Carve the Heart

by A. G. Pasquella

  Eddie recited Vin’s number. I punched it in. “Vin. It’s Jack.”

  “Jack, man. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “This isn’t your fault. Your job is to keep people out, not keep people in.”

  “I usually don’t sleep like that. I don’t know, man. Maybe she slipped me something.”

  I blinked. “You think she drugged you?”

  “I’m just saying. Usually I don’t —”

  “Sleep like that, yeah, I got it. Were there any signs of a struggle? Any signs of another person? A cigarette butt, a footprint?”

  “No, man. Nothing like that. Open window in the bedroom and the screen was off. That’s it.”

  “Was the screen inside or outside the house?”

  “Inside. It’s leaning against the wall of the bedroom. You want me to put it back, or —”

  “No. Just leave everything as is. We’ll be there soon.”

  I passed Eddie the phone and we drove in silence. I didn’t want to say it and neither did he, but we were both thinking the same thing. Was Vin compromised? It seemed impossible. But then again, the king’s guards were in the best position to kill the king. If someone had gotten to Vin, we were all in danger.

  I glanced over at Eddie. “Should I say it?”

  Eddie shook his head. “Vin? Nah. Couldn’t be. Aunt Cecilia’s boy? Forget about it.”

  “I know.” We drove in silence, the engine humming, the car eating the road. “We have to at least think about it, though.”

  Eddie shook his head. “We’re not there yet. Let’s keep that shit on the back burner for now.”

  “Agreed.”

  Eddie grinned. “‘Agreed.’ So formal. What is this, the House of Lords?”

  “Break out the robes and powdered wigs.”

  “Quite so, m’lord.”

  Just like Hawkeye Pierce in M*A*S*H, we were using humour as a shield. If Vin had betrayed us —

  But that was a big if. We’d cross that bridge if we had to.

  The new driveway at the safe house was really holding up. Eddie’s tires bit into the asphalt as the Lexus screeched to a stop. We walked past the rose bushes to the front porch. Eddie grabbed some grocery store flyers from the mailbox. Meat was on sale.

  Vin looked crushed. A sad, despondent man hunched in the front hall, his shoulder holster empty. I tilted my head toward the holster. “Where’s your gun?”

  “I put it down in the bathroom. I don’t like, you know … the weight of it when I’m, uh …” Vin looked up. “Jack, I’m so sorry.”

  “I know you are, Vin. It’s not your fault.”

  “I was the one here, though.”

  I grabbed Vin’s shoulder. “We’re going to find her. You can help. Walk me through exactly what happened. Everything since you first woke up. What you saw, what you were feeling.” I rubbed my temples. “You got any coffee?”

  “Espresso?”

  “Make it a double.”

  Vin and I walked into the 1950s kitchen. Black and white floor tiles, pastel-pink cupboards, a mint-green milkshake machine on the counter. An espresso machine sat next to the milkshake machine, as if they were buddies. Vin turned on the espresso machine and got to work. “Like I told Eddie, I woke up and she was gone. I didn’t hear anything, which is strange because usually I’m a light sleeper.”

  “The night before … did Cassandra make you a drink?”

  Vin’s brow furrowed as he tried to recall. “I don’t think so. We had tea right before bed, but I made that. I could’ve turned my back on it, though. She could’ve easily slipped me something.”

  “Let’s come back to that. So, you woke up …”

  Vin nodded. “Went to the bathroom. Came in here and started making coffee. Made the rounds: checked the front door, looked at the street. Everything was normal. Walked through the house to the back door. Everything was fine there, too. I drank my coffee while I watched the birds. Sparrows, mostly. Then there was a flash of red. The sparrows took off and a cardinal landed on the feeder. Majestic bird.” Vin passed me an espresso in a tiny cup and then he handed me a comically oversized spoon. “Sorry, the little spoons are in the dishwasher.”

  “That’s okay.” I handed the giant spoon back to him. “I drink it black. Then what happened?”

  “I sat down at this table right here and read my book and finished my coffee. I went and knocked lightly on Cassandra’s door. There was no answer, so I came back in here and made breakfast.” Vin blinked at me. “You want some eggs?”

