by Tia Lewis
“Liam? Are you sure about this?” she whispered.
“Yes,” I whispered back.
“Okay, then. What are you waiting for? Lets go.”
Goddamn, I love this woman.
29
I stepped quietly into the warehouse, all my senses alert and honed to a fine point. The warehouse was silent apart from the whistle of the wind through the smashed windows. It smelled strongly of dusty brick, reminding me of a construction site. Glass crunched under our feet as we walk. I kept my pistol trained forward, ready to pull the trigger at whatever or whoever wants to try something.
Have I woken up on Christmas to drag Tess to the set of a horror movie?
As we kept walking, the warehouse was overwhelmingly large and vacant. There were no leftover machines or desks or chairs. All that remained was debris: shattered glass and dust from bricks and cobwebs clinging to the walls and a thick layer of dust hanging over everything.
“Is this supposed to be fun?” Tess whispered. Her voice carried far in the vastness of the warehouse, but I don’t hear anything else, not even the rustling of somebody trying to be quiet.
“Never say I don’t know how to treat a lady,” I replied, keeping my voice low just in case.
We did a circuit of the warehouse, stopping at the far end and finding nothing but bricks, glass, dust and spiders.
“So this was a bust,” I murmured. “I’m sorry for bringing you here, Tess. I guess my curiousity got the better of me. Fuck! I don’t know, I really thought there would be something here. I honestly don’t know what I was expecting.”
“Liam.”
“I can’t believe I thought something was going to be here. Why? Hell, who the hell knows? Maybe it’s because it was Mr. McGreevy who I trusted and knew it wouldn’t send me to a place that’s empty. Or maybe it was just a twisted hope that something senseless could make sense…”
“Liam.”
“So about four hours back, yeah? What is it now, eleven pm? Which means we’ll get back just in time for it to be early morning. That’s something, at least. The drive back shouldn’t be so bad since everyone should still be asleep.”
Tess stepped forward and slapped me lightly across the face—lightly, but hard enough to get my attention.
“Liam Hunter,” she said.
I rub my cheek. “What?” I asked.
“Look.”
She pointed at the wall above my head.
I turned and followed the trail of her finger.
The graffiti was bright red and sat half in darkness, half in the moonlight. In scribbled and spiky letters, it read: KEEP GOING. Below the words, there was an arrow which pointed to the left at a slight downward angle. Following the trajectory of the arrow, my gaze came to rest on a tiny door, more of a service hatch, which I didn’t notice before because cobwebs covered it.
“Ah, I see,” I muttered, turning to Tess.
She looked at me nervously. I wouldn’t be surprised if I looked just as nervous as she did. Graffiti, an arrow, a tiny door… it reeked of a trap. But a trap laid by who? Mr. McGreevy? Why would he set-up a trap for me? None of this made sense.
Tess and I approached the not-quite-a-door slowly as if we are afraid that some horror-movie monster will leap from it. As we got closer, I saw that it was small, but not so small that I wouldn’t be able to shimmy through it. I could hear Tess’ breathing pick up. And my own, I admit.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
We stopped just next to the hatch and looked down at it. Tess was chewing her lip, and my jaw was clenched. I scratched my beard and let out a long sigh.
“Okay,” I said, placing my hand on Tess’ shoulder. “You need to wait here. This part is empty, so if you hear anything, you can run back to the car.”
“Absolutely not,” Tess said simply, glaring at me.
“Listen,” I said, “this could be a dangerous situation. I don’t know what’s in that room. But I have to find out. The note leads here, the graffiti and the arrow lead here. I need to know. But I don’t want to put you at risk.”
“I’m coming,” she interrupted, in a tone of voice that will accept no argument.
“Goddamn, Tess,” I muttered. “Is there any way I can persuade you to wait?”
“Short of tying me up? Nope.”
“Too bad I forgot the rope,” I sighed. “Fine. But I’m going first.”
