MQuinn 03 - Lethal Beauty

by Wiehl, Lis

  Marvella’s eyes flashed up to the stranger’s face just as he swiped his left hand down from his forehead to his chin, flipping the brim of his hat inside out. The hat had now become a white balaclava mask, covering everything but his eyes. The nose was marked with two dark dots of yarn, and more black yarn had been used to make it look like the mouth had been stitched shut. The stranger now looked like a ghost or a skeleton. Something dead and reanimated.

  And what was he now holding in his right hand? It was small and black. No, she thought. No, please, God, I’m not seeing this. It wasn’t a Bible, like so many of the other congregants carried. It was a—

  “Gun!” Marvella screamed from behind the stranger as he shouldered open one of the swinging doors. She felt her heart unzip. “He’s got a gun! He’s got a gun!”

  Instead of running outside to the relative safety of the street, or at least barricading herself in the office, Marvella let her pamphlets fall to the floor and followed him inside. Later some of her grandchildren would lecture her for her foolhardiness, and others would praise her bravery. When it hadn’t been either. It just had been the desire to see.

  What happened next passed with a curious, dreamlike slowness, even though it was over in an instant.

  At the sound of Marvella’s shout, some congregants hunched their shoulders and froze in their pews. As if they thought if they stayed absolutely still, no one would notice them. Others began screaming and running toward the other exits, scrambling over people who were too slow or too stuck.

  In a nearly empty row, Derron Phillips scuttled forward on hands and knees, the pew back providing him with a partial shield. Gayle Oliver tried to climb right over John Kim, but when the toe of her high heel got hooked on his thigh, she fell headlong, tumbling in between the pews. Meanwhile John never moved from his customary seat in the third row on the far left, never even blinked as Gayle fell over him. He only had eyes for the gun. Not the man holding it. Not Marvella, scurrying in his wake.

  Marvella was praying now, mixing snatches of the 23rd Psalm with bits of the Lord’s Prayer and other half-remembered verses. “Lord Jesus, protect us, save us from violence, even though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we fear no evil, O Lord, deliver us, you are our refuge, you are our present help in times of trouble.” Her mouth was dry and chalky, her thoughts as disjointed as her prayer. A little girl, Hannah Lee, had appeared by her side. Marvella had no idea where Hannah had come from, but she put her arm around her, steadying herself as much as she steadied the girl.

  Toward the front of the room, Abigail was taking shelter in the overhang of the keys. In the first pew, Hu Shen was on her feet but not moving, her hands pressed against her mouth, her head turning from side to side as she tried to figure out the best course of action. Brett Rockwell, who was always talking about new fad diets, had gotten stuck half under a pew, his feet madly paddling as he tried to scoot his bulk underneath. Chrissie Proulx was stabbing at her cell phone, but Marvella knew in her bones that whatever was going to happen would be long over by the time 911 was able to send cops here.

  As he walked, the stranger began to raise the gun.

  “What do you want?” Pastor Bob managed to say. Because of his microphone, he had an advantage, and his words rang out even over the screams and shouts and panic. His voice caught only a little. Afterward, they would all agree about how brave he had been.

  The man didn’t answer. He just kept moving forward, as inexorable as a tsunami.

  Pastor Bob stepped out from behind the lectern. His arms were open, his hands empty. To Marvella, he looked like Jesus in one of the stained glass panels that was set in the wall, the one where he welcomed the little children to come to him.

  Pastor Bob slowly stepped down the blue carpeted stairs. One, two.

  “Whatever is wrong, we can talk about it. We can work this out. Let’s just go someplace quiet.” He spoke as if there weren’t bedlam and chaos around them.

  The man veered off. Away from Pastor Bob and toward the choir.

  There was a mad scramble among the few people left in the choir stall. Sheet music flew in the air. Metal stands were knocked over with a clang. Jennie Wood whimpered and raised her hands as if in surrender. A man—Marvella thought it was Steward Steele—shouted.

