Spilled Blood

by Brian Freeman

  His phone rang. It was Kirk.

  ‘You’ve got a semi heading west,’ Lenny said. ‘Nothing funky.’

  ‘Soon as you see our guy, you call me, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Then you tell me when you spot him heading east again. I want to make sure he’s not playing games with us.’

  ‘I know, I know. Don’t worry.’

  ‘You see anything that smells like a cop, you call me.’

  Lenny thought about the car parked on the highway, but it was long gone. ‘Got it.’

  ‘Keep your eyes open, Leno, and don’t fucking fall asleep.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  He hung up. It annoyed him that Kirk didn’t trust him, no matter how many times they had done drops in different parts of the state. He knew what he was doing. Even so, Kirk was right. When you assumed you were safe, when you stopped looking for a trap, that was when the steel jaws clamped shut.

  Fifteen minutes passed slowly as he sat on the bench with his chin cradled in his hands and the binoculars swinging below his neck. Traffic in the early morning was light. He didn’t spot many cars in either direction. The cardinal kept him company, flitting between the lower branches of the trees. In the long gaps when the highway was deserted, he stared at the obelisk, which reminded him of the arrowheads you could dig up in the fields around here. Every now and then, he heard noises in the trees behind him, and he looked around nervously, as if the Indians were massing for an attack.

  He was alone.

  Five minutes before seven o’clock, he spotted the mark. He knew the vehicle; he’d tracked it before. The customer was right on time, like always.

  He punched the speed-dial button for his brother’s phone.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘He’s coming.’

  Lenny hung up. He had nothing to do but wait. It would take five minutes for the customer to get to the drop zone. He’d check his mirrors, make sure he was alone, and pull onto the shoulder. He’d open his driver’s door and toss the bag over the hood into the north-side fields. It would be over in seconds; he wouldn’t stay any longer than necessary. He wouldn’t wait to see who showed up, because curiosity could kill you. No, he’d do a U-turn and head back, probably going even faster, because he’d want to pretend like the drop had never happened.

  It would be ten minutes before the truck passed the monument again, heading back toward Barron. Lenny needed to know the mark was gone before Kirk went for the cash. They’d never had a customer go rogue, but it could happen. They’d never had the police run a sting, but it could happen.

  Lenny kept his eyes on the highway. Three minutes passed with no traffic. There was no sign that the car was being tracked by the cops. Everything was going smoothly.

  He dialed Kirk again. ‘Nobody on his tail.’

  ‘Keep watching.’

  Lenny slapped the phone shut. He lifted his binoculars and zoomed in on the empty road.

  In the next instant, he was airborne.

  Two hands grabbed him under his shoulder blades and yanked him bodily off the bench. He flew backward, seeing the crowns of trees over his head. He fell hard in the wet grass. Someone landed on his chest, punching the air from his lungs, and he wheezed, unable to catch a breath. He blinked in terror, recognizing Johan Magnus on top of him. He struggled, but the strong football player kept him pinned like a squashed bug. Johan grabbed the leather strap of the binoculars and tightened it. Lenny choked and clawed to get free, but he couldn’t squeeze his fingers between the strap and the skin of his neck.

  ‘Was it Kirk?’ Johan hissed into his ear.

  Lenny twitched. His legs jerked like jumping beans. He tried to beg, but he couldn’t make a sound. His eyes went blind, and he heard a roaring like a train.

  Johan loosened the strap. Lenny spit and gasped as air rushed back into his lungs, but when he tried to get up, Johan piled a fist into Lenny’s jaw. His head snapped into the mud. Johan twisted the strap, and Lenny felt the blindness again, the roaring, the blackness sinking like a shroud over his brain.

  The strap came free, and he inhaled in a rush. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he squeaked out a plea. ‘Stop.’

  ‘Was it Kirk?’

  Lenny shook his head, crying, gasping, saying nothing.

  ‘Was it Kirk? Did he do this to Olivia?’

  ‘Please. Please.’

  Johan slapped him. Lenny felt the impact like stinging wasps.

