has a .38 in his right hand with his finger still wrapped around the trigger.
The floor around him is a sea of blood and there is crimson splatter on the wall behind him.
"Mica," I say.
She jumps and turns to look at us. She looks, for a moment, as though she's going to scold us for not following her instructions, but stops before the words can come out.
Allie says, "Is he-"
Mica stands by way of interrupting.
"We have to hurry," she says forcefully.
Allie and I stare back in shock, not moving a muscle. Mica squats down and takes the gun out of Adam's hand. She smells the barral and pops out the clip. She counts the rounds, then pulls back on the slide to confirm the chambered round. She slips the clip back into place with a click.
"What are we-" I start, but Mica interrupts through action again.
She jumps over the body and in one swift movement swipes everything off the top of the chest next to the bed. She throws the lid open and begins digging though the contents. She throws out pillows and blankets not worrying at all about where they land. After digging through maybe a dozen pieces of bedding she pulls out a frightening dull black shotgun with the barrel sawed off just inches past the trigger guard.
"Malcolm," she says tossing it to me.
I catch it and my feeling of awe quickly transforms into resolute understanding. Mica continues rummaging through the crate, pulling out pistols of random varieties. She tosses a gruesome looking grey revolver at Allie who catches it and immediately drops it on the floor.
"Oh no," she says. "No way. I want to help you guys, but I'm still and officer of the court. I can't go shooting anyone. I'm here as council, not conspirator."
"You're way too late for that I'm afraid," Mica says regretfully without looking up from her task.
"Allie, I think maybe-"
"Besides," Mica cuts in. "Even if you could spin it that way, which is doubtful; how long do you think that law license is going to last when it comes out that you've been wire tapping your prosecutorial opponents?"
Allie stares slack jawed at Mica.
"You'd really-"
"No of course not," I say. "We'd never out you, but I think Mica's right. It's going to come out anyway. All this is going to come out now, and even if it's not us, it'll be public. It's too late to stop the avalanche now, and we're all gonna get buried in this one."
Allie stares at me with a profound look of sadness.
"I'm sorry Allie," I say. "I wish there was something I could do. I wish you hadn't gotten involved in the first place."
Tears pool in the corners of Allie's eyes and she crouches down and picks up the revolver from the floor. Mica steps back over Adam's body and hands me three more guns; a Colt revolver, a Beretta, and a Glock .45. She keeps three more herself and walks past us and out the apartment door. Allie looks at me terrified. I look back with sympathy and she nods. I see the tears dry up and her chin lift.
"Okay," she says.
"You sure?" I ask.
"Let's get the fuck out of here," she says.
I pull up to the curb in front of Adam's building and kill the engine. It's quiet There are no people milling about the neigborhood, no loud music coming from inside the houses. The building itself is like an anchor dropped on the earth. It looks like a giant brick battering ram with an old Victorian porch glued hastily on the front.
"You guys should stay here," Mica says. "Adam can be… grumpy sometimes, and I don't suppose he's going to be crazy about being woke at three o'clock in the morning."
It's not an order, more of a suggestion, but Allie and I both agree without argument and watch as Mica climbs out of the car. I watch her walk to the building and climb the stairs of the porch and notice, not for the first time, that there is a powerful elegance to the way she moves. She has the confidence and class of a New York society woman in the carefree 'fuck-it-all' package of a Seattle hippie.
She presses a button on a panel of black dots next to the front door and waits. It's a long wait, but that's not surprising for a three A.M. visit to someone who isn't expecting it. She rings the buzzer again and waits another few moments. She bends over and looks closely at the panel of buttons and presses the same one a third time, then her head turns and she stands bolt upright. There's another pause and she leans back over the front door handle.
She looks back over her shoulder at Allie and I sitting in the car, then takes her phone out of her pocket and turns on the flashlight function. She shines it on the door then sweeps the light down to the floor of the porch and back up to the door knob again. Her expressing melts from confused to worried.
She presses a flat palm against the right edge of the door and it swings open freely. She plays with her phone again, then disapears into the apartment house. My phone chirps and upon inspection see a text from Mica.
"u guys stay there. k"
I show the phone to Allie who gives me a 'what are you gonna do' shurg.
"Yeah," I say.
We sit ther in the car watching the open front door of the building. It's silent and the anxiety of the moment begins to build on itself until I can't take it anymore.
"Stay here," I say opening the car door.
"Like hell," Allie says and nearly throws herself out of the car.
We half run to the porch and Allie has her phone out with the flashlight on before we even get to the stairs. She shines it on the buzzer pannel and sweeps it across to the door and down to the floor. The floor and pannel are clean, but the door handle has a small smudge of red on the inside lip of the worn brass sphere.
Allie and I look at each other and she quickly glances back at the line of buttons.
"Three-Oh-Seven," she says and the two of us begin bounding up the stairs.
At the top of the stairway is a long narrow hallway with low ceilings and seriously battered hard-wood floors. There are doors staggered on either side of the corridor one of which is standing open about half way down the hall. We race down the space and skid to a stop a the open doorway.
The room is small. It's a perfect square twenty-five feet on a side and covered in cream colored walpaper that is peeling at the seams and looks as though it was probably pure white when it was new. There's a small electric stove and oven in one corner next to a tiny stainless steel sink and folding card table that's surounded by mismatched wooden chairs. The rest of the space is cluttered with stacks of papers, file folders, and piles of thick hard cover books. There's an unmade twin size bed in the corner oposite the stove and an ancient looking steamer trunk next to it acting as a bedstand. The floors are the same scarred and dirty hardwood as the hallway.
Crouching low on the floor in the center of the room is Mica. She is inspecting the lifeless body of Adam Pilsen. He's face up in boxer shorts and a worn out University of Chicago t-shirt that is soaked in red. There are two visible entry wounds in his chest and a gaping hole in his face under his left eye. He has a .38 in his right hand with his finger still wrapped around the trigger.
The floor around him is a sea of blood and there is crimson splatter on the wall behind him.
"Mica," I say.
She jumps and turns to look at us. She looks, for a moment, as though she's going to scold us for not following her instructions, but stops before the words can come out.
Allie says, "Is he-"
Mica stands by way of interrupting.
"We have to hurry," she says forcefully.
Allie and I stare back in shock, not moving a muscle. Mica squats down and takes the gun out of Adam's hand. She smells the barral and pops out the clip. She counts the rounds, then pulls back on the slide to confirm the chambered round. She slips the clip back into place with a click.
"What are we-" I start, but Mica interrupts through action again.
She jumps over the body and in one swift movement swipes everything off the top of the chest next to the bed. She throws the lid open and begins digging though the contents. She throws out pillows and blankets not worrying at all about where they land. After digging through maybe a dozen pieces of bedding she pulls out a frightening dull black shotgun with the barrel sawed off just inches past the trigger guard.
"Malcolm," she says tossing it to me.
I catch it and my feeling of awe quickly transforms into resolute understanding. Mica continues rummaging through the crate, pulling out pistols of random varieties. She tosses a gruesome looking grey revolver at Allie who catches it and immediately drops it on the floor.
"Oh no," she says. "No way. I want to help you guys, but I'm still and officer of the court. I can't go shooting anyone. I'm here as council, not conspirator."
"You're way too late for that I'm afraid," Mica says regretfully without looking up from her task.
"Allie, I think maybe-"
"Besides," Mica cuts in. "Even if you could spin it that way, which is doubtful; how long do you think that law license is going to last when it comes out that you've been wire tapping your prosecutorial opponents?"
Allie stares slack jawed at Mica.
"You'd really-"
"No of course not," I say. "We'd never out you, but I think Mica's right. It's going to come out anyway. All this is going to come out now, and even if it's not us, it'll be public. It's too late to stop the avalanche now, and we're all gonna get buried in this one."
Allie stares at me with a profound look of sadness.
"I'm sorry Allie," I say. "I wish there was something I could do. I wish you hadn't gotten involved in the first place."
