Home Free

by Sonnjea Blackwell

  I couldn’t believe I was planning my day around my own brother’s attempts to kill me. I’d been thinking about what Danny said before, about all the bad guys being somebody’s brother. He was right. The problem was, nobody thought they would ever be the somebody.

  I drove to my house, cruising by slowly, and noticed that the lawn was almost completely green now. The miracle of automatic sprinklers. It needed to be mowed, though. I’d do it this weekend, then maybe ask Jack if he knew of a good gardener. Lucifer was on my roof, asleep in the sun. As I was coasting by, the gray Escort came down the street from the opposite direction. I stared, trying to get a glimpse of the driver, but he’d looked down to fiddle with his radio just as he approached. Bummer. He didn’t park, just kept driving, and turned left on Bear Creek. I thought about following him, but decided the orange Element wasn’t the best car for undetected surveillance. Besides, I had to focus. Where would Brian or his stooge not kill me? I wondered.

  I settled on the mall. I circled until a parking spot near the front entrance was vacated, and then I swooped. It was cool and quiet in the mall, not many shoppers before lunch on a Wednesday morning. Still, enough people were around that I felt an attack was unlikely. I went to a jewelry store and found a pair of cubic zirconia earrings I liked. I asked the sales clerk if I could try them on. She shrugged and shoved a mirror in my direction. I pushed the studs into my ear holes and looked in the mirror and gasped. I had my A’s hat on, my hair in a cute little ponytail sticking out the opening in the back. But my eyes looked tired, and I had dark circles under them in spite of my best efforts earlier with the concealer. My mouth was drawn, unsmiling. I looked ten years older than the girl with the dangerous dress and sexy hair from yesterday. I guess fear will do that. Goddamn Brian. If my hair went gray, I’d fucking kill him.

  I left the earrings on and paid for them. Maybe they’d draw attention away from my appearance. I thought back to the rumors of my impending death. Now I definitely looked the part. If I ran into Rory Blankenship, she’d probably call the coroner on the spot.

  I wandered the stores, trying on things I didn’t even like just to kill time. Turns out, super-low-rise stretch jeans don’t look good on me. I found a nice purse, not too big and not too small. It was brown, and I figured with fall right around the corner, I could use a brown purse. I paid for it and thought this hiding out nonsense was getting darn expensive.

  I got some chow mein from the food court and people-watched while I ate. I considered calling Pauline, but I didn’t know what to say. I checked my watch. Two-fifteen. I sighed. I felt like I’d been in this mall forever. What the hell was taking Danny so long? My cell phone chimed the William Tell Overture, and I almost jumped for joy.

  “Hello?”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, Mikey, I’m fine. I’m going to die of boredom before Brian gets another chance at me.”

  “He just called.”

  I dropped my fork, and chow mein splattered across the table. “What did he say?”

  “He wants to meet me here at closing time. Says he has a deal for me. I’m guessing it’s not a deal I’ll like very much.” Sonofabitch. I realized that until this very second, I’d still had hope it wasn’t really my brother.

  I thought, the wheels in my brain spinning too fast for me to keep up. He killed Chambers. He let his own brother take the heat. And he tried to have me killed.

  Why?

  “Mikey, we need to record the conversation. Maybe Brian will say something that will implicate him, or at least clear you and the guys.”

  I was pretty sure I could hear his jaw clenching.

  “Can we wire you up somehow? Or put a tape recorder in the desk?” I felt silly, and I knew he was going to say I watched too much television.

  He hesitated a minute, then let out a breath. “No, if he’s going to make an illegal deal of some kind, he’ll check for a wire, I’m pretty sure. I mean, I would.”

  “I know!” A couple at the next table turned and stared, then went back to their egg rolls. I lowered my voice. “You have a speaker phone, right? What if you call me up before Brian gets there, and I’ll tape the conversation on my end?”

  Big sigh. “Alex, I appreciate your effort, but this isn’t going to work. The speaker phone has a mic, but, as you might guess from the name, it also has a speaker. So we’d be able to hear you, too. Plus, the little light goes on to indicate the line’s in use. Brian may be crazy, but he’s not stupid. Well, not that stupid. I’m just going to have to meet with him and see what he wants.”