  ‘I swear I will choke you again,’ Johan told him.

  ‘No, don’t, don’t.’

  Johan bunched Lenny’s shirt in his fists and yanked his torso off the ground. He shook him like a doll. ‘Did Kirk do this to Olivia? Was it him?’

  Lenny’s head bobbed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Were you there, too?’

  ‘I called – I called for help. Please.’

  Johan dragged Lenny to his feet. The older boy towered over him, and his face was red with fury. Lenny cowered, expecting another blow. Instead, Johan grabbed Lenny’s arm and belt and threw him across the bench. Lenny tumbled over it and crashed down on his knee in the dirt, where he lay terrified, not moving. Angry footsteps sloshed through the wet grass as Johan stormed away. Lenny pushed himself over onto his stomach. His neck burned where the leather strap had chewed into his skin. Shivers of pain knifed up and down his spine. He bit down, and his teeth didn’t align. He pushed his tongue around his mouth and tasted blood. He collapsed onto his chest, crying.

  On the bench, he heard his phone ringing, but he didn’t answer it. He couldn’t get up. He couldn’t face Kirk.

  He didn’t see the SUV passing the monument on the eastbound route toward Barron.

  A minute later, he didn’t see the truck turn around and speed back toward the drop.

  The phone rang and rang. Leno didn’t answer. Kirk hung up and dialed, hung up and dialed, hung up and dialed. Nothing. His brother had gone silent.

  ‘Pick up, you worthless fucker!’ he screamed in his closed-up truck. ‘Answer the goddamn phone, Leno!’

  His blood vessels pulsed. He climbed out and delivered a ferocious kick to the front tire with his boot. Breathing hard, he sank back against the hood and drummed his fist against his chin. He could see the splash of bright red in the field. The backpack. The money. He told himself there was nothing to worry about. The customer had made the drop and run away with his tail between his legs. This one was just like all the others. No cops. No traps.

  Even so, if Leno didn’t answer, that meant there was a problem. The safe thing to do was get out of there, but if he left, someone else would stumble onto the backpack and steal his money. He wasn’t going to let that happen. No way.

  Kirk eyed the highway. He saw no cars, and the world was flat enough here that he had at least a minute of safety before anyone else could reach the drop. If he moved now, he could grab the backpack and be gone. He wouldn’t head back toward Barron. He’d use the dirt roads and leave Leno at the monument with the dead Indians. Fuck him.

  He got into the pick-up and drove fast. He kept his eyes on the highway. At the intersection, he spun the truck around, pointed back toward the dirt road heading north. He got out, leaving the door open, and jogged through the rutted field. He left boot prints; he didn’t care. The backpack was thirty yards from the highway shoulder. He reached it and grabbed it and tore open the zipper, confirming the wads of cash inside. Throwing the strap over his shoulder, he ran for his truck.

  He heard the roaring engine of the SUV before he saw it. He was still in the field when the truck rocketed past the drop site.

  It was him.

  The bastard had turned around. He’d come back to find him.

  The truck was going so fast that the man’s face was a blur, but it was enough for them to see each other. Their eyes met, from the speeding vehicle to the field. Kirk recognized him, and he recognized Kirk. The game between them was over. The engine on the highway gunned as the bastard accelerated. The SUV would be gone in second
s.

  Kirk couldn’t waste time. He had to get out of here.

  He retraced his steps to his pick-up and shot north. He made random checkerboard turns, keeping his eyes on his mirror. No one followed him. He glanced at the backpack and wondered if there was a tracking device inside. Was that it? Maybe it didn’t matter where he went or how fast he drove; maybe they were behind him, watching him like a blip on a screen. He pulled onto the shoulder and dumped the contents of the backpack onto the seat and sifted through the money. He saw no obvious electronic devices, but he knew that meant nothing. The feds were clever.

  He waited in the middle of nowhere. The roads shot like arrows in every direction. The fields were empty. When ten minutes passed, and he was still alone, he decided that the sirens weren’t coming. Whatever the trap was, it hadn’t closed around his neck yet.

