Loreena's Gift

by Colleen M. Story

  Things changed after they’d been on the road half an hour. From somewhere in the back of the vehicle, Digger brought forth a cooler and proceeded to give everyone, including Loreena, a beer. She didn’t bother to refuse it, wanting to avoid any sort of conversation, and also thought maybe she could use something to help her relax tonight. The men laughed and slapped each other and seemed in a general celebratory mood. Loreena wondered what the occasion was, as it was the first time she had actually observed them drinking while the vehicle was still moving. The bottles exhaled carbonation, and after a few slurps accompanied by noisy swallowing the men’s voices grew louder, their laughter more frequent. Bert headed up the conversation, bragging about how the White Moose would see their end that night. Loreena sipped at her own beer, closed her eyes, and prayed Cab could hold his liquor and keep them on the road until they got wherever they were going.

  Digger handed out a second round. Memories of the accident in her mother’s car flashed through Loreena’s mind, and she spoke up, if only to hear Cab’s voice and assure herself he was still coherent.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “Ghost town,” Bert said between bites. “Old Garfield City.”

  “Why?”

  “White Moose say it’s their territory. We’re going to change that. Aren’t we?”

  Digger laughed in airy spits and squeaks behind her. Cab uttered a couple audible chuckles.

  “How?”

  The laughing continued in a sort of undertone, a secret among those in the know. “Not sure Frank wants us telling you that,” Bert said.

  Loreena shifted as the van careened around a corner. “What does Frank want me there for?”

  “He just said to come get you.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Second floor of the old clothing company. Gives him a bird’seye view of what used to be Main Street, back in the old days.”

  “That’s where you’re taking me?”

  “That’s where he wants you.”

  Loreena sat back. At least it wasn’t another bar. Would Shawn be there too? And Saul? For a moment she hoped, and then shoved the hope out of her mind. Most likely Frank would expect her to kill again, so he would keep Saul away, somewhere he could use him as leverage. This time she would do it, whoever it was. Walk in. Shake hands. Walk out. She wasn’t going through another Charlie.

  “We’re going the back way,” Bert said to Cab. “Skirt around any of Bill’s scouts.”

  Bill’s men? Was he meeting them in this so-called ghost town?

  Cab grunted and turned the vehicle right, left, and then right again, the tires slipping and sliding over a muddy dirt road. Loreena hung onto the armrest, trying to make peace with the fact that if she died, at least Frank would never use her for another murder.

  “Frank said they’d have a flashlight about a mile out,” Bert said. “We gotta douse the headlights then.”

  Cab responded with another grunt.

  Drive without headlights? Loreena held the beer bottle tightly and closed her eyes. If she thought hard enough, she could imagine herself on the top stair of her uncle’s porch, where she had sat so many times to smell the rose bushes Ben had cared for so tenderly. Sitting in the presence of that scent reminded her of Salvador, and of her mother, and sometimes she would catch a glimpse of her mother’s face, if only for an instant, as clear as if she were standing in front of her. Picturing herself there on a warm, sunny day, she tried to find her mother’s face again, but as they bounced and slid over the muddy dirt road, the image remained elusive, shrouded in a gray fog.

  It had been at least another half hour when Bert told Cab to kill the lights. The driver leaned forward, pushed the button flush with the dashboard, and reduced his speed. “I don’t see anything,” he said.

  They crawled ahead at what couldn’t be more than twenty miles per hour. “You see it, Digger?” Bert asked.

  The man gripped the back of Loreena’s seat but didn’t answer. Everyone seemed to be watching for the light, the sounds of drinking stilled. Loreena wished she could toss her beer bottle. The thing was still nearly full and she didn’t want to dump it on the floor.

  “You sure about this?” Cab asked.

  “We can’t risk blowing it,” Bert said. “He’s supposed to be there.”

  They were driving in the dark. It was probably pitch black, what with the rain and the fact that they had to be a good distance from any nearby town. Much of the drive had involved climbing, and Loreena pictured them close to the mountains if they were truly headed to some ghost town. One wrong turn and they could end up on their heads, the tires spinning above them.

