by Nathan Field
I nodded. My order never changed – the full American with eggs over-easy, black coffee, orange juice. I didn’t usually make it through the hash browns, but tonight I was catching up on three missed meals and I intended to suck down every last, fat-soaked string.
Iris returned quickly with the coffee pot, humming cheerfully to herself. I pretended to read an old text on my cell. Sometimes I sensed Iris wanted to engage me in conversation, especially when I was reading a script or writing in my journal. But unlike the other waitresses at the diner, Iris could read body language. So when she returned with my steaming breakfast plate, I lowered my head and mumbled a thank you, keeping her questions at bay.
I’d just salted my eggs when I heard the entrance bell tinkle. My eyes lifted to the door. A rangy young man with gingery hair and a camel overcoat walked in, pausing just inside the doorway to survey the room. I looked down and started tearing into my bacon rashers, wondering where I’d seen him before.
It came to me quickly. Two nights ago, at the pub in Russian Hill. I recalled the young man’s hawkish nose and pale skin. He’d been wearing a shell jacket inside a warm pub, rousing my suspicion until I realized he was about to leave. But now I’d seen him twice in two days. It couldn’t just be a coincidence.
When I glanced up at the entrance, the young man’s narrow-set eyes were aimed straight at me. He turned away too late, pretending to fuss over his coat. But I’d caught the ripple of panic that passed over his face. He knew who I was, alright. He just hadn’t expected to find me here.
Since I’d already spotted him, Hawk Nose had no choice but to scrape back a chair and act as if everything was hunky dory. I did the same, tucking into my breakfast while I considered my next move.
I couldn’t be certain, but my gut instinct told me that Hawk Nose wasn’t the killer. First off, he was a baby – barely into his twenties. The sinister voice on the phone had sounded ten years older, at least. And secondly, he just didn’t look the part. Any coward was capable of pulling a trigger, but I couldn’t imagine Hawk Nose beating a man to death with a golf club. That particular style of violence required ice cold blood and a steady nerve.
I looked over as Hawk Nose gave his order to Iris in a guarded voice. When she headed to the kitchen, his gaze slowly slid towards my table, checking to see if I was watching. Again, he saw the whites of my eyes a second too late, and his head whipped back in line with his body, like he’d been stuck with a cattle prod.
I smirked to myself. It was clear he was more afraid of me than I was of him. Maybe he was the guy behind the guy – a stooge hired by the killer to keep tabs on me. Either way, I wasn’t letting him get away.
Chewing over a sausage link, I decided to wait until Hawk Nose had left the diner before confronting him. He scared easily, but there were limits to what you could get away with in a public place. I was better off cornering him outside, where I could stick a barrel in his side without anyone noticing. If I’d judged Hawk Nose correctly, he’d tell me what I needed to know before the situation turned ugly.
I was nursing a second cup of coffee, waiting for Hawk Nose to finish eating, when my cell chimed loudly, shattering the respectful silence in the diner. Every customer turned to glare, and I was about to hit the decline button when I saw Chloe’s name flashing on screen. I’d forgotten all about her; and how worried she’d been. She must’ve wondered why I hadn’t called.
I brought the phone to my ear. “Hey Chloe. I was just about to call you.”
Her first, shivering suck of breath told me everything. “Sam…..”
“Jesus, Chloe. What is it?”
“He’s dead, Sam,” she said in a shaky voice. “Bruno’s dead.”
A heavy weight dropped to the pit of my stomach and stayed there. I stared down at the marble laminate, momentarily forgetting where I was.
“Sam?”
I blinked hard. “Sorry. I’m just….in shock.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“What happened?”
“An accident near Lake Berryessa. They found his car at the bottom of a cliff.”
“Christ...”
“He drove right off the road.” She laughed suddenly; horribly. “I must’ve really scared the shit out of him.”