  “Later. So breakfast is made …”

  “I went back to Cassandra’s room and knocked on the door again. Still no answer. At this point, you know, I’m starting to get this feeling that something’s wrong. I opened the door a crack. I said, ‘Cassandra?’ There was no answer. So I opened the door all the way and there was no one in the bed and the window was open and the screen was right there leaning against the bedroom wall. I ran out of the house, but it was no use. I didn’t see Cassandra or her stuff. She was just … gone.”

  “And then you phoned Eddie.”

  “Yep.”

  I ran my hand through my hair. I turned and walked to the bedroom. The bed was unmade. There was the screen leaning against the wall. The window was open; gauzy curtains were blowing slightly in the breeze.

  I walked over to the window and peered out. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, exactly. A footprint? A notarized map with Cassandra’s current location circled in thick red ink?

  I pulled out my phone and tried calling Cassie again. It rang and rang. To me, each ring sounded more desperate than the last. The phone sounded like an electric sheep bleating in my ear. I hung up and headed outside.

  Birds scattered when they saw me coming. Nine in the morning and it was already warm. It was going to be a hot one. I walked around the safe house once and then I did it again. I didn’t see anything. Slowly, I walked up the safe house steps. Vin was waiting for me just inside the front door. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go home.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Eddie patted his pockets, then rummaged through his desk drawer. He pulled out a red lollipop and unwrapped it. In the close confines of Eddie’s office, the crinkly cellophane wrapper sounded like someone was rubbing my eardrums with sandpaper.

  “What’s with the lollipop?”

  Eddie grimaced. “I’m trying to quit smoking. Dawn is always on my case about it. I know she’s right. I bought these lollipops by the case. I know a guy who knows a guy. Got me a great deal.”

  “You have a lollipop guy.”

  “He’s a wholesaler. Import/export.” Eddie pulled the lollipop out of his mouth and looked at it. It glistened red under the office lights. “They’re not bad. You want one?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Eddie passed me a pop. He was right, it wasn’t bad. I was expecting cherry, but it was more like raspberry. “So where else could Cassandra have gone?”

  Eddie grunted. “She could be on Mars for all we know.”

  “What about friends?”

  Eddie shook his head. “Cassandra doesn’t have friends. She has co-workers.”

  I stared at Eddie. “When Cassie and I dated, I never met any of her friends, either.”

  Eddie shrugged. “Some people don’t have a lot of friends. It’s not a crime.”

  I stood up. “If Cassandra ran, she’ll need cash. She’ll be looking for a game.”

  “Assuming she’s still in the city.”

  “Gotta start somewhere.”

  Eddie rolled his lollipop to the other side of his mouth. “There’s another question you should be asking. If she ran, what’s she running from?”

  I went back up to my office. Melody was long gone. I caught a whiff of her perfume as I walked past the couch. I picked up my phone. There were the two missed calls from Cassandra. No texts, no voice messages. She had tried to call me last night. To warn me? To ask for help? To say goodbye? There was no way to tell.

  I heard a floorboard cr
eak. I froze. I wasn’t alone.

  I pulled a knife from beneath my jacket.

  The bathroom door handle turned. I heard a chuckle. I stepped to the side of the bathroom door and waited. A man stepped out of the bathroom, spotted me, and nodded.

  I nodded back. “Hello, Grover.”

  The man standing in my office was about five foot two and maybe ninety-eight pounds. He had sandy-brown hair, a brown moustache, and half-glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He was wearing white slacks and a pale-lemon cardigan. He was also the deadliest man I had ever met. I once saw him slit a man’s throat with a playing card. I hadn’t seen him in nine years, not since that mess with Tommy.

  Grover smiled. “Do me a favour, would you, Jack? Put that thing away.”

  I stared at him. I knew enough not to ask how he got into my office. I slid the knife back into its sheath. “This isn’t a good time.”

  “Let’s see if we can fix that. Drink?” The little man walked over to my desk and poured me a drink of my own Scotch.

  “Seriously. A woman’s gone missing. I have to find her.”

