by Lukens, Mark
Matt smiled at Gina. “We made it.”
They ran to the car, wasting no time.
Matt tried the door handle on the driver’s side—it was unlocked. He opened the door and sat down inside. Gina got in on the passenger side.
Matt stuck the key into the ignition, it slid in easily. He smiled at Gina. They had won. They had beaten the hunter.
He started the car. It roared to life. He turned the knob for the headlights and they bathed the garage doors in light.
“See if there’s a garage door opener,” Matt said. If they couldn’t find one, maybe there was one on the wall, but they would need a code. God, they couldn’t get this far and get stuck inside the garage. He thought he might ram the door with the car if he needed to.
Gina looked around in the car. She didn’t find a garage door opener, but she found something almost as good: a cell phone. She held it up to Matt in triumph, and she allowed herself her first smile in a long time.
She turned the phone on and it lit up, coming to life. They could call the police now. They could be saved.
She pushed the number nine. Then the number one.
Matt watched Gina punching the numbers on the phone and he felt like something was wrong. He thought of the other booby traps in the house. And he thought of the fakes inside the house. Nothing was what it seemed in this place.
He grabbed the phone out of her hand before she could press the number one again.
She stared at him in shock. “What are you doing?”
Matt didn’t answer. He took the phone with him and got out of the car.
Gina got out and looked at him over the top of the car, its motor still purring. “Matt?”
“Get away from the car, Gina.”
Gina didn’t question him; she ran away from the car and caught up with Matt as he backed away, the cell phone still in his hand.
“Come on,” Matt said and he led her to the back of the garage. There was a short block wall where some empty garbage cans were stacked up behind it. They pushed the cans out of the way and crouched down behind the wall.
“I just wanted to check something,” Matt said as he stared at the car, its headlights still on and pointed at the garage door, its motor still rumbling. “I hope I’m wrong.”
Matt pressed the number one on the phone, completing 911.
The car exploded.
Matt and Gina dove behind the block wall and they could hear and feel shrapnel from the car pelting the block wall. But they were safe.
It had been one last trap.
The sprinklers in the garage turned on a moment later, showering water down onto the massive sea of concrete and the burning wreckage of the car.
They stood up and stared at the twisted piece of metal that used to be a car. And then they looked at the garage door that had been blown open from the explosion, snow already drifting inside as the black smoke from the car poured out into the cold air.
“How did you know?” Gina whispered.
Matt shook his head. “I don’t know … but that’s our way out.”
Matt still had the phone in his hand, and he heard a squawking sound coming from it. He held it up to his ear and he heard a woman’s impatient voice on the other end. “911. What’s your emergency?”
The phone still worked. It just sent a signal to the bomb in the car, but it still worked. Of course, Matt thought, the phone was supposed to be inside the car when the bomb went off.
Matt raised the phone up to his ear and told the 911 operator that a man had tried to kill them and now he was dead. He told her there were a lot of bodies in the house. He told her that he wasn’t sure exactly where they were calling from, but he knew it was a mansion that belonged to a man named Mr. Crow.
• • •
As night fell, fire and police worked the scene. Two news vans were there at the edge of the property, as close as the police would let them get. Two reporters stood in front of their cameramen as they broke the story of possible bodies inside the mansion of the elusive Mr. Crow.
Matt and Gina waited by a detective’s car. His name was Detective Wilson, and he had asked them over and over again what had happened. They told him the same story every time.
The fires had been put out and cops rolled out police tape.
Matt and Gina huddled underneath the wool blanket the detective had given them from the trunk of his car. Matt held a thermos of hot coffee—another gift from Detective Wilson. They shivered more from relief than from the cold.
They looked at each other. “I love you,” Matt said.
“I love you, too.”
They kissed. “I’m sorry about all of this,” Matt told her when he pulled away. “I’m sorry we never got the money.”
“At least we still have the five thousand.”
Matt’s eyes widened in surprise.
“It’s stuffed down in my pants. It’s a little wet from the sprinklers, but I think it will still spend.”
Matt hugged her again, but he was still careful with her, careful with their child inside. “God, I love you. I want to start over.”
“Me too,” Gina said into his shoulder, tears in her eyes. “I think I know where we can go.”
5.
STARTING OVER
Tallahassee, Florida—Three months later
Gina had contacted her Aunt Nell in Florida and told her about the baby on the way. She had never been close to most of her family, but she loved her Aunt Nell. She never wanted to ask her for help before, but now they had enough money to move down there and start a new life.
But Aunt Nell insisted that they stay with her until the baby was born. And then after that, they could stay with her as long as they wanted to. She told Gina that she was a lonely woman. Her husband had left years ago, and good riddance. She knew she would never live with another man again. And truthfully, she enjoyed having Gina and Matt around, she enjoyed their company.
Matt found a job with a lawn crew—he could work nearly year round down here in the Florida heat. He was out working right now.
