Killing Ways

by Alex Barclay

  Drunkard father. Serial killer brother. So much goodness.

  ‘I have no idea who your father is,’ said Joe. He shook his head – a lazy, taunting movement. Then he smiled.

  Duke frowned. ‘But …’

  ‘That email Ren was sent?’ said Joe. ‘It was bullshit. It wasn’t from me. It was copied to me, but it was sent from one of the agents right inside this building to stop you wanting to die, to stop your suicide mission. He knew you wouldn’t want to leave this world without saying goodbye to your father, would you? Geoff Riggs was a kind man to you. But that’s all he was. He wasn’t your father. Who knows who your father could have been? Your mother had quite the list. We lost count of the possibilities. Everyone knew someone who knew someone who fucked yo’ mama.’

  Ease up, Joe.

  Ren watched Duke Rawlins. He was smiling. His head lolled away again.

  Why are you still smiling?

  ‘So, you can die with that mystery,’ said Joe. ‘Who’s. Yo’. Daddy.’

  Ren looked at Joe. There was a chilling menace in his face.

  Duke used all the strength he had to turn back toward them.

  ‘Did you get my gift?’ said Duke. He was talking to Joe. ‘The one I gave to The Widow Dettling?’

  No, Gary will not die. He will not die, you fucking psychopath.

  ‘The FedEx slip?’ said Joe. ‘What was I supposed to do with that?’

  ‘Read it.’

  ‘I did read it.’

  ‘What does it say to you?’ said Duke.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Joe. ‘What’s it meant to say to me? You went through my garbage and stored up that information for years … for what?’

  Duke laughed weakly. ‘No, sir. It’s the kind of shit that could give a man nightmares for the rest of his life.’

  ‘I’m so tired of his bullshit,’ said Joe. ‘It’s over. It’s over now.’

  Duke Rawlins was weakening. His eyes were closing. Still, he was smiling.

  ‘You don’t get it,’ said Duke, staring up at Joe. ‘You still don’t get it.’

  ‘Get what?’ said Joe.

  ‘Grace …’ said Duke.

  ‘She’s gone away,’ said Joe. ‘Grace is safe.’ He looked at Ren, almost rolled his eyes.

  ‘Safe like Hayley Gray was?’ said Duke. Hayley Gray was the little girl that Donald Riggs killed. ‘Safe like Hayley Gray with a bomb strapped around her waist and a detonator?’

  ‘There’s no bomb strapped to my daughter – that, I know for sure,’ said Joe. ‘She is thousands of miles away and only I know where.’

  Your confidence is so complete. You know Grace is safe. You know it. Why is the energy in the room unchanged? Why do I still think Duke Rawlins is holding all the cards?

  ‘I’m the bomb!’ said Duke. ‘You don’t get it! I’m the bomb!’ With the last of his strength, his head was now rocking from side to side, smiling wider, blood smeared across his teeth and gums.

  This guy is absolutely unhinged.

  ‘I’m the bomb!’ said Duke. ‘And I am right there with Grace wherever she goes. I’m the bomb! I’m the bomb!’

  Ren and Joe locked eyes, confused, disturbed.

  ‘You still don’t get it!’ said Duke. ‘I got Grace, Grace got me. Got me running through her veins!’ He stopped his crazy rocking, stopped dead. His eyes burned into Joe Lucchesi.

  ‘I’m the daddy,’ said Duke. ‘I’m the daddy! I fucked your wife! Lucky number seven years ago. I drugged her. I fucked her. I cleaned her up. I lay her down gently on the sofa where she spent most of her time anyway. I drugged her. I fucked her. And I gave her a baby. What are the fucking chances of that? I gave her Grace. I gave your wife Grace. Now, isn’t that something?’

  Oh.

  Dear.

  God.

  71

  Joe Lucchesi’s face had transformed in such a powerful way, it cut short even Duke Rawlins’ laughter.

  This is beyond thinking about. This is beyond all levels of depravity.

  Ren and Joe locked eyes.

  What are you thinking? How are you thinking?

  Ren’s heart pounded.

  You want to kill this man. I want to see him rot in jail.

  Joe’s face was desolate, his eyes empty. A nothing-to-lose air radiated from him.