Tears pool in the corners of Allie's eyes and she crouches down and picks up the revolver from the floor. Mica steps back over Adam's body and hands me three more guns; a Colt revolver, a Beretta, and a Glock .45. She keeps three more herself and walks past us and out the apartment door. Allie looks at me terrified. I look back with sympathy and she nods. I see the tears dry up and her chin lift.
"Okay," she says.
"You sure?" I ask.
"Let's get the fuck out of here," she says.
Chapter Twelve
Her phone buzzed at 2:53 a.m. The notification in the drop down bar said it was a text message from an unknown number. She tapped the message and the app opened revealing a blurry photo of a man lying on a dingy wood floor in a pool of deep red liquid.
He was handsome with chiseled features, but marred by a gruesome wound under his left eye. His legs were bare and crumpled under him in an unnatural way. His white t-shirt was soaked in the same macabre red fluid.
The woman touched the corner of the message and tapped the trash can icon deleting the message. She set the phone down on her desk and leaned back in her chair. Things were proceeding quickly. She'd already received two other messages like this tonight which meant there were two more still to come. The last two, she suspected, would take a little longer to arrive.
She stood and walked to the far side of her office where she kept a cart with a small assortment of liquor. She righted a small crystal tumbler and filled it halfway with Aquimia Reserva Tequila. She sipped it once then drained the rest in one gulp.
The phone buzzed again. She frowned and looked over her shoulder at the device laying on her desk. That was too fast. She strode back across the floor to her desk and picked up the phone. There was a new text already. The Woman bit her lower lip and opened the message.
Unlike the previous message, this was not an unknown number. While the digits didn't appear anywhere in her contact list, she knew them. She knew them by heart. It was Mica Kole texting her. It was a short message, little in the way of detail or context. It had a sense of panic and urgency.
something is happening. May have a problem. Mal rogue?
Another came in while she was reading.
Adam dead. Going after Mal now. Motel on Roosevelt. Send backup.
Autumn deleted the message and set the phone down. She walked back to the cart and poured another drink. Backup meant Don, but obviously that wasn't going to be happening. This presented a problem for her soldier in the field. Elle would now be on her way to Mica's building, but Mica wasn't going to be there.
Of course it presented an opportunity too. If Mica was at Mal's motel she could dispose of both of them at the same time. Plus, with Mal under suspicion for the explosion at his apartment it would be easy to set the scene that he and his mysterious employer faced off and neither survived. It was exactly the kind of nice, easy scenario that the lazy suburban police loved. It would wrap up her affairs with no one looking any further into it.
But then there was Elle. She, too, needed to be eliminated before everything was said and done, and she wasn't entirely sure that she would be able to handle both Mica and Mal at the same time. They were, individually, a monumental challenge, but together, it was probably more than Elle could manage.
She sucked down the tequila and leaned against the cart with both hands. She was out of loyal soldiers to send. She had other options of course. Mercenaries did a lot of her work and came with the added benefit of no connection to her, but they came at a significant risk. Paid killers always stood the chance of switching sides if the money was right.
She closed her eyes and ran the scenario through her head. She remembered when this all started, at the beginning in that clearing in the woods. She remembered walking under the clear blue sky with her boss, her mentor, her sometimes lover. She remembered him stopping, turning to face her and holding her hands in his.
"Autumn," he said. "There are two important lessons you will need to learn to make this work. The first is how to delegate. You need people you can trust. People who will do the things you cant. The second is when you need to do things yourself. Things that are important," he moved a hand to her shoulder and squeezed firmly. "Things that are really important, you need to do them yourself."
She had gazed back at him with her doe eyes and nodded.
"You understand?" he had said.
"I understand," she had replied.
Since then only one occasion had risen to that level of necessity, but now, she felt, that time had come again. Of course she had no better chance of taking on Mica and Mal together than Elle did, and when she took into consideration that she would have to deal with Elle too, well her chances were even slimmer, but she had an ace up her sleeve.
Her ladies. Ms. Erica and Robin Hill. Mercenaries she had used many times, including the recent detonation of the bomb in Malcolm's apartment. True, they had failed to eliminate Malcolm and Elle as was planned, but she chalked that up to an error outside their control. In the past they had been very effective and she had little doubt that they could handle all three of them under her direct supervision.
Autumn poured one more tequila, killed it in one gulp and strode back to her phone and sent two texts. To Elle she said,
The motel now. Cease all other assignment parameters.
and to the ladies,
Final package delivery scheduled for your location. 1 hour
Then she powered off the phone, removed the battery and fed the device through a machine designed to destroy sensitive hard drives. She unlocked the top right hand drawer of her desk and removed a large, dull silver revolver and slid it into the side pocket of her jacket.
"It's time to take care of things myself," she said, and walked out of her office.
Her phone buzzed at 2:53 a.m. The notification in the drop down bar said it was a text message from an unknown number. She tapped the message and the app opened revealing a blurry photo of a man lying on a dingy wood floor in a pool of deep red liquid.
He was handsome with chiseled features, but marred by a gruesome wound under his left eye. His legs were bare and crumpled under him in an unnatural way. His white t-shirt was soaked in the same macabre red fluid.
The woman touched the corner of the message and tapped the trash can icon deleting the message. She set the phone down on her desk and leaned back in her chair. Things were proceeding quickly. She'd already received two other messages like this tonight which meant there were two more still to come. The last two, she suspected, would take a little longer to arrive.
She stood and walked to the far side of her office where she kept a cart with a small assortment of liquor. She righted a small crystal tumbler and filled it halfway with Aquimia Reserva Tequila. She sipped it once then drained the rest in one gulp.
The phone buzzed again. She frowned and looked over her shoulder at the device laying on her desk. That was too fast. She strode back across the floor to her desk and picked up the phone. There was a new text already. The Woman bit her lower lip and opened the message.
Unlike the previous message, this was not an unknown number. While the digits didn't appear anywhere in her contact list, she knew them. She knew them by heart. It was Mica Kole texting her. It was a short message, little in the way of detail or context. It had a sense of panic and urgency.
something is happening. May have a problem. Mal rogue?
Another came in while she was reading.
Adam dead. Going after Mal now. Motel on Roosevelt. Send backup.
Autumn deleted the message and set the phone down. She walked back to the cart and poured another drink. Backup meant Don, but obviously that wasn't going to be happening. This presented a problem for her soldier in the field. Elle would now be on her way to Mica's building, but Mica wasn't going to be there.
Of course it presented an opportunity too. If Mica was at Mal's motel she could dispose of both of them at the same time. Plus, with Mal under suspicion for the explosion at his apartment it would be easy to set the scene that he and his mysterious employer faced off and neither survived. It was exactly the kind of nice, easy scenario that the lazy suburban police loved. It would wrap up her affairs with no one looking any further into it.
But then there was Elle. She, too, needed to be eliminated before everything was said and done, and she wasn't entirely sure that she would be able to handle both Mica and Mal at the same time. They were, individually, a monumental challenge, but together, it was probably more than Elle could manage.
She sucked down the tequila and leaned against the cart with both hands. She was out of loyal soldiers to send. She had other options of course. Mercenaries did a lot of her work and came with the added benefit of no connection to her, but they came at a significant risk. Paid killers always stood the chance of switching sides if the money was right.
She closed her eyes and ran the scenario through her head. She remembered when this all started, at the beginning in that clearing in the woods. She remembered walking under the clear blue sky with her boss, her mentor, her sometimes lover. She remembered him stopping, turning to face her and holding her hands in his.
"Autumn," he said. "There are two important lessons you will need to learn to make this work. The first is how to delegate. You need people you can trust. People who will do the things you cant. The second is when you need to do things yourself. Things that are important," he moved a hand to her shoulder and squeezed firmly. "Things that are really important, you need to do them yourself."
She had gazed back at him with her doe eyes and nodded.
"You understand?" he had said.
"I understand," she had replied.
Since then only one occasion had risen to that level of necessity, but now, she felt, that time had come again. Of course she had no better chance of taking on Mica and Mal together than Elle did, and when she took into consideration that she would have to deal with Elle too, well her chances were even slimmer, but she had an ace up her sleeve.