I took a while to answer, hearing her words in delay. “Chloe, don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not being stupid. He was running away from me, Sam. Why else would be on a mountain road at two in the morning? Bruno hated scenic drives. He hated the outdoors.”
“I know,” I said, remembering how Bruno used to joke that fresh air gave him hives. The thought gave me pause. I said. “It doesn’t make sense. Even if he had cold feet, why would he drive into the wilderness? Why not take the interstate?”
A beat passed before Chloe responded. “What are you saying?”
“It doesn’t sound like Bruno, that what I’m saying. I know they found his car, and I don’t want to give you false hope. But are you sure it was Bruno driving?”
“What?”
“Are you positive it was his body inside the car?”
“I just got back from the morgue,” she said tightly. “He wasn’t looking his best, but I’m pretty sure it was him. The dimple in his chin. His swollen cheeks, like he was blowing a trombone. They weren’t as rosy as usual, but I guess smashing through a car windscreen can play havoc with your complexion.”
“Shit, okay. I’m sorry…”
“–The mole on the side of his neck,” Chloe continued, her voice rising. “The flecks of grey in his eyebrows. Oh yeah, did I mention the top of his head was missing? He looked like he’d been scalped, but apart from that…”
“–Enough, Chloe. Jesus, I didn’t realize.”
“What do you want from me, Sam?” she sobbed. “Should I have taken photos?”
I took a deep breath, summoning patience. “Look, I didn’t mean to upset you. This is hard for me to accept, that’s all. He was my best friend, and he was so fucking alive yesterday. I just can’t believe he’s gone.
“I know,” she sniffed. “I keep expecting him to walk in the door. He was always banging his head on the light fittings….” Her voice trailed off, and she sighed wistfully. “Sam, maybe you should come over. It might do us both good.”
I struggled to think of a tactful excuse, but my hesitation proved sufficient.
“That’s okay,” she said quickly. “I should get some sleep, anyway. We can talk another time.”
“Is there anyone else you can talk to?”
“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
She hung up, and I felt the weight in my stomach grow heavier. I might have let out a small groan, because when I looked up, everyone in the diner was staring at me. Everyone except Hawk Nose.
That bird had flown.
16. “It’s taken me a while, but here I am.”
Despite my promise to Lucy, I never planned on killing her husband. Not seriously. Sure I’d thought about it, but I figured everyone thought about committing murder at some time or another. In a world without consequences, it was easy to imagine pulling the trigger.
Take that, you worthless asshole. Die, you sadistic fuck.
It was the aftermath of murder I had trouble envisaging. Living with the knowledge I’d erased another person’s existence. Worrying about the black mark against my soul. And that was just if everything went smoothly. There was also a chance I’d get caught, and the thought of jail scared the shit out of me. That’s why I was basically a law-abiding citizen. I didn’t have the stomach for crime.
I agonized over how to break the news to Lucy. She had every right to be pissed at me, especially after I’d begged her for a second chance. But it wasn’t just our relationship I had to worry about. There was also the small matter of Lucy back-up strategy. She’d made her position clear – Sterling was a dead man whether I pulled the trigger or not. She’d find another shooter, even if it meant hiring a professional to do the job, someone with little regard for her safe
ty or anonymity.
In the end, I came up with an imperfect solution – threatening to call the cops on Lucy if anything happened to her husband. The tactic made me sick on a number of different levels, but it was the only way of preventing Lucy from hiring a hitman, or worse, stepping up to the plate herself. Threatening to snitch might’ve seemed like a gutless way out, but I convinced myself that I had everyone’s best interests at heart.
My plan was thrown a curveball on the morning I planned to confront her. I was collecting my mail from the lobby when I detected a trace of Lucy’s orange blossom perfume in the air. I shrugged off the coincidence, presuming one of my neighbors used the same brand, but when I opened my mail-box, the sweet scent puffed up in my face. A plain white envelope was inside, and I recognized Lucy’s slanted handwriting on the front. No postage or address, just a first name.
Johnny.
