Pull

by Claire Wallis

  “Did you do this, you motherfucker? If you did this, I swear to motherfucking God I’m going to kill your ass.”

  “What the fuck? No. No, I did not shoot Ray in the chest. Why the hell would I do that? Shit, man. That’s crazy.”

  “Damn right it is. Some crazy-ass motherfucker did this, and I’m gonna find out who. Do you know anything about this? ’Cause if you do, you’d better tell me right now.”

  I pause for a few long seconds before I answer, like I’m pretending to think.

  “Yes. I think I do.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” The pitch of his voice has risen to a prepubescent level. He sounds confused and perhaps even afraid. I’m pretty sure he thought I was going to say no. But I didn’t, and the surprise in his voice is almost comical.

  “Check Ray’s cell phone,” I say calmly. “Check his phone and see if he called Nikki’s place earlier today.”

  Xavier’s voice is silent, but I hear shuffling in the background. I hear quiet talking, only I can’t make out the words. A minute later, Xavier is back.

  “Yeah. He called Nikki. And right before that, you called him. Tell me whose ass is going down for this. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

  “He didn’t call Nikki. He called Franklin. Shit. I shouldn’t have told him what happened.” I inhale a deep breath, carefully lining up what I should say next.

  “What da fuck are you talking about, boy? You’d better keep talking. Right now. Say what you need to say.”

  “Ray sent me to Nikki’s place to get her ’cause she’s been MIA for a couple of days, and he needs her for Tuesday night’s game. He hadn’t seen her since Franklin beat her near to death last week. So when I got there, Franklin’s completely wasted. Shitfaced. He told me to go back to Ray and tell him that Nikki’s done and he ain’t getting her back. When I told Franklin I didn’t think that was a very smart idea, he swung at me. I fought back, but he’s a big fucking dude. My face is a damn wreck. When I finally got the hell out of there, I called Ray and told him what happened. I told him what Franklin said.”

  “And what did he say when you told him all that?”

  “Let’s just say he was not happy. He said he would take care of it. He said he would put Franklin, and Nikki, in their place. He must’ve called Franklin to chew him a new asshole.” I wait for a second, letting my words sink in, but when it’s clear that Xavier doesn’t get it, I add, “Maybe Franklin didn’t like that so much.”

  There is silence on the line. Then yelling.

  “Find Franklin Jones, you lazy cocksuckers. Find him. Now!”

  I hear movement on the other end of the line, then Xavier’s voice returns. This time there is calm behind his words.

  “Thanks for the information, man. We’ll see you Tuesday. We gonna follow through with the original plan. Expect nothing less.”

  Before I can say another word, the line goes dead. It’s over, and I’m left with a warm, contented feeling.

  Chapter 26

  David—Present Day

  I’m sitting on the arm of the couch, facing the door and waiting for her. Waiting for them. Brad should have her by now, and they should be well on their way. In fact, I’m surprised they aren’t here already. I feel like an impatient toddler. Where are they?

  I picture Emma sitting in the front seat of Brad’s Chevy staring out the window, her red hair hanging down over her shoulders, dog tags tucked under her shirt, warm against her skin. Her face is flushed, and she’s still dressed in her work clothes. Her body is curled over on itself like a big human question mark, wondering what the hell is going on. Wondering why Brad is bringing her here. Wondering why I wasn’t there at six o’clock to pick her up. Her brow is furrowed, her skin still searing with anger and confusion. In my head, she is glowing. Electric. Absolutely filled with energy at the exact moment in which she should be feeling the most powerless. But that’s her, isn’t it? That’s Emma. She’s charged and potent and strong when it matters the most. When most women would be a heap on the floor, she is glowing, filled with some kind of divine light, tossing a steady stream of nonverbal fuck yous out into the universe, telling it to go to hell. That is Emma. That is what I love. She is everything I love. All of it.

