Dominant Professor

by Mia Luxe

  Walrus nods. “That’ll work. Alright, snap to it, let’s go.

  15 minutes later and with a bulging backpack, I follow Walrus down to his car. I get close enough to see it’s a mid-range sedan, but I don’t recognize the brand.

  We get in, and he starts the car. Then he looks at me quizzically.

  “What is it?”

  He laughs. “I don’t know where we’re going.”

  “Oh, of course!”

  I tell him where my parents live, three hours away but we’ll do it in closer to two at this ungodly hour of the morning. There is barely another car on the empty streets.

  We drive in silence. I wish I could have told Connor I’m pregnant. I wish I didn’t have to shoulder the stress on my own.

  Should I have told him? He deserves to know. No, he would have been distracted. It could have got him killed if I told him.

  I taste blood and realize I’ve been biting my lip.

  What if Connor kills Joe Maturi in cold blood? Could I have a murderer as the father of my child?

  I need to think of something else.

  “Can we get some food? I’m starving.”

  “Sure. I’m guessing your parents won’t be up anyway.”

  My parents. How is my dad going to treat me? The last time we talked I called him a criminal and he told me I was an entitled little brat.

  We stop at a 24-hour Denny’s.

  “God, I hate that I’m eligible for the senior’s menu,” says Walrus morosely as he scans through the menu. Despite the enormity of the situation, a tiny giggle leaves my mouth. Walrus smiles, flashing bright white teeth.

  Even when he’s scared, he puts on a brave face.

  I settle on a mound of buttermilk pancakes. The food comes out quickly.

  “So, what’s going to happen? Are we sure Joe is going to make parole? That he’s going to come after Connor?”

  Walrus chews on his dry toast and swallows, then takes a sip of water. He looks to the left and right for a waitress that might hear him.

  “It’s unheard of for a criminal like Joe Maturi to make parole five years into a 15 year bid. But they set it up. One of his crew killed three men in prison just so Joe could turn him in and look like a model fucking citizen. Word from the jail is Joe’s getting out. How much do you know about the Maturi’s?”

  “I know Joe was supposed to take over the family before Connor put them away. I know Connor was his bodyguard. I know he was hired by Greg Plats, their contract killer.”

  I take a deep sip of coffee. It only makes me feel more jittery. The waitress senses my cup is half full and comes over, asking how the food is and filling my mug. Walrus and I nod and mutter platitudes, and the waitress leaves.

  “You know almost everything. Greg Plats is the one who was killing people in prison. The warden was getting beat up in the press. Doesn’t look good to have murders going on in your prison. Word from inside is that the Warden is damn sweet on Joe Maturi for getting him out of the bind. Most likely he gets out.”

  Monsters. Ten years less in prison for three human lives.

  “But if he gets out, why would he come for Connor? He’s hitting the lottery to get out this early. He’ll be out at 40 years old instead of 55. Would he throw that away for revenge?”

  Walrus looks at me up and down, and takes another bite of his toast. He chews methodically. He’s sizing me up, not volunteering anything.

  The money.

  I look around me. No one is near.

  “Walrus, I know that 15 million dollars went missing.”

  He grimaces. “Yeah. And it’s a sure bet Joe thinks Connor has it. The private investigating firm that he hired isn’t known for their tailing abilities. Probably why you caught on you were being followed. They excel at technical surveillance. Phone taps. Bugs. Forensic accounting. Connor claims he doesn’t have the cash, which means he never spent it.”

  Did he take that money? How can I know?

  I can feel my eyes widen. “So it will look like Connor still has it.”

  Walrus nods. Suddenly I don’t feel hungry.

  “15 million is a lot of money. It can buy you a fresh start. Joe Maturi’s family goes way back to the old country, and there’s places in Italy where the mafioso’s have total control. For 15 million, you could retire early.”

  I push my plate away. Walrus takes a last few bites, then flags down the waitress and settles up.

  “Alright. Call your parents.”