  “There!” Bert said.

  Cab grunted and stepped on the gas. Digger sat back in his seat and chugged his beer. They continued on for at least another ten minutes, and then the van slammed over a deep hole, bounced up, pulled left, and came to a stop. Cab killed the engine.

  Someone knocked on the window. Bert rolled it down.

  “About a quarter mile that way,” a man said, some voice Loreena didn’t recognize. “We got guys that will flick on as you go. Keep an eye out. Stay quiet.”

  “Right,” Bert said, his voice subdued. “Everyone out,” he said to the others. “Quietly. No talking until we get to the building.”

  Loreena slid across the seat, grabbed the sides of the van, and stepped out. Her shoes hit mud, the rain oozing in droplets onto her scalp. Bert reeked of beer. He guided her several sliding steps forward, his fat hand tight around her upper arm, his fear of touching her gone, at least for the moment. The mud sucked at her new shoes, seeping in through the seams. Digger came along behind, his steps light even under these conditions, as if he wore specialized shoes that skimmed over the wet ground. They walked a while and then slowed, turning left. After another few moments Bert paused, said something under his breath, and guided her past some other man standing there. With a few more steps they reached a building, and he pushed open a narrow door. Loreena stepped onto what felt like a wooden floor.

  “Hang a right,” Bert said in a low voice behind her. “Staircase is just there. Watch yourself.”

  She did as he told her, hands out, and wished she had found something to use as a cane. The stairs were narrow, the wooden railings on either side just over shoulder-width apart. Her shoes slid as she climbed, still muddy—ten steps accompanied by a loud creaking that announced her approach as if she were a ghost herself come to haunt the building. The place smelled old, like a deserted schoolhouse, the air as chilly inside as it had been outside, minus the wind and rain. Loreena guessed the building had no power and no heat. No lights, either.

  “Go around,” Bert said breathlessly. “Another bunch of steps.”

  It was like the haunted house she and Saul used to frequent at Halloween. Damp, musty, and full of strange sounds, but without the muffled laughter. Year after year Saul had said he wanted to host one of their own in the church, but their uncle would never allow it, wanting to keep the building sacred and peaceful.

  “I don’t want them thinking about goblins and brains every time they come to church,” he would bark, and Saul and Loreena would laugh over a bowl of candy corn, and call him a spoilsport.

  “Stop there.” Bert came up behind her, winded, his large belly bumping into her back as he reached around to open the door. Digger stopped a few steps down, his whistling breath audible in the stillness. “Blackberries,” Bert said, seemingly to no one, and then turned the knob and pushed. The door didn’t budge, so he leaned his bulky form into it and pushed again. It gave way so suddenly he stumbled into the next room, barely catching himself before he went sprawling onto the floor.

  “Could have helped a bit,” he grumbled.

  “Sticks a little.”

  Loreena recognized the voice. John, the guard from the house. He was here, too.

  “Boss,” Bert whispered.

  “Oh, good. Loreena.” Frank approached, quick footsteps from the other side of the room
. Even here, he was wearing business shoes, and his spicy aftershave preceded him. “Just in time.”

  Loreena moved into an airy space that smelled like damp wood and old fireplace ashes. A cold draft swirled overhead, the floor seemingly devoid of furniture, the boards creaking underneath every step. Someone stood on the other side of the room.

  “I see a few of them,” Raymond said in a low voice.

  Frank spun around.

  “North side. Three bikes.”

  The boss jogged back to stand next to Ray. Looking out a window?

  “They’re scouting the area,” Frank whispered. “Bill’s got a lot more than that. Tell the boys to hold tight.”

  Ray clicked a communications device. “Frank says hold.”

  “Got it.”

  It sounded like Shawn’s voice on the other side. Where was he?

  “Chair’s over there,” Bert whispered from behind her, “straight, then right.”

  Loreena moved, hands out, until Frank came and took her arm. She stiffened at his touch.