  “Let me call Jimmy C.”

  “And say what, exactly? That your brother, the politician, requested a meeting with me? Big deal. Half the town saw me at his fundraiser last night. Chang’ll just assume Brian wants to meet with one of his supporters.”

  He was right, I knew, but I wasn’t going to let Brian get away with any of this. I looked forty, and my hair color was in jeopardy, and I was getting really pissed.

  “I have to think. I’ll call you back.”

  I clicked off and stared straight ahead. There wasn’t a window, and that was slowing me down. I got up and walked to Sears and stood by the entrance, staring out at the parking lot. A phone in the men’s department rang about seven hundred times before the VP of Telephones finally answered it. Damn phone, I thought. And then the window did its thing, and I had an idea.

  “Pauline Horowitz.”

  I was standing in the tool department of Sears, figuring the burly flannel-clad guys who hung out there might leap to my rescue if Ski Mask came looking for me. I spoke into my cell phone. “I need another favor.”

  “Hello and hunh-uh. Not till you tell me what’s going on with you and Junior Salazar. I heard you were swapping spit with him last night in front of your parents and everybody.”

  “I was, and I promise I’ll tell you all about it, but Kevin’s going to be arrested this afternoon, and I need a favor to help him.”

  I heard her suck in her breath. “I think maybe they already arrested him,” she said. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of him, and he hasn’t returned my calls.”

  “I was at Jenkins’ body shop the other day.” I thought, God, was that really only yesterday? “I saw a phone in his office. Can you tell me if it’s still connected?”

  “Hold on.” I listened to the elevator music and picked up a ratchet. I thought I might need a ratchet someday. Then I saw a guy staring at me, and I picked up a hammer instead. He went around the corner, shaking his head. “Alex?”

  “Yep.”

  “The service was never disconnected, and I’m getting a ring when I test the line. I can’t tell you for sure if the actual phone itself works, though. What’s going on?”

  “What’s the number?” She told me, and I wrote it on the receipt for my earrings. “If you get a hold of Kevin, tell him to get Danny and turn themselves in. I have a really bad feeling right now.”

  “God, Alex, you’re scaring the shit out of me.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

  I hung up and dialed Danny’s home number. The machine picked up. I tried the cell and got the same response. Dammit. I didn’t know if he’d already been arrested, or if it was something else. I left messages to call me on my cell phone. Then I called Murphy’s office.

  “Murphy & Sons, may I help you?”

  “Doreen? It’s Alex Jordan.”

  “Alex, I’m so glad to hear you’re feeling better. What can I do for you, hon?”

  “I need to speak to my husband.”

  “He’s at a jobsite all day, can I give him a message when he calls in?”

  I remembered Jack said Doreen could always get in touch with him in case of an emergency. I figured this qualified.

  “Doreen, I don’t have much time left after all. A couple of hours, maybe. And I really need to see Jack before it’s all over. Have him call me at this number.” I gave her my cell number.

  “Oh, dear.
Well, of course I will.”

  Sixty seconds later, I was in the electronics department and my phone was ringing. “Jack?”

  “Yeah, slugger, what’s up?”

  “I need a huge favor. Please meet me at the gravel yard as soon as you can. And bring small tools.” I could picture the crease in his brow as he imagined miniature hammers and saws. “For electronic equipment.”

  “Gotcha. Be there in a jiff.”

  Leave it to Sears to still sell old school answering machines. The salesman told me model I was looking at had two hours of record time, and it wasn’t one of those that cut the caller off after a couple minutes. A person could talk until the tape was full. I paid for the machine with the credit card that still had Max’s name on it. Reliving the handcuff humiliation last night had pissed me off a little.

  I went back through the mall, and out the main entrance to my car. There was a piece of paper stuck under the windshield wiper, probably an advertisement for a mall merchant, and I grabbed it and hopped in. I tossed my purse in the back seat and set the shopping bags with the answering machine and my new handbag on the front passenger seat. I flipped the paper over. Sorry about our date last night. Next time, there won’t be any interruptions. No cute little stickers this time, just ugly handwritten scrawl.