  After a few more minutes pass and my impatience crawls even closer to a discomforting level, I move from the arm of the couch to the recliner in the corner. I have the barrel of Emma’s gun shoved down the back of my jeans, the metal smooth against my skin. I took it from her nightstand before I left her place this morning, before I set my plan into motion. It’s a faster, steadier shot than my S&W, and I wanted to have it just in case things didn’t go as planned. I lean forward and pull it out of my jeans, tucking it down between the arm of the chair and the seat cushion. I’m thankful that I didn’t have to use the damn thing, but it was comforting to have it close at hand, just in case. I’m also thankful no one noticed it.

  I won’t leave it here. I’ll grab it before we go and tuck it back down into my pants without anyone seeing. I’ll have it back in the bottom drawer of Emma’s nightstand before she even knows it’s gone.

  I settle back into the recliner, my mind rolling over all the complexities of the day. I place a hefty mental bet on Xavier and the rest of Ray’s boys finding Franklin by morning. I hope the motherfucker suffers, just a little, for the way he treated Nikki. And for what he did to my face. And for the worry he caused Emma. I think they’ll make it quick, though, which in the end is probably for the better. I also wonder what they’ll do about Ray. If they call the police, they risk the whole ring getting busted. I place another hefty mental bet on them taking Ray’s body somewhere and leaving it to be discovered by a stranger. Or, they’ll bury him somewhere on their own. A private funeral of sorts, because there’s no way in hell they’re inviting the police into Ray’s office.

  It’s no matter to me, though, because I’m out of it now. I’m on to other things. On to making good on my promise to Clive. At least I think I am.

  I swallow down the curl of fear creeping out of my chest and up into my throat like some sort of sick smoke. I look at the clock on the microwave, staring at the numbers. A half hour has passed since I called my own cell phone and heard Emma’s frantic, recorded voice. They should have been here fifteen minutes ago. What’s taking them so long? I swear to God, if Brad tries something with her or if he’s done something to make them late, I will rip his fucking dick off. I soothe my spinning mind by reminding myself that there are lots of variables to be accounted for. A million reasons why they could be fifteen minutes late. Rush-hour traffic, an accident, car troubles. Maybe Emma wanted to change first. Or maybe Matt wouldn’t shut up and leave. Maybe they had to stop for gas. I know there are endless possibilities, but still…the improbable, yet sickening, notion that their absence might have something to do with Ray is filling my gut with a gush of unease.

  I’ll give them ten more minutes before I walk to Beacon Street to find Cameron and his cell phone, a phone that was long-ago programmed with Brad’s mobile number. A phone I can use to reach Emma. Ten more minutes.

  As I wait, I pull the little yellow, folded-over Emma out of my front pocket. She’s been in there all day, a constant reminder of what I am working for, a lucky charm of sorts. I rub her between my thumb and forefinger, habitually circling my fingers over her again and again as I wait. After another five minutes pass, I put her on the calloused flesh at the center of my palm and use my thumb to press and twist her until my hand is marked with red. A stigmata of my own suffering. Three more minutes.

  I transfer the tape to my other palm and twist it in harder as I feel the blood rising into my ears. An unfamiliar swell of fear soaks into me, and yet I don’t know exactly what it is I’m afraid of. They’re late, that’s all. The fear is nothing but my own imagination. My own doubt. Fuck that. There’s a reasonable explanation for their delay, I know there is, and yet, I’m afraid.

  Every step I took today was calculated and planned. Co
ntrolled. Except for Franklin’s delayed departure. That was out of my hands and look what it led to. Look at the chain of dominoes he managed to set off. Motherfucker. I take it back. I don’t hope he suffers a little. I hope he suffers a lot. I take a few deep breaths and rest my head against the back of the chair. One more minute.

  With my eyes on the digital numbers of the clock, I think about the backpack sitting at the bottom of my bedroom closet, the one with the missing square of fabric. The one I shouldn’t have, but do. When we are together again, after I apologize and explain what happened today, after I kiss her body and sink myself into her, I’m going to tell her about it. I’m going to show it to her. I’m going to make her understand. Her world is going to stop for a little while, but everything will be okay. I just need Brad to get her here. I just need this fear to go away.