Her ladies. Ms. Erica and Robin Hill. Mercenaries she had used many times, including the recent detonation of the bomb in Malcolm's apartment. True, they had failed to eliminate Malcolm and Elle as was planned, but she chalked that up to an error outside their control. In the past they had been very effective and she had little doubt that they could handle all three of them under her direct supervision.
Autumn poured one more tequila, killed it in one gulp and strode back to her phone and sent two texts. To Elle she said,
The motel now. Cease all other assignment parameters.
and to the ladies,
Final package delivery scheduled for your location. 1 hour
Then she powered off the phone, removed the battery and fed the device through a machine designed to destroy sensitive hard drives. She unlocked the top right hand drawer of her desk and removed a large, dull silver revolver and slid it into the side pocket of her jacket.
"It's time to take care of things myself," she said, and walked out of her office.
Chapter Thirteen
The room lit up in an instant. It was harsh blue light and it cast unnatural shadows on the far walls and ceiling. The alarming light was accompanied by a harsh trill. Detective Upton sat up urgently in bed and grabbed his phone from his nightstand. He quickly swiped the answer button and climbed out of bed as quietly as he could.
"Who is calling you before sun-up?" his wife asked sounding groggy and annoyed.
"I don't know honey. Go back to sleep," he said and stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door.
He glanced at the phone. It was a local number he didn't recognize.
"Hello?" he said more as a question than a greeting.
"Detective Upton?" came the voice on the other end of the line.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"Detective, it's Malcolm Karma, I'm sorry if I woke you."
Upton wiped his face with the palm of his free hand and yawned.
"Mr. Karma, I'm not sure if I can arrest you for calling me on my personal cell, at home, at-" he paused and looked at the clock on the wall. "-Three-thirty in the morning, but I assure you, I'm going to look into it."
"Detective," Malcolm said without a smidge of humor in his voice, "I'm going to need you to take me seriously for just a little bit here. Okay?"
Upton walked into his kitchen and removed a coffee mug and a jar of instant coffee from a cabinet next to the sink. Then he turned on the faucet as hot as it would go and let the water run until he started to see steam.
"What do you need Mr. Karma. What is so important that you called me at home, and as a matter of fact how did you get this number in the first place?"
He scooped a heaping tablespoon of coffee crystals into the mug, then held it under the faucet.
"That's not really important," Malcolm said.
"It's important to me!" Upton shot back.
Malcolm sighed and Upton sipped his coffee.
"Detective, I know who blew up my apartment. I know who it is, where they are, and I know other things that they've done. Bigger things."
"Mr. Karma. I know who it was too. I'm talking to him right now."
Malcolm sighed again and Upton though he could hear other voices in the background.
"Where are you Mr. Karma?" he asked.
"I'm in my car heading back to my motel. I think maybe you should meet me there."
"Mr. Karma, I need to tell you that if you are threatening or suggesting some kind of illegal act to me right now, that can be used against you in court."
"Yeah, that's fine," Malcolm said in a distracted tone. "If you wanted to bring backup that might be a good idea too."
Upton took another sip of coffee and cleared his throat.
"Mr. Karma, what is it that's going to happen this morning?"
"I'm pretty sure some people are going to die Detective. I'm hoping you can make sure it's the right ones."
After that the phone went dead. Upton stared at the blank screen for a full minute trying to parse what just happened. He wasn't sure he understood it all, and he was even less sure he trusted anything that came out of Malcolm Karma's mouth. All of that said though, Malcolm had said that people were going to die and as a police officer, hell as a person, he couldn't just ignore that.
He gulped down the rest of his coffee and walked back to his bedroom to get dressed. Malcolm had said to bring backup, but upton wasn't about to risk his reputation on the force based on anything from Karma. No, he would go alone. He'd see what was what, and if needs be, he would call for reinforcements from the scene. He threw on a clean-ish suit, grabbed his gun from the lock-box in his closet and kissed his wife on the forehead. Then he walked out the front door of his house.
***
The parking lot of the motel is full when we pull in. I look over at Allie and give a worried expression.
"I have a bad feeling about this," I say.
"You ain't just wistlin' Dixie," Allie says.
Mica is silent which doesn't serve to make me feel any better about the situation.
I part the car opposite my room, over by the management offices with the bad coffee. We sit for a while in silence.
"What are we doin' Mal?" Allie says staring straight out the windshield.
"We're sitting," I say.
She turns her head and looks at me, then turns back.
"I think Allie would like to know what we're doing next," Mica chimes in.
I nod.
"I know that's what whe meant. I just don't have an answer for her right now. Not yet."
"We sit a little longer in silence, then a glint of light catches my eye from the rearview mirror. I glance up and see the door to my motel room standing open and my wife walking slowly across the gravel parking lot to my car.
She's dressed casually in jeans and a tight fitting t-shirt. She's beautiful and elegant and sways in a uniquely sexy way when she walks. I find myself forgetting, for a moment, what she's done and remembering why I love her. Then I notice the pistol in her right hand.
"We need to kill her," Mica says softly.
I turn around in my seat and stare at her.
"What?"
"There's more of us than her, and we're all armed too. We need to put her down now, before she gets to the car."
I feel a lump form in my throat. I swallow in an attempt to clear it.
"No, the killing needs to stop. We need to be the one's who stop it. We need to stop it now."
Mica nods sadly.
"Mal, there's going to be killing this morning. You said it yourself to Detective Upton. People are going to die here today, I'd rather it not be us."
"I'd rather that too," Allie says quietly.
I turn around and stare at the rear-view mirror. Elle is almost halfway across the lot and her grip on the gun seems to have become more pronounced. The back door of the car swings open and Mica jumps out.
"Malcolm!" Allie shouts and I burst out of the car after her.
I stumble and race to grab Mica. Elle raises the weapon in her hand and I dive onto Mica's back pulling her to the ground as a shot echos off the surrounding brick. There's a loud rumble and a hiss like steam bursting from a pipe and when we look up there's a Mack truck, sans the trailer, on the gravel lot between us and Elle.
The engine rumbles and dies and the doors swing open. On our side Ms. Erica, the nomadic bounty hunter staying in the room next to mine, steps out. I assume her partner Robin Hill must have been driving and is exiting the other side of the cab. Either way, Erica is notably serious looking and craying a handgun larger than anything I've ever seen.
"Everyone needs to settle down a little," comes Robin's voice from the other side of the truck.
"This'll all be over soon," Erica says pointing her piece at me and Mica.
Mica and I stand up and brush ourselves off.
"You should all probably put your guns down on the ground now," Erica says.
"You first," Mica says flatly.
I hear Robin chuckle.
"It's okay darlin'," she says. "We're all just waitin' on the boss. Until then let's just take a deep breath.
At that moment a black BMW pulls into the motel and stops directly behind the semi.
"Oh fuck," Mica says.
"What?" I whisper.
The car's lights turn off and the engine stops. The drivers side door opens and a striking brunette with features that appear to be drawn on her steps out of the car.
"My boss is here," Mica says.
The room lit up in an instant. It was harsh blue light and it cast unnatural shadows on the far walls and ceiling. The alarming light was accompanied by a harsh trill. Detective Upton sat up urgently in bed and grabbed his phone from his nightstand. He quickly swiped the answer button and climbed out of bed as quietly as he could.
"Who is calling you before sun-up?" his wife asked sounding groggy and annoyed.
"I don't know honey. Go back to sleep," he said and stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door.
He glanced at the phone. It was a local number he didn't recognize.
"Hello?" he said more as a question than a greeting.
"Detective Upton?" came the voice on the other end of the line.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"Detective, it's Malcolm Karma, I'm sorry if I woke you."
Upton wiped his face with the palm of his free hand and yawned.
"Mr. Karma, I'm not sure if I can arrest you for calling me on my personal cell, at home, at-" he paused and looked at the clock on the wall. "-Three-thirty in the morning, but I assure you, I'm going to look into it."
"Detective," Malcolm said without a smidge of humor in his voice, "I'm going to need you to take me seriously for just a little bit here. Okay?"
