An Equation For Murder

by Jayne Nichols

  “You don’t know what I’m offering.”

  Jorgé shook his head. “What you got ain’t gonna protect me.”

  Rudy frowned. “You got trouble?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I told you it was no good to have a night job. Somebody try to rob you?”

  Jorgé considered telling his friend about the two men from Mexico and what they expected him to do, but decided that might not be wise. For him or for Rudy. So instead, he studied the other man. Rudy was known in the neighborhood as a salesman. Whatever you wanted, he could get. Drugs. Booze. Women. Even guns. It was that last item that Jorgé thought he might need. And if Rudy thought a thief was the reason, so much the better.

  “Yeah. You’d think they’d know better than to come after a cleaning truck. I don’t carry cash or nothin’.” Jorgé rested his chin in his hands. He wanted to look pitiful so Rudy would make the offer. “Shit, the equipment’s so old, it’s worthless junk.”

  Rudy dropped his voice to a whisper. “What you need, my friend, is some personal protection.”

  “You planning to ride shot gun with me?”

  Rudy shook his head, his dark brown eyes twinkling, even in the dim light of the bar. Slim fingers swept near black hair away from his face while his eyes roamed quickly around the room. He leaned close. “I got a nice little Smith and Wesson nine millimeter automatic I can let you have for five hundred.”

  Even though Jorgé could afford the price, he didn’t want to flash around his new found wealth just yet. “Five hundred! Are you crazy? Do I look like I make that kinda extra cash cleaning toilets?”

  “Okay, okay. Keep your voice down. You want everyone in the place to hear you?” Rudy sighed, then rubbed one hand over his chin as if deep in thought. “All right, I can let it go for three fifty, but that’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.”

  Jorgé planned to take it, but he needed Rudy to believe it was a decision that would pit the gun against a month’s groceries. “We got maybe three hundred saved toward the baby’s college.”

  “Hell, your kid won’t need that for another eighteen years.” Rudy laughed and slugged Jorgé playfully on the arm. “But tell you what. Just because we’re such good friends, I’ll take the three hundred.”

  Jorgé would never have called Rudy a good friend. He was more like a very dangerous acquaintance, and Mariah didn’t like having him around. The same way she didn’t want a snake living in her garden. “When can I get it?”

  Rudy stood up, indicating that the transaction was complete. “Be here tomorrow night same time. With the cash, or it’s no deal.”

  * * *

  “McKenzie residence. Oops, I mean Moore residence.”

  Sam took the cell phone away from his ear and frowned at it. Then finally realizing who had answered, he laughed. “Is this Jennifer?”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “Lucky guess. This is Sam. Is your grandmother home?”

  “She’s upstairs.”

  “May I speak with her?”

  “Sure. I’m taking the phone to her right now.”

  Sam could hear the little girl’s clipped footsteps and panting breaths while he traveled along with her locked inside the telephone.

  “I was trying on Grandma’s high heels. She left them downstairs after church cause she said they hurt her feet. They’re too big for me now, but she says I’ll inherit them someday. What does inherit mean?”

  He was glad she didn’t give him time to answer that one. Explaining to a six year old child that she would get her grandmother’s shoes after she died was not something he wanted to discuss at the moment.

  “Are you talking to me on your iPhone?”

  “Yes I am.”

  “I asked my daddy if he has an iPhone. He said no cause they cost too much. Did yours cost too much?”

  “It’s not so much the initial cost as the continued maintenance.” Kind of like having a child, he thought but didn’t voice. He was already exhausted, and he wasn’t the one actually running up the stairs. “Depends on what you want your iPhone to do.”

  “What does your iPhone do?”

  “Well, in addition to being a phone, it has the G.P.S. I also have access to the Internet. It also has a lot of apps…” He heard a crash, then a whooshing sound. “Jennifer, are you okay?”

  “Sorry, Sam. I dropped the phone.” She giggled. “Here’s Grandma.”

  He heard Lillian tell Jennifer to say good-bye.

