Jerry checked the backroom. The place was empty. All the customers and staff had gone. He’d had the boss’s okay to close the club at ten since he wouldn’t be there to keep an eye on things. Jerry went up to Micah’s office to make certain everything was in its proper place. He turned off the lights and locked the door. By the time he returned to the kitchen, the dishwasher had finished up. Jerry took a look at the parking lot. The boy’s car was gone.
Jerry walked through the restaurant one last time, checking and rechecking. He locked the cash into the safe just like he did every night. He made sure the two deadbolts on the door in the rear of the supply room were locked, the door that led to another room where shipments of cocaine and heroin were stored briefly before they were sent on. Park City was merely a way station. Nobody suspected hard drugs in Utah and the boss liked the isolation—at least he used to like the isolation.
Jerry turned out the lights, double-checked the front door, pulled on his wool overcoat and stepped out the back door. He locked it behind him. He’d parked his car in the same spot he parked every day. The night was quiet, the air cold and crisp. He’d deliberately worn his Boston Celtics jersey tonight, joking with some of the waiters about the team’s playoff prospects.
To all intents and purposes, his rental house was the same as it had always been, as if he expected to return tonight. He’d left the porch light on, clothes in the dryer, dishes soaking in the sink and leftovers in the fridge. He hadn’t touched any of the money in his account in the small savings bank in Park City. It didn’t matter. He’d already stashed most of his cash in a bank in Tijuana in his cousin’s name. Aside from his wallet and keys Jerry brought two items with him, an old blue blanket he’d kept in his trunk for years and a hunting knife stashed in his spare tire compartment. He deliberately hadn’t washed his car in months and his license plate was filthy. Now all he had to do was get the hell out of Park City and stay under the speed limit.
If it was at all possible, he would have brought Cara with him, but that would get her killed. He didn’t doubt that. Someday he’d check on her, make sure she was all right. Over the past week, he’d learned that Cara was a lot tougher than he’d thought. Jerry was counting on her to be a survivor because she was on her own. He’d done as much for her as he dared.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Hello?” Cara made her voice sound hoarse, raspy, as if she’d been awakened from a deep sleep.
“Where the hell is he?” Micah was furious.
“Sorry, what? Micah? What is it?”
“That fuck, Jerry! Where the hell is he? I’ve been waiting here for thirty goddamn minutes.”
“Where . . . ? Where are you?”
“Where the hell do you think I am? I’m at the airport you idiot. Where’s Jerry?”
“I don’t know. He called me about ten thirty and said he was leaving to get you.”
“Shit. Fine. I’ll deal with him tomorrow. Get your ass down here now and pick me up. I’m fucking freezing.”
The phone clicked off. Despite the knowledge that she was playing with fire, Cara smiled. Dear God, she prayed, let Jerry get away. Let him get far, far away.
∗ ∗ ∗
Micah had screamed at her all the way back to Park City. He’d even insisted she drive by Jerry’s house at three a.m. so he could, “Beat the fucking son of a bitch to a bloody pulp,” but no one answered the door. There was no car in the drive. The porch light was on. Micah had walked around to the back of the house. When he’d returned to the Jeep, he was silent. Cara thought he’d seemed pensive, anxious.
She’d kept her mouth shut all the way home and let him rant. Now she spoke up. “I’m a little worried something may have happened. Maybe he got in an accident. Maybe you should check the hospitals in Salt Lake.”
“Shut up and let me think.”
Cara could hear the tension in his voice. He probably thought Jerry had gone to the police.
“Don’t go home yet,” he said. “I want to swing by the restaurant first.”
“But it’s late . . .”
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” He looked at her with disdain. “Fucking stupid bitch.”
Cara swallowed hard and made a U-turn, heading back to the restaurant.
“Slow down,” Micah said as they approached the building.
Except for a light above the bar that remained on all day and all night, the restaurant was dark and quiet, the parking lot empty.
“Pull around back, right up to the back door.” Micah got out and fished for his keys. “Wait here.”
