Ray's Hell: A Crime Action Thriller

by Matt Rass

  Tony, Bradley and CB all respectively waited behind the congressman for him to join them in their first drink of the day. It was their thing: Sunday, seventh hole; sip a cold one, overlooking Lake Michigan.

  Bradley handed the congressman his drink and his cigar. “Great drive, Frank.”

  “I don’t get how anyone could tie this fucking nigger kid to me,” Frank began, talking around the cigar in his mouth. “I mean, that’s why we have a system, right? You’re all down here and I’m up here and anything that tries to come up here—with me—it’s your job to keep it away. Am I right or am I right?”

  Tony and Bradley nodded their heads. The congressman looked at CB.

  “You got it, Frank,” he said.

  The congressman then continued. “You tell me this kid got girls for my campaign parties, and I say I don’t know nothing about it. This is all Alex’s thing. What am I s’pose to do about that? This is my problem?”

  “This is the thing, Frank…” Tony started to say.

  “No, Tony. The problem I’m seeing is this crazy cop’s going around town busting up our family businesses. He burns down your titty bar, roughs up the boys at the dealership, drives his car into a tree outside my fucking house, and threatens my grandkids. For chrissakes, why is he not in jail?”

  “That thing with the club was actually, you know, that thing we were talking about.”

  “What thing?”

  “How you were sayin’ it didn’t look so good for you in Washington that we own it… that I own it,” Tony corrected himself.

  “Don’t tell me you burned the fucking thing down yourself?”

  “I told you, I’ve been working on the guy, from the fire station, owes me money...”

  Frank turned to look Tony straight in the eye. “I got all this shit going down: the stolen money, your nephew meeting with the FBI, this other thing with the young girl and the goddamn blackmail—and you’re telling me you decided it was a good time to burn down your club? You gotta be kidding me. This is a joke, right? Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this yesterday at the barbecue?”

  “I tried, but you didn’t want to hear about it.”

  “They pulled a goddamn body out of the building, you idiot.”

  “The girl was an accident,” Tony said.

  “It’s murder, you moron.”

  “And the car in the tree was the other guy, Andre.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  A foursome of young, preppy-looking kids pulled up to the tee in two carts. The spawn of local white-collars, one excitingly yelled, “Hey, you mind if we play through, bro?”

  “I ain’t your bro, you little pissant,” Frank said, shaking his golf club at them. “So you better show some goddamn respect to the members of this club or I’ll have you thrown off this course faster than you can say—.”

  “My dad owns this course, you miserable, old bastard,” one of the preppies said as he and his friends stepped out of their carts and faced off against the older group.

  “What’s your name?” Bradley asked.

  “Tyler Jamieson.”

  Frank’s red face began to fade. He had lost this one.

  “Well, this is congressman Frank Silver, Tyler,” Bradley said. “And your father wouldn’t want you to be disrespecting members such as him.”

  “All he asked was if we could play through,” one of the other preppies said.

  “You don’t ask to play through,” Tony said. “You wait for the front group to invite you to play through.”

  The younger group began to relent when they noticed the much bigger CB begin to puff himself up.

  “You can play through,” Frank said. “We’ll finish our drinks and our cigars and watch you. Maybe we can learn something.”

  “Thanks, Sir,” Tyler said. “I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

  “Think nothing of it. I guess we got to talking too much and fell behind the play. That’s all.”

  Frank turned his back to the kids on the tee and whispered to CB, Tony, and Brad. “No more bullshit with the drugs and the bars and the whatnot,” he said. “It’s not like it used to be. You can’t keep a goddamn secret in this town for more than a minute without someone trying to leverage it against you. I’ve built up way too much here and in Washington to see it all flushed away on account of some nobody taking my money and his ex-cop brother stirring shit up.” He faced Tony and said: “After today I don’t want you and me to see, or talk to each other for awhile. You understand? Not until this whole blackmail thing blows over. There’s too much at risk if I go down. Because if I sink, believe me, the whole fucking ship goes down. I’ve kept this family afloat for way too long. And this’ll be the last thing I say on it, but you want to know what that Detroit cop told me when he was in my office? Huh? Carl can even confirm this for you...” Frank looked at CB and encouraged him to finish his thought. The latter had been finishing most of the congressman’s less savory business for him for years, and this wasn’t any different.

  “The cop thinks you’re blackmailing Frank,” CB said.

  Tony blew a raspberry. “The fuck does he know?”

  “C’mon guys,” one of the preppies said. “He’s getting ready to tee off.”

  “Okay guys, be quiet,” Frank said to his group. “Kid’s gonna show us how it’s done.”

  At the tee, Tyler Jamieson swung through his ball, the sound a powerful cutting clink, and everyone turned to find it in the air as it sailed past the four other balls and landed at the far end of the fairway.

  “That’s how it’s done,” the congressman said, encouraging his group to clap along with him. “Why don’t you come down to my campaign headquarters Monday, Tyler, and I’ll give you a personal tour?”

  “Sure thing,” Tyler nodded, fist-bumping his buddies.

  “And bring your dad,” Frank said, before turning to Tony and saying: “You clean up this mess, Tony, ’cos after today we’re selling all the businesses.”