  Duke Rawlins is ready to die now. He wants to die.

  You want to kill him. I want to see him rot in jail.

  Ren looked at Duke. His shaven head was slick with sweat.

  WantED. WantED to see him rot in jail.

  Now? Now I want to kill this man.

  She stared at Joe.

  I want to kill this man for the lifelong pain he has caused you. You were a good man. You are a good man. What justice brought Duke Rawlins into your life?

  Duke Rawlins was looking around, he was smiling wide, but he couldn’t hide the fear that was sparking in his eyes. He kept smiling, though, and the smile broadened. He began laughing again, harder, louder, with depthless cruelty.

  That was not fear in your eyes; it was relish. You are getting an even better reaction than you expected. You have run this moment through your head a million times. And the moment is here. This is everything to you. There was no fear. Of course there wasn’t. There was, simply, joy.

  There was a palpable change in the air, a thickening, a dense, choking, smoking hell.

  ‘In my own way,’ said Duke, drawing out the words, ‘I guess I killed your wife. I did it. In my own way, I finished her off with all that scar tissue I left her. Guess I really am the gift that keeps on giving. The gift I always promised you I would be.’ He rolled his head to the side and spat out blood.

  Ren looked up at Joe.

  What are you going to do? What are you going to say?

  Joe muttered something. Ren waited. He muttered again. She strained to hear.

  ‘Liar,’ said Joe a little louder. ‘Liar. You’re a fucking liar!’

  Duke Rawlins shook his head slowly. ‘I’m not! I mean, I couldn’t have planned for the baby, that was a … happy accident! Soon as I saw Grace walking, though, I knew. She couldn’t have been more than two years old, in that park near your house. I saw it – she had the same skinny bow legs I had, got passed down by my mama. Didn’t you even wonder about her hair? I mean—’

  ‘You fucking liar!’ said Joe. ‘You liar.’

  ‘No!’ said Duke. ‘No! I caught it all on video. There’s a date on it and everything. Like the FedEx slip I took while I was there. You’ll see – that’ll about match up to nine months before Grace was born. And yes. There’s video evidence.’ He checked his watch. ‘The matinee should be starting right about now.’

  Shaun Lucchesi was staring at his laptop. He had pressed play on the emailed video, but the screen was still black. He waited. He recognized the steps up to their old house in Bay Ridge. The door was green like it used to be. This looked like an old video. Was this some kind of joke from one of his friends? Was someone about to egg the house or something? He could see the camera move onto the front door of the house, then slide across to the front-room window. He could see the shadow of his mom moving about behind the gauzy curtains. His heart lurched at the sight of his mother. He missed her.

  Then he was watching the side of the house, the air vent that went into the living room. He could see a hand doing something there, holding something up, letting it waft in through the vent. The camera was back on the window. Shaun could see the blurred form of his mother slump to the floor. He could hear footsteps as the person holding the camera walked up to the front door. He could hear keys jangling. Whoever was filming took the keys and shook them in front of the screen. It was a man’s hand. Shaun recognized his own key ring, remembered losing his keys and his fake ID on a night out in a bar. The man unlocked the front door. Shaun’s heart pounded as the man made his way into the living room. He crouched down beside his mother. He rolled her over onto her back. She was passed out, looked almost lifeless, there was no effort required to
move her. The man started to push up her skirt. Shaun slammed the laptop shut.

  Joe Lucchesi’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket.

  Shaun’s name was flashing like an alarm on the screen.

  Duke was staring up at the ceiling. Without even turning his head, he said, ‘That’s got to be Shaun. I’m sure he’s in a real panic right about now after what he’s just watched.’

  Jesus Christ.

  Joe was speechless, unmoving.

  ‘Joe,’ said Ren. ‘Joe.’ She reached out for his forearm.

  Look at me. Please look at me. Look at me.

  Duke was half-laughing, half-whining. ‘Ignoring your only biological child?’

  Joe fell to his knees, grabbing Duke Rawlins by the neck.

  ‘No!’ said Ren, diving after him. ‘NO! Don’t do this. He fell. He fell. You were not responsible. This … you will be responsible. He’s not worth it.’ I can’t even say, think of Grace. Jesus Christ. Shaun? Everything is so wrong.