  I wait an extra five minutes, tossing each second away as if it were a disposable, unimportant thing when, in fact, the exact opposite is true. Every second that passes is a very real, very bruising instant in which my fear grows larger by the width of a hair. By the time the “extra” five minutes have passed, I am about to explode. I reach down into the folds of the recliner and pull out the gun, tucking it back into my jeans as I stand. My little yellow talisman slides back into my front pocket, finding her familiar place at the cottony bottom. Safe and quiet.

  I open the door and walk out.

  Chapter 27

  Matt—Present Day

  No answer comes from the other side of the door.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, like a million miniature soldiers in formation. There’s a tight feeling in my chest, and I consider for a second that maybe I’m having a heart attack. Should I grab Emma and lock both of us in the bathroom? No, that’s ridiculous. And pussy. I should do something more manly than that. I should send her to the bathroom alone and tell her to lock the door. Then I should open her front door and kick the ass of whoever is out there, even if it is David. But before I can tell her to go hide, she looks over at me, sucks in a deep breath, and takes two more steps toward the door.

  “Who the fuck is it?” she yells again, this time a lot louder. Her voice is billowing with a shit-ton of confidence that I’m not sure she actually feels. I think about her titanium balls again and wish they were mine.

  “It’s Brad.”

  Thank God. It’s just Brad.

  All my muscles relax and relief coasts through me. Emma unclenches her jaw and the smallest of smiles touches her lips.

  “Coming,” she says loudly as she walks to the door. Then quietly, to me, she adds, “Maybe he knows where the fuck David is.”

  Emma takes a quick look out the peephole before she opens the door. Her glimpse through the tiny, round opening must confirm that Brad is indeed the person standing outside of her door because even before her hand hits the knob, she exhales slowly and settles her shoulders. It’s as if she’s already decided Brad has all the answers. I hope he does.

  “Hey,” he says, standing outside her door looking like a cocky son of a bitch.

  “Hey,” she says back, not moving from her place in the doorway. “Do you know where David is?”

  Before he answers, he sees me standing across the room. He looks at me for a minute as if he is silently questioning my presence. Then his eyes dart back and forth between my face and Emma’s. She’s flushed, and frankly so am I. I can only imagine what he’s thinking.

  “Why? What’s going on?” He pushes past Emma and walks into her living room, heading straight over to me.

  “He was supposed to pick me up after work, but he never showed up. Do you know where he is?” she says to Brad’s moving body. Her voice is sharp and intense.

  “Yeah. I know where he is.” By the time Brad is finished talking, he is standing right in front of me, his chest puffed with confidence, and his eyes at a half-squint. Emma is standing next to the door looking confused as hell.

  “Well?” she says, oblivious to the fact that, at the moment, Brad seems to want to beat me into a bloody lump just for existing. “Then where is he?”

  “He’s over at Cameron’s place. I’m supposed to take you over there.” His eyes look straight at me. He pauses for a second before adding, “I’m sorry. Did I interrupt something here?”

  Emma takes a moment to respond, but something in the air has changed. I think she finally recognizes what’s going on. In my peripheral vision, I see her body straighten. “Drop the bullshit, Brad. And the macho-dickhead thing you’ve got going on over there. For Christ’s sake. He just drove me home from work. He saved me a bus ride. And that’s all.”

  Brad’s eyes widen slightly, and he turns away from me and toward Emma.

  “Huh,” he says. “Is he coming to Cameron’s with us then, too?”

  Does Emma want me to come to Cameron’s with them? I’m trying to read the expression on her face. Trying to decide how she’s going to answer. Trying to decide if I should answer for her.

  “Yes,” I say out loud. “Yes, I’m coming with you to Cameron’s. But first you should tell us what’s going on.” Brad turns to me and smiles, shaking his head from side to side ever so slightly.

  “Well, aren’t you the knight in shining armor?” he says to me. “Again.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Brad,” Emma spits, walking over toward us and stopping next to him. “Why is David at Cameron’s? And why didn’t he answer his phone?”