Upton walked into his kitchen and removed a coffee mug and a jar of instant coffee from a cabinet next to the sink. Then he turned on the faucet as hot as it would go and let the water run until he started to see steam.
"What do you need Mr. Karma. What is so important that you called me at home, and as a matter of fact how did you get this number in the first place?"
He scooped a heaping tablespoon of coffee crystals into the mug, then held it under the faucet.
"That's not really important," Malcolm said.
"It's important to me!" Upton shot back.
Malcolm sighed and Upton sipped his coffee.
"Detective, I know who blew up my apartment. I know who it is, where they are, and I know other things that they've done. Bigger things."
"Mr. Karma. I know who it was too. I'm talking to him right now."
Malcolm sighed again and Upton though he could hear other voices in the background.
"Where are you Mr. Karma?" he asked.
"I'm in my car heading back to my motel. I think maybe you should meet me there."
"Mr. Karma, I need to tell you that if you are threatening or suggesting some kind of illegal act to me right now, that can be used against you in court."
"Yeah, that's fine," Malcolm said in a distracted tone. "If you wanted to bring backup that might be a good idea too."
Upton took another sip of coffee and cleared his throat.
"Mr. Karma, what is it that's going to happen this morning?"
"I'm pretty sure some people are going to die Detective. I'm hoping you can make sure it's the right ones."
After that the phone went dead. Upton stared at the blank screen for a full minute trying to parse what just happened. He wasn't sure he understood it all, and he was even less sure he trusted anything that came out of Malcolm Karma's mouth. All of that said though, Malcolm had said that people were going to die and as a police officer, hell as a person, he couldn't just ignore that.
He gulped down the rest of his coffee and walked back to his bedroom to get dressed. Malcolm had said to bring backup, but upton wasn't about to risk his reputation on the force based on anything from Karma. No, he would go alone. He'd see what was what, and if needs be, he would call for reinforcements from the scene. He threw on a clean-ish suit, grabbed his gun from the lock-box in his closet and kissed his wife on the forehead. Then he walked out the front door of his house.
***
The parking lot of the motel is full when we pull in. I look over at Allie and give a worried expression.
"I have a bad feeling about this," I say.
"You ain't just wistlin' Dixie," Allie says.
Mica is silent which doesn't serve to make me feel any better about the situation.
I part the car opposite my room, over by the management offices with the bad coffee. We sit for a while in silence.
"What are we doin' Mal?" Allie says staring straight out the windshield.
"We're sitting," I say.
She turns her head and looks at me, then turns back.
"I think Allie would like to know what we're doing next," Mica chimes in.
I nod.
"I know that's what whe meant. I just don't have an answer for her right now. Not yet."
"We sit a little longer in silence, then a glint of light catches my eye from the rearview mirror. I glance up and see the door to my motel room standing open and my wife walking slowly across the gravel parking lot to my car.
She's dressed casually in jeans and a tight fitting t-shirt. She's beautiful and elegant and sways in a uniquely sexy way when she walks. I find myself forgetting, for a moment, what she's done and remembering why I love her. Then I notice the pistol in her right hand.
"We need to kill her," Mica says softly.
I turn around in my seat and stare at her.
"What?"
"There's more of us than her, and we're all armed too. We need to put her down now, before she gets to the car."
I feel a lump form in my throat. I swallow in an attempt to clear it.
"No, the killing needs to stop. We need to be the one's who stop it. We need to stop it now."
Mica nods sadly.
"Mal, there's going to be killing this morning. You said it yourself to Detective Upton. People are going to die here today, I'd rather it not be us."
"I'd rather that too," Allie says quietly.
I turn around and stare at the rear-view mirror. Elle is almost halfway across the lot and her grip on the gun seems to have become more pronounced. The back door of the car swings open and Mica jumps out.
"Malcolm!" Allie shouts and I burst out of the car after her.
I stumble and race to grab Mica. Elle raises the weapon in her hand and I dive onto Mica's back pulling her to the ground as a shot echos off the surrounding brick. There's a loud rumble and a hiss like steam bursting from a pipe and when we look up there's a Mack truck, sans the trailer, on the gravel lot between us and Elle.
The engine rumbles and dies and the doors swing open. On our side Ms. Erica, the nomadic bounty hunter staying in the room next to mine, steps out. I assume her partner Robin Hill must have been driving and is exiting the other side of the cab. Either way, Erica is notably serious looking and craying a handgun larger than anything I've ever seen.
"Everyone needs to settle down a little," comes Robin's voice from the other side of the truck.
"This'll all be over soon," Erica says pointing her piece at me and Mica.
Mica and I stand up and brush ourselves off.
"You should all probably put your guns down on the ground now," Erica says.
"You first," Mica says flatly.
I hear Robin chuckle.
"It's okay darlin'," she says. "We're all just waitin' on the boss. Until then let's just take a deep breath.
At that moment a black BMW pulls into the motel and stops directly behind the semi.
"Oh fuck," Mica says.
"What?" I whisper.
The car's lights turn off and the engine stops. The drivers side door opens and a striking brunette with features that appear to be drawn on her steps out of the car.
"My boss is here," Mica says.
Chapter Fourteen
Autumn stepped out of her sleek black BMW and strode around the semi cab, out of sight of Malcolm and Mica. There were no sounds save for the soft crunch of shoes on gravel. When she emerged at the nose of the truck she was accompanied by Elle and Robin.
The three of them approached the pair quietly wearing serious faces. Erica slammed the door of the truck and joined the posse creating a sort of lopsided diamond. Faraday was at the front dressed for all intents like she was preparing to argue a case before the Supreme Court. She was in a tight but conservative black skirt cut mid calf with a slit up the back that ended at her knees. She had on a red silk blouse that accentuated her femininity and a black blazer buttoned once below her breasts. Over it all was a long black wool coat. It was open and her hands were stuffed deep in it’s pockets.
The rest of the group was spread out behind her. Elle was to her left and Robin and Erica close to each other on her right. They closed in on Mal and Mica stopping just past a comfortable distance.
The whole group stood in silence for a while. There was a uncomfortable sense that everyone was sizing up each other. Hands hovered nervously near pockets and waistbands. Nobody moved, nobody talked. Finally Faraday broke the silence.
“Well, we’ve all got ourselves a bit of a predicament here don’t we?”
***
S.A. Faraday stands in front of us, close enough to smell the coffee on her breath. I think about how coffee seems the wrong beverage for this moment. I know I could use a drink. We’re all nervous and it shows on everyones’ faces. It’s a stand off, and while we are easily outnumbered, it hardly matters when everyone has guns.
I grip the sawed off shotgun in my right hand fidgeting with the thin steel trigger. There’s a Glock tucked in the front of my waistband and a Smith and Weston in the back.
Mica is holding a Baretta nine mil’ and I know she has another stashed somewhere on her body. The moment someone moves it’ll all be over for everyone. We stand in this stalemate position for what feels like forever. I consider the option of speaking up.
I could offer to leave town; disappear. I could say I won’t talk, I’ll just vanish and everything can go back to the way it was, but of course it can’t. That’s what started this whole mess in the first place. All this because I wanted to leave.
“Well,” Autumn says finally. “ We’ve all got ourselves in a bit of a predicament here don’t we?”
The silence that follows answers the question precisely. I look at the stone faces of the group and let out a long sigh. I loosen my grip on the shotgun in my hand and let it slip before gripping it by its stubby barrel. I hold it out in front of me and slowly crouch down. I lay the weapon on the gravel in front of me and stand up. I put my hands up in front of me palms out and then very slowly reach down to my waist with my right hand.
The group tenses and Elle and Erica point their weapons at my chest. I grab the grip of the Glock in my waistband between my thumb and index finger. I gently pull it out and drop it on the ground. I turn gradually giving my wife and her crew my back and repeat the same action with the revolver in the back of my slacks. I turn back around and kick the guns on the ground away from me.
“Nothing has to happen here,” I say. “I’m the cause of all this. I get it. I can disappear.”
The words sound feeble and useless coming out of my mouth. I know that my offer is pointless. I know that it’s not a vialble solution, but I have nothing else to offer. I’m out of ideas.