Cara watched him unlock the back door and disappear inside. She knew he wouldn’t find a single thing out of place.
She blew out a sigh of relief. Just sitting close to Micah in the vehicle made her want to retch. She knew she was about to degrade herself and she hated the necessity. Then she remembered Jerry’s word. Survive. That was her only job, to survive until she could get away from Micah.
Micah reappeared fifteen minutes later. He climbed into the Jeep, he seemed calmer now.
“Everything okay?”
“Maybe you’re right,” Micah said. “I’ll have one of the boys call the hospitals tomorrow. I’m too beat to do anything tonight. Let’s go home.”
Cara drove out to the ranch as fast as she dared. She didn’t want to get picked up for speeding, but neither did she want to be cooped up in the car with Micah. She helped him carry his bags into the bedroom.
Micah flipped off his shoes, tossing them onto the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed and began to unbutton his shirt.
Cara meekly picked up his shoes and put them away, turning back to help him with his shirt.
“So what did you do while I was gone? You miss me?”
She realized he’d already forgotten about her accident. “I missed you terribly. You were away a long time. Can you stay home for a while?”
Micah shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and stood up. He began to remove his trousers. “I don’t know. Depends. I’ve got to figure out where the hell Jerry is.”
“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. Maybe his car broke down.”
Micah looked at her, suspicion in his eyes. “Maybe his car broke down? You see anything on the highway when you were coming to pick me up?”
Cara realized she’d made a mistake. She had to remember to let Micah devise his own answers. She shrugged, picked up his clothes and headed to the closet.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention. I was sound asleep when you called. I think I could have passed an elephant and not seen it.”
“Fuck!”
“What?”
“If something happened to Jerry, that means I have to open the restaurant. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Goddamn it!”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Yeah, you can mind your own business.” Micah waved her off. “I gotta make a phone call.”
Micah stalked out of the room towards his study, wearing only his boxers. Cara nearly cried with relief when he disappeared down the hallway. Her legs were shaking. Cara took advantage of his absence to get ready for bed. She prayed for the strength to get through this one night.
When Micah reappeared, Cara pretended to be asleep. He flipped on all the lights, making as much noise as he could. She kept her eyes closed and buried her face into the pillow. When he came to bed, he lifted her gown. He spread her legs and entered her from behind, pounding into her until he climaxed with a grunt. He pulled out of her, turned over and fell asleep. Cara’s unresponsiveness didn’t seem to bother him.
Cara wondered how long things had been like this. How long had she been one of the walking dead? She ignored a wave of nausea. At least they’d had sex. Now she wouldn’t have to explain the pregnancy itself, just why she’d stopped taking the Pill in the first place.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Hey boss, the sheriff’s here. It’s something about Jerry.” It was the new manager his nephew had sent up from the club in Los Angeles
.
Micah’s stomach clenched. He’d been on edge since Jerry vanished. He hadn’t been willing to risk a call to the police, so he’d been forced to wait for the other shoe to drop. Now it had. Over the past few months, he’d toyed with the idea of making New York his permanent base of operations, but his nephew had advised him to stay put. He said he’d get one of his own men up there as soon as possible. He’d put things in perspective for Micah, saying Jerry obviously hadn’t gone to the police or the Feds. If he had, they’d already be out of business.
The question remained though, where had Jerry gone?
Micah had stopped by Jerry’s house late one night, broken a window in the kitchen door and let himself in. From what he could tell nothing was missing. Jerry’s shirts and slacks still hung in his closet. His favorite cowboy boots had been tossed casually at the bottom of the bed. Suitcases were stacked neatly in the garage. Christ, there were clothes in the dryer and dishes in the sink. The man even had leftover pizza in the fridge. As he’d snooped through Jerry’s belongings, the hair on the back of Micah’s neck had begun to rise. He was beginning to think that Jerry’s disappearance had nothing to do with Jerry and everything to do with himself. And now the sheriff wanted to speak with him.