  My mouth dries up. We didn’t exactly leave on good terms.

  I get the burner phone that Walrus gave me out of my pocket, and open it up.

  “Umm…” I say, looking at the phone which has no saved contacts.

  “Jesus, don’t tell me you don’t know your own parents’ number. Damn kids rely on their contact cards too much.”

  I concentrate. I know the last four digits are 9215. I punch in the area code and first three, hoping it’s the right number.

  Please let my mom pick up.

  It rings three times.

  “Hello?”

  My father’s voice greets me, gruff but sharp even at 7 in the morning.

  “Dad, it’s me, Willow.”

  “Willow. Are you alright? This isn’t your normal number.”

  He talks fast, concern in his voice.

  “Yeah, I’m alright. My phone broke so I got a new one.”

  I touch my coffee cup, holding it and feeling nervous.

  “What’s going on then?”

  Now his tone is accusatory. He thinks I’m calling asking for help.

  “Well, finals are coming up. There’s all these parties at dorms and I need somewhere quiet to study. Can I come home for a bit?”

  He pauses. Two seconds go by, feeling like eternity.

  “I haven’t forgotten our last Skype call. You lied about me in front of your own mother. I take it there won’t be any more of this kind of attitude?”

  I grit my teeth together.

  “It won’t happen again.”

  He always bargains. He gives something, and takes something in return.

  “Good. Yes, that’s fine. You’ll have the house to yourself most of the time. Your mom is off on one of her spa retreats for some spiritual bullshit. Don’t tell her I called it bullshit. You still got your key?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Good. I have to get to the office. I’ll be working late tonight trying to land a big client.”

  He waits a second.

  “You sure you’re alright, Willow?”

  His voice isn’t the overbearing, self-righteous one I’m used to. There’s a touch of tenderness in it. Like the way he talks about my sisters. The way he used to talk to me, before I started getting in so much trouble with school and the law.

  “I’m fine dad. I just need a place to focus.”

  “Good. Well then.” He clears his throat.

  “Bye dad.”

  “Goodbye.”

  He hangs up, and I click the phone shut.

  Walrus nods, his whiskers bouncing.

  “Good. That went well. By the time we get to your house, he’ll be long gone.”

  I sigh. “He didn’t even think to ask how I’m getting here. He knows I don’t have a car. I was going to tell him my friend is driving into town and I caught a ride.”

  Walrus chuckles as he stands. “First rule of lying. Never offer additional details.”

  His phone buzzes, and the laughter fades from his face. His jaw clenches and his eyes widen. His features twist in barely controlled fear.

  “What is it?”

  He looks up at me.

  “Joe Maturi made parole.”

  Collision

  Connor - Friday, November 14th

  Joe Maturi made parole. I got the text this morning. Since then I’ve resisted the urge to slam my fist through a wall.

  I was waiting for it. I can feel Joe Maturi getting nearer and nearer. We’ve been on a collision course for five years.

&nb
sp; Only one of us is going to live through it.

  The wall of monitors flickers in front of me. I scan the new camera feeds that Walrus set up around Willow’s family home. He’ll be watching her from the car all day and night until this thing is over.

  The way I had to speak to Willow on the phone when I learned it was bugged was the most painful thing I’ve done in the last five years.

  Poor Willow. She must have felt so alone. If it keeps Joe off her tail, it’s worth it.

  The ruse seems to have worked. The black Mercedes is on my fourth camera feed, just down the street, staking out my house.

  I’ve kept her out of this. Now I need to end it myself.

  Then, maybe then, there can be a future between us.

  I can’t think of that now. I need to be focused. I need to be a weapon.

  The cold metal of the pistol to my right reassures me. It sat in my gun safe untouched for 5 years, ready and waiting. I don’t know what Joe Maturi is going to come at me with, but I’ll be ready.

  I fight back the instinctive urge to be with Willow.

  Every cell in my body is telling me to go to her. To be near her, to protect her.

