by Darcia Helle
“Nothing they can do,” John continued. “My own fault, I know, so I don’t expect or want your sympathy.”
“Dad…”
“I don’t want money, either. State’s picking up my medical bills. I’ve got life insurance to bury me.”
“Dad…”
“None of that’s what I came here for.” John leaned forward and held Michael’s eyes with his own. “I came to apologize to you. I can’t die before I make it right between us.”
Michael quickly closed his eyes to break contact with his father’s gaze. And to squeeze off the tears that had suddenly threatened to emerge. He couldn’t cry. Why would he even want to?
“Mike, I know I wasn’t there when you needed me,” John said. “I have no excuses. I was hurting but you were hurting too. I’m sorry.”
Michael nodded. He wasn’t sure he could speak. John gave him a sad smile. “All those years wasted,” John said. “But, Mike, in spite of it all, you turned out damn good. I’m proud of you, son.”
At that moment Ruby tapped on the door and stepped inside. She took one look at Michael’s face and immediately retreated, closing the door quietly behind her.
Michael let his gaze fall on the man across from him and all his anger melted away. In the end, death came and stripped a person to the core. And there sat his father.
Chapter 12
First Nicki became aware of the voices. Distant but demanding, they were male and unfamiliar, and she couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of the words. Then she noticed the hard grit pressed against her face. Her body ached. She smelled dirt. Rotting garbage. Tasted blood.
Nicki pushed her eyes open, blinking several times to clear her vision. A sneaker on the ground near her face. Some sort of neon blue striped thing. She blinked again, confirmed that she was, in fact, lying on the ground, and the voices became clearer.
“You okay?” a young male voice asked.
“Should I call 911?” another male voice asked.
“Shit.” That same first male voice again.
Nicki willed her muscles to move. She groaned, lifting her face off the sand-covered pavement. With help from the two teens, she managed to sit, then slumped back against the side of a Dumpster.
She was in the back lot of her apartment building. The one working security light on the opposite side offered just enough light to see and plenty of shadow to hide. She ran her tongue across her bloody lip. Anger began to replace the confusion.
“You need an ambulance?” asked the kid with the neon shoes.
“No,” Nicki muttered. “I’m okay. Thanks.”
“We heard you scream,” the other kid said. He wore black cargo pants, black combat boots, a black t-shirt. “We ran around the side of the building and some dude had you down on the ground.”
“He took off quick,” neon sneakers said.
“Cause we threatened to blow his nuts off.”
“Probably shoulda.”
“Fuckin’ lowlife beatin’ on a woman.”
“Thank you guys,” Nicki said. “He probably would’ve killed me if you hadn’t shown up.”
“You know him?” combat boots asked.
“Not personally,” Nicki replied.
“You want us to call 911?” neon sneakers asked. “You should probably see a doctor.”
“Yeah,” combat boots said. “And, no offense lady, but we can’t stick around and give statements or nothing’.”
“We’d like to help,” neon sneakers said, “but…”
“I don’t need an ambulance,” Nicki said. “And I sure as hell don’t need any cops.” She gingerly moved away from the Dumpster. Glancing around her, she said, “What I do need is my purse and my damn keys. Did that bastard take it?”
Combat boots leaned forward and yanked a leather strap from under the Dumpster. “This it?” he asked.
“Wow,” Nicki said. “You saved my life and you’re also honest. And people say teenagers today have no morals.”
Neon sneakers’ face remained solemn. “Hurtin’ chicks ain’t cool.”
The boys helped Nicki stand. She said, “You guys ever need a friend, you can count on me.”
They nodded in acknowledgment. Combat boots asked, “You okay on your own now?”
“I am. Thanks.” Nicki fished her keys from her purse. “You guys need a ride somewhere?”
“Nah,” neon sneakers replied. “We’re just wandering.”
“Okay.” Nicki wiped a few flecks of sand from her face. “Somehow saying thanks doesn’t seem nearly enough,” she said. “But I’ll say it anyway. Thank you. And I live here, apartment 2B. My name’s Nicki. Like I said before, you ever need a friend, come find me.”