  RAY & MANDY

  Ray woke to the sound of the puppy whining and scratching at the gap under the bedroom door. His arm was draped over Mandy and he was holding her single boob in his hand. She turned to face him, her face moist and puffy from crying the night before. She pursed her lips, readying for a kiss.

  Ray gave her an apology instead. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Mandy sighed and wiped the crusted sleep from her eyes. “If you apologize it makes me feel like you think this was a mistake. Do you fucking think this was a mistake, Ray?”

  “No,” he said.

  “I’m a grown-ass woman, Raymond, and just ’cos we had sex, don’t mean I expect you to move in and start helping me raise my kids. Okay?”

  Ray nodded, apologetic again, his balls freshly busted. With the apology, he was preparing to tell her what he should’ve told her last night—that Sam had been murdered. But now that she was pissed off, he didn’t want to say anything.

  “Do you want to do it again?” Mandy asked.

  He was too guilty to do it again. “I have to tell you something I should have told you last night,” Ray confessed. “And I feel horrible for not saying anything until now.”

  Mandy pushed herself up by her elbows, “What is it? Don’t tell me you have something.”

  “No. Last night, before I got here, I identified Sam’s body behind the old Silver City Motel.”

  “He’s dead?!”

  “He was murdered.”

  “Oh my God! Who would murder him? Why? Because of the recording on his phone? Ray?! You should’ve called the police last night!”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Stop saying you’re sorry, Ray”—she started shoving him—“Go, get out of my bed. Go find out who did it and do something about it.” She rolled over and pounded her fist into her pillow. “He’s your only brother for chrissakes!”

  Ray slipped out of the bed and put on her robe. The puppy had moved on from sniffing the bottom of the door, and Ray thought tw
ice about apologizing again, before taking Sam’s iPhone from the nightstand and exiting the room. He crossed the hall to get his clothes from the dryer and dressed in the bathroom. His eye was completely swollen shut, but the nicks and bruises on his face were minor.

  When he entered the living room he saw Shane was sitting on the floor in the living room playing his video game and the puppy, Max, was cuddling between his legs. He smiled when the boy looked briefly up at him.

  “Take care of the puppy now,” Ray said. “Remember, he’s gonna grow and get bigger, and your love’s gotta grow along with him, okay?”

  The boy didn’t look as if he understood what Ray was saying and perhaps it was a bit too much to ask of a child. Ray took his wallet from the kitchen table and put on his boots. It was close to nine a.m. when he could expect John Thomas to arrive.

  EMMA AND CB

  Emma bopped down the shoulder of the country road, mouthing the words to a Rihanna song playing in her ears. Up ahead she could see a car approaching. Was it Ray’s? She stopped as it got closer and seeing that it wasn’t, she turned her head away from the road as the car passed, an awkward feeling bubbling up inside her. She removed her earbuds so she could focus all of her senses, and sure enough, she could hear the crunch of gravel as the car rolled to a stop.

  “Oh gawd,” she said.

  The car reversed and backed along the road toward her. She looked at her phone and dialed 9-1-1, her thumb hovering over the CALL button as the big Lincoln Town Car approached.

  “You headed to the trailer park?” the man asked.

  Emma peered at the driver. He was old—older than her grandfather—but really, really big. He looked like he was made out of a block of cement. His big, fat lips flapped together like two dead fish as he said, “I can give you a ride if you want?”

  Emma looked at the big, black square ring inset with a diamond on the man’s pinky finger. “Why would you offer me a ride the opposite way you’re going?” she asked. “That’s just weird.”

  “I’d feel bad if I passed without asking if you needed a ride. My name’s Carl Barron and I used to be the sheriff in this county. I know how dangerous it can be out here, ’specially for a young girl.”

  “I walk this road all the time.”

  “You just finish work?”

  “No, I was at my friends.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Why do you want my name? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I’m not a cop anymore. Like I said, I used to be the sheriff.”

  “Sorry, I don’t feel comfortable giving my name or getting a ride from a complete stranger. Plus, I know people at the sheriff’s department and I’ve never heard of you.”

  “Oh, it’s been years since I was sheriff.”

  “Anyway,” Emma said.

  “That’s fine. I can see you’re pretty smart for your age, but to be honest, when I see a young girl walking on the side of the road, the first thing I think is she’s either running away from something, or she’s in trouble. Which one is it?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Fair enough. You get cell service through this corridor?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then feel free to make that 9-1-1 call whenever you want.”

  Emma looked down at her phone.

  “Tell you what, why don’t you let me drive you to where you’re going. You can sit in the back and keep your phone ready in case you feel unsafe.”

  Emma shifted from foot to foot, thinking about it.

  “Listen, it’s a half-hour walk or a ten-minute car ride. I can’t stay stopped in the middle of the road like this forever.” He looked up in his rearview to see if there was any oncoming traffic.

  Emma thought for an extra beat before opening the car’s rear door and getting in.

  “Can you tell me your name now?” CB asked.

  “Em.”

  “Is that a name or an initial?”

  “Part of my name.”

  “Short for Emily?”