  The stranger stopped, then raised his left hand and wrapped it around his right to steady it. He braced himself.

  His first shot took out the flower arrangement on top of the piano. It shattered into dozens of shards of vase, water spraying out, the flowers scattering in all directions. The sound roared and faded.

  The second shot hit Abigail, who was still cowering underneath the keys. Her body jerked, then uncurled itself. Slowly, slowly, she sprawled back on the carpet. Her dark wig came off, exposing the vulnerable bones of her skull topped with thinning white hair. Blood, red and shiny as paint, spread from the point where the bullet had entered her skull.

  The stranger froze as if he himself was shocked by what he had done. He turned on his heel, unleashing a fresh round of screams. Marvella pushed Hannah behind her. But he paid no attention to any of them. As he strode quickly toward the door, he let the hand with the gun drop to his side.

  As he was leaving, Pastor Bob ran to Abigail and fell to his knees. He leaned over her, speaking quietly into her ear, holding her hand, gently stroking her bloody head.

  But Marvella could see that it was too late for Abigail to hear him. Too late for Abigail to hear anything.

  CHAPTER 34

  Hey, Mia,” her dad said as she slipped in beside him on the pew. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” From his other side, Luciana leaned forward and offered a shy smile.

  Mia answered with nothing more than her own smile, not sure how much of the truth, if any, she wanted to offer. Last night she had been unable to sleep. What was going to become of Gabe? Would he really stop using? How much of a price would he end up paying for those muscles of his?

  Clearly, the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. In the years before he died, Scott had gotten in the habit of taking shortcuts. From the outside, their life had still looked picture perfect: a big house, a new Suburban, vacations to tropical beaches. After he was gone, Mia had realized their life had actually been an illusion, bought but not paid for.

  Scott had always liked to look good, secretly delighted in making people jealous. And now it seemed that Gabe was following in his father’s footsteps.

  Or maybe it was Mia’s fault for sticking by Scott for far too long. For letting him expose their children to the wrong lessons. And for not having taught Gabe anything herself that had stayed with him.

  The church service began, and along with the rest of the congregation, Mia got to her feet to sing a hymn—barely aware of her dad’s slightly off-key bass and Luciana’s soft soprano—then sat back down for announcements and scripture readings. Obediently, she closed her eyes for the prayers.

  But her thoughts continued to spin in tighter and tighter circles.

  What would happen to Gabe now? Was this the point where, when Mia looked back, she would realize things had already gone too far? That there would be no turn-around? Could he become a drug addict? A thief? Or just the kind of guy who could aim no higher than a minimum wage job?

  Remembering how she had praised Gabe for how his hard work was finally paying off, Mia flushed. She had been a fool. A fool.

  How could she have been so blind? Willfully blind, just as she had been with Scott. And like Scott, learning the truth too late. Oh, dear God, she thought, please make it not be too late.

  As a prosecutor, Mia accepted no nonsense. But she tried to have a softer side at home. Tried not to cross-examine, not to suspect, not to trick Gabe or Brooke into admitting the truth. Tried to believe they already were being truthful. Because these people were her family, darn it. Not strangers. Not people who did bad things.

  Only maybe Gabe was both. Family. Who did bad things.

  As the pastor launched into
his sermon, Mia barely heard him. Instead, she kept second-guessing how she had handled things yesterday. Should she have hidden her discovery from Gabe until she had more time to research steroids? Had it been a mistake to let Charlie talk to him?

  She didn’t know what he had said, just that he had left as soon as he was done. Before he did, Charlie had taken Mia out on the porch and talked to her in a low voice.

  “Just because he says he’s quitting doesn’t mean that he is, or that he’s going to stay quit. He knows you’re watching him now, though. So he’ll either stop using or he’ll try to get better at hiding it. You just better hope he keeps feeling guilty. But if I were you, I wouldn’t assume anything.”

  “Okay.” Mia wished she could just go into her room and close the door, pull the covers over her head and not get out of bed for a year or two. Maybe not until Gabe was twenty-five. “Thanks. Thanks for everything.”