“I’m as guilty of, well, everything, as anyone else here. You know I won’t talk. I can just leave.”
Elle huffs.
Faraday smiles coyly.
“That’s not what I want,” Faraday says. “That’s not it at all Malcolm.”
I look at Mica who has a blank expression of panic on her face.
“Well,” I say hesitantly. “What is it that you do want?”
Elle takes a few steps forward aligning herself with Faraday. She straightens up and a wild grin spreads across her face. She raises the barrel of her over sized silver revolver from my chest to my face. Her right thumb reaches up and pulls the heavy hammer back and a dull click cuts through the chilly dawn air as the hammer locks in place.
Faraday looks at me with an expression of thoughtfulness.
“Well Mal, to put it plainly, I want you.”
***
“Dead.”
That’s what Elle expected The Woman to say next.
“I want you dead.”
But it didn’t come. There was just uncomfortable silence. She felt her smile falter and crack. There was an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach like when she rode in an elevator that moved too fast.
Malcolm looked confused too. His forehead wrinkled a bit and his eyebrows bunched up.
“You’ve done a good job Mal,” The Woman said. “Mistakes have been made and we have some serious problems to overcome, but none of that is your fault.”
Elle felt a numb tingle start to form in her back between her shoulder blades and her grip on the pistol in her hands tightened unconsciously. Her mouth was drying up and she had a lump in her throat. None of this was sounding like it was supposed to. This wasn’t the fierce confrontation she had been expecting, rehearsing over and over in her head.
Mal shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but left his hands up, palms exposed. He was nervous too, as he should be. Where ever this strange speech was going, one thing was certain; it would be the last thing he ever heard.
“I don’t think I’m following you,” he said.
The Woman smiled.
“The Organization works Mal. On the whole it does what it’s supposed to. It has a job, an important job and it accomplishes it. We’re having some management issues lately. We need to restructure.
Elle felt her face flush. This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t really going to let him live was she? Elle felt bile squirt up her throat. She wasn’t going to move him up too? Make them partners? Elle had been living a nightmare for so long, living with a man she didn’t love, letting this pathetic peon kiss her and fuck her. Tonight was supposed to end all that. She was supposed to finaly be able to tell him how he made her stomach turn. She was supposed to get her revenge for the years of humiliation. She couldn’t keep doing it, she couldn’t live with him any longer.
“Okay?” Mal said hedging.
“So,” The Woman continued. “I want you to step up. Be my guy. Clean out the rest of the dead wood, pardon my pun, and take over Mica’s spot and run the city with me.”
The shot was so loud it actually startled Elle. In retrospect she couldn’t even remember turning the gun. It was all hazy and dreamlike, but the results were real. The Woman collapsed on the ground in a heap of silk, blood, and raw meat. Her head was gone and her body looked like a wet sack of potatoes just lying on the ground.
***
Everyone’s shouting. I hit the ground reflexively and there are long seconds before I regain the presence of mind to look around. There’s gunfire coming from everywhere. Mica is laying on the ground behind me emptying the clip on the second of her weapons; the first already cleaned out and tossed aside. Faraday is piled up on the ground looking like nothing more than a bundle of blood soaked rags, and Elle is next to her blowing blood bubbles from her lips and nostrils. She has to entry wounds in her back and a hole in her neck that’s spurting crimson in a rhythmic pattern.
The ladies are farther back. Robin is on the ground choking, and Ms. Erica is pulling the trigger over and over again on a now empty pistol while trying to drag her partner back to the truck.
The gunfire stops, but there’s still shouting. Mica screaming at me to get back to the car. I hear Allie cursing and telling us both to move. Elle is wheezing, coughing, and whispering for me to help her. Ms. Erica is sobbing wildly and still pulling the trigger on a useless gun. The hum of an engine fades into the foreground and the crackle of new tires on gravel fills the air.
Autumn stepped out of her sleek black BMW and strode around the semi cab, out of sight of Malcolm and Mica. There were no sounds save for the soft crunch of shoes on gravel. When she emerged at the nose of the truck she was accompanied by Elle and Robin.
The three of them approached the pair quietly wearing serious faces. Erica slammed the door of the truck and joined the posse creating a sort of lopsided diamond. Faraday was at the front dressed for all intents like she was preparing to argue a case before the Supreme Court. She was in a tight but conservative black skirt cut mid calf with a slit up the back that ended at her knees. She had on a red silk blouse that accentuated her femininity and a black blazer buttoned once below her breasts. Over it all was a long black wool coat. It was open and her hands were stuffed deep in it’s pockets.
The rest of the group was spread out behind her. Elle was to her left and Robin and Erica close to each other on her right. They closed in on Mal and Mica stopping just past a comfortable distance.
The whole group stood in silence for a while. There was a uncomfortable sense that everyone was sizing up each other. Hands hovered nervously near pockets and waistbands. Nobody moved, nobody talked. Finally Faraday broke the silence.
“Well, we’ve all got ourselves a bit of a predicament here don’t we?”
***
S.A. Faraday stands in front of us, close enough to smell the coffee on her breath. I think about how coffee seems the wrong beverage for this moment. I know I could use a drink. We’re all nervous and it shows on everyones’ faces. It’s a stand off, and while we are easily outnumbered, it hardly matters when everyone has guns.
I grip the sawed off shotgun in my right hand fidgeting with the thin steel trigger. There’s a Glock tucked in the front of my waistband and a Smith and Weston in the back.
Mica is holding a Baretta nine mil’ and I know she has another stashed somewhere on her body. The moment someone moves it’ll all be over for everyone. We stand in this stalemate position for what feels like forever. I consider the option of speaking up.
I could offer to leave town; disappear. I could say I won’t talk, I’ll just vanish and everything can go back to the way it was, but of course it can’t. That’s what started this whole mess in the first place. All this because I wanted to leave.
“Well,” Autumn says finally. “ We’ve all got ourselves in a bit of a predicament here don’t we?”
The silence that follows answers the question precisely. I look at the stone faces of the group and let out a long sigh. I loosen my grip on the shotgun in my hand and let it slip before gripping it by its stubby barrel. I hold it out in front of me and slowly crouch down. I lay the weapon on the gravel in front of me and stand up. I put my hands up in front of me palms out and then very slowly reach down to my waist with my right hand.
The group tenses and Elle and Erica point their weapons at my chest. I grab the grip of the Glock in my waistband between my thumb and index finger. I gently pull it out and drop it on the ground. I turn gradually giving my wife and her crew my back and repeat the same action with the revolver in the back of my slacks. I turn back around and kick the guns on the ground away from me.
“Nothing has to happen here,” I say. “I’m the cause of all this. I get it. I can disappear.”
The words sound feeble and useless coming out of my mouth. I know that my offer is pointless. I know that it’s not a vialble solution, but I have nothing else to offer. I’m out of ideas.
“I’m as guilty of, well, everything, as anyone else here. You know I won’t talk. I can just leave.”
Elle huffs.
Faraday smiles coyly.
“That’s not what I want,” Faraday says. “That’s not it at all Malcolm.”
I look at Mica who has a blank expression of panic on her face.
“Well,” I say hesitantly. “What is it that you do want?”
Elle takes a few steps forward aligning herself with Faraday. She straightens up and a wild grin spreads across her face. She raises the barrel of her over sized silver revolver from my chest to my face. Her right thumb reaches up and pulls the heavy hammer back and a dull click cuts through the chilly dawn air as the hammer locks in place.
Faraday looks at me with an expression of thoughtfulness.
“Well Mal, to put it plainly, I want you.”
***
“Dead.”
That’s what Elle expected The Woman to say next.
“I want you dead.”
But it didn’t come. There was just uncomfortable silence. She felt her smile falter and crack. There was an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach like when she rode in an elevator that moved too fast.
Malcolm looked confused too. His forehead wrinkled a bit and his eyebrows bunched up.
“You’ve done a good job Mal,” The Woman said. “Mistakes have been made and we have some serious problems to overcome, but none of that is your fault.”
