Old Lady (Iron Disciples Book 2)

by Daniella Tucci

  “Are you fucking done?” I ask.

  “Uh…yeah.”

  “You’re too fucking late Stacy. Cade got here five minutes ago.”

  “Oh shit… sorry ‘bout that. Good luck.”

  “Yeah…thanks for nothing. Hey wasn’t Shooter supposed to like get some evidence to keep me out of this?”

  The second I bring up Shooter I know I fucked up. Cade reacts immediately. I should know better than to talk so much…or at all after drinking as much as I just imbibed.

  “Shooter? What the fuck are you talking about Morgan? Are you and Shooter up to something?”

  Cade’s in my face now. His normally handsome face is contorted in furry and his fists are clenched and shaking. Oh man I really screwed the pooch on this one.

  “Do you have any idea what we do to people who…who rat on the club?” He asks.

  The way he spits out the word rat says a lot about his feelings on the subject.

  “You give them a stern lecture?” I ask.

  “Morgan!”

  “A really stern one?”

  I realize I’m pushing my luck here… but I can’t help myself, I’m drunk.

  “We kill them Morgan…if they’re lucky. If they’re not so lucky we leave them to wish they were dead. It takes a lot to make a man wish for death…I suspect it wouldn’t take much for you.”

  Is that a threat? Did Cade just threaten me? Or am I just not hearing accurately through my alcohol fogged brain.

  “I don’t even know what to do with you Morgan! If you were a brother it’d be cut and dry. You’re lucky you’re just an old lady. But since you’re my old lady I have to make sure I do the right thing here.”

  “Yes, do the right thing,” I plead.

  “You won’t like the club’s version of the right thing Morgan. I’d tell you to get the fuck out of here but we’re in your house. But if you ever show yourself in the club house I can’t help what my brothers will do to you. To be safe…you should just get the fuck out of town.”

  “What? I can’t fucking get up and leave. I have a life here Cade. I have a career and a house and…and stuff. I am not skipping town. I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing here. I thought I was protecting the club.”

  “That’s not your job! You’re not even a member Morgan. It’s not your responsibility to protect us. That’s my responsibility and I’m telling you to get out of town or at least make yourself invisible. If my brothers corner you somewhere, it’ll likely be over for you. Do you understand? Am I getting through to your drunken brain?”

  “Loud and clear Cap’n… I read you loud and fucking clear. Now can I fucking go to bed?”

  Suddenly I hear a distant female voice calling my name. I look down and see my phone in my lap and it’s still connected to Stacy. I pick up.

  “You hear all that?” I ask.

  “I’m coming to get you Morgan. Grab your travel bag and go to the mini mart at the end of the block. You’ll be safe there until I can get you. You got it?”

  “Yeah… I’m supposed to get my sorry ass to the mini mart. I’ll be there.”

  “Alright, well I’ll see you there.” She says and hangs up.

  I look up at Cade. He’s watching me intently. His eyes are burning holes in my chest. If I don’t get out of here in a hurry he might welch on his promise and do something to me after all. I stand up, but my head starts spinning with a vengeance. I immediately flop back down on my couch. This is not gonna be easy. I move to stand again, this time with more success, but the minute I take two steps my living room begins tilting from side to side and about two seconds later I see my floor rushing up to my face. This is gonna fucking hurt!

  Chapter Eight

  New Beginnings

  An incredibly loud ringing noise is sounding off in my brain like a giant klaxon. I’m pretty sure after this I’m going to be permanently deaf. With every clang comes a pain like a white hot poker stabbing completely though my left eye and into my brain. I struggle to sit up but the ensuing vertigo makes my stomach revolt before I can even get up on one elbow. I hang my head over the side of the couch and fortunately there’s an empty waste can sitting there. I guess I knew last night that this morning like this would be coming.

