Killer Within

by Jeff Gunhus

  Charlie wished he could forget it all just as easily. If it wasn’t for the infernal itching. If he could only . . .

  “Hey there, Charlie. Leave that alone, now. You’re concerning the customers with all that scratching.”

  Charlie looked around at the empty bar, then back at Mick reading the newspaper at the booth in the corner. “Mick, it’s ten in the morning. There’s no one here.”

  “Aye, but I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “How about some sympathy? This thing’s itching like crazy.”

  “What do I look like to you, Florence fuckin’ Nightingale?”

  Charlie squinted in his direction. “Not really sure who that is. But if she’s a really fat chick with extra skin around her neck then maybe—”

  “Watch it now,” Mick growled. “Besides, the itching means—”

  “It’s healing. Yeah, I’ve heard.” Charlie picked up a glass and did what all bartenders around the world did to fight the boredom: started to wipe spots off with a towel. “Mick, you heard from Allison at all? She said she’d come in yesterday, but I haven’t seen her.”

  “No, I haven’t,” Mick said, putting down the paper. “Heard she’s been going around with that rich guy, Arnie Milhouse.”

  “Yeah, small town, huh? I heard the same thing.”

  “Shit, Charlie. I’m the one who told you. What’d they do, operate on your brain while you were in there?”

  “If you knew you told me, why’d you tell me again like it was something new?”

  Mick shrugged. “Makin’ conversation, my potato-headed friend. Just makin’ conversation.”

  Charlie chuckled and picked up another glass. “What do you think of him? Milhouse, I mean?”

  “Nice enough, I guess. Quiet. Something a little odd about him, though.”

  “I think the same thing, but I can’t figure out what it is. It’s like he’s a little off, you know?”

  “Like milk just on the wrong side of spoiled. Not bad enough to make you wrinkle your nose but enough to make you open the new jug.”

  Charlie laughed again. “Are they all like you back in the old country?”

  “No, the Irish are a mean lot. Not nice like me.” Mick sipped his drink, a worried look on his face. “You say she was going to come in yesterday?”

  “Allison? That’s what she said. But you know how she is; could have heard about a neat-looking tree to photograph on the Eastern Shore and off she’d go.”

  “You’re a little sweet on her, aren’t you, buck?”

  Charlie felt his face get hot. He flashed back to the beach when he’d tried to kiss her. He had gotten a swift kick in the balls and delivered Airborne Express on his back for the trouble. He checked out Mick’s expression, suddenly terrified that Allison had told people about his clumsy attempt. There was amusement lining the corners of the man’s mouth, but not the out-and-out hilarity that the real story would have provoked. No, Allison was good to her word. She hadn’t told.

  “Damn, Mick, what’s not to like, you know? She’s smart, funny, drop-dead gorgeous.”

  “And going around with a millionaire.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Mick stood up from the table and walked up to the bar. “You really think there’s something off about our pal Arnie?”

  Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know. More so than any other rich guy that takes away the girl of my dreams? Probably not. Why, you worried about her?”

  “A little. Call it a feeling. Why don’t you give her a call and see how she’s doing?”

  “If you say so,” Charlie said, secretly pleased to have a reason, no matter how thin, to give her a call. “Should I finish up here first?”

  Mick hesitated and Charlie thought the old man might ask him to stop what he was doing and call her right away. But whatever the impulse, it was pushed back into place. “Nice try. Why don’t you give her a call on your break?”

  Charlie nodded and went back to work, thinking about how Allison looked on the beach that day, how it felt holding her hand while they waited for the ambulance to arrive, and how much his damn itching was about to drive him out of his mind.

  CHAPTER 20

  When Charlie did call later, he wasn’t able to reach Allison. Little could he know it was because Allison was dead to the world as she lay sprawled out on the bed, covers pulled up tight around her, blinds drawn to block out the late morning sun. Her cell phone rang loud enough to break through her sleep but not enough to motivate her to get up from bed.

  She lay in place, eyes open slightly to the dark room but not really taking in her surroundings. With Arnie out of town on business for two days, she gave herself time off for good behavior and slept in with the help of a couple of Ambien and Percocet. It wasn’t like her but she knew she was exhausting herself, driving out the demons by cranking up the exercise over the last three days, and if she didn’t recharge the batteries she would start making mistakes. Deep, dreamless sleep was what she decided she needed. If it took a little prescription help to make that happen, so be it.

  Now, lying in bed with the blurry numbness ebbing away, she reviewed her progress. She had seen Arnie each day since the boating accident with Jason, until he left yesterday morning for Miami, Florida, for a quick business trip. It was progressing well. She was still the hard-to-get woman, the challenge that the self-made man couldn’t resist. Flirtatious enough in style and manner to keep him interested. Stand-offish enough to keep him guessing. Like any seduction, it was a game, a game she felt confident she was winning.

  But she took no joy in it. The sense of cold dread that had filled her since the morning on Navy Bridge (fucking Craig Gerty, what were the chances?) had seeped its chill into her blood and bones. There wasn’t a second when the thought of Gerty wasn’t with her, ready to jump to her forebrain without warning. Even when she managed to push it back, it never strayed far, constantly angling for another grand entrance into her consciousness.