The boys nodded, wished her well, and sauntered off into the darkness. Nicki walked the few yards to her car. She didn’t realize that her hands were shaking until she was safely locked inside.
Going back to her apartment tonight was not an option. She didn’t have tons of friends lined up ready to take her in and she didn’t want to involve the few she did have. So she drove for 20 minutes until she came to a shoddy motel that she could afford.
Nicki checked in with a fake name and most of her cash. Even though there were dozens of motels and hotels in the area, and logically she didn’t expect the guy to be able to track her down, she wasn’t about to take any unnecessary chances.
She locked herself in the room, then inspected her face in the dingy bathroom mirror. A scrape across her cheek, a bloody lip, and a gumball-sized lump over her eye. Things could certainly have been worse.
Back in the tiny bedroom Nicki wrinkled her nose at the bed. She quickly pulled the spread off and tossed it in a ball on the floor. Motel staff, particularly in this type of dive, did not routinely wash bedspreads. No way was she going to lie down with other people’s crusty bodily fluids.
She rummaged through her purse, found her cell phone, and pulled up a number from her contact list. She paced while she waited for an answer. Finally a hesitant female voice picked up.
“Isabel,” Nicki said. “It’s Nicki. Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“You need to leave. Go back to the shelter. You’re not safe.”
“No,” Isabel said. “I can’t do that.”
“He attacked me tonight. I can come and get you, take you to the shelter.”
“You shouldn’t be calling me.”
“Listen to me,” Nicki pleaded. “He was going to kill me. And I’m afraid he’s going to kill you.”
“Stupid bitch.”
The male voice now on the phone was the same that had earlier breathed obscenities in her ear. Nicki gulped a mouthful of air. Both fear and anger raced through her. She said, “Don’t you dare hurt her.”
“And who’s going to stop me?” he said. “You? Fucking bitch. You’ll be dead soon.”
“I’ll call the police. You -”
“No you won’t. And do you know why?”
“I’m not playing your games.”
“Too late for that, bitch,” he said. “You call the cops. You got no proof I touched you. I won’t go down. But you will. You know what’s inside your apartment, just waiting for the cops to find?”
Nicki broke out in a cold sweat. She said nothing. He continued talking as if he had not expected her to reply. “A half pound of pure cocaine,” he said. “Cops will check out your story, find the bag, and you’re gone baby. Me? They won’t find a damn thing on me.”
He laughed harshly, then added, “Go ahead and try to get the bag out of there before you call the cops. You won’t make it up the stairs. This is my ‘hood. Remember that.”
“You bastard,” Nicki muttered.
“I’ll find you. We have a date. Remember what I said earlier? What I’m gonna do to you?”
Nicki flipped her phone shut. She spouted a string of curses into the empty room. Tears burned behind her eyes but she refused to give them life. She’d figure this out. Long ago she’d vowed that no man would ever a
gain get the best of her. Crying would be giving him power over her. She wouldn’t do that. She needed to stay strong and find a way out of this mess.
She flopped onto the bed, trembling despite the humid claustrophobic air inside. A woman in the next room moaned in the throes of passion. Or she was faking it for a john. Nicki turned the TV to a late-night talk show. With the volume up high, she lay still on the bed, fighting the tears and wishing she wasn’t so alone.
Chapter 13
Michael lay on his bed, staring through the dark at the ceiling. Before today, he’d often considered his father’s death. He’d run scenarios through his mind, such as finding his father in an alcohol-induced coma or being told his father had died in a drunk driving accident. He’d never expected his father to live long and he’d thought about it with a sort of clinical detachment.
Despite all this, Michael hadn’t been prepared for what happened earlier that day. Seeing approaching death in his father’s eyes, knowing it as a fact, had left him reeling. He wasn’t sure how he felt, what he should feel, or why he should feel anything at all.