  Brad shrugs casually, obviously unaffected by Emma’s rebuke. “He said it’s broken. He called me from some pizza place across town and asked me to come over here and make sure you’re okay. Had I known Sir Lancelot here was taking such good care of you, I wouldn’t have rushed.”

  I sneer at him but keep my mouth shut.

  “He wants to meet us over at Cam’s place for some reason,” Brad continues. “He says he’ll explain everything when we get there. That’s all I know.”

  Emma turns to me, her eyes and voice softening. “Thanks for driving me home, but you don’t have to come with us. Really. I mean, you’re welcome to come, but don’t feel like you need to babysit me or something.”

  Babysit? Is she serious?

  “You’re the last person on this Earth to need a babysitter. Seriously. I’m happy I could be here for you and bring you home, but now I’m just curious about what’s up with David. I won’t go with you guys to Cam’s if you don’t want me to.”

  “Okay.” Her eyes are soft and her lips are curled into a sweet, appreciative half-smile. “Maybe you’d better just go home. I appreciate everything, and I promise to tell you what’s up with David tomorrow at work. But I think I’d better just go with Brad.”

  “That’s cool,” I say, squelching my disappointment and worry. “You’re sure?” I question one final time, tilting my head slightly to the side and pursing my lips and brow. She grins back at me for an instant before turning to grab her purse.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Well then, let’s end this little play date and go find out what that man’s been up to,” Brad says as he walks to the door.

  When his back is to us, Emma turns to me again, smiles softly, and dips her chin in a series of short, quick nods. She’s assuring me that this is what she wants. Everything is going to be alright, and there’s no need for me to worry. But for some reason, it doesn’t reassure me. It confuses me. It makes me wonder what she’s hiding.

  We walk out of the building together, and from the front seat of my car, I watch Emma slide into Brad’s Chevy. Part of me wants to run over and remind her that she can always call me if she needs anything, but I don’t think I can handle another Sir Lancelot reference from Brad. So instead, I sit in my car and watch them drive off. I’m left hoping that neither Emma’s brother nor the gangster dude with the gold rabbit teeth has anything to do with why David let her down.

  Once again, I hope he hasn’t screwed himself out of his own happily-ever-after.

  Chapter 28

  After Jenny


  I am standing on the bridge trusses looking down at my own hands. My calloused palms are steady and composed, just like they are when I’m watching television or driving my truck. I’m waiting for the rush of pleasure to sink in and rattle through my bones. I’m waiting for the flood of adrenaline to pump out of my heart and set my body on fire. I’m waiting to feel epic again. Like I did the last time. Like I did after Elizabeth.

  But epic doesn’t come. Because this time is different.

  Maybe it’s different because I wasn’t mad at Jenny like I was at Elizabeth. Maybe it’s different because Jenny was not self-righteous or smug or demeaning like Kelsey. Jenny was nothing more than a disordered and distracted addict who was no better—or worse—than me. Jenny never made me feel inferior. She never lied to me. She never invited herself into my life only to turn around and judge the shit out of it. Maybe it’s different because I really didn’t want to push her. Not today, anyway. I had no rope, no premeditation, no desire. Not at first, anyway.

  We’ve sat on these bridge trusses more times than I can count. Yes, I’ve thought about the day this might happen. Yes, I’ve anticipated the pleasure of its possibility—how could I not? And yes, I’ve looked out over the river and considered how and when it would happen. In fact, I’ve looked forward to it since the day Jenny first said “I love you,” and I replied, “You shouldn’t.” But I didn’t think it would be today. And I sure as hell didn’t think it would happen in a moment of sadness.

  I’m not impulsive. Things like this require planning and summation. They should not be brash and reckless. But today…today they were. Today, my brain seems to have temporarily swapped some sort of idiotic emotion for control. Though I still wholly manipulated and directed every word and movement, my brain and body were hasty. Greedy, even, in the actual act of pushing her. It wasn’t time. I wasn’t ready. But the alien and searing unfamiliarity of sadness caught me by surprise and made me act with more impulsiveness than I have since I was a child.