Elle felt a numb tingle start to form in her back between her shoulder blades and her grip on the pistol in her hands tightened unconsciously. Her mouth was drying up and she had a lump in her throat. None of this was sounding like it was supposed to. This wasn’t the fierce confrontation she had been expecting, rehearsing over and over in her head.
Mal shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but left his hands up, palms exposed. He was nervous too, as he should be. Where ever this strange speech was going, one thing was certain; it would be the last thing he ever heard.
“I don’t think I’m following you,” he said.
The Woman smiled.
“The Organization works Mal. On the whole it does what it’s supposed to. It has a job, an important job and it accomplishes it. We’re having some management issues lately. We need to restructure.
Elle felt her face flush. This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t really going to let him live was she? Elle felt bile squirt up her throat. She wasn’t going to move him up too? Make them partners? Elle had been living a nightmare for so long, living with a man she didn’t love, letting this pathetic peon kiss her and fuck her. Tonight was supposed to end all that. She was supposed to finaly be able to tell him how he made her stomach turn. She was supposed to get her revenge for the years of humiliation. She couldn’t keep doing it, she couldn’t live with him any longer.
“Okay?” Mal said hedging.
“So,” The Woman continued. “I want you to step up. Be my guy. Clean out the rest of the dead wood, pardon my pun, and take over Mica’s spot and run the city with me.”
The shot was so loud it actually startled Elle. In retrospect she couldn’t even remember turning the gun. It was all hazy and dreamlike, but the results were real. The Woman collapsed on the ground in a heap of silk, blood, and raw meat. Her head was gone and her body looked like a wet sack of potatoes just lying on the ground.
***
Everyone’s shouting. I hit the ground reflexively and there are long seconds before I regain the presence of mind to look around. There’s gunfire coming from everywhere. Mica is laying on the ground behind me emptying the clip on the second of her weapons; the first already cleaned out and tossed aside. Faraday is piled up on the ground looking like nothing more than a bundle of blood soaked rags, and Elle is next to her blowing blood bubbles from her lips and nostrils. She has to entry wounds in her back and a hole in her neck that’s spurting crimson in a rhythmic pattern.
The ladies are farther back. Robin is on the ground choking, and Ms. Erica is pulling the trigger over and over again on a now empty pistol while trying to drag her partner back to the truck.
The gunfire stops, but there’s still shouting. Mica screaming at me to get back to the car. I hear Allie cursing and telling us both to move. Elle is wheezing, coughing, and whispering for me to help her. Ms. Erica is sobbing wildly and still pulling the trigger on a useless gun. The hum of an engine fades into the foreground and the crackle of new tires on gravel fills the air.
Chapter Fifteen
Handcuffs hurt more than I expected. I’m in a small cell, a holding cell of some kind I expect. It’s about eight by ten with some kind of reinforced chain link wire across the front instead of bars. The walls on the other three sides are cinder block painted a dull off white. There are low stainless steel benches along the two longer walls and a payphone with a comically short six inch cord between the box and the receiver.
I’ve been here about an hour and no one has come to check on me. I don’t know who else they have, or for that matter who else is alive after the massacre at the motel. Faraday was dead for sure, her head was blown clean off by Elle when she offered me Mica’s job.
That was a surprise. I did not see that coming. Neither did Elle from her reaction. I suppose she thought she was in line for that spot. The truth is I doubt Faraday wanted me either. She probably was just trying to stall for time, or maybe get me to turn on Mica and Allie. Either way, I’m pretty sure she meant to kill us all in the end.
Elle was still alive when Upton ratcheted the cuffs on me. She was spitting blood and her eyes were starting to get that far away look, but she was alive. I have no idea if that remains true.
Mica was alive and, as far as I could tell, uninjured. She was in retreat, still packing heat and spitting distance from the car. I hadn’t seen Allie since I got out of the car and her calls for us to bolt stopped as soon as the cops hit the scene. I hope she ran. I hope she got out clean and makes for Canada, or Mexico, or Europe.
I’m pretty sure Robin was dead. She was limp in her partner’s arms as she sat pulling the trigger on an empty gun, sobbing and choking on her own tears. I have no doubt that Erica is in custody, she didn’t seem able to move, let alone run.
All of that is just speculation though. I haven’t seen anyone since Detective Upton and his crew swarmed the scene. I was already face down on the ground, it was easy for him to take me away, which is fine because I wouldn’t have run anyway. I’m tired. I’m tired of the hiding, of the secrets, and of the running. I’m tired of not having a real life. I’m tired of the killing.
I’m going to go to prison. I know that. I’m going to get locked away for a very long time, and I have to say that, surprisingly, I’m looking forward to it. Prison isn’t safe, but it’s predictable and right now that’s what I crave. Simplicity and predictability. I’m sure I can trade some information for some kind of protective custody agreement and then I can just live out the rest of my life in peace. That’s what I crave most now. Just peace.
“Karma! On your feet shithead.”
Finally someone coming. I’m eager to get the process moving. I jump to my feet and step up to the wire wall.
“Yes officer, what can I do for you.”
“Shut your pie hole for starters. You’ve got lots of jabbering to do in the next few weeks, you don’t need to waste the air with me.”
I nod.
“You’ve got people here to see you.”
“People?” I ask.
“Shut up,” the cop says.
The door to the cell slides open and the cop takes me by the arm. He walks me down a long narrow hallway made of the same featureless blocks that the cell was built from. At the end of the hall is a metal door painted tuxedo blue. The cop sticks a long key in the door and turns it clockwise. He twists the knob and swings it open.
“In ya go,” he says and unlocks the cuffs from my wrists.
He gives me a shove and slams the door behind me.
The room is only slightly larger than the cell I was just in. It’s all cinder block painted the same baby blue as the door, which it turns out is still better than the drab off white of the cell. There’s no mirror or window, this isn’t an interrogation room, it’s a private space. It’s a place for suspects to consult with their lawyers, which is why mine is sitting at the small grey metal table in the middle of the room.
“Malcolm,” Allie says.
My face goes pale, I can feel the blood rush out of my skin. A lump materializes in my throat and I choke on it. I cough and sputter and my body goes cold.
“Allie, what are you-”
She puts a finger over her lips miming the shush sound.
“I came as soon as I heard,” she says with fire in her eyes.
I nod and her serious expression melts away to a friendly smile.
It seems like you got yourself into a predicament Mr. Karma.
I nod again, still feeling dumbfounded and confused.
“From what I can gather,” she goes on, “it appears to me to be a bit of a, the wrong place at the wrong time. Am I right?”
“You could say that,” I stammer.
“Still, I imagine you know things. Things you might not even know you know.”
I give a hesitant shrug and she mimes that I should speak out loud.
“I don’t know,” I say. “How would I know what I don’t know that I know.”
“Good point,” she says cheerfully. That’s why you have me. You’re wife was into some bad stuff Mal. I’m sure you had no idea, but it’s possible that you could have some knowledge that could clear up some questions.”
“I… I don’t really see how,” I say.
“I’m sure you don’t now, but we’ll figure it out. The cops, they think that this was all you. Apparently there was a secret safe in your old apartment and well, that woman that your wife killed at the motel, she was the Cook County State’s Attorney. I know you couldn’t be involved, but you might have heard something over the years with Elle that could be helpful in proving it. I’ve made some calls and there’s someone here that has some questions.”
I look back confused.
Allie mouths the words ‘trust me’.
I nod.
The door to the room opens and a man in his mid fifties walks in. He isn’t a cop, that’s for sure. He’s well dressed in a dark suit. He’s got black hair with just a little grey at the temples. He walks with confidence and composure. He steps up to me and puts out a hand.
“Mr. Karma,” he says with a strong deep voice. “I’m Special Agent Kyle Flannery. I’m with the F.B.I. I’d like to talk to you about S.A. Faraday and her relationship with your wife.”
The door closes behind him.
As soon as the sound of the lock sliding into place echos through the room Agent Flannery’s demeanor changes.
“Malcolm,” he says in a friendly but urgent tone. “Here’s where things stand.”
He takes a seat next to Allie and leans in close.
