Pay The Penance (Mechanic Trilogy Book 3)

by Rob Ashman

  She had no idea what to say. But she would have to find the words in five minutes’ time as Pavilion Park Homes came into view.

  Mechanic drew up outside the entrance and stepped out. The place was a gated community of red-brick bungalows and manicured lawns. There was an intercom mounted on the wall, and she pushed the button.

  ‘Can I help you?’ the detached voice of a woman crackled from the speaker.

  ‘Hi, I’m here to see Stewart Sells.’

  ‘Is he expecting you?’

  ‘No, I want to surprise him. I’m his daughter Jessica Sells.’

  There was silence for a few seconds then an electric motor buzzed into action and the gate swung open. She walked up a block-paved path and into the reception hall.

  ‘He’s in the communal room.’ Mechanic recognised the voice of the woman on the intercom. She poked her head above the semi-circular desk in the corner. ‘Straight ahead, second on the left.’

  As Mechanic made her way along the pristine white corridors she could hear the chatter of excited voices. Large double doors were pinned back and she entered the room. A card school was in full swing with four guys seated at a table and a cluster of men behind them jeering and catcalling.

  She recognised her father in an instant. Or to be more accurate, she recognised his voice. It still had that curious mix of soft southern drawl and clipped military diction, and it still boomed with the authority of a man used to being in charge.

  What Mechanic didn’t recognise was the emaciated body and balding scalp. The ends of his fingers were white and thick, and his hands trembled as he held onto his cards. His arms were a patchwork of red scabs where he had raked them raw. The remaining skin on show was tainted a jaundiced yellow.

  He looked up when she entered the room and his eyes registered a flicker of recognition, then he continued playing his hand.

  Mechanic took a seat at the back of the room and watched the game. Her dad was the dominant character in the group, hurling insults and jokes around in equal measure. He looked up again, and Mechanic could see the cogs turning as he stared at the uninvited visitor.

  He returned to his cards. Ten minutes later he threw his hand onto the table and blasphemed.

  ‘Goddamit, Doug. Do you have a stack of aces up your sleeve?’ he challenged the man sitting opposite.

  ‘No, but you sure have a stack of them in your ass.’

  The group burst into riotous laughter as they stood up and milled around.

  Mechanic made her move. She weaved her way through the crowd and touched her dad on the shoulder.

  ‘Dad, it’s me.’

  Steward Sells turned and regarded her as if she was a street beggar, his pale watery eyes searching her face. Then a light bulb went off in his head.

  ‘Jo,’ he shouted. ‘Jo, how lovely to see you!’ He took her hand. ‘Hey, guys, this is my daughter Jo. Sorry – it’s been so long, I didn’t recognise you. Your hair is different and—’

  ‘No, Dad, I’m Jess,’ she interrupted.

  He looked at her and screwed his eyes up, another light bulb going off in his head. He dropped her hand.

  ‘You’re not Jo?’

  ‘No Dad, I’m Jess.’

  He took a while to adjust to the new information.

  ‘Hi, Jess, it’s good to see you.’ He couldn’t have sounded less sincere if he tried. ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘I thought it was about time I came to visit.’

  He nodded his head and forced a smile.

  ‘You hungry?’

  ‘Er, yes, I could eat something.’

  ‘Let’s go eat.’ Stewart Sells marched out. The warm welcome for his long-lost daughter was over.

  They walked out of the building in silence and across the street to a rib shack, him in front and Mechanic following behind. They were shown to a corner table and a waitress dressed in black with a pink and white gingham apron appeared with two glasses of water. The ice chinked as she set them down in front of them.

  ‘Hey, Mr Sells, good to see you.’

  ‘Hey, Janine, what’s cooking today?’ He gave her the warmest smile of the day so far.

  ‘The smoked baby back ribs and the slow roast belly pork are flying out of the kitchen.’

  ‘Two smoked ribs it is then.’

  Mechanic watched the waitress disappear back to the kitchen with her unopened menus. Apparently she wanted ribs as well.

  She and her father enthusiastically sipped their water so they didn’t have to speak.

  Mechanic broke the silence. ‘How did you end up here? Why Prescott?’

  ‘It was recommended by a naval officer buddy of mine who’s also an addict. Prescott is the recovery destination of choice for people wanting to kick their dirty habits. The place is full of rehab centres, detox clinics, halfway houses, sober homes and care facilities. You name it, they got it. The locals say there’s over a thousand people at any one time in some recovery programme or another, it’s the biggest industry in town. I figured that sounded like the place for me.’

  ‘Is it going well for you here?’

  ‘I get the right medicine and the right care. I have friends and places to visit, so yes, I guess it’s going well.’

  Mechanic looked at her father and tried not to let her thoughts give her away. The sight of his deteriorating body would suggest things were as far from going well as you could get. A million questions crashed around her head. None of which she was able to ask.

  They both returned to their water.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Stewart Sells asked.

  ‘It’s been a long time and I wanted to see you.’

  ‘That sounds like a politician talking.’

  ‘No, it’s true. I wanted to find you because it’s been a while.’

  ‘Maybe it has, maybe it hasn’t. How is Jo?’

  She had prepared herself for this question but it didn’t make it any easier to answer.

  ‘I lost touch with her too. Have you had seen or heard from her?’ Mechanic imagined her sister lying in a cemetery somewhere in Vegas.

  ‘Nope, not seen or heard from her in a long time. I thought you girls had fallen off the end of the earth.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry it’s been so long. That’s why I came.’

  ‘Things change and shit happens. But anyway you’re here now and I suppose we should enjoy our meal.’

  Mechanic wasn’t sure how to respond. So she didn’t.

  They sat in silence until the food arrived. When it did each plateful could have fed a family of four and the waitress struggled to manoeuvre the dishes onto the table.

