Vengeful Bounty

by Jillian Kidd

  “Remember that time we put the stick bug on Mom?” I asked.

  “The one we found in the attic up there?” He nodded to the top of the barn. “That was crazy! It was like a whole nest of them!”

  “She about threw a fit,” I said, rediscovering my smile. “She didn’t realize it was a bug until she picked it up off her leg and looked it in the eyes.”

  Colt snorted. He unearthed some dust as he opened the barn door, then came back out with a stuffed black trash bag. He walked through the grass, careful to keep an eye out for snakes, to a wooden stand a little ways out into the field. There he placed a row of cans and bottles and returned to my side, handing me a couple of earplugs from his pocket. I put them in my ears and he did the same with another pair.

  He loaded both bullet-firing pistols from his leather bag, and we got ready to take turns shooting the cans. He went first, the bullet hitting the first metal can with a loud ricochet. At first I wasn’t sure if I could even lift the gun; my arms felt so heavy.

  “Colt,” I said. “I should’ve listened to you.”

  He put a hand on my shoulder. My brother probably knew me better than anyone, Dad included. He’d watched me grow from a crooked-toothed tomboy with holes in every pair of pants she owned, to an awkward, attitude-infested teen who changed her hair as often as most people change clothes, to a driven college student and bounty hunter who fell in love with a man who lied to her and cursed her with false dreams. He’d been there through it all, from my falling out of tire swings to having drinks together in a fancy Dallas bar, talking about dreams of going Global. We’d shared our lives together.

  What is it about falling in love that makes people so insane that they push aside the opinions of those that matter, those who really love them?

  “I don’t know if I can do this right now,” I said.

  “Sure you can,” he said. “Imagine they’ve all got Damon’s face on them.”

  I huffed and cracked a side grin. “I don’t want him to die.” I kicked a grasshopper off my shoe. “I just want someone to lie to him for years, and for him to grow old and impotent and think of me when nobody else will love him because he’s a bastard. Penis cancer. I want him to get penis cancer.”

  “Well, pretend the cans are his gonads! Shit, they’re old enough to be his gonads!”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. But as soon as the laughter came, it was gone.

  “Colt?” I asked.

  “What.”

  “Was I not good enough?”

  He shook his head. “That’s crap.”

  “Seriously. I mean, what did I do wrong? What was it about me that made him have to start sleeping with someone else, then not have the guts to tell me? Why didn’t he want me anymore?”

  “Why do dogs eat poop? I have no idea! They just do.”

  “That is slightly different,” I said, shooting him a look, trying not to smile.

  “Yeah, but not really. He’s a loser.”

  “I just wonder if maybe I’d given him more space and privacy, and hadn’t been so demanding—”

  “You gave him plenty of space. It wasn’t you, Mina. It was him. I promise you that. A.J.’s practically in love with you. Bryan has said you’re cute. Like, all my friends think you’re hot. And you go out on dates with Jackson Kincade! Who needs stupid Damon?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, my voice trailing off.

  Didn’t it always work out that way—the one you wanted, the only one you wanted, was the only one who didn’t want you?

  “Come on, just do one,” he said, gesturing toward the gun in my hand. “And then we can go back. It’ll make you feel better.”

  I gave him a look. He lifted his eyebrows in anticipation and pointed to the field.

  I nodded. Homing in on the row of targets, I lifted the weapon. I breathed in deeply, filling my lungs to the brim, and let it out, imagining all the ugly terrors the day had brought me floating from my mouth and disintegrating in the air.

  Years of training took over, and I aimed the gun with steady arms. I focused solely on a green glass bottle through the sight. Then I pulled the trigger.

  The firearm had a nice kick, pushing a firm jolt of recoil into my arms, a loud POW echoing through the air as the bullet soared to the target. Satisfaction rested on me as the glass shattered.

  We finished off the rounds without talking, each of us taking turns. Neither of us missed a single time.