I use the barrel of the pistol to push the cobwebs out of the way and then wiped the gun on my leg. Then I yanked open the door, which opened outwards and made a loud, shrieking creak as it twisted on its hinges.
Ducking low, I crept through the entrance into the dark room beyond. After a moment, Tess followed me. We stood up straight—I had to duck more than Tess—and glanced over the room. There was a single window in the room, the glass broken like all the others. It allowed a beam of bluish moonlight in which settled over the room like a sheet. The room was small, about the size of six bathroom stalls laid side to side and end to end, a small storage-type of place. I waited a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the light and then took a proper look around.
After the arrow and the graffiti words of encouragement, I expected something obvious, something that would leap out at me. The room was empty, just like the warehouse was, apart from a layer of broken glass and dust. It was just an old dead room, in an old dead warehouse, containing nothing interesting.
I sighed heavily and shoved my pistol into my waistband. “There’s nothing here,” I said, unable to hide the disappointment in my voice. Now that damned note will hound me forever. I’ll be sixty, and it’ll be chomping its way through my mind, taunting me, singing: “You never solved me! You never solved me!”
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” I said, turning on my heels. Tess continued to look around the room. “Come on,” I urged, taking her gently by the arm. “I’m sorry I brought us here. This no place to be on Christmas Day. Let’s get back so we can pretend all of this was a dream, and that I’m not an asshole for dragging us here.”
“Wait a second,” Tess muttered. Her eyes scanning the room methodically, the same way a person scans a dead body when they’re looking for the killing wound.
“Tess…”
“Just a sec!”
I shrugged and lean against the wall, watching as she looked up and down, her sexy face pinched in concentration. Even after bringing her here, she was still on my side. I wondered if Tess will always be on my side, but then I realize that that’s a stupid question. The answer is obvious: of course, she will because I will always be on hers. I would have never asked her to marry me if I didn’t feel that way.
So I waited, humoring her as she maked absolutely sure that our time was not wasted by coming here, that there wasn’t some huge revelation waiting in this tiny room.
“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…” I sang, voice low.
Finally, Tess springed forward. At first, I thought she has tripped. I jumped forward, trying to catch her, but then she slammed her hand against the wall.
At once, light filled the room, exploding from twin light bulbs which dangle on thin wires from the ceiling. I covered my eyes, groaning against the brightness.
For a few moments, we are both blinded, covering our eyes. And then, slowly, we opened our eyes and let them adjust. I massage dmy temples and forced myself to look around the room again.
And again, I saw nothing. It is empty apart from a pile of rubble in the corner.
But then Tess shouted: “Look!”
She ran to the corner of the room to the rubble. As I watched her, she pushed the debris aside, throwing it to the floor. I squinted at her, wondering if the lack of sleep has made her a bit mad. But then I saw it, too. Sticking out of the bottom of the rubble was a handle, the kind you see on suitcases and trunks. I ran to Tess and help her, both of us throwing rubble to the floor.
“Damn,” I breathed. “If you didn’t see that light, we wo
uld have missed this.”
“Look forward, not backward, babe,” Tess grinned.
“Good advice,” I commented.
We cleared away the stones until the case was revealed. I reached down and lifted it up. Then I carried it to the entrance, away from the rubble we have cleared, and laid it on the floor. Tess joined me, and we looked down at case: at the massive, industrial padlock which closed around the handle. The trunk itself was sleek and black. It looked like it would withstand a lot of punishment. The padlock had a long rotary passwords system built into it.
“It’s the code from the note, isn’t it?” Tess asked.
“That wouldd be my bet.”
“Do you remember it?”
I closed my eyes and brought the code to mind, or what I thought the code was. ÇßSH0²¹00¹077. I read the numbers out to Tess, being careful to tell her that the C and the B are the weird squiggly ones. And that the 21 and 1 are small and raised.
“This is a pretty advanced passcode,” Tess said under her breath. “Usually these are three digits. Whatever’s inside must be pretty important…”
The lock clicked, and when Tess tugged on it, it stayed locked tight-shut.