  You would put her in danger. The ruse worked. Joe Maturi is coming for me, not her. If you go to her, you’ll bring him with you.

  My right hand clenches. It wants to hold a weapon. My adrenaline has been pumping steadily since I saw the text, and I stand up, stretching, watching the monitors. My coffee is cold by now. I don’t need it. It feels like I’ve downed two pots but I haven’t had a sip.

  Twelve hours I sit, watching and waiting. A movement made me reach for my gun at hour five, but it was only a deer. Every second passing I had to resist the urge to call Willow.

  A call will distract you. You need to focus.

  At 7:00PM a car pulls up slowly to Willow’s home. I radio Walrus.

  “Who is that?”

  “Looks like her father’s car. He’s been working a long day.”

  My instincts tell me something is off.

  “He works this late? Is that normal for him?”

  “I don’t know. Want me to take a closer look?”

  I nod to myself. “Do it, but be discrete.”

  The driver side door opens, and her father walks out, a thin, tall man in a well-fitting suit. The camera’s Walrus set up are top of the line and usually show crisp detail, but the driving rain obscures my vision.

  The passenger door opens.

  “Walrus!”

  Joe Maturi comes out of the passenger door. He’s huge, wearing a tailored suit that shows his bulk is from muscle rather than fat. He relaxedly puts brass knuckles on, walks behind Willow’s father, and slams his fist against the back of his head.

  I press call for Willow’s burner phone. Every millisecond passing is an eternity as the call connects.

  Willow’s father falls heavily. Joe reaches down, snatches the keys from his hand and slides them into the lock of the front door.

  Walrus gets out of his car, running towards Joe.

  “Connor!”

  “Willow. Joe is at your house. Get out the back and run!”

  “Oh God,” she says, and I hear her scrambling. Joe unlocks the door and turns, hearing Walrus coming.

  He pulls a pistol from his waist.

  Walrus raises his weapon and they fire simultaneously. My camera feed has no sound but I hear the sharp crack from through my phone.

  Both shots miss.

  Walrus ducks for cover behind a tree while Joe disappears inside. I switch to the backyard feed, hoping to see Willow running through the grass faster than Joe Maturi can.

  I can do nothing but watch as Willow presses her small body through the second floor window, readying herself for a jump. I cringe as I imagine her slipping and hitting her head.

  She jumps forward and a huge, hairy arm darts out the window, grabbing her by the wrist. Her phone tumbles to the ground and her screams grow faint as Joe pulls her back into the home.

  Walrus tries the door but it’s locked. He uses the butt of his pistol to smash open the living room glass, and the second he’s made it inside Joe Maturi pushes his way out the front door, dragging Willow by the hair. Walrus dives back out, but Joe fires three shots, one of them hitting Walrus somewhere in his upper body.

  He falls like a felled tree.

  Willow is so small and fragile.

  Joe pushes her into her father’s car and gets in, driving away.

  I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.

  The car tears away, and within a minute I receive a text from an unknown number.

  No cops or she dies. Wait for my call.

  I’ll kill him, I swear it, I’ll kill that bastard.

  Buried Lies

  Willow - Friday, November 14th

  I scream as Joe Maturi throws me into the car and slams the door behind me. He rushes to the driver’s side with inhuman speed. I open the door and try to escape out but he reaches his long arm towards me, grabs my hair, and slams my head against the glovebox.

  Lightning pain shoots through me and the tires of the car squeal as he reverses.

  He races down the road. My door opens and closes as we drive.

  “Close the fucking door,” he says, his hand still on my hair, ready to slam me into the glovebox again if I disobey him.

  I close the door, my hand shaking. There are stars in my eyes and I can taste the blood from my nose.

  “Please, let me go,” I beg, and he grabs my hair harder, pulling it painfully away from my scalp. I shut my eyes, readying myself for the sickening thud of my face against the glove box.

  “Shut up. You make another sound, I’ll cut you open.”