After his father had left his office, he’d told Ruby in a flat and unemotional voice that his father was dying. She had urged him to talk about it. He hadn’t. Then she’d suggested he call Isaac. He hadn’t done that, either. Instead he’d gone to his meeting, losing himself as much as possible in his business world. He’d left the meeting, come home and swam until he was breathless. Physically exhausted, he’d come inside and plopped on the bed, which was where he remained.
He breathed a heavy sigh as he pushed himself off the bed. He made his way through the darkened house and into his office. At his computer, he did a Google search for liver cancer. What he read made him feel worse. He clicked out of the page he’d been reading and stared out the window at the quiet neighborhood beyond.
The world around him remained silent while inside he raged. He found himself wishing he had a job to keep him occupied. Murder as a distraction. That seemed to be his way of life.
Chapter 14
Nicki stood beneath the trickle of hot water until it ran cold. Then she dressed in the outfit she’d worn the day before because that was all she had. She’d had a running debate with herself all night about how to handle the situation she found herself in. The one conclusion she’d come to was that she had no idea what to do. She hoped Antonio Lott, Isabel’s boyfriend, would forget about her and go back to his life. Yet somehow she doubted that would happen.
In the meantime, she had to work. She’d be safe there. After all, the place was a shelter for women very much like herself. Besides, if she stayed in this rundown motel room one more minute, saw one more cockroach the size of a hamster scurry across the floor, she would certainly lose her mind.
Nicki scanned the parking lot before stepping fully from her room. Nobody lurked in the shadows waiting to jump on her. The cars in the lot were empty. And people passing by on the streets didn’t even glance her way.
She climbed into her car and sped off toward the shelter. Now the question came as to whether or not to tell her boss about the circumstances. That would likely get her fired. She’d broken a major rule by getting personal with one of the women, by giving her phone number, by inviting the woman into her home. Nicki had wanted so badly to help the woman. She hadn’t given any thought to why those rules were in place.
This job was her chance at a real life. One that mattered. She scoffed at how utterly hopeless that made her sound. Yet, at the moment, that was how she felt. The world sucked. And guys like Antonio Lott seemed to constantly knock her off stride. It was as if she had a magnetic force sucking all the assholes into her life.
And repelling all that was good.
“Stop it,” she muttered. No time for melancholy bullshit. No time for self-pity. She needed a plan. What kind of plan, she had no idea. Maybe she could pay a bum to go up to her apartment and find that bag of cocaine. Lott wouldn’t expect that, so he wouldn’t be watching for it. And that would at least solve one of her problems.
For now she’d go to work. She’d say nothing. She’d worry later.
***
Nicki got through her work day relatively unscathed. At least she still had a job. Her concentration was off and she’d fallen asleep during her break, only to find drool dribbling down her cheek when awakened by a coworker. Add that to the embarrassment of wearing yesterday’s outfit and her banged up face, and she’d surely made herself the topic of the day.
She’d said nothing to her boss or any of her coworkers about Lott. The security guard at the door had given her a sense of safety. Not that she expected Lott to find her there. The shelter was not into advertising. They had no sign and no address listed in the phone book. Isabel would’ve had to tell him where the place was. Nicki didn’t want to believe she’d do that.
The long day had reached its end. Nicki walked out to her car, knowing the sense of safety she’d enjoyed had just vanished. She needed to make decisions. Do something. But what?
The only plan she’d managed to come up with so far was to pay a homeless person to retrieve the cocaine from her apartment. Of course, it was possible that Lott had been lying about that. A good scare tactic to keep her from going to the cops. Not that she was sure she wanted to go to the cops, anyway. Would they even believe her?
She pulled out into the street, noticing too late that a man sitting in a car across from the shelter had been watching her. He pulled out behind her. Coincidence, she told herself. Her heart slammed against her chest as she pressed harder on the gas pedal.
The shelter was not in the best part of the city. The houses were run down, the neighborhood full of pawn shops and deserted buildings. Nicki turned toward the highway. The man in the car followed too closely.