She turned her gaze up at me. “Wrong,” she said.
“Damn,” I muttered. “Okay, okay.”
How many times have I had to remember phone numbers, addresses, codes, all sorts of random stuff? I know the code. I just have to get it right. I forced myself to remember looking at it, to remember how it felt in my hand, how the text looked, how it smelt, even. Anything to help me remember.
I read two more codes out; twice more they are wrong.
I close my eyes tighter and sink through the past back in Mrs. McGreevy’s apartment to the moment I discovered the note. Nothing else exists but this damned note. Nothing, just the note. All that matters is the note. Don’t think about anything else. Just the note. Think. Think! ÇßSH0²¹ ... Yes, that is right. How do you know? Can I be sure? It doesn’t matter. It’s right and I am sure. Okay, and then there was 00¹0. Yes, that is clear. It’s the last two digits, the pesky ones. 77? No. 78? No. 87? No. 88!
I opened my eyes.
“Do you know it, now?” Tess asked, reading my face.
“I do.”
I read out the code for her. Tess only had to twist one 7 into an 8. The rest of the numbers and letters stayed the same. As soon as the 8 was in place, there was a click unlike any we have heard yet. And when Tess tugged on it, the heavy bolt slid from the lock. Pressure released and the trunk let out a puff of air, opening slightly.
I looked at Tess, and we both took a deep breath.
“I’m scared to open it,” Tess admitted. “We’ve been on a journey to get this. What if it’s nothing?”
I kneeled down next to her, placed my hand upon hers, which rested on the case.
“We’ll open it together,” I said, and give her a kiss.
Hand in hand, we opened the case.
Tess was on her feet and screaming, screaming at the top of her voice, running around the room like a woman possessed. Her hands were clasped over her mouth, but her screams were still loud, almost ear-piercing in the small room.
“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh my God!” she screamed, over and over and over. “Is it real? Is it real? Liam, is it real?”
I sinked onto my ass and stared with my mouth open at the contents of the trunk.
Money, stacks, and stacks of money.
Stacks and stacks of cold hard cash. If all the straps of money were the same—one hundred dollar bills—I thought there were at least one hundred million in there. One hundred million.
Tess stopped running, stopped screaming, and hovered at my shoulder. Her breathing came fast and high-pitched.
“Is it real?” she said. “Liam, check if it’s real.”
I sifted through the overwhelmingly stacks of cash, smelt them, held them to the light. I reached to the bottom of the trunk and made sure that there were money all the way down. It was. They are all one hundreds and they are all real.
“How much is that?” Tess breathed.
“At least one hundred million. It has to be.” My voice was numb. My words were low, almost muted. I was stunned into disbelief. I made six million in my lifetime from being a hitman but I’ve never had this much money before my eyes.
Then I noticed the envelope, sitting on top of the cash, which I would have noticed right away had I not just won the biggest lottery in the world in a heartbeat.
I picked it up. It’s from Mr. McGreevy, the man who, from beyond the grave, has secured Tess and me for life.
HELP WITH THE LETTER BELOW PLEASE!
Dear Liam,
I knew the day would come when John Bianchi would eventually have me killed. He was growing greedier and power hungry by the day and it was only a matter of time when he wanted anyone at the top of the family killed for his benefit. He couldn’t be trusted, but I knew I could trust you. This money you’re looking was from a special account I had hidden from Boss. I think he knew I was hiding money which is why he had to end me.
You’re probably wondering why this trunk holding one hundred million dollars is in Hampstead, London England. Well, when I was a young man, Darlene and I visited this village and actually planned on moving here one day. However, I got so caught up with being Boss’ right-hand man and the accountant and that dream never happeneded. Don’t end up like me, Liam. Leave the Drunk Harpy. Leave the Bianchi family. Leave South Boston. Start a new life that’s not filled with death and despair. Take this money and fulfill the dreams you’ve always wanted to but couldn’t because of the hardened life you’ve lived. I’ve always told you I’ve considered you a son, so make me proud. If all else fails and the light turns to darkness… This is your light.