  Grover nodded. He passed me the glass and poured another for himself. “Sounds like you’re keeping busy.” He sipped his drink and grinned. He looked like a shark. “This won’t take long. I need some cash, Jack. About a hundred grand should do it.”

  I shook my head. “You caught me at a bad time, money-wise.”

  Grover frowned. “You wouldn’t be holding out on me, would you, Jack?” Grover walked over to the window and peered down at the street below. Then he looked over his shoulder, back at me. “Call it a loan. I’ll have it back to you — with interest — in no time.”

  “Grover, I’m telling you, you can’t get blood from a stone. Maybe your friends in Florida …”

  Grover grimaced. “We didn’t really have friends in Florida. We thought we did, but those assholes sold us out. We had to run. Marguerite, you know, she’s not from our world. She got freaked out and left me.”

  I blinked. “I’m sorry.”

  Grover shook his head. “Don’t be. It was a long time coming. We were together for eighteen years. No matter how you slice it, that’s a big chunk of time.”

  I pictured Grover’s wife floating in a deep expanse of blue, her eyes wide open. Grover laughed. “Don’t look like that. Marguerite and me, we’re still friends.” Grover shrugged. “Whatcha gonna do, right? These things happen.” He took a sip of Scotch and grinned at me. “How about you? You doing all right?” Grover tilted his chin. “You got a new couch.”

  “Like I said, this isn’t really a good time.”

  “Who’s the woman? Maybe I can help.”

  I shook my head. “Nah. Thanks, though.”

  “You could put me on the payroll. How much is this woman worth to you?”

  “No, it’s … it’s not like that.”

  Grover ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Marguerite got almost everything in the divorce, Jack. Her lawyers sniffed out accounts I didn’t even know I had. I’ve got some ideas, but you know what they say. ‘It takes money to make money.’”

  “You know I’d help you if I could.”

  “That’s what I thought. After everything we’ve been through, surely I can count on Jack. That’s what I thought.”

  My phone rang. Grover and I looked at each other. “Well? You going to answer that?”

  It was Melody’s number. I kept Grover in my sight as I walked, trying to create some distance between us. “What’s up?”

  “Jack! I’m at my dad’s bar. Remember that guy from the club?”

  “Anton?”

  “No, the other guy. The big biker.” Melody lowered her voice. “He’s here.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Walking into The Bull was like stepping back in time. Neon beer signs, big clunky wooden chairs and tables, the musty-bar smell of stale beer and old smoke. You couldn’t smoke indoors anymore, but other than that not much had changed since the 1970s. The men at the bar were older and greyer. A jukebox was playing “Fortunate Son” by CCR.

  Melody gave me a big bear hug. I hugged her back. Goddamn, she smelled good. She smelled like coconut lotion and the beach. She smelled like summertime. “Fisher’s out back having a smoke. Come on, let’s go see my dad.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Melody grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the bar. A stocky, bear-like man with shoulder-length wavy grey hair stood scowling behind the bar. “Dad, this is Jack. Jack, this is my dad, Walter.”

  Melody’s dad grunted. I wasn’t exactly a meet-the-parents type of guy, but I figured I could fake it. I stuck out my hand and Walter shook it. His grip was strong, but not walnut-crushing. Some guys shake hands like they’ve got a lot to prove. Walter didn’t. This was his castle and he was the king.

  The old biker watched my face. I tried to look trustworthy. I leaned closer to Walter. “I’m looking for a man named Fisher.”

  Walter grunted. “You a cop?”

  “Come on, man. Do I look like a cop?”

  Walter gave me the once-over. “Yeah. Yeah, you do. A little bit.”

  “It’s the hair, isn’t it?” I ran my fingertips across the close-cropped side of my head.

  “The hair, yeah. And you got this … I don’t know, man. You got this cop-like intensity about you.”

  “I’m actually a pretty easygoing guy,” I lied.

  Melody frowned. “Jesus Christ, Dad, come on. He’s not a fucking cop.”

  “All right, all right.” Walter squinted. “Fisher, huh? Yeah, I know him. He and I used to ride with Satan’s Blood back in the day.”

  “Do you know a man named Anton?”