  When my stomach finally quits revolting I begin to notice something. There’s carpet on the floor. There hasn’t been carpet on the floor of my place since right after I bought the place in 2004. I prop myself up on one elbow, open my eyes, and look around. I’m in a hotel by the looks of it. At least I’m alive. Feeling even better I venture to sit up. That’s when I notice the blood!

  On the floor near the bathroom entrance is what appears to be one of Cade’s tee shirts stained with blood; too much to be from a nick while shaving. Not unless he cut his nose off in the process. This can’t really be happening. Carefully I get to my feet taking great efforts to not move too fast. Any sudden movement will set my head spinning again. I can feel the cold dread beginning to touch the edges of my heart almost like a dusting of frost at the beginning of a real storm. I take a couple deep breaths and force myself to calm down before moving again. I stop at the bloody shirt. There’s no point in touching it I guess. I turn on the bathroom light and that’s when the panic hits. It’s like being suddenly punched in the soft part of your stomach when you least expect it. All the air in my lungs just bursts out, followed by an intense round of nausea, then more vomiting. I sag to my knees just shy of the toilet. It’s a good thing I didn’t have anything in my stomach this time.

  Five minutes later I’m grabbing the edge of the sink and struggling to pull myself to my feet. What I find in the basin is almost enough to make me collapse on the bathroom floor. Sitting in the sink is the white blouse I was wearing last night. Only problem is, it’s no longer white. It looks like I was trying to wash the blood out before crashing on the couch at some point during the night. Holding onto the counter for support I glance around the bathroom for the weapon. I must have used a knife to do the job. What else would have created such a mess? I reach out gingerly and pick up my blouse by the collar and pick it up, hoping the knife will be in the sink underneath. No such luck. I rack my brain for details…any details about last night but I keep coming up with a dry slate.

  As I stare at the mess in the sink and the mess on the bathroom floor the reality of my situation begins to sink in. This much blood loss could only mean one thing. Cade is dead. He couldn’t have lost this much blood and not be anything else. Between his bloody shirt and mine there’s gotta be a fucking gallon of the stuff! I look at my watch. It’s nearly eleven in the morning. OMG! It’s almost check out time. What if I only took the room for the night? No way I’m gonna get this place cleaned up in...in seventeen minutes. I gotta rent the room for at least another day.

  I stumble into the main room and over to the small table where the phone is located and press the zero button.

  “Holiday Express Inn operator, how may I help you?”

  She’s way too bright and cheery for this time of day.

  “I certainly hope you can help me.” I begin. “I’m in room…” I look around. What the hell room is this? I don’t see it anywhere and my key card is who knows where.

  “I know you’re in room 317 Ms. Swift.” She jumps in. “Did you need someone to help with your bags?”

  “Um…actually I’d like to stay another night…make that two more nights.”

  I hold my breath in anticipation. Her answer could mean the difference in me sleeping in a nice warm bed or in a jail cell. I try to quell the rising panic I feel in every cell of my being.

  “I’d love to help you with that Ms. Swift. Of course the room you currently occupy is reserved for another person but we do have several comparable rooms available. Would you like to stay on the same floor?”

  All I can hear is this loud buzzing in my ears. I’m pretty sure she’s still talking to me but I just lost everything after the word reserved. I fight off the panic and struggle to corral my sca
ttered thinking.

  “I’m sorry ma’am,” I begin. “There must be a bad connection or something. You lost me back there. I’d just like to reserve this room for two more nights. But if you can’t swing that, just one night will do fine.”

  “I’m so sorry Ms. Swift, but the room you’re currently in has been reserved for tonight and the next two nights.”

  This can’t be fucking happening to me. I glance at my watch. I have all of twelve more minutes before I have to vacate. I gotta keep trying.

  “Can’t you just relocate the other guest? Put them in a better room. I’ll pay the difference between this room and their better accommodations.”

  There…that was actually a good idea.