  “We may be here awhile,” he said, walking next to her, his head bending toward hers as if letting her in on a secret. He took her all the way to the wall and stopped next to a wooden chair. Lowering herself into it, Loreena thought it must have been made one hundred years ago. It seemed like it might collapse under her weight.

  “What is this place?”

  “Second floor of the Garfield Clothing Company,” Frank said, standing near her like a butler. “Mr. Garfield was a great businessman in his time, before the town went bust.”

  Clinging to the armrests, she tried to get comfortable. “Why are we here?”

  He knelt by the side of her chair, knee joints creaking. She smelled whiskey on his breath. “Bill’s group always meets here on the third Friday of the month. Gathers in the bar across the old street. Found that out because of you, and your brother.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “That day at Lake City Bar? Charlie brought his other guy, the one he trusted to keep an eye on things. Course we got him, showed him what had happened to Charlie, no mark on him, no way for the cops to trace it. Told him we’d do the same to him.” Frank rubbed the back of his neck. “They don’t usually give that stuff up. But big ol’ Charlie lying there—powerful, second-in-command Charlie, dead as dead can be. We told him we did Javier the same way, and we were going after Bill next. Unnerved the guy. See, you gotta be careful with the cops around, even in our town you gotta be careful, but now we got you, all we gotta do is introduce this pretty little girl and we get what we want, you know?”

  No. It wasn’t going to be that way. Not after tonight.

  “Word has a way of getting around. So this guy, he’s no dummy. He sees the writing on the wall. He wants to come over to our side, he says. Go where the winners are. We’ll make you a deal, we say, and here we are. Ready to meet the White Moose on their secret night out. We’re going to surprise them. I’ve got men positioned all over this area. Been here since last night. Bill, he may suspect. He’s got men around, too. But I’ve got more. When it’s over, the White Moose will be gone. Just like the poor souls that used to populate this town.”

  Other footsteps scuffed the floor, men whispering in short sentences. Loreena wondered what happened to the man with Charlie, if he were one of the men now waiting to ambush his old boss, but decided not to ask.

  “You men keep an eye on that back door.” Frank lifted his voice just enough to be heard. “Any scouts come poking around, cut them down. Bert, Digger, let me know if you see anyone coming this direction.”

  “Anything you want me to do?” Loreena asked, eager for him to leave.

  “Watch Bill go down. It’s not every day you see a motorcycle club taken to its knees.”

  On the other side of the room, someone cocked a gun. Loreena jumped and turned toward the sound. Were all the men armed?

  “Oh, and if anything happens,” Frank whispered, “there’s a corner behind you. Get into it.”

  She couldn’t leave something like that to chance. She stood up and felt her way along until she found the corner. It angled in from the outside wall, as if it had been built around a chimney, the space bare, splintered old wood allowing tiny drops of moisture to blow in between the boards. What shelter she might find there she couldn’t imagine, though it was dark, and perhaps the farthest point from the door. Yet she sensed the space continued beyond, extending farther to the right.

  “We got more coming down the main road,” Raymond said.

  Frank moved to the window. “They’re starting to trickle in now.”

  “At least fifty from the north,” Shawn’s voice echoed over the device.

  Loreena could hear them, the buzzing engines like a swarm of oncoming wasps. She pictured a dirt road running through the old town, motorcycles approaching from both sides, north and south, their meeting place the abandoned bar across the street. Meanwhile Frank and Ray watched them like panthers in the dark, Shawn a sentinel somewhere, all of Frank’s gang lurking in the shadows, waiting. Was Saul one of them?

  “He’s brought all the troops,” Frank said. “Just like we planned.”

  Loreena kept her gloved hands on the building. The old wood was cool and bumpy and covered in dust, but it felt good, almost like a real tree. The motorcycle engines hummed louder as the men from the White Moose gathered below, a steady growl like a pride of lions. She pictured the machines lining up one next to the other in front of the bar, tires angled in the same direction, kickstands sinking into the wet dirt. Somewhere, Shawn was watching all of this. Did he plan to corner Frank up here? The boss and his men seemed too protected in this building to be touched by any of the fighting on the old Main Street. The way Frank had planned it, she was sure. Let his men get killed while he watched from his elevated perch.