  He lets go of my hair and motions to the cruel hunting knife on his belt. His pistol is tucked away somewhere.

  The thought of the knife cutting through my skin makes my mouth go dry. Joe Maturi pens a text while driving, and I cry silent tears for the two hour drive into nowhere. I keep hoping to hear the sounds of police sirens, but as we drive onto a logging road and farther away from civilization I realize how alone I am.

  We drive into a compound, barbed wire fences broken down gate that has enough room for the car to pass through. He takes us down a gravel road and I sniffle as we stop in front of an old, dreary warehouse. The lights from the car are the only thing that illuminates the dark forest.

  I have one last chance. When the car stops, I can rush out and escape into the forest.

  I tense my body. I’ll have one chance.

  We stop and he gets out of the car.

  I open the door and run, my feet pounding against the gravel. It’s pitch black, rain pouring down against me and I struggle with each stride as I run, barely able to keep upright. My left foot lands in a patch of mud, twisting.

  I fall.

  Before I can hit the ground his hand grabs my shoulder and pulls me up. He turns me roughly, forcing me to stare into the steel of his knife.

  He presses the knife against my mouth and I have to open my lips or have them cut to shreds. I move my tongue out of the way, the sharp knife invading my mouth.

  His eyes stare into mine dully. He waits, watching me, the knife deep in my mouth, his hand steady.

  The knife slowly leaves my mouth. I taste blood where he knocked the inside of my cheek.

  “Last chance. One more stunt like that and you’re dead,” he growls over the howling wind and rain.

  His eyes are beady and stare at me without hate or emotion. He looks at me like he would look at a piece of furniture.

  I am just an object to him.

  He pulls me into the warehouse and throws me down on a chair, zip tying my hands behind me. I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt when he took me, and they are both soaked through, giving me little protection against the cold. My shirt is ripped and half off, exposing me. He sits in a chair in front of me and reaches down to his waist, and I scream as I imagine him pulling the knife out.

  He pulls out a phone
.

  He dials, then waits.

  “Connor. You rat bastard.”

  His lips curl up in a sickening smile. He listens for a second.

  “No, you listen to me. I hold the power. Your little ruse almost worked. It would have worked, if we didn’t get a clear picture of her standing at her dorm room window with it in her hand.”

  With what in my hand?

  “So you don’t know? She’s pregnant. We got a picture of her standing in her dorm room window holding up a pregnancy test. I checked her room myself and found a positive pregnancy test in the garbage can.”

  Oh God. What is Connor thinking?

  “Do I sound like I’m lying?” Joe Maturi’s voice is ice cold.

  He waits a few seconds, listening to whatever Connor is saying. I pull against my bonds again, my adrenaline surging. I only succeed in making the harsh plastic bite deeper into my flesh. It’s on so tight that my circulation suffers.

  “What do I want, Connor? I want my money. And I want your life. I know you have at least thirteen million of the money you stole from my family left. You’re going to bring it to me. Then I’m going to kill you. If you give me the money and your life, I won’t hurt your woman. Either that, or I’m going to kill your whore and your unborn child.”

  I retch but nothing comes up, the terror overwhelming me as tears flow down my face.

  “Please,” I say, and he pulls his coat aside and slowly pulls his long hunting knife out.

  My mouth is open, but I don’t say a word. He ignores me, going back to the phone call.

  “How do you know I’ll keep my word? How do you know I’ll spare her if you give me the money and your life? I’ll tell you how you know. You know because I did the same thing for the rat five years ago. I had his family hostage and they are still alive because he turned himself in to me. I enjoyed killing him. But not nearly as much as I will enjoy killing you.”

  Oh God, he’s going to kill Connor even if he brings the money. And if he doesn’t come, he’s going to kill me.

  “Where am I? You know where. The place it all happened, five years ago. Come alone. If I even smell deceit, I’ll kill her. That I swear to you, Connor. I’ll kill the bitch.”