  Joe had a white-knuckle grip on Duke’s neck. ‘I am going to fucking kill you! I will fucking kill you, you sick fuck. You fuck. You—’

  Duke’s eyeballs were bulging, his face bright with compressed blood, the heels of his boots scrambling on the marble floor. The pool of blood under his head was spreading.

  Ren tried to grab Joe’s shoulders. It was like grabbing rock. His muscles were rigid, boring every ounce of strength into choking the life from Duke Rawlins.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Ren. ‘He’s dying, Joe. He’s dying. Let him die. Let him die. We’ll walk out of here. We’ll let him die alone. Let’s leave him here to die. He can’t win. Don’t let him win.’

  Joe stopped moving. Arms still rigid, he looked up at Ren, his eyes crazed, desperate, questioning, sweat pouring down his face, his eyes stinging with it. His look said, ‘Please tell me this is not the nightmare I believe it to be.’

  There is a monster dying at your feet and living on inside your beautiful daughter. This is the nightmare you believe it to be.

  There was a flash of movement outside the building. Joe pulled his bloodied hands from Duke Rawlins’ neck, and fell back onto his heels. Duke sucked in as big a breath as his failing body would allow. Ren grabbed Joe’s arm as he stood up to his full height. Side by side, they watched, dazed, as the doors burst open and the SWAT team plowed in. Ren looked down. Duke Rawlins looked delirious, his head moving again from side to side. He was drawing his final breaths, his face set into one final shit-eating grin.

  72

  Ren sat in the car outside Joe Lucchesi’s hotel, her forehead pressed against the steering wheel. Gary was at the hospital, in no position to tell her to go home, not to carry out the courtesy of seeing Joe off at the airport after some of the most horrific moments of his life.

  Fifteen hours had passed. Everyone focuses on the shooting, never the aftermath, never the ordinary stuff like people need to eat dinner, sleep, catch a flight somewhere.

  Ren checked her cell phone. There were four missed calls from Matt. She didn’t listen to his voicemails, but she guessed he had read about the shooting online. All she managed to do was text him back: I’m fine – don’t worry!

  She tried Ben’s phone. She had left three voicemails. Surely he had heard. She’d never wanted to see him as much as she wanted to see him now.

  Maybe he found out about the night in the hotel with Joe. But he couldn’t have. How could he have? Maybe he’s on his way. Maybe he’s going to be at the apartment when I get back. Surprise!

  She thought about Robbie.

  Robbie will never get married, or have kids, or love or be loved the way he always wanted to be, the way he deserved. One last girl emailed him. Maybe she was going to be The One. Maybe Janine was. We won’t ever know.

  Everett’s widowed father will never know that Luke, Everett’s handsome, beautiful, carpenter friend, who fell apart when he came to the hospital, was really the man Everett had loved for fifteen years and planned to spend the rest of his life with.

  What is to be done with all this grief? I can’t bear this. I can’t. I just can’t. There is no cure. I don’t believe in time. What can time do for me, Everett? You’re the numbers guy. What will it take before I can dance again? Will time make me laugh, or carry me double vodka cranberries, or find me miracles in spreadsheets, and laughs on Monday mornings? And ice for my pineapple juice?

  She started crying. I can’t live this way; the horror outside, the horror inside. The thoughts, all the thoughts, over and over. I want silence. I want to be the person who has one thought a day, an unchallenging thought. I want a mind where avenues are really dead ends. No forked thoughts, no networks, no links.

  But is that what I want? Is it? Who would I be then?

  She dialed Ben’s number again. ‘Ben … it’s me. I’m not sure if you’ve heard anything, but please just call me first, before you speak with anyone else. I love you so much.’ She hung up.

  My gut was right about some things. And my gut was wrong. This is so exhausting. Everyone has a gut they can go on and I don’t. Mine is broken. What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do about anything? Who can even answer that?

  Ren called Janine. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Numb,’ she said. ‘Numb.’

  ‘Tell me what happened … the email everything.’

