Twisted

by Steve Cavanagh

  Her mom rushed toward him. Instantly Maria felt glad. Her mom was going to save him, and then, a second later, she felt regret. Her father wasn’t going to change. He would get his footing back, and then give them both the beating of their lives.

  ‘Get him away, Mommy!’ shouted Maria.

  ‘Bastard,’ said Maria’s mom, and pushed him.

  He fell twelve stories.

  And they were happier for it.

  The autopsy showed he was loaded with booze and heroin, and the cops bought the story of him falling out of the window. They didn’t give a shit about a deadbeat junkie.

  In the months that followed, Maria sometimes wondered if her mom was going to save him. What would have happened if she hadn’t cried out like that? Her mom told her she was glad Maria said it. That she was going to push him anyway, but she was glad nonetheless. When her mom told her this, she didn’t look Maria in the eye. She spoke slowly and deliberately over the clicks of her knitting needles, and was always quick to change the subject.

  With his life insurance policy payout, Maria and her mom had the best year of their lives – they didn’t need to worry about money. Maria could not think of a happier time.

  And here she was again, with another selfish bastard.

  If she couldn’t get the money in a divorce, there had to be another way to get it. She was no chump. She was on to this cold bastard, and he didn’t know it yet. Maria wanted to go home, pack a bag and leave town with Daryl. She could persuade him. She knew she could persuade him to do anything. She would leave Paul behind. Let him keep his money.

  And yet the hurt remained.

  And not just the pain. The fear of starting all over again, with no money, and a partner who barely made his rent through waiting tables, surfing and diving lessons. She had given up her career, such as it was. There was no work for her in Port Lonely other than waiting tables or popping beer bottle caps and pouring bourbon in a Port Lonely bar. Her tears came again, and she felt afraid. Was it worth risking her security for a chance to be happy with Daryl, with a man who really loved her? Paul wouldn’t leave her hungry, but at the same time, he had hidden a great wealth and would have kept it from her for the rest of her life. She was certain of that.

  Maria hit her turn signal, and slowly pulled over onto the shoulder. She stopped the car. The rain fell hard now. It was a deafening sound as it hammered the roof of the car. Maria gave in to the tears. She needed to let it out. The car shook from Maria’s sobbing, and the relentless pounding of the rainstorm.

  She would be happy with Daryl, but terribly afraid of where the next dollar would come from. A perilous existence beckoned with him, one that she didn’t know if she could get through, no matter how much they loved each other. On the other hand, Paul and security and a miserable loneliness.

  Perhaps there was a way for her to have Daryl, and some kind of financial security. To ask her to make such a choice seemed unfair to Maria.

  There had to be a way to have both.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Paul paced the first floor of his office in Port Lonely. He stopped every few seconds when he heard a car outside and gazed down to the street through the wooden blinds. His office also overlooked the marina. The chop bobbed the boats moored at both piers. Radio said a storm front would arrive at four o’clock. The wind was sure picking up. The waves were gaining height and the sky looked dark with the promise of rain. It was almost four.

  A gray Cadillac pulled up outside. A woman with long blonde hair got out of the driver’s seat and gazed up at the window.

  Josephine Schneider. Paul drew away from the window and heard the intercom buzz. He pressed the button to open the door downstairs. He never locked his office door. There was nothing below him on the ground floor, only the entrance and a staircase. The store below him had its own entrance and no access to this floor. It had long ago closed down – a 7-Eleven. Paul bought it and shut it a year ago. He wanted quiet when he was working.

  Josephine’s boots thumped up the stairs. She always wore knee-high leather boots. It was kind of her thing. She came through the door in a cloud of Christian Dior perfume and flowing blonde hair. She kissed him on the cheek, and they hugged. He was always surprised by the strength of her embrace. Releasing him, she stood back, looked him up and down and said, ‘You haven’t been eating, sweetie.’

  ‘I’m fine, Josephine. Well, actually, I’m pretty far from fine, but it’s nothing to do with my weight.’