  “I’m sorry miss, but I can’t boot them out. Here’s what I can do for you though. I’ll put you up for your two nights in a better room…a suite, and I’ll keep your price the same as the room you’re currently in. Now that’s a good deal right? I’ll even send someone up right away to move your bags to the new room.”

  I’m just about to bite her head off when I hear a knock on the door. I look at my watch. I have nine more minutes. Gotta be their over-zealous maid service or something. I cover the phone’s mouthpiece and holler at the maids.

  “I’m busy thanks!” I shout, and then I take my hand away from the phone. There’s gotta be something I can say to keep this room. Then it hits me. I’ll have to discourage them from giving the room to another guest.

  “Look ma’am,” I begin. “I didn’t mean for this to happen but it just did. I’m an Alameda County Investigator working the Hollister Family disappearance case and I just caught a major break. What that means is I have classified documents scattered all over the room.”

  “Can’t you just pick them up?” The clerk asks.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t make myself clearer. I have every piece of evidence spread out along with a maze of colored threads connecting pieces of evidence to other pieces of evidence to possible to perpetrators. It would literally take three people half a day to unravel the mess; you understand right?”

  “Well…under the circumstances…I guess we can move the other guest to another room. I’d hate to be the person who ruined an important investigation. I just have to insist you be out in two days. The hotel itself is booked solid for the month starting Friday for the convention and it’s going to be a logistical nightmare to reschedule everyone if I can’t have the room back by Friday at eleven. Is that okay?”

  Suddenly I can breathe again. “The department is in your debt ma’am. In fact, can I get your name? I want my people to know who it is that helped us break the case.”

  “Uh, yeah… yes ma’am. My name is Karla with a K, Cervantes. I am happy to help.”

  “Thank you Karla with a K. Now I’d better get back to work.”

  I hang up the phone. I need a fucking drink. I go to the mini fridge and open the door. There should be something good in here. I grab three tiny bottles of Jack and collapse on the bed. What the fuck am I going to do now? I guess I’ll just clean the mess up and hang until Friday then find another place to stay until I can figure out where I stand. I’m sure I used my card so it won’t be difficult for police to track me down. On the other hand…the club will surely take matters into their own hands. That should buy me more time. I doubt they can track me by my credit card like the police can. That also means I can keep using my cell phone as well. Question is…do I call Stacy or not.

  After I polish off the tiny liquors I hobble over to Cade’s shirt, pick it up and join it with my blouse in the sink. I really have no idea what to use to get out blood and am about twenty minutes into scrubbing when I realize what an Idiot I am. I don’t need to clean these clothes. I can just discard them. I do on the other hand have to clean the carpet by the bathroom door where Cade’s shirt was laying all night. That’s gonna be a fucking problem. I take the two bloody clothing items and drop them into the bathroom wastebasket. Then I take out the plastic lining and tie a not in it. I’ll just stick it in my suitcase and throw it out when I leave. Now to the carpet. I guess I’ll have to get some cleaning supplies. There’s just no way a bar of soap and free shampoo is going to take out the stain.

  I end up having to catch a taxi to a Safeway store where I got several different heavy duty cleaning supplies. One of these has to work. On the other hand I’ve watch enough CSI Miami to know that all investigators have to do is just spray this stuff called Luminal, I think, and they can see blood was cleaned from the floor. As long as I get this shit cleaned up there should be no reason anyone would even come looking for blood. I should be in the clear.

  Then it hits me again like a ton of bricks. I killed Cade! How the hell did I manage that? I must have waited till he was asleep or something. Oh shit. And I have no memory of it. I swear to god, I will never get drunk…never drink again. Abruptly I begin shaking deep inside. Gradually the shakes work their way to the surface and pretty soon I’m literally quaking in my shoes. In fact I’m shaking so much I have to just sit down before I fall down. I hobble over to my bed and grab the wastebasket just before the heaves begin. My stomach rebels so violently when I double over I end up falling to the ground where I just curl up in a fetal position shaking like a baby. How the hell did I get here? I used to be a respected financial advisor for Capital America. I was a vice president for fucks sake! And now I’m holed up in a hotel trying to cover up a murder that I committed during a drunken blackout! What the hell is wrong with me? Before I can answer that my cell phone starts ringing. I grab my purse and fish it out; its Stacy calling. Damn, I should have ditched the phone. I really can’t be talking to anyone. Not if I’m going to disappear which is exactly what I have to do.