  “I can remember what it was like to be a teenage boy.” His mouth twisted, and he looked down at his shoes. “Sort of.” He raised his head, and his eyes met hers. “I think he’ll probably be okay. His brain just needs to catch up with his impulses.”

  Did Charlie think she was a terrible mom not to have noticed anything? Did he think she had been hiding her head in the sand? She didn’t really want to know.

  “I sure hope so.” Mia sighed. “See you Monday.” Then she took a deep breath and went back inside and up to Gabe’s room, the place to which he had retreated after talking to Charlie. She opened the door without knocking. Gabe was sprawled on his bed, tiny white earbuds screwed into his ears.

  “This probably comes as no surprise,” she said in a voice designed to penetrate, “but you’re grounded.”

  He yanked out one earpiece and pushed himself up on one elbow. “For how long?”

  Mia pinched the bridge of her nose between finger and thumb. “I don’t know for how long. In the interim, I want you to research and write a four-page, double-spaced report on the drawbacks of steroids. A minimum of a thousand words. I want you to cover not only the medical aspects but also people whose lives got messed up. Who lost their sports careers or even their lives.”

  Then she had spent the next half hour playing dolls with Brooke, wishing life were as simple for her as it was for a four-year-old.

  Now Mia tuned into the sermon and realized it was about the prodigal son. Either God had a sense of humor or he was taunting her. Gabe had squandered his gifts, come close to throwing them away. Would he ever return to the fold? She couldn’t pray for herself, could barely pray for Gabe. She realized it was because she lacked any certainty that it would turn out okay. But maybe that was what prayers were for, to make you realize you had no control, to make you let go of the notion that you controlled your destiny.

  Maybe the future was best approached on your knees.

  “Mia?” Her dad touched her arm. “Church is over.”

  With a start she realized everyone was getting to their feet and gathering their things.

  “Sorry!”

  “Would you like to go to lunch with Luciana and me?”

  “I would love that.” She was in no hurry to return home. Gabe had still been in bed when she left. Kali was looking after Brooke.

  They met at a diner a half mile from the church, the kind that served breakfast all day. The food looked basic, and probably most of it started out frozen in some kind of industrial-size packaging, but how badly could you mess up breakfast? Remembering her vow to eat better, Mia ordered her toast dry.

  Her dad leaned forward. “So how are things going with the kids?”

  Mia opened her mouth, but no words came out. To buy time, she took a sip of her coffee. It was scalding, burning her tongue. She waved her hand in front of her mouth, hoping her dad would think that the coffee explained the tears that had flooded her eyes. “Let’s just say it’s been … interesting.”

  “I remember your brother when he was Gabe’s age. You know what they say. When you’re fourteen or fifteen, your parents don’t know anything, but by the time you’re twenty-five, it’s amazing how much they’ve learned.”

  “I hope you’re right.” She stopped herself from sighing.

  “And work? How’s that going?”

  “I’ve been helping a homicide detective with a case. We’re pretty sure that the victim is the same guy who asked for my help outside the Chinese restaurant where he worked. He didn’t speak very much English, so we couldn’t really communicate. He came to America illegally.” She paused while the waitress set down their plates. “I would guess that everyone who works at that restaurant is undocumented. And probably as a result, the people who work there have never even heard of the minimum wage. And they all live in a run-down house where four or five people share a room.”

  Her food forgotten, Luciana was listening with interest. “Maybe they are more than just illegal,” she said carefully. “Maybe they are slaves.”

  “What?” Clearly, Luciana did not have a good grasp of English. “There aren’t any slaves anymore. Not in America.”

  “There are slaves in America,” Luciana insisted. “Even slaves in Seattle.”

  Mia remembered a story she had seen on the news, a couple from Indonesia who had brought over a servant and then never let her go outside, never paid her, made her sleep on the floor.

  “I guess I’ve heard of maids being treated like slaves.”