  ‘Oh, darling, what a total nightmare,’ she said.

  Moving past him, Josephine dumped a white shopping bag by the couch in his office, followed by her handbag and then her gray cashmere coat. As usual, she was dressed for all occasions. Black skirt, black leather boots, dark blouse.

  Keeping a secret was like holding on to a weight. Paul had only ever shared his secret with one other person – Josephine. She didn’t know the whole story, but she knew enough. As Paul’s literary agent, she had to know. And being able to share that secret with one other person had helped to lighten that burden, just a fraction.

  ‘Thank you for coming down. I … there’s no one else I can talk to about this.’

  Waving a hand at Paul, Josephine tutted. He didn’t hear her over the jangle of the gold bracelets on her wrist.

  ‘Darling, you’re my most important client. And this is a mess. Of course I’m going to be here.’

  Josephine had been raised in a wealthy family on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and she sounded like it – perfect pitch with a hint of sarcasm underlying the tone. And when she spoke her hands did the same amount of work as her mouth. Long pink fingernails flashed and stabbed at the air with almost every syllable.

  As Paul spoke he massaged his temples, using his index finger and thumb. He often did this. His skull doubled as a stress ball.

  ‘Just tell me what happened,’ said Josephine.

  He told her about the break-in at the house. Maria being assaulted by the intruder. His private desk broken up – maybe important documents missing, notes or at worst a bank statement. And then the note that had been left on his windshield.

  ‘You’re right on the money. Someone has tracked you down. How much does Maria know?’ she said.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Paul.

  ‘Nothing? Like, nothing? You’ve never told her?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘My God, I mean, it’s your marriage and everything but I thought when you got hitched and moved out here you would tell her,’ said Josephine, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead. She reached for her bag, took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one and then offered one to Paul.

  He made a point of not smoking in this office. Occasionally he lit up a cigarette in his study at home, but he’d been trying to cut down and he knew if he started smoking in this room he wouldn’t stop. He’d have the place smelling like a 1930s jazz club in a week. All the same, he didn’t stop Josephine, and took the cigarette she offered. He needed one to calm down. Lighting him up with the same gold-plated lighter, Josephine settled into the couch and waited for an answer. Paul took a drag on the cigarette and paced as he talked.

  ‘I didn’t tell her because I love her. In the beginning I couldn’t tell her. I didn’t know her. As we got closer I thought about it. By then it was too late. Plus, it’s too dangerous. What if she let it slip someday, by accident. Or worse, on purpose.’

  ‘What did you tell her you do for a living?’

  ‘I told her I was a marketing consultant. Good excuse to get out of the house and write. I tell her I’m meeting clients. Then I can go out on the boat, or come here.’

  ‘She doesn’t know about this place?’

  ‘No. I’d like to keep it that way. Maria has everything that she needs. I make sure of that. If I’d told her she would’ve wanted to use some of the money. I know she would. That kind of spending draws attention. May as well hang a sign outside the house. Maria likes to spend money, too. It’s important to her. She likes having financial secu
rity. Something to do with her past, I guess. She grew up poor.’

  They fell into silence. Just the pop and breath of smoke breaking on their lips, and the sound of Paul’s heels on the floorboards.

  ‘Two things I need to know. How did this get out in the first place? And second, what the hell am I gonna do about it?’ said Paul, fixing Josephine with a stare as he spoke.

  ‘I sincerely hope that wasn’t an accusation,’ said Josephine.

  The thought had crossed his mind.

  ‘You don’t trust me? After everything we’ve been through?’ said Josephine.

  She hadn’t been through all of it. Not like Paul.

  She wasn’t responsible for the lives that had been taken. She had no idea what that was like. He’d kept some things from her. For obvious reasons.

  ‘Do you have any new staff? Any new computer systems? Any cyber attacks?’ said Paul.

  Josephine acted not only as Paul’s literary agent, but as a buffer. The money coming from LeBeau Enterprises would be lifted by Paul, in cash, in person, and filtered through his client account at Schneider and Associates. The tax advantages alone made Josephine’s fifteen percent cut worthwhile.