  I looked around the parking lot, fear rising like bile in my chest, and I flipped the door lock. I didn’t see anything unusual. I rammed the key in the ignition and revved the engine and squealed out of the parking space, narrowly missing a Lincoln. I gave a sheepish wave, and the blue-haired lady driving flipped me the bird.

  I drove like a maniac to the body shop, trying to control my panic. I pulled into the parking lot, still breathing hard. I sat and collected my wits. I looked around. My car stuck out like a sore, orange thumb. I pulled around back, tucking the Element between the two shop buildings. You’d have to be inside the body shop lot to see the car. I took the Sears bag and went to the office. I peeked through the space I’d cleaned on the window yesterday. The office looked the same. The back door was locked, and I knew the front was padlocked. I sighed and called Mikey.

  “Salazar.”

  “I’m about to break into the body shop. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Hold on, I’ll be right over.”

  Mikey arrived a few minutes later with a large key ring. He didn’t say a word, just slid a key in the lock and turned it. The door swung open.

  “I’m afraid to ask,” I said.

  “Probably better that way. What are you doing?”

  I opened the box and pulled the phone machine out of its packaging. I plugged the answering machine in and connected Jenkins’ desk phone to it. I picked up the handset and got a dial tone. I dialed Mikey’s number. Even though we both knew I’d done it, we still jumped when his cell phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mikey.”

  “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  We both hung up. I glanced out the window in time to see Murphy’s truck pull into the gravel yard lot.

  “We have to go meet Jack.”

  Mikey rolled his eyes.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Okay, so you want me to disconnect the speaker, but not the microphone, right?” Jack asked, picking up the multi-line phone in Mikey’s office.

  “Right,” I answered. “And disconnect the little red light that comes on when you push speaker.”

  “Uh-hunh.” Jack opened a small tool box and fished around for something. Probably a tiny little ratchet.

  I went to wait in the lunch room with Mikey. “Hey, if this works, we can split the reward money,” I offered, trying to lighten the mood. He was staring out the window, and I guessed he was thinking about prison and wondering why he hadn’t left earlier, when he’d had the chance. “What would you do with twenty-five thousand dollars?”

  Mikey blinked once. I didn’t know what that meant. Once for sportscar, twice for boat?

  “It’s not enough for a Corvette,” I plowed on. “I don’t know what I’d do with it.”

  I was quiet after that. It occurred to me that, most likely, I’d either be twenty-five thousand dollars richer tomorrow, or I’d be dead. It was hard to focus on the riches when the other option seemed far more probable. I’d never seriously thought about being dead before. It wasn’t much fun.

  “Okay, you’re all set,” Jack hollered from the office. We both jumped and looked at each other. I took a deep breath as we walked into the office. I thanked Jack and waited till he’d gathered up his tools and left.

  “I’m going back to the body shop. Here’s the number. Call me in a minute.”

  I thrust the receipt with the phone number at him. Mikey grabbed my arm and looked at me, his black eyes intent on mine.

  “We are not going to die, Alex.” I wasn’t sure which one of us he was trying to convince.

  “Yeah, I know that,” I lied.

  “And after all this is over,” he said, the usual grin returning, “maybe you can do something about your hair. You know, get a perm. Something.”

  “Watch it, pal, or I’ll let Brian do whatever he wants with you.”

  He laughed. “No you won’t. You’d miss me. Now get the hell out of here.” I turned to go. He stopped me again. “Wait.” He pulled the gun out of his waistband and handed it to me. “I guess I better not have this on me. You know how to use it?”

  I rolled my eyes. I grew up in redneck country, so like most kids I learned to shoot at a young age. My dad and my brothers liked to hunt, but the little dead birds at the end of the day depressed me, so I stuck with target practice. I hadn’t been to the range in a couple years, but I guessed I could still shoot a damn Glock.