  She felt a rush of shame as she lay in bed and remembered last night. Late afternoon, really, the sun was still up when she had decided to retreat. She saw herself throw the pills down her throat, biting her lip to control the sobs that had started unexpectedly and refused to quit. Goddamn tears over old bullshit that was long since behind her. Bullshit that had happened to a weaker person who used to cry like this all the time, curled up in her bed like a little kid and waiting for the world to go away. Trying desperately to block out the memory of that night, the night that changed her forever. Blocking out her father’s shame of his daughter who couldn’t hack it at the academy. She thought she had already battled and beat back these demons but not even close. They had been just crouching in the shadows, biding their time, waiting to pounce and rip into her all over again.

  And now she was back in bed, hiding the way a kid hides from a thunderstorm or the boogeyman under her bed. Only this monster was real. And Allison had some grown-up pharmaceuticals at her disposal.

  Even though she was making progress, Allison knew she should pack her bags and get the hell out of there. It wasn’t a question, just a fact. The whole thing was uncharted territory. She would be dangerously out of her depth even if she had nothing else clouding her judgment. Part of her knew Gerty was the real reason for the Percocet, and that part of her was scared what else the urge for numbness might lead to.

  Arnie wasn’t back for another day, so she didn’t have to decide right then.

  What she did have to do was get her sorry butt out of bed and into the shower before the entire day got away from her.

  She grabbed for the cell phone and scrolled down the menu to see who the missed call was from. It was a local number, area code 410. She decided to call it back later. She pulled herself out of bed. Her limbs felt so heavy and stiff that she imagined she knew what it felt like to be covered in concrete. She made it to the shower, not daring a look into
the mirror, and tried to wash off the soreness and sense of shame.

  A change of clothes later and she did feel better. Before noon she was down the stairs and into the Calvert House lobby. She half expected to see Dockers-man in his morning spot, reading the paper for the fifth time as he waited for her to come down the stairs, but the lobby was empty. She was famished, so she bounced out the door and headed for Main Street. She was hungry for a soft-shell crab sandwich at McGarvey’s, but she stood Charlie up last night and he usually worked the lunch crowd. She felt bad about it, but she just wasn’t in the mood to talk right then. Instead, she headed to Mangia’s, a pizza place at the end of Main down by City Dock. Comfort food.

  She promised herself that she would go down to McGarvey’s that night to make things up with Charlie, but right then she still needed some time to herself to put her head on straight. A couple of quiet hours and a large pizza to herself sounded like just the ticket.

  CHAPTER 21

  A little past eight o’clock, Charlie was still hanging in there. He had been off the clock for a few hours but he didn’t have much to go home to. Paid or not, he preferred to be at the bar. In the same way most Vegas dealers weren’t big gamblers, Charlie, like most bartenders, wasn’t much of a drinker, but he liked the people and he liked the vibe. Especially on a night like this, well into the summer, when they were packed to the rack with tourists and locals alike. When his personal Ms. America, Allison, finally showed herself, he was doubly happy he’d hung around.

  “Well, there you are, young lady,” he said. “What’s a guy have to do to get some attention around here? Bleed to death?”

  Allison squeezed through the crowd to the end of the bar and gave him a hug. “I’m sorry. Something came up. How are you? How’s the leg?”

  “Itches like a son of a . . . you know,” Charlie said.

  “Like a son of a bitch?”

  Charlie laughed. “I was trying to be polite, but what the hell, right?”

  “Right, what the hell? How about I buy you a beer for standing you up last night?” She waved at Stan behind the counter and he deposited two beers in front of them. She raised a bottle toward Charlie. “To air bags.”

  “To air bags,” Charlie agreed. “May we never have a need for them again.”

  “Amen, brother.”

  They sipped their beers and watched the throbbing crowd for a while. People were standing shoulder to shoulder, a scene more likely in New York or San Francisco than Annapolis. But there they were, a weird amalgamation of sandal-wearing boaters, suited businessmen, and funky youngsters from St. John’s, all crowded into McGarvey’s dark interior to scoff down local brew and suck down some of the best oysters on the Eastern seaboard.

  “I hear you’re hanging out with that dweeb Arnie Milhouse,” Charlie blurted out.

  Allison slapped him softly on the shoulder. “Arnie’s not a dweeb. He’s a nice guy.”

  “He’s nice and rich, if that’s what you mean.”

  “And you think that’s why I’m interested in him?”

  Charlie shrugged. “All I’m saying is the guy’s, like, super-rich and kind of a dweeb. Maybe you just like dweebs,” he said, smiling. He craned forward to see Allison’s expression, just to make sure she knew he was only poking fun at her.

  “Maybe I do.”

  “Which explains—”

  “Why I didn’t go for you? OK. I walked into that one. Cheers.”

  Charlie sucked down his beer, bobbing his head to the thin bass line warbling out of the cheap speakers above the bar. “I’m serious, though. I get a strange vibe from that guy.”

  Allison looked surprised at Charlie’s assessment. “I don’t have an agenda. Just hanging out, seeing where things go.”