  ‘No. There’s just no way. All your information is stored on my laptop. No one has the password for that laptop but me. It’s my secure workspace. My work goes through my office computer. That laptop is for our business alone. It’s on a private network with my machine as the only device. It’s totally secure.’

  ‘Then how the hell is it that I’ve been found after all this time?’ said Paul.

  Josephine crossed her legs, dropped the butt of her cigarette into a coffee cup and blew out a plume of smoke as she said, ‘Don’t ask me. I’m here because we had planned for this day. I’m going to get you out of here. Get you somewhere safe. I’ve got your seed money in my bag. Twenty grand. Should be enough to get you started someplace else.’

  ‘What’s the point of running if I don’t know how I got tracked down in the first place? Someone has been talking, Josephine. Someone at your agency. I don’t know who, but it had to come from somewhere.’

  ‘That’s not possible. There must have been some other leak along the chain. The bank?’

  Like a coin that had been spun on a table, the rotations in Paul’s head were slowing down – the coin wobbling, then falling over and settling still and flat. Paul’s breath returned, his nerve endings dulled.

  It could have been the bank. He shouldn’t jump to conclusions. There was really only one way to tell for sure.

  ‘I’m going to take the emergency cash you brought, and I’m going to disappear. Don’t take it personally, but I’m not going to tell anyone where I’m going. That okay with you?’

  ‘Fine by me, but what about Maria?’ said Josephine.

  ‘If I go, she should be fine. I’m the target.’

  Josephine sighed, gave him a look that made him feel ten years old.

  ‘No, Paul. I meant, what the hell are you going to tell Maria? You’re married to this girl, remember?’

  Their wedding day had been a small affair. Courthouse wedding. One guest. Maria had one friend who acted as bridesmaid and witness. He didn’t think she had seen her since. A meal in a high-class restaurant afterward. No speeches, no confetti, no fuss. Just the way he liked it. Paul felt close to Maria. Closer than he was to any other human being. And yet still there was distance. Distance that he’d created and maintained.

  ‘I have to leave. I can’t take her with me. We’d be too easy to track. She has access to the domestic account – there’s close to twenty grand or so. And she has the house. When I get clear I’ll find a way to send her some more money. The house is worth four hundred thou, so I’ll clear the mortgage and send her an extra hundred grand. That should be enough for anyone.’

  ‘She won’t have you,’ said Josephine.

  ‘She never really had me to begin with. I’m not sure anyone can. She won’t have to watch her back for the rest of her life either. I love her as much as I can love anyone, and I couldn’t bear it if something happened to her. She can’t be involved in this. It’s too dangerous,’ said Paul.

  ‘I understand, but that’s cold. You should tell her.’

  He rounded on Josephine, an edge to his voice now. ‘Tell her what? That she never really knew the man she married? And by the way – goodbye forever? I can’t—’

  ‘She deserves an explanation.’

  ‘I’ve given her all I can. I can’t tell her. No one can know.’

  Josephine sighed.

  ‘When are you gonna split?’

  ‘Tomorrow. I need time to clean up a few things then I’m gone. I’ll call again before I go. You need to do a full sweep of your office. I know you don’t want to but just indulge me, okay?’

  Raising her hands in defeat, Josephine said, ‘I’ll check things out my end, but I don’t think anyone got to you though me. There’s no way.’

  He was going to go home. To plan. To pack. Tomorrow he was going to walk away from his life and everything in it. He told himself Maria would be okay, in time. He would leave her a note saying she would be safer without him. Probably happier too. Paul had felt her drifting away from him in the last few months. A cold, invisible mist hung between them. This may have been his fault for being away so much. The effect of his absence was not increasing her affection toward him. It was doing the opposite. Perhaps neither of them was suited to this marriage.