  So what was it all about?

  Maybe his prey simply wanted to know who’d been taunting him and put a face to the childish voice on the phone. If so, he’d succeeded. He’d stripped away the mask, and they were both at risk now, both exposed. They could each destroy the other’s life, but only by giving up their own.

  Kirk’s mouth curled into a sour frown. He didn’t like not knowing.

  What happens now, Daddy?

  32

  Hannah put her arms around their daughter when Chris brought her home from the hospital. Olivia was six inches taller than her mother, and the girl bowed her head to rest on Hannah’s shoulder. There had been awkwardness between them for three years, but mother and daughter had both declared a truce. When Olivia went upstairs to her bedroom, Hannah’s teary eyes followed her. He sensed his ex-wife’s flood of relief at having her safely back home.

  He waited until Olivia closed her door upstairs. ‘The counselor says she’s strong,’ he reported. ‘She takes after you.’

  ‘I don’t feel very strong,’ Hannah said. She wiped her eyes, as if she felt guilty about letting her emotions overrun her.

  ‘She’ll be okay. Really. It will just take some time.’

  ‘I know.’ Hannah reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. With her, the simple touches went a long way. ‘Do you want me to make breakfast for us?’

  ‘That would be great.’

  She glanced down at herself. She wore a plain terry robe, and her face was without makeup. Her feet were bare. ‘I need to shower and dress first. Can you wait?’

  ‘Sure. I’m sorry I kept you up late.’

  ‘No, I’m glad you called. It was like old times.’

  ‘Take your time,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait.’

  ‘Why don’t you come up and talk to me?’

  She padded up the stairs. He followed behind her. Her bedroom was at the end of the hall, and she went into the bathroom to start the shower, leaving the door ajar. Her voice carried over the noise of the water.

  ‘Are you staying at the Riverside Motel?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘It’s a dump, isn’t it?’

  He laughed. ‘Oh, it’s not so bad. The owner’s a decent guy. He tries hard.’

  Hannah poked her face around the door. ‘Why not stay here with us, Chris?’

  He was so surprised that he had nothing to say. Hannah picked up on his hesitation.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she added. ‘Please don’t feel obligated.’

  ‘No, I’d like that. Are you sure I wouldn’t be getting in your way?’

  ‘Of course, you would,’ she said, smiling again.

  Her face disappeared, and he heard the shower door open and close. He studied the bedroom, which was nothing like the modern room they’d shared in the suburbs. The furniture was second-hand oak, its stain fading. The queen bed had a hand-made quilt thrown casually across the duvet cover. She had pictures of Olivia on her dresser at every stage of the girl’s life. There were other, older pictures, too. Hannah’s parents. Her brother in Ohio. There was even a picture of himself, but it wasn’t one he found particularly flattering. He was younger, unshaved, wavy-haired, with a grin a mile wide. That was the man she’d chosen to remember.

  The pipes of the shower went silent. He heard Hannah’s voice again. ‘What do you want for breakfast? Bacon and eggs, I suppose.’

  He stood beside the door and called to her. ‘I’ve been steering clear of the good stuff lately. Some cereal and fruit would be fine if you have it.’

  ‘I have homemade granola.’

  ‘Great.’ He added, ‘What does Olivia usually have?’

  ‘Bacon and eggs. Who does that sound like?’

  ‘She’s lucky she got your skinny genes,’ he said.

  ‘You’re getting pretty skinny these days, too, Chris. I told you that you looked great, didn’t I?’

  ‘You did. Thanks.’

  ‘I admire your willpower. I suppose it’s a lot easier without me nagging you about it.’

  ‘I don’t recall that,’ he said.

  ‘Liar.’

  He laughed.

  ‘I hope Olivia makes a more understanding wife than I ever did,’ Hannah added.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. She’s a lot like you. That’s a pretty good start.’

  ‘Remind me to warn her future husband,’ she said.

  ‘I said Olivia would make a good wife,’ Chris replied, chuckling, ‘but I never, ever said you would make a good mother-in-law.’