  ‘Don’t cuff me to something in a room full of documents for one,’ said Janine. ‘I just kicked over every pile I could and eventually a paper clip slid my way. I uncuffed myself, ran in to check on Gary. He was unconscious. I thought he was dead. Everett … Everett was still alive, Ren. He was still alive. He told me Gary had a second phone – for Sylvie Ross! I went to find Gary’s phone in his office, somewhere in a drawer. I got it, I ran back to Everett. He told me to write an email pretending I was Joe, told me about Geoff Riggs. He knew it would change things.’ She started crying. ‘When I got back to him, he … he asked me to call his parents and hold the phone up. Then Luke … and … Ren, it was the worst … it was beyond heartbreaking. And Robbie was dead … and Everett was dying. And I was right there, and …’ She started bawling crying.

  Ren sobbed along with her.

  Everett – in your dying moments, that’s what you did. Made sure Duke Rawlins would want to live, would be more likely not to want to die in a hail of bullets and take everyone with him.

  Everett, Janine: you saved my life, you saved Gary’s.

  And, Gary, your affair helped!

  Jesus Christ.

  ‘Where are you?’ said Ren. ‘Are you home safe?’

  ‘Yes. Terri’s on her way over. Will you come when you’re ready?’

  ‘Of course I will, of course.’

  Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be meeting Terri under these circumstances.

  Ren looked up to see Joe Lucchesi walking down the steps. She pushed open the driver’s door and started to get out of the Jeep. ‘Hey,’ she said.

  ‘Hey,’ said Joe. ‘Stay where you are. Let me just throw this in the back seat.’

  Where I looked back at your sleeping daughter not that long ago.

  The drive to the airport was mostly in silence, two ghostly, grieving people with black memories, shared secrets, deep sufferings, uncertain paths, scars upon scars.

  I don’t want any more war stories. I don’t want any more war.

  She could see only Duke Rawlins, Robbie, Everett, Gary.

  Where the fuck am I?

  She was struck with an image of Dr. Gaston holding a putty knife, she heard his brutal words from an old crime scene: ‘dries like concrete’.

  What was he talking about?

  Where the fuck am I?

  Rawlins. Robbie. Everett. Gary. Rawlins. Robbie. Everett. Gary. Gun. Blast. Holes. Blood. Gray matter. Gray matter. Gray matter dries like concrete. Dries like concrete. Dries like concrete.

  ‘I need to pull over,’ said Ren. I’m going to be sick.

  Oh, God
. Oh, God. Oh, God.

  The car was parked for twenty minutes. Ren lay, weakened, slumped in the seat. Joe gave her space and silence.

  I’m so tired. I’m so, so tired.

  I can’t do this. I’m cracking. I’m going to break.

  She started up the engine, continued on toward the airport.

  She thought about the Cheerios on Carly Raine’s lips, the torn black plastic around Hope Coulson’s body, puncture wounds, and scratched soles, and foreign objects.

  Stop. Stop. Stop. But this … this will never stop. This is all entangled in who I am. How was this the path I chose? One I knew would be littered with the fallout of the very worst that life has to offer? Things I was destined to pick up and examine and touch and smell and never sidestep. Maybe, if I’m lucky, to climb over. Or destroy with minimal collateral damage.

  Jesus Christ.

  She glanced over at Joe Lucchesi. He was far away.

  Who are we? Were we born broken that we chose to exist in a world of broken things? Is that, really, the only place we can be comfortable?

  Where is the comfort? Where is it? We were wrong. We are wrong.

  Ren sensed a presence in front of her. She slammed on the brakes. She and Joe shot forward and back, striking nothing, holding tight. A woman glared at Ren through the windshield, slammed her hand on the hood of the car, pointed at the red light she was about to plow through.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Ren, mouthing it, making it clear. ‘I’m sorry.’ I’m so sorry. This isn’t me. What is me?

  Joe reached out and put a hand on her forearm, squeezing it. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry. I’m …’ a mess. But she knew she didn’t need to finish it. They knew what they both were.

  Departures was busy with people who looked so different to them, who had no idea who these two people were, brought together by an evil that had triumphed on a grand scale before it had died.

  ‘Well …’ said Joe, ‘I guess I’ll see you around.’

  ‘Yes.’

  They hugged. When they pulled apart, they looked into each other’s eyes.

  Who are we now? To ourselves … to each other.

  ‘Thank you for everything,’ said Joe.