She’d delivered the letter personally. I pictured her rubbing the envelope over her neck before slipping it through the slot. A deeply personal letter. She was trying to manipulate me again.
I returned to my apartment and opened a mid-morning beer, bracing himself for another tidal wave of emotion. After necking the bottle, I tore into the envelope and unfolded the handwritten letter.
Dear Johnny,
I’m writing this note to tell you how incredibly grateful I am to have you in my life. I know I come across as a selfish bitch sometimes, like all I care about is money. And I won’t lie to you, I’m at a stage in my life where money is very important. To me it means freedom. But I also care about you very much. I dream of us getting away from Sacramento and starting a new life together, like we’ve always talked about.
I’m sorry if I’ve been disrespectful towards your career. It’s not that we wouldn’t survive on what you earn. I don’t need much to be happy. But I’ve been abandoned too many times before. My past is full of men who’ve let me down. That’s why I can’t trust you to stick around forever, no matter how many times you tell me you love me. They all tell me they love me in the beginning. But will you feel the same way in five years time? When you’re still in your twenties and I’m almost forty? Maybe I’ll start to repulse you the same way my husband repulses me. That’s why we need money if we’re going to have a future together, so I won’t have to worry about you leaving me all the time.
I’ll always love you Johnny, no matter what happens. I just hope I’m not opening myself up to get hurt again.
All of my love,
L
I put on my cynic’s hat and read the letter again, analyzing every word and punctuation mark, but my interpretation was the same. She was writing from the heart. I folded the letter into a small square and slipped it into my wallet.
I’d been so fucking wrong about her.
Lucy wasn’t a gold-digger. All she wanted was security and the peace of mind that came with having her own money. Even more surprising – she believed I was destined to abandon her! I’d always thought Lucy held the balance of power in our relationship, and assumed she’d be the one to eventually break it off. But the opposite was true. She was worried I’d dump her at the first sign of crow’s feet.
“Jesus, Lucy,” I groaned. Nothing could’ve been further from the truth. Initially I’d been drawn to Lucy’s beauty, like any man with a pulse, but I’d fallen in love with so much more. Her sense of adventure, her moments of aching vulnerability, even her sharp tongue when she really let rip. I only truly came alive when I was around her. She had my heart for as long as she wanted.
But how to convince her of my eternal devotion? I’d already let her down once, and threatening to squeal to the cops would likely drive her away permanently. She’d mark me down as just another deadbeat who fucked her and then cast her aside.
The letter made everything clear. I couldn’t win Lucy’s trust with flattering words and empty promises.
I had to take action.
I left the silencer at home. When screwed onto the barrel, it almost doubled the size of the gun, making it both cumbersome to wield and impossible to conceal. I’d never been convinced about the sound of a suppressed gunshot, anyway. In a quiet suburban area, I still believed the neighbors would hear.
During one of our planning sessions, Lucy had provided me with a map of Sterling’s jogging route. It was a simple five mile circuit that took in a handful of gently winding streets before cutting through the elementary school grounds. Importantly, the school was at the end of the route, and Sterling would likely be exhausted, wobbly on his sixty-year-old legs, and unable to offer any resistance. Considering I’d also be armed, the odds were heavily stacked in my favor.
I waited until 7:15pm before making the drive to Granite Bay. According to Lucy, Sterling left for his nightly jog between 7:30 and 8:00. The course took him roughly fifty minutes to complete, and since the school preceded the final mile, I needed to be in position before 8:10.
When I reached Granite Bay’s leafy outskirts, I drove around searching for a suitable parking spot. I was hoping for a street with a reasonable smattering of cars lining the curb, otherwise my grubby little Corolla would stick out like a sore thumb. This proved more difficult than I’d anticipated in the well-heeled neighborhood, where long driveways and double garages were the norm. With time running out, I opted to park on a main road, opposite a tanning salon and a Chinese restaurant. It was further from my destination than I would’ve liked, leaving me exposed for longer, but making my car inconspicuous had to take precedence over walking distance. A young man in a dark coat might be a million people, but a certain license plate could only be traced back to one.