  “It is not like slaves,” Luciana insisted. “It is. And there are slaves in factories and on farms. In restaurants. Anyplace you need a lot of people and they don’t need to speak much English.”

  “The people from the restaurant that we talked to live in a house in a regular neighborhood. They talk to the public every day. They’re free to go wherever they want. They’re not being sold at an auction. I mean, it’s not like they’re chained up or anything.” But as Mia spoke, she wondered. How free were the people they had talked to, really?

  “They don’t need to be chained up.” Luciana’s words were an urgent hiss. “They chain themselves. The bosses take their papers. The bosses say, if you go to the police, you will be beaten, raped, maybe even killed. You will be jailed. You will be deported.” She nodded, agreeing with herself. “That’s what the police do to people in their home countries, so it makes sense. So there’s no point in asking anyone for help. Plus, these people are told they owe money to the smugglers and they have to work to pay it back. Only when you are paid a dollar or two an hour, you will never pay it back. It is called”—she looked up, trying to recall the correct term—“debt bondage. But what it means is that you are a slave.” Her lips pursed. “Even if they aren’t sold at auction.”

  “How do you know all this?” Mia asked.

  “Because that’s what happened to me.”

  Mia looked at her dad. Food forgotten, he was listening to Luciana with one hand across his mouth. She could still make out his expression. Pain, sadness.

  “When I was offered a job in America,” she continued in her soft voice, “I felt like I had won the lottery. I was living in a little town in Mexico with my family, but there was no work. When a woman said she had a job for me, I thought, I can earn money and send it back to my family. I can help my parents. Everyone knows you make good money in America. I felt so lucky. This lady told me, ‘You help me, and I will help you.’ She said I was like a daughter to her. But then when I was brought here, she told me I owed her twelve thousand dollars for passage. And she charged me for every bit of food I put in my mouth, the bed I slept on. Everything.”

  Luciana sighed and was quiet for a long moment. Neither Mia nor her dad moved.

  “To pay her back, I had to be with men. Man after man after man. The people who ran the whole thing were from Mexico, like me. So were the other girls. The only Americans I met were my clients. You are told you have to earn back the money you owe before you can leave. Not that you know where you are. Even if you’ve been there for months. Maybe you know the area code. Or the state. But not the
city. And you get passed around, you get traded. Like a slave. You can still be bought and sold. Even in 2015. Even in America.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “One time I tried to tell a man who seemed nice what was happening. But he told the madam. I was beaten until I almost died. Then they put me in a locked closet for eleven days. And then I was put back to work. If a neighbor hadn’t eventually called the police, I think I would have died. One way or the other.”

  Luciana blinked and a single tear ran from her eye.

  Mia’s dad reached out his thumb and wiped it away.

  CHAPTER 35

  Gabe’s fist throbbed, the pain flashing red with every beat of his heart. Crimson blood seeped from his knuckles. A fist-shaped dent cratered the wall right next to where he was lying on his back on the upper bunk.

  Staring at the hole, Gabe put his knuckles to his mouth and licked them. His mom hardly ever came in here anymore, not since Eldon had moved in. With luck, it would be a long time before she even noticed it. Still, that had been pretty stupid, punching the wall. He hadn’t even decided to do it. He had just done it.

  It felt like there was a pit inside his chest, and it was getting wider and deeper. Or maybe he was already inside the pit, having fallen in.

  Eldon had gone down a little earlier to fix himself breakfast, so for once Gabe was alone in the room. The room that was supposed to be his. Now the only thing in this room that was his and his alone was this upper bunk. A three-by-six-foot piece of real estate.

  The rest of his room was now shared with Eldon. Eldon who had fifty pounds on him, easy. Even now, even after the steroids had given Gabe the body he always wanted. Pretty soon it would disappear, and it would be back to being more like an eighty-pound difference between them.

  Once that happened, how would it look when they walked down the halls at school? Probably like Gabe was some little dwarf capering in a giant’s shadow.