Sincerely,
Danny McGreevy
“What is that?” Tess asked.
I handed her the letter. My body began to feel warm despite the coldness of the warehouse of this small room. My body was on fire with warmth. Standing across from me was the woman of my dreams—my fiancé—the only woman I will ever need for the rest of my life, a woman I’ve been through Hell with. Standing so beautifully, so smartly, and for the rest of my life she’ll always be standing there, with me. And now we have all the money in the world, one hundred million. We’ll never have to want for anything. Maybe we’ll have children, and they’ll go to college and never have to do the kinds of things I had to do, never have to deal with the shit I had to deal with.
All at once, tears were streaming down my cheeks. I hardly knew what was happening. Me, crying? I don’t cry. An ex-hitman doesn’t cry.
But it’s all real, I thought, and now my chest vibrated with sobs, trembling like a volcano seconds before the eruption. It erupted, and I didn’t just cry. I shook with tears. Tears flowed from my eyes like a bursted dam. It’s all real, and I love her, and she loves me. We will be together forever and financially free.
Tess dropped the letter and came to me, wrapping her arms around me and cradling me to her chest. I had to lean low to bury my face between her breasts, crying violently into her hoodie. She stoked the back of my head.
“I’m so damn happy,” I coughed, leaning back and wiping tears from my face. “I’m just so damn happy.”
Tess’ smile lit up her face.
“I’ve never been happier, either,” she said. “And it will only get better. We have the rest of our lives to be in love.”
At her words, a fresh wave of tears took me. Tears I never would have dreamed of crying before I met Tess, when I was a tough man when I was a hitman. But something in me has changed; Tess has changed it. And at the sight of the money—the symbol of our future together—I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
She held me for a long time until the tears stop.
Then I took my head from her tear-stained chest and gestured to the money. “If there’s one hundred million in there,” I said, “we should give at least half if not more to sex traffi
cking victims. You know, the shelters, organizations, crime units, counselors… Anybody who helps but a stop to it. It’s only right.”
The memories of that club in New York still haunted me. The women I couldn’t saved will forever haunt me. I’m not so naïve to think this will those fucking bastards from selling women. But it will help somebody, won’t it?
Suddenly, Tess was crying, burying her face in my chest as I buried my face in hers.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” she weeped. And then: “I’ll love you until the day I die, Liam.”
“I’ll love you long after that,” I whispered, kissing her tear-wet cheeks.
Epilogue
One Year Later
I sat in the living room of our new five-bedroom house, TV staring blankly back at me, with a fool’s smile on my face. We made it another year, I thought, shock twisting through me. The Christmas tree stood vigil over the living room, peering down at me, a constant reminder that things had changed. The Animal had left. It was a distant memory now.
I was a married man.
The Christmas lights flashed red, and when I caught my reflection on the TV, I could’ve sworn a different man was looking back at me.
Tess walked through the door, a red glow in her cheeks, the belly bigger than ever now. Her red dress hugged the bump, and her small perky breasts bulged out, no longer so small after eight months of carrying.
A married man, and soon to be a family man.
I jumped to my feet, walked to my wife, and offered her my arm.
“Quite the gentleman,” she laughed. “Quite the hero, aren’t you?”
“Nah, Tess,” I said, leading her to the couch. “I’m not a hero. Just a man with a wife and a kid on the way is all.”
We were very a long way from gun fights and running for our lives, now. That was over a year ago. The past was the past. Tess was writing, and I was the CEO of a chain of mechanic shops called Hunter Family Auto Care throughout the United Kingdom. Even though most days was spent behind my desk managing my shops and employees, I stil enjoyed being a mechanic with grease stains on my overalls, smelling of sweat and hard work. If you would told me that I could be happy like this ten years ago, I would’ve laughed. But I was happy, happier than I had ever been. I had a novelist wife, and I was a working man.