When the traffic light ahead turned red, Nicki cursed the world. She’d been about to run it when a pickup flew through the green light, crossing only inches in front of her. She slammed on her break and pushed her door locks down.
The car behind her screeched to a halt. In seconds the man was out of his car and jogging toward her. Last night when Lott had attacked her, it had been dark and it had happened fast. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him. So she wasn’t sure if this man was Lott. She wasn’t about to wait around to find out.
Nicki took her foot off the break just as something smashed through her side window. The man grabbed her arm. She stomped on the gas. An SUV laid on its horn as she darted through the traffic. In her rearview mirror, she watched as the man jogged back to his car.
Glass was pooled in her lap, scattered over her arms, and stuck in her hair. She took corners too fast, laying on her horn to warn people away. A mile up the road, she got stuck behind a line of cars at a stop sign. The man sat four cars behind her.
When her turn came, Nicki took a hard left and raced through the streets. She zigzagged her way through the city, managing to lose her tail. She wound up at a mall. Having no place to go and no particular plan, she figured she’d be as safe there as anywhere at the moment. So she parked in the midst of hundreds of others and went inside.
The bustle of activity did nothing to soothe her nerves. She found a ladies’ room, where she brushed the glass shards out of her hair and splashed cold water on her face. Then she went to the food court, got a coffee, and sat at a table where she could watch everyone’s approach.
Hours later, with the mall preparing to close, she still had no plan. She couldn’t do this on her own. She needed help and not the kind any cop would offer. Even if Lott’s threat of the cocaine in her apartment was false, trusting cops wasn’t in her nature. Trusting anyone at all wasn’t her style. She’d learned the hard way not to.
Nicki couldn’t even remember the last time she’d asked someone for help. This time, though, she had enough common sense to admit she was in over her head. She dug her cell phone from her purse and dialed the first number that came to mind. The only person she was sure could help. And the only person she trusted enough
to ask.
Chapter 15
“What the hell do you mean you lost her?” Antonio Lott demanded.
Wiz averted his eyes. “She almost got herself killed blowing a stoplight,” Wiz said. “I did my best to keep up with her. But the old geezers on the road wouldn’t move out of the way. She kept taking last minute turns and I lost her in the traffic.”
“You’re a useless fuck,” Lott snapped.
“I went back to her neighborhood,” Wiz said. “Figured she wouldn’t be dumb enough to go back but I checked it out anyway. Talked to a few people. Turns out the chick used to be a hooker.”
That got Lott’s attention. He glared at the bartender who was approaching them. When the man wisely turned away, Lott said, “A hooker? Don’t it figure. Fucking whore.”
“I couldn’t get a last name out of anyone,” Wiz said. “I mean, I could’ve. But not without, you know, raising some hell. And you wanted me to keep it quiet.”
“We don’t need to raise any alarms.”
“Right.”
“We need to find her.”
“No address book or nothing in her apartment,” Wiz said. “Maybe she’s back at that shelter.”
“Fuck,” Lott muttered.
“You really think Isabel told her?”
Lott drained the rest of his beer. He gripped the bottle tight in his fist and said, “Does it matter? You want to wait until it’s on the front page of the fucking paper? I told you to find the bitch.”
“Okay,” Wiz said calmly. “Consider it done.”
Chapter 16
At just after 11 on a Tuesday evening, too many bodies crammed into the tiny bar. Smoke wafted in the air, hanging in clusters of clouds over a few of the booths. Michael ordered a draft that he didn’t want and leaned against the end of the bar. His back nearly rested on the far wall. His eyes scanned the path to the entrance.
A group of college-aged guys with too much testosterone sat a few feet away. Their behavior confirmed what Michael had suspected with his first glance their way; their muscles saw more action than their brains. They flexed as they drank, showing off for a few young women seated at a booth nearby. The blond guy with the square head and diamond earring winked at the women, then licked his lips in what was meant to be a seductive come-on. The women looked at each other and one of them giggled.