  Walter’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck, man? You want me to make you a list of every motherfucker I know? Because let me tell you right now, I know a lot of motherfuckers.”

  “Dad!”

  “No. Something ain’t right.” Walter squinted. “Too many damn questions, man.” Walter turned his back to me, came out from behind the bar, and stomped toward the back door. He cracked it open and glanced out no less than four times before he stepped outside.

  I could understand Walter’s paranoia. You don’t get to be his age in his line of work without being pretty damn careful. I followed the old biker outside. Fisher was standing in the parking lot smoking a cigarette. I watched as Walter talked to Fisher and pointed back at the bar. Fisher looked back at me and frowned. He flicked his cigarette to the ground, climbed onto his bike, strapped on his helmet, kick-started his Harley, and roared away.

  I walked over to Walter. The old biker narrowed his eyes. I gestured at Fisher. “Tipped off your buddy, huh?”

  “I got nothing to say to you, man.”

  Fisher doubled back. The motorcycle dipped as he raised a gloved hand wrapped around a pistol.

  Shit.

  I ducked as the gun went off. Fisher squeezed off three shots and then he screeched around the corner. My knife was in my hand, though I didn’t remember pulling it out. The sound of Fisher’s engine grew fainter and fainter. He wasn’t coming back for a second pass.

  I turned to the old biker standing next to me. His face was white. “Walter?”

  Walter opened his mouth and blood spilled out. The old biker crumpled to the ground.

  I had picked up some first aid over the years, but I couldn’t tell how bad he was hit. There was a lot of blood. Elevate, I thought, lifting up the man’s head. I pressed my hand to his bloody stomach. He groaned.

  Walter clutched my arm with surprising strength. “Tell Melody I love her. Tell her.”

  I nodded. “Just hold on. You’re gonna be fine.” The words rang hollow in my ears. Walter’s blood was seeping through my fingers. Other people were gawking now, poking their heads through restaurant doors and gathering in the parking lot. I shouted, “Call 911!” Just another responsible citizen. Don’t mind me, folks.

  I knelt on the asphalt, hands pressing down on the bleeding man. The ambulance came. It didn’t take l
ong. But then, my sense of time was fractured. I backed off and let the paramedics do their thing. They got Walter strapped to a gurney and hustled him into the ambulance. It rolled off, siren screaming, painting the street with flashing lights. I stood there with my hands dripping blood and watched them go.

  CHAPTER 12

  I hate hospitals. I mean, no one jumps up and down and claps their hands and shouts “Hooray! The hospital!” Don’t get me wrong, the doctors and the nurses and the clinicians and the porters and everyone else who works in a hospital to save lives on a daily basis are goddamn heroes. And there are plenty of grateful folks out there who think kind thoughts about the hospitals that have helped them out over the years. Like my buddy Eddie.

  Eddie makes sizeable donations to SickKids Hospital every single year. His daughter Dawn had an intussusception when she was two years old. I’m not talking about the Leo DiCaprio movie with the spinning top. Intussusception is bad fucking news. Part of little Dawn’s intestine had slid into another part, just like collapsing a telescope. This can cut off the blood supply and kill the tissue of the intestinal wall, which can then cause a rip in the intestines and lead to peritonitis, which can kill you dead. Luckily, Eddie got Dawn to the hospital before any of that happened. The docs at SickKids re-inflated her intestines and she pulled through. The annual donation was Eddie’s way of saying thanks.

  In the hospital cafeteria, Melody looked so small, sitting hunched at a table, dwarfed by the enormity of her surroundings. She had a big steaming bowl of minestrone in front of her. She had told me she wasn’t hungry, but I figured she should probably eat something. The soup was untouched.

  Melody looked up at me. She looked like she had been up all night trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle using pieces from a hundred different sets. “Seriously, Jack. What the fuck?”

  I reached out and took her hand. “Shit’s fucked up.”

  “Yeah. No shit.” Melody sighed and dragged her spoon through the soup. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just — my goddamn dad.” She shook her head. “When I was a kid, I never thought he would get shot. He and his buddies had guns and lots of them. I didn’t think anything of it, you know? The way you grow up is the way you grow up.”