Micah didn’t want the sheriff in his office unless it was absolutely necessary. He took a moment to gather his wits. He straightened his suit. He walked down the stairs to meet the man in the lobby of the restaurant.
Jerry’s car was found on May Day. A sheriff’s deputy discovered it on a dead-end dirt road near Wells, Nevada. It had been stripped. The trunk was open and the deputy peered inside. He noticed a couple of things, a torn stained Boston Celtics jersey and an old blanket, also stained with what appeared to be blood. He radioed in for assistance.
A wider search revealed a bloody hunting knife and a wallet. They were half buried beneath a clump of bushes, about two hundred yards from the car. The wallet was empty. Because of recent rains, it was difficult to tell how long the car had been there or if any other cars had been by. Fortunately the registration was still wedged in the driver’s side sun visor. The vehicle was registered to one Jeremiah Mitchell of Park City, Utah.
∗ ∗ ∗
Micah burst through the front door. “Cara,” he yelled. “Cara, get in here.”
“Yes, Micah?” Cara walked in from the deck. They’d had a late spring snowstorm and she’d been sweeping the deck clean.
“I need to fly to Los Angeles. Get my things packed.”
Cara removed her jacket and headed toward the hall closet.
“Didn’t you hear me? He grabbed her arm, jerking her around to face him. “I said I’m leaving for Los Angeles and I need you to pack my things now.”
“Micah, you’re hurting me. I will. I’ll pack your things. I was just going to hang up my coat.”
“Fuck your coat. Get my stuff packed.” He shoved her toward the bedroom.
Cara stumbled into the bedroom and dragged Micah’s luggage out of the closet. She hung his favorite suits, shirts and the matching ties in the hanging bag. She opened his suitcase, packing his boxers, his tee shirts, his socks and his belts.
She neatly packed all his toiletries in his leather toiletry bag, stashing his shaving kit into a corner of the leather suitcase. Her movements were slow and deliberate. Her back still ached from the previous day when Micah had knocked her against the kitchen table. Her legs were sore and stiff from his kicks.
Micah came out of the bathroom. “Jesus Christ. Aren’t you finished yet? What the hell is wrong with you?” He shoved her away from his luggage. He held up a pair of socks. “I hate these fucking socks. You know that. Why would you pack these socks? Just to piss me off? Is that what you’re trying to do? Piss me off?”
Cara backed away. She knew what was coming.
“Don’t walk away from me. What? Are you afraid of me? Are you afraid of me Cara? Huh? Are you afraid of me? Get your ass over here. Get over here and get me some different socks.”
Cara looked straight ahead, trying her best to stay out of reach, but she knew it was hopeless. Micah lunged for her as she wove her way to the dresser. He grabbed her and slammed her against the closet door, knocking the wind out of her. Cara struggled to catch her breath, knowing any show of fear would make it worse.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Look at you. You look like shit. I don’t know what I ever saw in you. You make me sick.”
“Then divorce me,” Cara whispered.
Micah laughed. “Like fuck I’ll divorce you. Like fuck. I’ll kill you first.”
He began to pull at her clothes, ripping them.
“Micah, stop. Micah, please . . .”
He slapped her. “Shut up.”
Cara gathered herself. “Micah, I’m pregnant.”
Micah did stop then and he snickered. “You can’t be pregnant. You’re on the Pill.”
“No, I’m not. I wanted to have your baby so I stopped taking it in January. I love you Micah. I want your child.” She filled her voice with phony tears.
“This is a joke,” he said, dropping her. “You’re making this up.”
“No Micah, it’s true. I’m pregnant with your child. I saw a doctor yesterday. The baby’s due in late November.”
Micah stared at her, disgust in his eyes. “Get rid of it,” he said. “Take care of it while I’m gone. If you don’t, I will. And my way won’t be as pleasant.”
Cara looked at him in silence, her heart pounding. “No,” she said. “I love you and I love this baby already. I won’t end the pregnancy. I think it’s a boy,” she added.