  “How will it happen?” Her voice came out in a squeak.

  Frank came back to her like an eager boy, tiptoeing across the floor. “That’s the beauty of it,” he whispered. “Bill expects they’re here for their regular quarterly meeting. Top secret. We wait until they settle down. Call the meeting to order!” He chuckled at his own joke.

  “Then what?”

  “Come over here.” He took her arm and pulled her with him, stopping after a few steps. “All these old buildings up and down Main Street. I’ve got men there, there, and there.”

  “She can’t see, boss,” Raymond croaked.

  “Building across the street has a straight shot into the bar. I got men in there now, waiting. On signal, they flood the place through a door on the side. Kill some, flush others out. More men on the right side, two buildings down. Once the shooting starts, they move in to cut off the doors, front and back. Men beneath us, on the first floor, sharpshooters that will grab the leftovers before they can ride away.”

  Loreena felt her eyes widen. “You’re going to ambush them?”

  He chuckled and patted her on the back. “Now you’ve got it.”

  She felt sick to her stomach. “Then why…” She clamped her mouth shut.

  “Why are you here, my dear?” he said.

  Loreena cursed her tongue.

  “You’re a member of the group now. I told you that. And this is a big night for us. I figured you’d want to share in the victory.”

  Fat chance. He had something else planned, she was sure, but for now, he wasn’t going to tell her what.

  “More coming in on the left,” Raymond murmured.

  Frank stepped forward to peek out the window. Loreena backed away. At least she didn’t have to kill, not now. The relief was hollow. Soon, she was going to witness a slaughter. The buzz of the engines below seemed to foretell the doom awaiting the White Moose. One by one, the engines turned off. When they had all stopped and the night grown quiet again, a new sound would erupt, the cacophony of gunshots and screams and death, and she would be able to do nothing but cover her ears. Surely Shawn had to be aware of this plan. Surely he had a plan of his own.
r />   “Is there only the one way in here?” she asked.

  No one answered.

  “What if somebody sneaks in?”

  “No one’s sneaking in,” Frank said absently.

  “About seventy so far,” Raymond said.

  “Tell Shawn to get ready.”

  Raymond clicked the device. “Shawn, ready now.”

  The street seemed to answer with the swell of more bike engines from the south, snap-popping and growling, vibrating the floorboards. Loreena backed into the corner. In the coming confusion, she could try to get out, but there was nowhere to go, and they were miles from anyone who might help her. The men had all the entrances covered. If, during the fighting, McCracken’s goons somehow broke through, her only option would be to hide.

  She needed to find a better place than this.

  Frank and Raymond whispered about the progress on the street below. The others stood quietly at their posts, John at the door, Digger somewhere farther back, Bert licking his teeth at the ad jacent window, unknown others stationed around the room with guns at the ready. Taking quiet, careful steps, Loreena explored the area to her left, where she sensed no men were standing.

  About five steps away from the hidden corner, the wall fell back, opening into another large space. Pebbles crunched under her shoes, remnants of an era gone by, when rugs were scarce. After eight steps her hand touched a wooden rod, long and smooth and suspended between two stands. An old clothes hanger? Unfortunately there were no clothes on it. It wouldn’t do for a hiding place. Past the railing, she came to the far wall, empty.

  “Loreena.”

  She froze. Frank was calling.

  “Where are you?”

  For the first time she realized how limited was the view in the dark.

  “Want to see your brother?”

  She backtracked in hurried steps, feeling her way along the wall. As she drew closer, Frank grabbed her elbow and guided her to the window. Leaning his head near hers, he pointed her face to the right, his hands over her ears. “There, just down there,” he said in a low voice. “To your right, across the street, behind the old café. He’ll be leading the second ground attack.”