I tucked the Glock under my belt and got out of the car. I kept my head down as I walked through the suburban streets. Every time I heard a car, I pretended to be casually distracted by the house I was passing, turning my face away from the headlights. My biggest concern was that I’d encounter a resident sauntering down their driveway, or taking the dog for a walk. Red-and-white neighborhood watch signs were tacked to every other lamppost, and my solitary male presence was immediate grounds for suspicion in a family-dominated area. A particularly forthright resident might dare to challenge me directly. At the very least they’d scan my features, taking a careful mental picture.
Thankfully, the cool March evening and a drizzle of rain had pinned the residents inside their centrally heated homes. My heart was in my mouth the entire four-block walk, but I managed to reach the school entrance without a single encounter. For the first time since leaving the car, I opened my mouth to breathe.
After checking my gun was still firmly in place, I walked down the school’s long driveway, leaving the lights of suburbia behind me. When I reached the parking area, I paused to give my eyes a moment to adjust. Gradually, I was able to make out angles and shapes in the darkness, connecting with my vague memories of the school’s layout. The dense gardens. The hacienda-style building. And beyond the forecourt, the soccer field that stretched out before me like a rolling black sea.
Sterling’s jogging circuit took in a tree-lined dirt trail that snaked around the back of the field. I moved quickly across the slick grass towards the shelter of the trees. Sterling was due at any moment, and I still hadn’t found a hiding place. But as I drew nearer, I realized the trees were too spindly and thinly spaced to offer any real cover. Sterling would see me lurking at the edge of the trail, giving him plenty of time to turn on his heels and flee. Worse, he might cry for help and alert the neighbors.
I scurried up and down the side of the trail, peering into the darkness for something more substantial to hide behind. I was desperate not to have to return the following night, when I’d have to go through the nerve-shredding exercise again. I needed it to be over.
Finally, I found a refuge – a shoulder-height clump of bush with dense foliage. There was maybe thirty feet of open grass between the bush and the trail. Hardly ideal, but the best I could do at short notice.
I squatted behind the thickest part of the bush, h
oping for a few minutes to catch my breath. But within seconds, I heard the faint thump of a jogger approaching.
This was better, I told myself, swallowing against my closing throat. No time to think; just act.
I peered around the corner of the bush. In the distance, a grey-haired man was jogging towards me in a reflective orange jacket. Moving freely for an old guy, especially considering he’d run four miles already.
I quickly reformulated my plan. Originally I’d intended to burst out of the trees and confront Sterling head on, but that was no longer a possibility. My hiding place was too far back from the trail, and he’d see me charging across the grass, giving him time to take evasive action. Seeing how swiftly he moved, it wouldn’t be easy to catch him.
Instead, I decided to wait until he’d passed and then rush him from behind. His panting breath was probably filling his ears, and with his shoes pounding heavily on the packed dirt, I could still have the element of surprise.
The moment was quickly upon me. After Sterling jogged by, I removed the gun from under my belt and crept towards the trees, staying behind his peripheral vision. Then, when I was facing Sterling’s back, I started sprinting over the soft grass beside the trail.
I’d closed the gap to about twenty feet before Sterling heard me. He glanced over his shoulder, losing his balance when he realized a stranger with a raised arm was hurtling towards him. He stumbled sideways, but I managed to adjust my line, bringing the butt of the gun down on his swaying head. I struck him just above his ear, and he let out a small, despairing moan. His legs buckled, and he fell in a heap at the side of the trail.
“Help…” he croaked.
I kicked him in the kidneys, and the air went out of him. He writhed on the grass in agony, drawing his knees up to protect his kidneys. I crouched down next to him, feeling calmer now the riskiest part of the attack was over. Sterling kept his face turned to the grass. He knew exactly where I was, but he was too scared to look at me.