Matt seemed like a different man after what they’d been through. He was stronger and more responsible. He was the same old lovable Matt, always smiling and always kidding around, but he was still different.
And Gina supposed she was different in a way, too.
Besides the five thousand dollars Mr. Yates had given them, they had made a little extra money giving interviews on a few TV shows and magazines. They’d even been approached by a literary agency to write a book about their experience—the agency would provide a ghostwriter for them. It was an idea, and Gina thought about doing it, but she wasn’t so sure if she was quite ready to relive the experience just yet and tell the story.
For now she was happy being down here in the warm weather with the two people she loved most in the world, and her baby on the way—a girl they were informed during her last sonogram.
Aunt Nell washed up some dishes from lunch.
“Let me help you with those, Aunt Nell,” Gina said.
“Nonsense. You just rest.”
Gina smiled and gave up—she knew by now that she wasn’t going to win this argument with her aunt.
Nell looked at Gina. “You get enough to eat?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Remember, you’re eating for two.”
Gina smiled and nodded. She rested a hand on her large belly.
The phone rang and Gina was up to get it.
“I can get it,” Nell said, her hands full of bubbles from the dishwater.
“Let me do something,” Gina laughed as she picked up the phone and said hello.
“Hello, Gina,” a voice spoke into her ear—a voice she recognized, a voice she’d heard in her nightmares. She stiffened at the sound of Mr. Yates’s breath in her ear.
Nell watched her niece. “What’s wrong?”
Gina didn’t answer her aunt. She took the cordless phone out of the kitchen and walked into the living room. She stood in front of
the picture window that looked out onto the neat lawn that stretched out to the street where a black Lincoln was parked in front of the house.
“What do you want?” Gina whispered.
“You didn’t complete the job,” Mr. Yates whispered in her ear. “You didn’t hold up your end of the deal. I told you I’d come back.”
The black Lincoln pulled away.
Gina stood in the middle of the living room, staring out the window, the phone still clutched in her hand, still up to her ear.
There was a click as the line went dead.
FEBRUARY
FEARS OF TORTURE
February. Valentine’s Day. The month of love. This is a story of a couple who fell out of love, and it’s a story with a very different twist on the hitman and an assassination.
Joyce arrived at the restaurant at ten o’clock as instructed. The world outside was wet from the recent freezing rains and the city smelled about as refreshed as it could get. She glanced around before pulling the door open. She felt like someone might be watching her or even following her.
But she didn’t see anyone watching her.
Maybe her nerves were just getting to her.
Relax, Joyce. Breathe in and out. You’re just nervous.
And she had every reason to be nervous.
She had experienced some second thoughts over the last few days since setting up this appointment with Mr. Savantino. But when she made herself think about things rationally, she knew this was the way it had to be.
She took a breath and pulled the door open.
A tall, thin man in a tuxedo met her as soon as she stepped into the dark, cozy lobby. The lighting was low and the décor tasteful and expensive.
“I’m here to see Mr. Savantino,” Joyce told the man in the tux. “I have a meeting with him.”
“Of course,” he answered. He took her coat and folded it over his arm. “Please follow me.”
The man led Joyce through the restaurant, where only a few patrons were still dining, to a private room set off from the dining area in the back. He gestured at Joyce to enter and she stepped inside the lavish room which had a large table and eight chairs around it.
Mr. Savantino sat at the head of the table, a hulk of a man squeezed into a suit and tie. His face was large and red, and he smiled at her.
“Mrs. Corbett,” he said as he rose to meet her.
She gave him a tight smile as she approached him. He took her hand in both of his in greeting. He had large hands and he seemed so careful with her, like he might crush her bones if he squeezed too hard.
Joyce sat down at the table.
“Anything to drink, Mrs. Corbett?” he asked. “Some hot tea or coffee? Perhaps something a little stronger?”
“Some tea would be nice,” she said.
The thin man in the tux seemed to materialize from nowhere. He nodded and walked away, sliding the doors to the room shut behind him as he left the room.
She looked at Mr. Savantino. “Please, Mr. Savantino, call me Joyce.”
“And please call me Frank.”
“Okay,” she answered and swallowed hard.
Frank Savantino sipped something from a small cup and then set it back on a saucer with the slightest of clinks. The cup looked tiny in his meaty hands.
“I know you’re probably nervous, Joyce. If you need more to time to think about it, I’ll understand. It’s a big decision.”
“No. I’m ready.”
“I just want you to be sure. Once things are set in motion, they can’t be stopped.”
“I’m sure,” Joyce said.
The door slid open and the man in the tux was back with Joyce’s tea which was served on a saucer with lemon, sugar cubes, and a small metal pitcher of milk. The man placed a container of artificial sweetener packets next to the tea after he set it down on the table in front of her.
“Thanks,” Joyce said.
The tuxedoed man nodded and he was off, sliding the doors closed again to give them privacy.
Joyce sipped her tea. Her throat felt so dry and her heart was beating too fast.