  “Bye, Sam. Don’t talk too long. We’re going to make cookies.”

  “I won’t keep her long, I promise. Good-bye, Jennifer.” He wasn’t able to make out the few muffled words when the little girl reluctantly relinquished the phone to her grandmother.

  “Hello, Sam.”

  The laughter in her voice had him wishing he’d dropped by instead of calling first, but then that might have been a little awkward with her current visitor. “What kind of cookies are you and Jennifer going to make?”

  “Sugar cookies. I get to bake. She decorates.”

  “Ummm. Sounds like fun.” It did, too. And as Sam looked around his empty living room, he wished he could be there. “Will you save me a cookie?”

  “I thought teachers preferred apples.”

  “This teacher would rather have cookies, chocolate cake, or hot fudge sundaes.” Before he thought better of it, he added. “And you.”

  She was silent briefly. “I’m very flattered. That’s some formidable competition.”

  He imagined her face with a blush of pink across her cheeks and wished he could take her into his arms and kiss her. “I had a wonderful time last night.”

  “So did I.”

  Should he admit it. Why not? “I was awake for a long time.”

  “I had some trouble sleeping myself.”

  Was it wrong of him to hope he was the reason for that? “Thinking about anything or anyone in particular?”

  “Uh, I…”

  He was certain her hesitation had not been one of embarrassment. In the background he could hear a small voice whispering. “Do you have an audience?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Hard to talk?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Then I’ll just tell you that I hope you were thinking about me, because I was definitely thinking about you. About walking with you on the beach. Kissing you under the stars. Could you have been remembering any of those things? In the early morning hours? While you were awake?”

  Her tongue would be sliding between her lips to moisten them while she debated what to say. He could almost see her doing it. Wanted to reach out and touch her.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “All of those.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jorgé Molina entered the Caravan Tap Room at ten minutes after midnight. He didn’t have a lot of time. Kessler wanted all the cases cleaned and shining for the new Mayan exhibit coming from Mexico to the museum this afternoon. He wouldn’t get a chance to see any of the artifacts until he started his next shift later tonight. Though the idea scared the shit out of him, he was almost looking forward to switching out the masks and heading for Mexico. He was sick of this job, bored with his wife who said she still wasn’t ready for sex, and not particularly thrilled with being the father of a baby that did nothing but eat, poop, and cry.

  Jorgé hoped that if he proved himself with this swap job, he might be able to join whatever cartel Carlos and his boss ran. Dress nice and drive a flashy black SUV with tinted windows and heated leather seats. Dump his beat up old blue pickup truck that needed four new tires and was pushing 200,000 miles on the odometer. He was anxious to see Rudy. Get the gun. He was sure those two Mexicans carried heat. Yeah, Jorgé thought, he just needed to show them he could do the job.

  Rudy was late. Jorgé ordered another beer and checked his watch. 12:20. He would give the salesman another ten minutes. He was just about to leave when the back door opened and Rudy signaled to him. Finally. Jorgé sauntered th
rough the door and into the men’s room. “You got it?” he asked.

  “Keep your voice down. You want an audience for this transaction?”

  Jorgé shook his head. “You got my, uh, present?”

  Rudy pulled the Smith and Wesson nine millimeter automatic from a canvas bag at his feet and handed it to Jorgé. “Nice, ain’t it?”

  Jorgé wouldn’t know one firearm from another, but it looked new. He sniffed the barrel like he’d seen cops do in the movies, checking to see if it had been fired. All he smelled was the scent of fresh oil.

  “It’s clean,” Rudy said. “Now give me the three hundred, and because you’re a friend, I’ll throw in a box of fifty round ammo for another twenty. You got to have ammo, or the gun ain’t worth shit.” Jorgé counted out $320.00. Rudy filled the empty magazine, shoved it home, then showed Jorgé how to chamber the first bullet. “It’s loaded now, so don’t go shooting yourself.”

  Jorgé ran his hands over the gun, testing its weight. He’d never held a gun before, let alone fired one. “Anything special I need to know?”