  There was no reply from inside the bathroom. He was afraid she had taken him seriously.

  ‘Hannah?’

  He still heard nothing. Seconds ticked by.

  ‘Hannah, it was a joke.’ Chris nudged the door open but remained on the threshold. ‘Are you okay?’

  She was there, but she was silent.

  ‘Hannah, I’m coming in.’

  He took a step into the bathroom. Steam hung in the air, making the small space warm and close. Hannah stood in front of the pedestal sink, holding it with both hands. She was naked. Water droplets clung to her bare skin. She’d removed the wig she used in public, and her skull was bald and smooth, paler than the rest of her body. Her back was familiar to him, her curving spine like train tracks. He saw the scar on her shoulder from a childhood burn and the inside of her knees where she liked to be kissed.

  She sobbed quietly.

  She stared at her face in the mirror as if it were the face of a stranger, and she cried, with her shoulders trembling. Tears ran like shower water. He came up behind her and said nothing; he laid cool hands on her neck and eased her backward into his chest. Her mouth fell open as she tried to breathe. He caressed her bare head with a gentle touch, and he turned her around and gathered her up in his arms and felt her cling to him and pour out her despair.

  ‘I’ll never see it,’ she murmured, her words barely audible. ‘I won’t be there.’

  He knew what she meant. Olivia married. Thanksgiving dinners. Grandchildren. The future.

  ‘You will.’

  She stared up at him, her eyes laced with red. ‘Look at me.’

  ‘I am. You’re beautiful.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me.’

  ‘I don’t lie. I’m a lawyer.’

  She laughed through her tears.

  He tilted her head with a finger on the underside of her chin. He cupped her neck with his other hand. He leaned in and kissed her, a kiss lasting only a second, a kiss that was like thousands of other simple kisses they had shared together in their lifetimes. And yet it was different. It was like their first kiss. It was their most important kiss.

  It made her cry harder and push him away. ‘You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to pity me.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’

  He pulled her to him and kissed her again. He was conscious of her bare skin under his hands and her wet torso trapped against his chest, and he quickly grew aroused. She responded, too. They didn’t lose themselves in their passion; they knew who they were. They weren’t kids, and they weren’t newlyweds. They were a not-quite-young divorced couple in the middle of a world go
ing crazy, and for a moment, they needed an escape.

  She helped him peel off his clothes, which were wet now, too. She led him to her bed, guiding him with an arm around his waist. They didn’t hold hands. She was saying she needed him; she wasn’t necessarily saying she loved him. It didn’t matter. They lay in bed together, and he let her lead, descending on him, pinching her mouth shut to keep her cries muffled. That was the way parents made love, in hushed silence behind a closed door. She bent forward, her petite hands on his chest, her small breasts swaying. Her face was different without her long hair caught in the sheen of sweat on her cheeks, but her mouth was just as he remembered, forming an oval as it fell into a breathless smile. Her eyes were the same, too, wide open as she neared climax, not letting his stare go. It had always been the most intimate, erotic sensation of his life, making love to Hannah with open eyes.

  When they were both spent, when she lowered herself onto him with her face in the crook of his neck, he had a fleeting thought about what would happen next between them. She must have had the same doubts, but neither wanted to spoil it by talking. Her breathing grew steady as she drifted into sleep. He was content to hold her. He tried to stay awake to treasure the sensation, but he realized he was weary to the point of exhaustion, and he slept, too. It was the most restful sleep he’d had since he arrived in St. Croix.

  Olivia lay on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. She was conscious of all the places where her body hurt. When she moved, she was reminded of what they’d done to her. Her skin bore their marks. Even so, she refused to think about it. She didn’t care about herself or about the ugly bruises. Those would fade and heal. Instead, she thought about Ashlynn in the park. That was the injury that would always be with her. That regret never went away.

  She imagined Ashlynn on the corner of the bed, alive, luminous, still maddeningly beautiful, the way she would have been right now if Olivia had driven her home.