  “Has he tried anything?”

  “Charlie!”

  “I’m just saying . . . ’cause . . . you know . . .”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, he hasn’t tried anything. He’s been a perfect gentleman.”

  Charlie felt both ecstatic and let down. That bastard Arnie hadn’t gotten anything either, but he was playing it cool. Cooler than he had, that was for damn sure. Besides, a guy like that, with that kind of money, it was only a matter of time. He chugged down the rest of his beer just thinking about it.

  “Whoa there, cowboy,” Allison said. “What kind of pace are you on?”

  “I’m fast-tracking the evening. C’mon, bottoms up. Next round’s on me.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “C’mon, you stand me up, you put me in this cast, it’s the least you can do.” Charlie was happy to see her laugh and then down her beer.

  “All right. I’m having one more, but then I’m heading home. Don’t be getting any ideas.”

  “No, ma’am. I learned my lesson, thank you very much. Just a couple of friends having drinks. No kicking or karate-guru stuff will be necessary.”

  Stan lined up two more beers, and Charlie handed one to Allison. “To new friends.” He pulled back his beer just before they toasted. “Correction: to new friends who are not dweebs.”

  “Charlie, you’re terrible.”

  Charlie grinned. He may have lost the girl to the rich guy, but at least right now she was with him. And he wanted to enjoy it as long as possible. It was to be a much shorter time than he thought.

  CHAPTER 22

  An hour later, Allison knew she had to stop drinking and head back to her room. The warning sirens in her mind weren’t blaring, but they were whining at a low-level frequency, just enough to point out that she was tipsy and on her way to drunk if she didn’t get out of the bar. Her cheeks felt a little numb and the conversation around her was no longer words, just a pulsating tempo that gave the room around her its texture. But she was having a great time, and the stress release was just what she needed. Charlie was on a roll and had her laughing until she was wiping away tears. Still, she had to keep in control, and she knew a few more beers might just push her over the edge.

  “All right, big guy. I’ve got to head out of here,” Allison said.

  “Aw, c’mon. Stay a while longer. There’s a blues band coming in at ten.”

  “Negative. I’ve got an early day tomorrow. Can’t have shaky hangover hands when taking pics at six in the morning.”

  Charlie, who had already fought this battle twice in the last half hour, looked resigned. “All right, do me a favor, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Stay for one more drink.”

  “Charlie!”

  “I’m kidding. Hold on to my seat for me. I’ve got to take a monster leak. Been holding it forever.”

  “All right, but don’t be chatting up girls on the way back. I need to get.”

  “I’ll be as fast as I can, but the leg here isn’t exactly crowd-friendly,” Charlie said as he pushed himself out of the bar stool and grabbed his crutches. “Back in two shakes.”

  “Any more than that and you’re playing with it,” Allison called out, and it was Charlie’s turn to laugh.

  She watched as he pushed his way through the crowd; then she slumped onto the bar stool, suddenly lonely in the crowded bar. And tired. So tired.

  If she had been looking to her left, she might have seen the man approaching. Instead, it wasn’t until a body pressed into the space next to her that she knew someone was angling for the spot. She planned on leaving once Charlie got back, so she didn’t say anything.

  “Thought I recognized you. You’re all grown up now, though.”

  Every muscle in her body clenched at the sound of the voice.

  “Wasn’t sure at first. Thought you were just some whack-job that day on the bridge. But I’ve been watching you tonight. You’re looking fine, Allison. Just fine.”

  Allison forced herself to look up, her face set. Civilian clothes, jeans and a too-tight y
ellow golf shirt stretched over bulging musculature. The liquid courage coursing through her bloodstream pushed away the shock from seeing him right next to her. “You still look like a piece of chewed-up dog shit, Gerty.”

  Craig Gerty didn’t laugh, not even a smile. God saw fit to bestow him with a hawk nose and shallow cheeks that threw off any chance he had of ever being called handsome. Acne scars had created rough skin and craters on his neck and chin line, and a military cut couldn’t disguise the fact that the man was rapidly losing a battle with his hairline. Craig Gerty did not do well with comments about his looks.

  “I still think about you from time to time,” Gerty said with a sniff. “Think about our time we had together. Do you ever think about it, plebe? Ever think about me?”

  Allison stiffened at the word plebe. It was what upperclassmen and instructors called first years at the academy.

  She turned toward him, willing her voice to come out strong. “Why don’t you get the hell out of here?”

  The surprise on his face made Allison feel a small triumph. No, I’m not some eighteen-year-old you can fuck with, Craig. Now get the hell away from me.

  “You’ve turned into an uppity little bitch, haven’t you?”

  Allison looked straight ahead, willing Stan at the other end of the bar to turn around and make eye contact with her. There were so many things burning inside of her to throw at Gerty, but this wasn’t the place, wasn’t the time. A blowup in here would have people talking, and it would get back to Arnie.

  Even with the booze, she knew she couldn’t jeopardize that. She reached down her leg to her shin and felt the bulge there beneath the loose pant leg. Just a quick pat, just to feel better, just to know it was still there.