  “Yeah, don’t point it at anything you ain’t ready to shoot. If you keep a bullet in the chamber, check if the safety’s on before you hide it in your pants. Otherwise, you could end up dickless. Capish?” Jorgé chuckled. “And if you want a place to practice where nobody bothers you, here’s a map to a farm out near Poway. Call first. The owner wants twenty bucks an hour.”

  “Thanks, Rudy. I owe you.”

  “You paid, so you don’t owe me nothin’. But you definitely look a bit tense, so are you sure you don’t need something to mellow you out? I got some nice cannabis. Real smooth. Relax you real good.”

  Jorgé hesitated, then licked his lips. Mariah was always ragging on him about doing a toke now and then. Especially around the baby. But he needed to be relaxed to switch out the masks. If his hands shook… “How much?”

  “Couple bags run you seventy-five.”

  Jorgé didn’t want to look too eager. “I only got fifty. Mariah doesn’t get paid till the end of next week.”

  Rudy stared at him, but Jorgé held a straight face. He could lie with the best of them. Rudy reached into his jacket pocket and held up two one ounce bags. “Okay, but this is only because you been such a good customer tonight. Next time, it’ll be the seventy-five.”

  Jorgé nodded, pocketed the grass, and after making sure the safety was on, he stuffed the gun into his belt and covered it with his jacket. He walked nonchalantly back into the bar, took one last swallow of his beer, and waved at the bartender on his way out the front. He would prefer to work with the two guys from Mexico. However, if the switch didn’t go as planned, he was armed now and could protect himself.

  * * *

  Lillian approached room S3G with a considerable amount of trepidation. Though Sam had treated her the same as any other student during this morning’s math class, her relationship with him had changed. Their dinner date two nights ago had altered everything. She’d tasted his kiss in her dreams. Awakened wanting more.

  What if he had…

  “Good afternoon, Lilly. I was afraid you might not come.”

  “I almost didn’t. But I don’t want you to think I’m a quitter. Or a coward.”

  Sam stood at the whiteboard, a blue marker in his hand. “That’s the very last thing I’d think about you.” He set the marker in the tray and turned to gaze at her. “I crossed a line. I probably shouldn’t have, but I did. And I’m not one bit sorry.”

  Relief flooded through Lillian from the top of her head to her toes. She’d thought of nothing else all morning. Terrified to face him, yet anxious to see him again. She smiled confidently. “Neither am I.”

  “I can’t promise that I won’t remember that last kiss every time I look at you, but I’ll try very hard to restrain myself.”

  Lillian waited in the doorway, uncertain if she should shut the door. “I suddenly feel like a giddy school girl.”

  “And me your first year student teacher.” He laughed and crooked his finger at her. “Come in, and let’s get started on chapter ten. It’s only going to get tougher from here on out.”

  “I was afraid of that.” Lillian hung her coat beside the door and took her usual seat in front of the whiteboard. She knew he was referring to algebra, but she suspected the personal tie between them might also suffer a few rough tides. Only time would tell.

  She tried very hard to concentrate while he went over how to simplify rational expressions. This liaison of theirs was anything but rational. Lillian knew deep down she should put a stop to it before either of them got hurt. But when she thought about never seeing him again, something inside her died. She didn’t want to experience the sense of emptiness that had filled her life ever again. She wanted to laugh again. Love again.

  “You’re not with me.”

  “My mind was wandering.”

  He walked toward her desk, leaned his hip against it. “Anywhere you can take me?”

  Lillian’s cheeks grew hot under his intense gaze. She marked her place in the book, then closed it and folded her hands on top of it. “Nowhere I should.” Her heartbeat roaring in her ears, she glanced up into his deep brown eyes. “Sam—”

  “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.”

  “But it needs to be said. I’m twelve years older than you.”

  Sam held out his hand. “Come up here.” When she didn’t comply immediately, he seized her hand and yanked her from the seat.

  “What…”

  “I want to show you something.” Lillian was suddenly afraid he was going to kiss her, but instead, he led her toward the whiteboard and picked up a red marker. “I want you to memorize this equation.”