“Mica’s gone, we’re not sure where, but they don’t have her in custody.”
I look at Allie knowing that she was in the car and that Mica was heading that way. She looks back at me with steely eyes and flat lips.
“The woman going by Robin Hill is dead. She was DOA when Detective Upton got there. Her partner Erica Lynn is in custody, but they don’t really have anything on her. She’s not connected on paper anywhere to Faraday or Mica and they look like a couple of truckers that just drove into a bad situation. That’s the story Ms. Lynn is giving to the police too. I don’t think the local PD is going to be able to hold her for very long.”
I nod.
“But the truth is they are, or were, mercenaries that State’s Attorney Faraday used for ops she didn’t trust Mica to take care of. They’re the ones that blew up your building.”
I frown.
“How did they get the bomb in there. I’m pretty sure I would have noticed someone breaking in to my place.”
Flannery nods.
“No, they didn’t plant it. That was your wife.”
I rub my face with my palms and let out a long sigh.
“And when did that happen?”
Flannery shrugs.
“No idea, but I imagine early on. Probably right after you moved in. She was a plant from the beginning. It was her job to keep an eye on you. Almost everyone in Faraday’s organization had some kind of supervisor watching them.”
I slump in my chair feeling exhausted.
“So, Mica’s gone, Faraday’s dead, her goons are dead or in custody for now. What about Elle? Where is she? Is she alive?”
Flannery and Allie exchange a glance.
“Elle’s dead,” Allie says flatly.
Flannery shifts in his seat.
“Malcolm, I think we need to start fresh. You’re caught up as much as you need to be. Now we need to talk about going forward.”
I sigh and straighten up in my chair.
“Yeah, honestly, I don’t know how much help I’m going to be. I can speak to my actions and directives from Mica, but I don’t really know anything else.”
Flannery is staring at me slightly bewildered.
“I didn’t even know Elle was involved until tonight, eh, last night now I guess. Anyway, I didn’t know about Faraday, or Elle, or any of that. I don’t think my testimony will be useful.”
Flannery frowns and scootches forward in his seat.
“Malcolm-”
“I haven’t told him yet,” Allie says.
Flannery looks at her with an expression of shock.
“I didn’t have time,” she says. You got here faster than I thought.
“Malcolm,” Flannnery says without an ounce of friendliness. “I don’t need your testimony. I need you. I need you to vanish. I need you to disappear.”
I’m hit with the sensation of a bucket of cold water being dumped over me.
“What?” I say.
“Malcolm, this investigation has been going on a lot longer than you know. You’re not the one we’re after. Even Faraday was just a stepping stone for us. We’re after the organization as a whole.”
I frown and look at Allie. She stares back expressionless.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “It’s over. Faraday was Mica’s boss. She was the one running the show, and she’s dead. Mica’s gone you say, and without Faraday looming over her, I imagine she’ll stay gone. It’s over, it’s finally all over. I’m going to prison, and everyone else goes free.”
Flannery chuckles.
“No, Malcolm. It’s not over. It’s far from over. Faraday wasn’t the boss any more than Mica. This goes a little higher than a county S.A. This goes well beyond that. We have a lot of work to do and I’m going to need your help, but you cant help me from behind bars, so, you’re going to have to disappear.”
A chill runs down my spine.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I’m afraid Malcolm, that your work is not done.”
***
It took four hours for Flannery to get the papers transferring me to F.B.I. custody. I was cuffed again and walked out of the station by Flannery and another agent who never bothered to introduce himself. We’re sitting in the back of a black SUV now, heading east on the Eisenhower expressway. I’m uncuffed and sitting unrestrained save for the seat belt. Flannery’s been quiet for most of the drive. The other agent is in the front passenger seat and a third unknown man is driving the car.
At Lakeshore Drive we go south and exit again at Cermak. A little while later we stop. The building next to us is nondescript. It’s brick and block and wears years of neglect. there’s a green door on the corner and a worn yellow awning above it. It’s definitely not an F.B.I. Building. I feel my stomach turn.
The second agent, the one in the front passenger seat gets out of the truck. He walks across the street and climbs in a black sedan and drives away. I turn to Flannery who hasn’t said anything since we pulled away from the police station.
“Where are we?” I ask.
Flannery looks at me seriously.
“You’re new home,” he says.
I choke.
“I’m sorry,” I spit. “You want me to live here?”
“It’s better than prison isn’t it?” Flannery says.
I look out the window at the crumbling building in a deserted neighborhood.
“Honestly,” I say. “I’m not sure that’s true.”
“It was good enough for me,” comes the voice from the driver’s seat.
I turn and look at the man who’s been driving silently since the suburbs.
I squint.
He’s not old, but he’s definitely past his thirties. It strikes me that he’s not dressed like the other agents. He’s in a suit, but less formal, less business. It’s all black with a white shirt. It’s my uniform. It’s how I dressed when I worked for Mica.
I feel cold sweat pressing out of my pores.
“And who are you?” I ask suddenly knowing the answer.
The man unbuckles his seat belt and turns around to face me. He is handsome, chiseled, and frightening. He extends a hand between the front seats for me to shake. I reach out and grasp it and he squeezes me firmly.
“Sorry,” he says. “Malcolm, my name is Gavin. Gavin Gayle. It’s very nice to meet you.”
Handcuffs hurt more than I expected. I’m in a small cell, a holding cell of some kind I expect. It’s about eight by ten with some kind of reinforced chain link wire across the front instead of bars. The walls on the other three sides are cinder block painted a dull off white. There are low stainless steel benches along the two longer walls and a payphone with a comically short six inch cord between the box and the receiver.
I’ve been here about an hour and no one has come to check on me. I don’t know who else they have, or for that matter who else is alive after the massacre at the motel. Faraday was dead for sure, her head was blown clean off by Elle when she offered me Mica’s job.
That was a surprise. I did not see that coming. Neither did Elle from her reaction. I suppose she thought she was in line for that spot. The truth is I doubt Faraday wanted me either. She probably was just trying to stall for time, or maybe get me to turn on Mica and Allie. Either way, I’m pretty sure she meant to kill us all in the end.
Elle was still alive when Upton ratcheted the cuffs on me. She was spitting blood and her eyes were starting to get that far away look, but she was alive. I have no idea if that remains true.
Mica was alive and, as far as I could tell, uninjured. She was in retreat, still packing heat and spitting distance from the car. I hadn’t seen Allie since I got out of the car and her calls for us to bolt stopped as soon as the cops hit the scene. I hope she ran. I hope she got out clean and makes for Canada, or Mexico, or Europe.
I’m pretty sure Robin was dead. She was limp in her partner’s arms as she sat pulling the trigger on an empty gun, sobbing and choking on her own tears. I have no doubt that Erica is in custody, she didn’t seem able to move, let alone run.
All of that is just speculation though. I haven’t seen anyone since Detective Upton and his crew swarmed the scene. I was already face down on the ground, it was easy for him to take me away, which is fine because I wouldn’t have run anyway. I’m tired. I’m tired of the hiding, of the secrets, and of the running. I’m tired of not having a real life. I’m tired of the killing.
I’m going to go to prison. I know that. I’m going to get locked away for a very long time, and I have to say that, surprisingly, I’m looking forward to it. Prison isn’t safe, but it’s predictable and right now that’s what I crave. Simplicity and predictability. I’m sure I can trade some information for some kind of protective custody agreement and then I can just live out the rest of my life in peace. That’s what I crave most now. Just peace.
“Karma! On your feet shithead.”
Finally someone coming. I’m eager to get the process moving. I jump to my feet and step up to the wire wall.
“Yes officer, what can I do for you.”
“Shut your pie hole for starters. You’ve got lots of jabbering to do in the next few weeks, you don’t need to waste the air with me.”
I nod.
“You’ve got people here to see you.”
“People?” I ask.
“Shut up,” the cop says.
The door to the cell slides open and the cop takes me by the arm. He walks me down a long narrow hallway made of the same featureless blocks that the cell was built from. At the end of the hall is a metal door painted tuxedo blue. The cop sticks a long key in the door and turns it clockwise. He twists the knob and swings it open.