  The phone was ringing when I got back to the body shop.

  “Hello?”

  “Alex, you there?”

  “I can hear you, Mikey, can you hear me?” I heard the click of the handset being lifted. “Hey, I take it you couldn’t hear me through the speaker?” I asked.

  “Not a peep. And the light’s not on.”

  “Good. Put it back on speaker and leave the line open. I’ll start recording when my brother shows up.” I sounded sure of myself and my plan. In reality, I thought I might barf any minute. I took out my cell phone and punched in Jimmy C’s number, but didn’t hit call. I set it on the filthy desk next to the answering machine phone. I looked around for something to wipe Jenkins’ soot-covered chair off with, but gave up and sat down. With twenty-five thousand dollars, I could buy a new pair of 501s. I arranged the chair so I had a view of the gravel yard through the clear spot in the window.

  Cars began filing out of the gravel yard about quarter after five, and by five thirty, a lone white Salazar’s Sand & Gravel pickup was the only vehicle left. I watched a few minutes later as the Music Man car pulled into the lot, followed by a black Bronco I didn’t recognize. Both cars parked, and Brian got out of the BMW. A very large Samoan man got out of the back of the Bronco. Brian’s left hand was bandaged. The Samoan tucked a gun into the waistband of his pants. Shit. The windows of the Bronco were tinted, and I wondered if the driver was also an armed islander.

  Brian and his muscle disappeared into the office, and I hit the record button on the answering machine. I made a deal with God to eat more vegetables and floss regularly if he would make sure the machine didn’t malfunction.

  “Brian, how are you?” I heard Mikey ask. His voice sounded normal, relaxed.

  “Junior.”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “Bruno?” Brian asked, snorting. “Bruno’s nobody’s friend.” I heard a sickening whump sound and felt a wave of nausea wash over me. There was the sound of fabric tearing, and then drawers being opened and slammed shut. I guessed they were looking for a wire or a recording device. Apparently satisfied, Brian went on, “I have a proposition for you.”

  “I’m listening.” Me too, I thought.

  “I want you to confess to killing Chambers and settin
g the fire next door.”

  Mikey grunted, and there was another whump. God, just answer him, I thought. “Why would I confess? I didn’t do it. Besides, that’d be my third strike, and I’d go away for life. There’s no way.”

  “Really, life? You think so? Because I think with the political climate being what it is, they’d go for the special circumstances and give you the death penalty. But you’re right, either way, you’d go away forever.”

  “So why would I confess?” Whump.

  “Well, let’s see. You confess, and the police have no reason to arrest your brother, or mine, for that matter.”

  “They’ll never be able to convict either of them, anyway. There’s not enough evidence. Besides, the police are already looking at you. You fucked up with the Henderson fire,” Mikey bluffed. Oh shit, I thought, bracing myself against Jenkins’ chair. There was the whump, whump, followed by a whoosh of air, Mikey getting the wind knocked out of him.

  “The Henderson fire was brilliant. Unfortunately, it didn’t accomplish the objective. Fine, let’s look at the alternative. You don’t confess. Danny and Kevin kill you, you end up dead anyway, and they go to prison forever.”

  Hunh? I didn’t follow his logic. Evidently, neither did Mikey. “What are you talking about? Even if they think I did it, Danny and Kevin won’t kill me for not confessing.”

  “No. But they would kill you for raping and torturing my sister, and leaving her to die. Kevin’s always been fairly protective of her, and Danny - well you know those hero types. Of course, it’ll be too late to save her.”

  The room got bright and started to spin and the roar took over my brain, and I put my hand out to the desk to steady myself. I took a deep breath and willed myself not to faint. Then I found a waste paper basket and planted it firmly between my feet and heaved. Chow mein. Yuck.

  I wondered if Ted Bundy was somebody’s brother. Jesus.

  “They’d never believe I’d hurt her.” Whump. “Wait a minute, let me get this straight. Your little plan is to let Bruno here brutalize your own sister and then shoot me, and make the whole thing look like I raped Alex, and Danny and Kevin killed me?”