  After the phone stops ringing I open it up and take out the sim card and stuff it in my pocket. I’m not 100% sure I’m going to ditch my phone. I have over 400 contacts and a couple hundred pictures as well as over 2000 text messages that I do now want to lose. Ideally I’d transfer all this stuff to my new phone or to a SD card so I won’t lose the information. I turn off the phone and stuff it back in my purse just as more waves of nausea work its way through my system. I can’t live like this. My brain is not designed for this kind of stress. I’ll crack! I’m going to lose everything that is important to me, which is mostly my career. I love my work; it’s who I am as a person. If I wasn’t a trader what would I be? My whole identity is wrapped up in Wall Street and I don’t know what I’ll do without it. I have followed the market ever since I was in middle school.

  As I lie here curled up with my mouth tasting like the bottom of a birdcage, mind wavers on the edge between mild panic and complete bat shit crazy! I can feel a black dread threatening to swallow me up and once that happens there’ll be no coming back for me. As I lie here waiting for the latest events in my life to eat me alive I realize what I have to do. I need to call my aunt. I need to talk to the woman who raised me. Only problem is, the last time I talked to her she didn’t remember me. Alzheimer’s disease has been slowly taking my aunt away from me and it’s been years since we last talked. My uncle died six years ago and my aunt has been in an assisted living place for the past four years. I need to talk to someone who knows me; the real me. I need to confess. My life has been so crazy since I met Cade that I need someone to put it all in prospective for me and if I can catch her lucid she just might be able to do that for me.

  I fish my phone out of my purse, put the sim card back in and dial my aunt’s number. I’m just about to hang up when someone finally answers.

  “Swift’s residence.”

  “Hi…uh my name is Morgan Swift…is my aunt available?”

  “She’s here, if that’s what you mean, but I can’t say how lucid she’s going to be.”

  “I understand. Just…just put her on please.”

  “One moment please,” she replies.

  She must have the phone in her hand because I can hear her shouting my aunt’s name. Then I can hear her cajoling my aunt to take
the phone. Then she’s explaining who is on the phone and I can tell it’s just not getting through to her. I can feel my heart sinking further. My last attachment to this world is beyond me now. I don’t bother waiting for her caregiver to come back on the phone. It’s hopeless. I disconnect the call and hurl my phone across the room where it bounces off the wall simultaneously ejecting the back cover and the battery.

  As the minutes pass me by I can feel myself sinking lower and lower. Why I stopped talking to my aunt I’ll never know. She was the one who was giving me the letters from my mother but according to my uncle she mistakenly threw out the last ones, forever breaking that connection I had with my mother. Strange how I’m just remembering that now. I remember being so pissed about that even though she would have never dreamed of doing that had she been in her right mind.

  I hobble back to the mini fridge and scoop out an armful of those little bottles and wobble my way back to the bed. I’ll worry about the blood stains later. Right now I need to drink. I need to forget my Alzheimer’s aunt…again, and put a cushion of liquor between myself and the last day or so if I am going to have any chance of sanity.

  An hour later I’m flipping through the channels looking for something interesting to watch. To my right is a growing mound of empty bottles. I had no idea they stocked the room with so much booze. Maybe I requested extra when I checked in. I fall asleep to the sound of Anderson Cooper’s voice as he lends an air of suspense to some story about a bomb sniffing dog and his handler in Afghanistan.

  When I finally wake up its dark. I look around for my phone until I remember its lying on the floor somewhere without a battery.