  On our way back into town, Colt let me listen to a classical music radio station—he never let me do that, as I usually have to play it in my car and then tie him down and gag him. Otherwise he delights in mimicking passionate violinists, pianists, or opera singers until he looks like a clown having a seizure. But today he drove in composed silence, other than asking me a couple of times if I was okay, and nodding when I said I was.

  “Thanks,” I finally said. “I do feel better.”

  “Good.” He smiled. “How about I pick you up tomorrow morning for a spar?”

  Some good ol’ hand-to-hand combat practice did sound good. “Sure. Just swing by when you’re up. I’ll be home.”

  “’Kay.” He let out a sigh. “You know, I really hope that Damon never shows back up.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Just thinking about seeing him after all this made me feel nauseated. “But don’t worry, Colt. I have no intentions of ever letting him back into my life after this. I have way too much pride for that.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried about you.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Nope, I’m worried about him,” he said, as calm as I’ve seen him in a while. “Because if I ever see that prick again,”—he shrugged—“I’ll kill him.”

  * * *

  Maybe it was a good thing that I’d had a draining day. I stared at my closet, not really in the mood to mortify my mother with one of my more outgoing outfits. Instead, I chose a safe pair of black slacks and flats, and a burgundy sleeveless blouse. A black pearl necklace and set of earrings completed the look.

  I did my best to work make-up magic to hide the puffiness of my eyes, rubbing a little cream into my skin, when the doorbell rang.

  Rogue started to bark, good guard dog that he was. I gently scooted him away from the door with my foot and peeked through the peephole. FedEx. Interesting. Was I expecting something? No, I didn’t think so.

  I opened the door a crack.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Hi,” said the FedEx man. His well-trimmed moustache moved with his mouth as he said, “Mina Maxwell?”

  “Yes. Rogue, stop. Get back.” I nudged him away again and he hopped backwards, thinking we were playing. “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem! Love dogs, myself. He’s a cute little fella! Sign here, please.”

  He held a clipboard with a digital receipt screen. I pressed my thumbprint in the appropriate box, and the man handed me a square box about the size of an orange.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Hot out there today, isn’t it?”

  “Phew! You’re tellin’ me! I’m just glad the boss lets us wear shorts!”

  “No joke.”

  “Well, have a good day!” he said.

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  He skipped two steps at a time down the stairway, greeting an older couple at the bottom with a touch of his hand to the brim of his cap. I closed the door to shut out the oven-like heat.

  I sat in my papasan chair and scanned the package for the return info.

  Jackson Kincade.

  Well, goodness. What on earth would he be sending me?

  I opened the package and leaned back, holding a treasure in my hands.

  It was a little music box: a green-jeweled, gold-leafed marble frog sitting on a low pedestal with a tiny turn-key beneath it.

  Attached to it was a small white paper tag. I opened it. It read:

  In Memory of Douglas. May his little froggy soul find peace in the Great Pond Beyond.

  “Oh, how funny,” I whispered
to myself, smiling. “How cute.”

  Jackson.

  Would it be a bad idea for me to tell him about Damon?

  Probably.

  At least for now.

  Might complicate things. He might be like most men and try to take advantage of a woman when she was admittedly a bit vulnerable. Plus, at that moment, my trust level when it came to men was in the negative zone.

  Still…

  I needed to call and thank him. Man, it looked expensive, too.

  Dialing his number, I ran my finger over the smooth marble back of the frog. What had brought this little gesture on? His phone rang once. Twice. It was touching to know that he’d been paying attention to our conversation enough to remember the bit about my pet frog. But he didn’t have to buy me anything. Unanswered ringing continued a couple more times.

  The memory of Colt and the cat necklace he was going to give to Deirdre flashed in my mind.

  Okay, I’ll confess. I was more than a little disappointed when Jackson didn’t answer; it was only the cheerful, prerecorded message, “Hey, this is Jackson! Sorry I missed ya. Leave me a message!”

  Beep!

  “Jackson, it’s Mina,” I said to his voicemail box. “I got your gift. It’s adorable. Douglas would have been thrilled to know he had an honor like this. He probably would’ve hopped all over it.”