Micah clenched a fist. Cara stood as still as a stone, holding her breath. She wouldn’t run; running would him even more violent. The phone rang. Micah glared at her for what seemed like an eternity. At last he said, “I have to take this call,” and he left the room.
Cara nearly fell to her knees, but she forced herself to remain upright. She walked to the bed to finish packing Micah’s clothes.
∗ ∗ ∗
“I think it’s a good thing,” Micah’s nephew said. “A child adds some respectability, you know? It is Utah after all. Besides, this keeps her tied to you. You understand? You can control her through the kid. A woman like Cara would keep her mouth shut to protect her child. Yeah, this could be a very good thing.”
Micah sat in an oversized leather chair in his nephew’s study, nursing a drink. He considered the advice. His nephew was a cool customer. To all appearances, he was squeaky clean. He had a wife and two children. His wife was pregnant with a third. As far as Micah knew the young man didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, never sampled their product and he wasn’t a womanizer. If he had a weakness, Micah hadn’t yet discovered it.
Micah sipped his scotch, wondering what a son of his would look like. He’d be handsome, a lady-killer like his old man. His nephew had a good point. A kid would be an excellent way to control Cara and he could teach his son the business. Come to think of it, if he didn’t have a son his nephew would end up running the entire show. Micah realized his nephew might not be as happy about a kid as he seemed.
Micah tossed back his scotch. He rose and poured himself another. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Might not be such a bad idea.” He moved the subject around to what was really bothering him. “What about Jerry Mitchell? You think it’s a message from one of our competitors, a warning?”
Micah’s nephew shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Seems to me that if it was, they’d have left him out in the open. Made sure somebody found him months ago. There hasn’t been a whisper of any trouble. Yeah, there are a couple schmucks who style themselves hotshots, but I don’t think they’d go so far.”
“So you think this was random? A robbery?”
“No, I think it was somebody out for Mitchell. What did he do before he hooked up with you?”
“I don’t know. A little bookmaking in California, worked the border area. He was a good manager. Like I told you before, everything was on the up
and up when I got back from New York.”
“What did the cops have to say?”
“They showed around the bloody Boston Celtics jersey they found in the trunk of his car. Everyone said he was wearing it that night. Nothing’s missing from his house. Even his money is still in the bank. The cops asked how to contact his family. I had no idea. For all I know he had no family, at least nobody he ever mentioned. They asked for his social security number. I had that on file. Of course they asked me why I had never reported him missing. I told them that I’d just assumed he’d moved on. That it was one of those things. I decided a little honesty was the best policy. I told them I was pissed off at him for leaving me in the lurch so I didn’t bother to look for him.”
“They bought it?”
“No reason not to. I wasn’t even around that night. I was on a plane. They interviewed Cara and she backed me up. She told them I called her from the airport mad as hell because it was after midnight and I was stuck there waiting for him.”
Micah’s nephew laughed. “She does have her uses. Even a cop can tell there isn’t a dishonest bone in that woman’s body. She’s good cover for you.”
“True,” said Micah. “There is that.”
His nephew set down his glass of orange juice. “You want to check out the new shipment? It’s unusually potent stuff. We should be able to cut it and increase our profits. According to a man I trust a little goes a long way. You’re welcome to try it. See what you think.”
Micah finished his scotch and nodded his agreement. A little cocaine would be nice right now. He’d been careful about using since Jerry’s disappearance. Micah wondered if he should give Cara a call, just in case she’d decided to do as he told her and end the pregnancy. He shrugged. If she did, she did. He’d know in a week.
∗ ∗ ∗
Cara called her mother to give her the news about the baby. She hadn’t spoken with her in over a month. She decided she needed to tell her, share her news, feel a connection with someone, someone who would care if she disappeared.
Her mother was happy for her, in a guarded sort of way. She begged Cara to come for a visit. They hadn’t seen each other in over a year. Cara declined. She allowed her mother to hear the remorse she felt.
Come Back To Me Page 21