  He didn’t sound angry, just determined, like if she dared to forget what he was about to say, he would never forgive her. “I’m listening.”

  “You once told me that you thought you would never be able to figure out what X plus Y equals.”

  She nodded. “I remember.” That was the evening they had escaped from the hospital benefit together. Her first time being bold. Sam had thought she could be a spy and had called her a woman of the world. She smiled at the memory. Knew she would never forget that night as long as she lived.

  “I’m going to show you exactly what it means. For you. And for me.” Sam faced the board and wrote in large letters.

  X = SAM

  Y = LILLIAN

  X + Y = LOVE

  He turned around to face her. “And Lilly, age has absolutely nothing to do with it.”

  * * *

  Sam stood at the top of the library steps and watched Lillian disappear into the crowd. He had nearly said the words that filled his heart, but she wasn’t ready to hear them, not yet, and he had scared her enough for one day. But he meant what he’d written on the whiteboard. Her age was not important to him. They were just numbers on a birth certificate. She was so much more than her age.

  “Hello, Sam.”

  Walter Dodd’s voice was the most recognizable baritone on campus. Sam tensed, then took a quick, relaxing breath before turning around to face the dean. Had Walter seen them together just now? Recognized Lillian as a student? Remembered her from the parking lot? He smiled hesitantly. “Walter, I didn’t think you left the Math and Sciences building until the 4:00 bell.”

  “Only on rare occasions.” Walter’s gaze followed the crowd for a moment before he headed down the stairs. “Join me for lunch tomorrow at Jake’s. 11:30,” he called over his shoulder.

  It was a command, not an invitation. While Sam watched the dean disappear into the crowd, he feared that his growing relationship with Lillian would be the topic of their conversation.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sam hoped the apprehension he felt in his stomach concerning the possible subject of his upcoming lunch with Walter didn’t show as he reminded his students about the test on Thursday. A chorus of groans echoed off the walls. Though the test was already prepared, he was debating whether t
o make a few changes to it. Lillian was not grasping chapter ten at all, but thankfully, their growing interest in each other did not appear to be the cause. The entire class, including Lillian, was struggling with the concept of rational expressions and equations. He had evidently pushed them to this point too quickly.

  “The test will cover only chapter nine.” A cheer resounded through the room. He held up his hand. “That does not mean a total reprieve. We will continue to cover chapter ten in class, so in addition to studying for Thursday’s test, I want you to do the exercises from chapter ten, sections one and two which you will hand in along with your tests.” Before the moaning could begin in earnest, he continued. “The exercises will not be graded. I just want to see where I need to concentrate my teaching efforts. Class dismissed.”

  Lillian waited at her desk for the rest of the students to leave before approaching his desk. “I hope you’re not changing the test because of me.”

  Sam shook his head. “No, Lilly. Everyone is having trouble with this one. You’re not alone. I’m just afraid it’s my fault.” He stared past her to the whiteboard. “I need to bring this theory down a notch. Simplify it.”

  “Maybe another dinner menu would help.”

  Sam chuckled. “Not this time. But speaking of menus, I should be going.”

  Lillian stepped closer to the desk. “Sam, is something wrong?”

  Should he tell her? Maybe afterwards, if all went well. “I have a lunch meeting today with the dean.” He glanced at his watch. “And if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late. Not good, since I plan to ask him for a raise.”

  “I guess that explains why your shirt is miss-buttoned.”

  Sam glanced down at his chest. Sure enough, the second button was in the third buttonhole. “Guess I didn’t check the mirror before I left home this morning.” He fumbled with the buttons, his gaze on Lillian’s face. “You’re making me nervous.” He sighed, then gave up.

  “Here, let me do that.”

  She buttoned his shirt innocently, the same way she’d probably done it a thousand times for her kids, her husband. Yet, to Sam, her fingers touching his bare skin was exhilarating. He stepped back before he was tempted to drag her into his arms and kiss her senseless.