  I turned the music box to look at it from all angles.

  Damon had never bought me anything like this.

  My eyes misted over, and I hurried to finish the message before my voice cracked.

  “Anyway,” I continued, “thank you. It’s—it’s really nice of you. Thank you. I, uh, I guess I’ll talk to you later. Bye, Jackson.”

  Placing the music box in my lap, I grabbed a Kleenex off the end-table next to me and blew my nose.

  Twisting the turn-key, I sniffed back new tears that threatened to flood my face. Jeez, I was going to ruin my makeup if I didn’t cut it out. Better suck it up and be strong or my eyes were going to swell shut. Mom would surely complain.

  I sighed with firm resolve and let go of the tiny metal crank.

  The tinkling sound of a familiar song emerged from the music box:

  Debussy’s “Reverie.”

  17

  Mom would, of course, pick a place with impossible parking. I didn’t feel like messing with a valet. For one, I didn’t trust them. Secondly, I wasn’t in the mood to socialize with anyone, even two words. I would’ve given anything to cancel tonight’s get-together and curl up in bed with Rogue. My eyelids weighed about two tons each.

  I drove up and down the street, trying to find a spot. I finally gave up and turned onto a darker, adjacent street, whose streetlamp had gone an eerily dim orange color. Hair shops, trinket stores, and dessert parlors along the road had closed around 9:00 p.m. Mom liked to eat late. I parked in front of a little shop with guitars painted like pottery from Santa Fe, New Mexico, in the display window. The store’s little “Paz y Amor: Musica Latina!” sign had been turned off, the letters a connected trail of sleeping neon tubes.

  It was probably a five-minute walk to The Electric Eel Sushi Bar, the place Mom had picked out. I didn’t try to argue with her about how I hated sushi and she should’ve known that by now. Nope, I’d try to find something on the menu to swallow without too much gagging and attempt to get through the evening’s conversation as quietly and peacefully as possible.

  The night was strangely still: no wind, the air neither hot nor cool. I tucked my purse underneath the car seat (I’d forgotten to find one that properly matched my outfit, and heaven forbid Mom notice). I took only my keys; I didn’t even take my wallet with me because Mom would certainly have her fiancé pay for the food—she wouldn’t be engaged to the lucky fellow if he wasn’t loaded. Locking the vehicle, I stood outside of it, hesitating.

  Wouldn’t Mom be glad to know Damon had earned himself a death sentence (or at least a kick that would disable him from fathering any children) when he came back? She’d always told me he looked like he belonged in prison. I had a hunch that, had he been a millionaire, she would’ve descried him as “ruggedly handsome and street wise.” This nagging little voice told me to inform her about the truth I’d found out, but knowing her, she’d only puff up like a rooster and caw for ten minutes about how she’d been right.

  I’d already called Dad. He was perfectly supportive and sympathetic, as Colt had been. Jenny had already started planning out a way we could inflict all sorts of tortures upon Damon. Mom? Nah, Mom would find a way to turn it back onto herself and how great she is. Never mind that.

  My hand reached for the car door. Maybe I should drive away now and call her later, tell her I got sick.

  No, I said to myself. Go and get it over with. Then you can rest easy for another year.

  A squat Hyundai hover car rode past as I walked toward the sushi bar street. Funny, not a lot of traffic on the road where I’d parked. That and the dim street lamp didn’t make for a very safe spot. Should I go back and park somewhere else? Turning onto the brightly lit road, alive with people chatting and laughing, cars whizzing by, and music streaming out of restaurant doors, I decided against re-parking. The clock tower a couple buildings ahead showed in Roman numerals that I was already about five minutes late.

  A cute Asian hostess who looked 14 but could’ve been 24 held the door open for me and greeted me with a kind smile and a little bow. Another girl, slightly more angular in the face, asked me:

  “How many?”

  “Oh, I’m meeting someone here. Lucille?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said, looking down at her list of names. “Just one moment, please.”