  When he’d first met Maria, he had been sure she was the woman he’d always dreamed of. The one. There had been others before her whom he’d imbued with that same messianic title. And sure enough they’d proven themselves to be false prophets, with one exception, but she was gone now. And part of Paul went with her. He didn’t think he could love again, until he met Maria. He knew it then, and he still felt it now. Perhaps he’d changed. He knew she had changed. The move to Port Lonely had been jarring. She loved the house, and the beach, but hated the town. She couldn’t seem to appreciate it in the way Paul did. She didn’t see the richness of character in the people. Maria saw only that there was no mall, no nightclubs, everything shut around ten-thirty, including the bars, and she couldn’t walk along the street without everyone believing she was an outsider.

  Which she was, of course. The chill that had accompanied her classification didn’t add to the charm of the place for her. She wanted to leave in the first month. Paul wouldn’t let her, and that day he saw in her, for the first time, the look of incredulity. She couldn’t believe he wanted to stay in Port Lonely. Paul had spent a little time there, some years before, with a woman he had been seeing. It was special to her, and so it became special to Paul. When he was in the town he somehow felt close to his old self. Maybe that had made him disconnect from Maria, somehow. The rift began not long after they moved here. And in the months that followed the tear in the corner of their relationship began to widen with his work, and distance and time itself. Maybe he was only speeding up the inevitable.

  Yes, we weren’t going to last anyway, he told himself.

  Every exotic bird has to leave the cage at some stage, otherwise it’s cruel.

  Paul could be cruel. He had to be to survive with his secret intact. He would let his little bird of paradise go free no matter how much it hurt him.

  There was simply no other way.

  Josephine stood, straightened out her outfit and left an envelope filled with cash on the couch.

  ‘I guess that’s it then. I should go. You have a lot to plan,’ she said.

  He walked her down the stairs to the front door. There was a camera on the wall to the right of the door. He checked it. The screen showed both sides of the street. A few cars were parked along the curb. A few that Paul recognized. He was used to the local cars now. Always kept an eye out to see who was in the neighborhood. If he saw a car that he didn’t recognize in the street more than once he would make a note of the license plate. Usually within a week or two he would figure out who the car belonge
d to. And then all was well again.

  He only gave the camera a quick glance. Nothing suspicious on the street this time.

  Paul opened the door, and the rain hit them both full in the face. From her bag, Josephine produced an umbrella, spread it open and began to wrestle with it in the doorway as it was caught by gusts of wind. Taking hold of her arm, and helping to steady the umbrella, Paul walked out with Josephine, turned a corner and headed for the rental car parked just off Marina Street.

  In some ways he felt like a kid escorting a benevolent aunt to her car after Thanksgiving.

  Josephine had promised to look after him. And she’d made good on that promise. Here she was, in a flash, with emergency money and a smile.

  The umbrella bowed and swayed in the blustery shower, and didn’t provide much cover. Josephine unlocked the car with the fob key, and the lights flashed through the rain. She opened the driver’s door, threw her bag in the car, collapsed the umbrella. She gave Paul a hug.

  ‘Be careful. And don’t worry about delivering the next book for a while. Get settled somewhere then let me know you’re okay. Take a week. Then get writing. That’s what you’re good at,’ said Josephine. She cupped his face in one hand, kissed him lightly on the cheek, then got in the car. Paul closed her door. Watched her drive away and then went back inside, out of the rain.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Maria drove through the tears and the rain.

  When she drove past the sign that read ‘Welcome to Port Lonely’ she wondered how she’d gotten back so quickly. Her mind had been filled with so many turbulent thoughts that she had little or no memory of the drive. She’d gotten there on autopilot.

  Her throat hurt from crying. She pulled over at the gas station, bought some cigarettes and a Diet Coke and then drove to the marina. The Coke helped her throat. It was cold and soothing. Cracking the window, she lit a cigarette, took a drag and felt the burn again at the back of her throat. She washed the pain away with more soda. Fat pearls of rain dripped into the car from the open window, spreading dark pools of water droplets across the knee and thigh of her jeans.