  “Emma.”

  CB turned the car around and headed for the trailer park.

  “How old are you, Em?”

  “I’ll be sixteen next April.”

  “It’s only July. You have a driver’s license?”

  “Well, my mom’s car broke down a couple of months ago and she never ended up getting it fixed.”

  “What’s with you?”

  “Whaddaya mean?”

  “I ask you your age and you say you turn sixteen in eight months. I ask if you have a driver’s license and you tell me your mother’s car broke down.”

  “No, I don’t have a license.”

  “You know what that tells me?”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “What?”

  “It tells me you’re bored and you’re ready to get on with your life.”

  “I dunno.”

  “Oh, I think you know. What is it you want to do?”

  Emma laughed nervously. “Make money.”

  “How you gonna make money at fifteen?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Not workin’ at Walmart, that’s for sure. But c’mon, you’re a smart girl, and pretty. How you gonna make money?”

  “There’s nothing I can do to get the money I want.”

  “Sure there is. What if I told you I could get you paid two hundred dollars for thirty minutes’ work.”

  “Yeah, right. Doing what?”

  “You ever give a massage before?”

  “Gross. I’m not gonna give you a massage.”

  “I didn’t say it was for me. I’m too old. And a massage wouldn’t do me any good, anyhow. It would be for a friend of mine. He pays a Chinese lady a hundred bucks to give him a back massage, but I bet if I brought a pretty thing like you to his house he’d give you two hundred.”

  “That sounds like, super-perverted to me. Don’t they like, give handjobs?”

  “No, no, no. This is real massage therapy. The woman he’s got now has hands like Velcro from doing so much laundry. He’d appreciate your soft hands. And besides, how hard can it be to give a massage? You ever give one before?”

  Em turned her hands over in her lap and looked down at her soft, caramel-colored palms.

  “Think about it,” CB said. “My friend gets a massage almost every other day, so that’d be like eight hundred dollars a week, times four weeks… That’s three thousand dollars a month. How’s that sound for making money?”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “Wow. Really? He would pay that much?”

  “You give a good massage, maybe you could start seeing other people. Next thing you know, you’re opening a massage parlor on Main Street and you have people coming and going all day long. Two, three hundred dollars a pop. Maybe you even get some people to work for you. You have any friends that can give good massages? This guy even has commercial property in St. Andrews. I betcha he’d give you a good deal on rent.”

  “Just for a massage?”

  “Just for a massage.”

  Emma shimmied in her seat imagining the possibilities as CB looked at her in his rearview. Hook, line, and sinker, he thought, and he smiled for the first time in a very long while. “Listen,” he said pulling his wallet out from under his back pocket. “Why don’t I give you the money upfront just so you know I’m serious.”

  “Wait. You’re gonna give me two hundred dollars before I even see this guy?”

  “That’s how sure I am that he’s gonna think you’re perfect.” Carl spread the fifties and twenties on his lap. There was two hundred and fifty.

  “How do you know this guy again?”

  “I’m his driver”—he handed her the wad of money—“He’s the congressman of this district. Do you know what a congressman does?”

  Emma shook her head.

  “He’s a politician. He works in Washington, DC for the people of Michigan. So you know you can trust him.” Carl winked at her in the rearview.

  “There’s like, two hundred and fifty
dollars here.”

  “Keep the extra... You don’t mind if I drop you off at the turn-off, do you? I don’t want to get the car all muddy on the gravel road.”

  “No, that’s cool.”

  “I’m glad I bumped into you, Emma. Here’s my card”—He handed her his personal business cared—“But can I give you a bit of friendly advice?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “Don’t tell anyone about this until after you’ve met the congressman, okay?”

  “No problem,” she said and counted her money again.

  A RIDE INTO TOWN

  Ray opened the passenger side door to the sheriff Deputy’s SUV and sat beside his old buddy John Thomas.

  “You reliving your youth?” John asked nodding up at the trailer.

  “Very funny,” Ray said, trying to push the SUV’s computer mount away from his legs. “Do you know where the dude from the FBI is stayin’?”

  “I do, but I need to take you to the sheriff’s office to fill out a report,” John said putting the car in drive and navigated around the water-clogged potholes.

  “I can do that after,” Ray said. “This is more important.”

  “Then you shoulda called a taxi, I’m takin’ you downtown.”

  “I would’ve, but I don’t know where he’s at.”

  “If you ask nicely after we’ve finished, I can bring you.”

  “Lemme ask you something, and I want you to be straight with me.”

  “Shoot,” John said. “I ain’t got no secrets. Well, only a couple.”

  “I was at Frank Silver’s yesterday—”

  “No shit, how’d you get in?”

  “I was invited. But he said he knew I’d talked to you. Said you told him.”

  “And?” John asked.

  “Why the hell are you talkin’ to a crooked-ass politician for, and why’d you tell him I thought Sam and his nephew Alex were connected?”

  John sucked on his teeth, stalling. “I agree,” he finally said, “it don’t look good.”

  “Sure as shit, it don’t look good.”

  “But it was Bradley I told that to. He’s Frank’s personal lawyer. He’s also a closeted homosexual.”