  To my left was a wall of exotic fish, the water lit with cerulean blue lights from below. Long, skinny, yellow fish darted in and out of red coral; a lion fish floated up the side of the tank, its many feelers moving back and forth. A trio of clown fish nibbled at the surface of the water. Someone must have recently fed them. If the fishies only knew that all the people in here were eating their relatives raw with a dash of wasabi sauce. Ignorance sure was bliss.

  Didn’t I know it?

  “Minaaa!” Mom’s voice rang out above the live zither music. “Over here, darling! Oh, so glad you could make it!”

  Rushing past the hostess to seat myself and avoid anybody any more embarrassment, I met my mother halfway and let her embrace me tightly. She stood a couple inches shorter than I was, even in her heels. Tonight she wore a thin, blue silk dress with a gold sash around the front. The neckline was high for her (still a dash of cleavage), but the hem was up so high on her thigh that I feared for the other patrons if she had to bend over. Pulling away from her embrace, I looked down at her. She’d lost weight, her body (aside from the fake boobs) feeling a bit too slight.

  “Mom, have you been eating? You’re looking so thin!” I said in a light enough voice that she could take it as a compliment if she wanted to. “My goodness.”

  “Oh, well, thanks, honey,” she said, batting her spider-like lashes and adjusting the silk flower in the back of her hair, which was partially braided, partially pinned up in a bow-like bun. “I’ve been doing that new Z60K program. It’s all the rage right now. My neighbor, Bette, lost 50 pounds doing it, and she has abs you could wash laundry on now!”

  “Wow,” I said. How that could be attractive on a woman I would never know. “I bet she’s really proud of herself.”

  “She is! She is! But you look tired, dear. Your eyes are all puffy.”

  I wanted to say, And your breath reeks of sake. But I didn’t.

  “Allergies giving me some trouble, that’s all,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry about that. I could give you the name of a really good doctor. He prescribes the best stuff for me.” She leaned in to my ear and whispered, “Guy’ll give you six-month’s worth of codeine that dissolve like breath mints, just for coming in and giving him business! He’s a lifesaver, works out of Beverly Hills.”

  “Does he treat allergie
s?”

  “Oh, hell, I don’t know! But whatever ailment you have, you won’t care after taking his codeine!” She let out a shrill laugh. Already well into her drinks. “Isn’t that funny?”

  “What’s his name?” I asked.

  “Frost. Vincent Frost. I can get you his number after dinner.”

  “That’s good.” I smiled, making a mental note to get all the contact info I could on him so I could give a detailed tip to the California police. “Well how are you?”

  “Oh, grand, darling, grand!” She took my hand in hers and dragged me to her table. “Come this way! There are a couple of people I’d like you to meet!”

  We weaved around several tables covered in colorful dishes of raw sea life and finally arrived at our destination, where a chiseled, clean-cut, handsome blond man sat. He placed a hand over his expensive-looking white button-down shirt and green silk tie and stood up.

  “Mina, I presume?” he said, taking my hand for a kiss.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I’m Adrian Eichmann, pleasure to meet you.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, too.”

  Holy mother of all cradle robbers. This guy was probably four years older than I was, if that. Mom could’ve given birth to this kid.

  He pulled my chair out for me, and I sat down, letting him place my napkin in my lap. No wonder she had fallen in lust. He had money and he was a gentleman. I had half a mind to warn him right now that he would probably get dumped within the next year, and to sign a prenuptial agreement for God’s sake, but I kept my mouth shut. Sometimes people had to learn things the hard way. He pulled Mom’s seat out for her as well, and she sat, grabbing the back of his head to pull him in for a kiss before he seated himself.

  “Pour Mina some sake, darling,” she said to Adrian. “Adrian and Albert are the proud owners of a brewery in Germany. It was left to them when their grandfather died several years ago. Didn’t go to their father, even! Imagine how lucky! Their grandfather must’ve really liked my dear Adrian and Albert to pass up his own son!”