“In ya go,” he says and unlocks the cuffs from my wrists.
He gives me a shove and slams the door behind me.
The room is only slightly larger than the cell I was just in. It’s all cinder block painted the same baby blue as the door, which it turns out is still better than the drab off white of the cell. There’s no mirror or window, this isn’t an interrogation room, it’s a private space. It’s a place for suspects to consult with their lawyers, which is why mine is sitting at the small grey metal table in the middle of the room.
“Malcolm,” Allie says.
My face goes pale, I can feel the blood rush out of my skin. A lump materializes in my throat and I choke on it. I cough and sputter and my body goes cold.
“Allie, what are you-”
She puts a finger over her lips miming the shush sound.
“I came as soon as I heard,” she says with fire in her eyes.
I nod and her serious expression melts away to a friendly smile.
It seems like you got yourself into a predicament Mr. Karma.
I nod again, still feeling dumbfounded and confused.
“From what I can gather,” she goes on, “it appears to me to be a bit of a, the wrong place at the wrong time. Am I right?”
“You could say that,” I stammer.
“Still, I imagine you know things. Things you might not even know you know.”
I give a hesitant shrug and she mimes that I should speak out loud.
“I don’t know,” I say. “How would I know what I don’t know that I know.”
“Good point,” she says cheerfully. That’s why you have me. You’re wife was into some bad stuff Mal. I’m sure you had no idea, but it’s possible that you could have some knowledge that could clear up some questions.”
“I… I don’t really see how,” I say.
“I’m sure you don’t now, but we’ll figure it out. The cops, they think that this was all you. Apparently there was a secret safe in your old apartment and well, that woman that your wife killed at the motel, she was the Cook County State’s Attorney. I know you couldn’t be involved, but you might have heard something over the years with Elle that could be helpful in proving it. I’ve made some calls and there’s someone here that has some questions.”
I look back confused.
Allie mouths the words ‘trust me’.
I nod.
The door to the room opens and a man in his mid fifties walks in. He isn’t a cop, that’s for sure. He’s well dressed in a dark suit. He’s got black hair with just a little grey at the temples. He walks with confidence and composure. He steps up to me and puts out a hand.
“Mr. Karma,” he says with a strong deep voice. “I’m Special Agent Kyle Flannery. I’m with the F.B.I. I’d like to talk to you about S.A. Faraday and her relationship with your wife.”
The door closes behind him.
As soon as the sound of the lock sliding into place echos through the room Agent Flannery’s demeanor changes.
“Malcolm,” he says in a friendly but urgent tone. “Here’s where things stand.”
He takes a seat next to Allie and leans in close.
“Mica’s gone, we’re not sure where, but they don’t have her in custody.”
I look at Allie knowing that she was in the car and that Mica was heading that way. She looks back at me with steely eyes and flat lips.
“The woman going by Robin Hill is dead. She was DOA when Detective Upton got there. Her partner Erica Lynn is in custody, but they don’t really have anything on her. She’s not connected on paper anywhere to Faraday or Mica and they look like a couple of truckers that just drove into a bad situation. That’s the story Ms. Lynn is giving to the police too. I don’t think the local PD is going to be able to hold her for very long.”
I nod.
“But the truth is they are, or were, mercenaries that State’s Attorney Faraday used for ops she didn’t trust Mica to take care of. They’re the ones that blew up your building.”
I frown.
“How did they get the bomb in there. I’m pretty sure I would have noticed someone breaking in to my place.”
Flannery nods.
“No, they didn’t plant it. That was your wife.”
I rub my face with my palms and let out a long sigh.
“And when did that happen?”
Flannery shrugs.
“No idea, but I imagine early on. Probably right after you moved in. She was a plant from the beginning. It was her job to keep an eye on you. Almost everyone in Faraday’s organization had some kind of supervisor watching them.”
I slump in my chair feeling exhausted.
“So, Mica’s gone, Faraday’s dead, her goons are dead or in custody for now. What about Elle? Where is she? Is she alive?”
Flannery and Allie exchange a glance.
“Elle’s dead,” Allie says flatly.
Flannery shifts in his seat.
“Malcolm, I think we need to start fresh. You’re caught up as much as you need to be. Now we need to talk about going forward.”
I sigh and straighten up in my chair.
“Yeah, honestly, I don’t know how much help I’m going to be. I can speak to my actions and directives from Mica, but I don’t really know anything else.”
Flannery is staring at me slightly bewildered.
“I didn’t even know Elle was involved until tonight, eh, last night now I guess. Anyway, I didn’t know about Faraday, or Elle, or any of that. I don’t think my testimony will be useful.”
Flannery frowns and scootches forward in his seat.
“Malcolm-”
“I haven’t told him yet,” Allie says.
Flannery looks at her with an expression of shock.
“I didn’t have time,” she says. You got here faster than I thought.
“Malcolm,” Flannnery says without an ounce of friendliness. “I don’t need your testimony. I need you. I need you to vanish. I need you to disappear.”
I’m hit with the sensation of a bucket of cold water being dumped over me.
“What?” I say.
“Malcolm, this investigation has been going on a lot longer than you know. You’re not the one we’re after. Even Faraday was just a stepping stone for us. We’re after the organization as a whole.”
I frown and look at Allie. She stares back expressionless.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “It’s over. Faraday was Mica’s boss. She was the one running the show, and she’s dead. Mica’s gone you say, and without Faraday looming over her, I imagine she’ll stay gone. It’s over, it’s finally all over. I’m going to prison, and everyone else goes free.”
Flannery chuckles.
“No, Malcolm. It’s not over. It’s far from over. Faraday wasn’t the boss any more than Mica. This goes a little higher than a county S.A. This goes well beyond that. We have a lot of work to do and I’m going to need your help, but you cant help me from behind bars, so, you’re going to have to disappear.”
A chill runs down my spine.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I’m afraid Malcolm, that your work is not done.”
***
It took four hours for Flannery to get the papers transferring me to F.B.I. custody. I was cuffed again and walked out of the station by Flannery and another agent who never bothered to introduce himself. We’re sitting in the back of a black SUV now, heading east on the Eisenhower expressway. I’m uncuffed and sitting unrestrained save for the seat belt. Flannery’s been quiet for most of the drive. The other agent is in the front passenger seat and a third unknown man is driving the car.
At Lakeshore Drive we go south and exit again at Cermak. A little while later we stop. The building next to us is nondescript. It’s brick and block and wears years of neglect. there’s a green door on the corner and a worn yellow awning above it. It’s definitely not an F.B.I. Building. I feel my stomach turn.
The second agent, the one in the front passenger seat gets out of the truck. He walks across the street and climbs in a black sedan and drives away. I turn to Flannery who hasn’t said anything since we pulled away from the police station.
“Where are we?” I ask.
Flannery looks at me seriously.
“You’re new home,” he says.
I choke.
“I’m sorry,” I spit. “You want me to live here?”
“It’s better than prison isn’t it?” Flannery says.
I look out the window at the crumbling building in a deserted neighborhood.
“Honestly,” I say. “I’m not sure that’s true.”
“It was good enough for me,” comes the voice from the driver’s seat.
I turn and look at the man who’s been driving silently since the suburbs.
I squint.
He’s not old, but he’s definitely past his thirties. It strikes me that he’s not dressed like the other agents. He’s in a suit, but less formal, less business. It’s all black with a white shirt. It’s my uniform. It’s how I dressed when I worked for Mica.
I feel cold sweat pressing out of my pores.
“And who are you?” I ask suddenly knowing the answer.
The man unbuckles his seat belt and turns around to face me. He is handsome, chiseled, and frightening. He extends a hand between the front seats for me to shake. I reach out and grasp it and he squeezes me firmly.
“Sorry,” he says. “Malcolm, my name is Gavin. Gavin Gayle. It’s very nice to meet you.”
The End
Make sure you read the in-cannon prequel story "Finding Faraday" by none other than Autumn Faraday herself. Learn about the origins of The Woman.
Click the cover image below.
Click the cover image below.
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