“It’s perfectly safe to talk here,” Frank said. “The glass in all of the windows is thick and impervious to directional microphones. The restaurant, and especially this room, is swept daily by hand for listening devices. Plus we have electronic devices that can detect electronic and video equipment even if it’s smuggled in. I’m not sure how it works; I just know that it does.”
Joyce sipped her tea and nodded.
“You don’t have to be afraid to say anything here,” Frank went on. “I would be the last person you would have to worry about going to the cops. But I will tell you two things so we can be honest with each other. You have been thoroughly checked out. Everyone I meet here is given a background check. No surprises that way. Two, I will be recording this conversation, not just for my protection, but it also helps me remember the details without having to jot them down or bother you again. Do you understand all of this?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then we should get started with the details so I don’t hold you up too long. If you have any questions, please feel free to interrupt. But in the meantime, I have a few questions for you.”
“Okay.” She sipped her tea again. So thirsty.
“Are you sure you want this, Joyce?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she answered without hesitation. “The divorce is coming, I’m sure of it now. I know he’s seeing other women. He doesn’t even try to hide it anymore. And with all of the prenuptial agreements, I won’t get any of the money after the divorce no matter who institutes it.”
“Seems like steep prenup agreements.”
“Yes, well a long time ago I was young, dumb, and in love. I thought … he made me feel like it would last forever.”
“Ah, love,” Frank said, and for a moment his face softened.
“Anyway,” Joyce continued, “I want you to know that I am sure about this.”
“Okay. On to the next questions. What kind of shape is Mr. Corbett in? Health wise.”
“Not the best. He’s fifty-five. Overweight. He has high blood pressure. He’s always stressing himself out. He worries too much. He smokes two packs a day. He drinks bourbon at night to help him sleep. And he never exercises.”
“Does he own a gun?”
“Yes. It’s a pistol. A forty-five, I think. An automatic.”
“Where does he keep it?”
“Beside the bed.”
“Loaded?”
“I think so.”
“And that’s all?”
“I think so. I’ve looked around the house and I never saw any other weapons.”
Frank paused like he was thinking things over for a moment. Then he nodded. “You understand how this whole thing works?”
“Yes.”
“I need his fears.”
Joyce nodded.
“Once you give me his fears, I’ll set a plan in action. Like I said before, once it’s in motion, no one can stop it. And it won’t be in your best interest to interfere.”
“Yes.”
“You understand that you will have to help in certain areas. With alarms, locks, house plans.”
Joyce nodded and pulled a large envelope out of her purse. She handed the packet to Frank.
“The gate code to the property is in there. The alarm codes to the house, but I’ll have them turned off. The house plans are in there, too.”
“Okay,” Frank said and smiled. But his smile didn’t seem so friendly anymore. “Tell me his fears.”
Joyce sighed. “He has this recurring nightmare. Guys dressed in black clothing and masks break into our house and tie us down. They torture us. He usually wakes up sweating and groaning. He tells me that he feels so helpless in the dream. He’s always had a fear of not being able to save me. Or anyone else. He has a deep fear of too much responsibility. I think that’s why we never had any children.”
Frank leaned forward, and she saw a savage
light dancing in his dark eyes. “Did he ever describe the torture in his dreams?”
“Yes,” Joyce croaked out and drank the rest of her tea. And then she explained everything to Frank.
Thirty minutes later she left the restaurant. It felt so good to be outside even though the night air was freezing. She felt like she could finally breathe again.
• • •
Tonight was the night.
Joyce had turned the security alarm back off after coming down to the kitchen for a glass of water. She unlocked the locks on the kitchen door that led out to the garage. She already made sure that the side door of the garage was unlocked. They didn’t have a dog, so that was something they didn’t have to worry about.
The meeting with Frank Savantino replayed through Joyce’s mind over the last few days. She had her instructions memorized, but she still couldn’t help feeling nervous. She had unloaded the pistol just as Frank had instructed. He told her how to do it and it was easier than she expected. But if things went as Frank had planned then Richard would never have a chance to go for his gun.
She climbed the stairs and went back into their bedroom. Richard was sitting up in bed, his back against pillows stuffed against the headboard. He watched TV with a glass of iced bourbon in his hand, the ice clinking against the side of the glass. The large room smelled of stale cigarette smoke and dry heat from the vents.
“Good night, Richard,” she said as she pecked him on the cheek. She walked around the foot of the bed and lay down on her side of the bed. She lay on her side, facing the wall, watching the lightshow from the TV dancing on the wall. Richard chuckled at some late night talk show host.
There had been a time not too long ago when Richard would’ve turned the TV off and rolled over to caress her. Or at least talk to her. But those things didn’t happen anymore. With his little mistresses, he didn’t need her anymore.
Joyce listened as Richard’s breathing grew heavy. He needed some kind of light to go to sleep, the TV or a lamp; he needed something, like his alcohol, to rock him to sleep like a baby. She lay there listening as his heavy breathing turned to soft snores.