  ‘Wow,’ Mechanic said. ‘They sure make them big.’

  ‘That’s why I come here. It’s enough food for at least two meals. What we don’t eat we can take out in a box.’

  They tucked into the mountain of food.

  ‘You not married?’ he asked.

  ‘No, never had the time or the inclination. After the army I was so busy moving from place to place I never got the chance to put down roots.’

  ‘Did Jo marry?’

  Every question about her sister caused Mechanic to take a deep breath before answering. Her emotions were still running close to the surface and she couldn’t let that show.

  ‘As I said, we lost touch, so she might be. I don’t know.’

  ‘I always thought she had the makings of a great wife and mother so I’d be surprised if she didn’t get hitched to some guy. I never thought you would though, you never struck me as the type.’

  And what fucking type is that exactly? she wanted to scream in his face. But she scooped a forkful of pork into her mouth instead.

  He continued. ‘No, you were never the marrying kind and I could never see you with kids.’

  That might have something to do with you fucking robbing me of my childhood and making me into a psycho bitch who kills for kicks. The words stayed in her head as she rammed in another forkful. If this had been a cowboy movie, tumbleweed would be bl
owing through the restaurant. The awkwardness was thicker than the gravy.

  ‘How long you planning to stay in town?’ he asked.

  ‘A couple of days maybe. I thought we could do stuff together, if that’s okay.’

  ‘You picking up the tab for lunch?’

  ‘Er, yes, sure.’

  ‘Then it’s okay with me – you keep paying the checks and you can stay as long as you want.’

  He piled food into his face and waved his glass at the waitress for more water.

  Mechanic looked at the prematurely dying man opposite and the memories of what made him a monster came crashing back.

  The meal ended with no more conversation. Mechanic paid the check while he collected the takeaway boxes, and they left.

  ‘I got things to do this afternoon,’ Stewart Sells said as they strolled out into the bright sunlight.

  ‘Okay, I need to find a place to stay, so can I see you later? We could have dinner.’

  ‘You paying?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose—’

  ‘Then come by after six.’

  ‘Which bungalow is yours, I’ll come and pick you up.’

  ‘See you at six.’

  She reached out her hand, but all she touched was empty space as he turned and walked away.

  Mechanic wasn’t sure what she’d find in Prescott, but this didn’t feel like a reconciliation, it felt more like a rekindling of abuse.

  25

  Mechanic arrived at the red-brick village a little before six o’clock. Her heart was banging in her chest at the prospect of another meeting with her father but she was determined to make things right between them.

  The night guard buzzed her through the front gate and she waited in reception. Her watch ticked past the hour and there was no sign of him.

  ‘My dad said he’d meet me here at six,’ she said to the man in the security uniform. ‘I’m thinking he might have got confused with the time. His name is Stewart Sells, can you tell me where he lives?’

  ‘No, ma’am, we can’t divulge tenant information, I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait here.’

  Mechanic shook her head, but arguing would be a waste of time.

  The minutes ticked by.

  At 6.17pm the security guy slipped on his jacket and ambled out the back of reception to do his rounds. Mechanic saw her chance and headed off into the network of single-storey homes.

  She wandered the paved walkways looking for something she recognised. One of the men she had seen at the card game came out of his house.

  ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘I’m here to meet Stewart Sells but I’ve lost the slip of paper he gave me with his address. Do you know where he lives?’

  The old man stopped at the top of his path.

  ‘Sure, honey, I saw you earlier, you’re his daughter, right?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right, I saw you too. Quite a card school you have going there.’

  The old guy laughed and his chest rattled.

  ‘He’s at Simpson Place, number twelve.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Not sure he’s in though, haven’t seen him since this morning.’

  ‘Where does he go when he’s not at home?’

  ‘How would I know?’ he said, his tone changing to one that said ‘enough questions already’.

  Mechanic thanked the old guy and set off to find Simpson Place.

  She didn’t have to go far, and he was right, there was no one at home. Mechanic peered through the living room window, the place was empty and the TV was off.

  She retraced her steps back to reception and headed out the gates. After thirty minutes of walking the streets, she found her father. He was keeping a bar stool warm in a fleapit of a liquor joint. The bar was long and narrow, and decked out in dark wood panelling with a thirteen-inch portable television hanging from one wall. It stank of spilled beer and bad breath, and the blades of the ceiling fan did nothing but ensure the stale odours were evenly swirled around the room. A line of crumpled figures sat at the bar either staring into their glass or squinting at the flickering images on the screen. A crew of drinkers were crammed in behind them, propping themselves up with one hand against the bar and a drink in the other. This was not the place to come for a round-table discussion.

  Mechanic pulled up a stool next to her father.

  ‘Hello,’ she said.

  ‘Who? How did you …’ He slurred his words and his breath could have taken the paint off a door.

  ‘I came at six, but you weren’t at home.’

  ‘Jo, it’s fantastic to see you.’

  ‘No, Dad, it’s Jess. We were going to meet and have dinner together.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, that’s right. You’re Jess, aren’t you?’ He took an exaggerated sway to the right and bumped his shoulder into hers. Mechanic flinched from the contact, it felt like being hit by a plastic bag full of coat hangers.

  ‘What time ish it now?’

  ‘It’s nearly seven o’clock.’

  ‘No, is it?’ He pulled up the sleeve on his left arm and checked the time on his non-existent watch. His yellowing parchment skin was tissue thin.

  ‘Don’t you want to eat? You need food.’

  ‘How did you find me? Who told you I was here? The bastards are not supposed to say I’m here. Who was it?’

  ‘No one told me.’

  ‘Then how did you know?’

  ‘Two things, it’s obvious you drink and it’s also obvious you can’t walk far, so it had to be somewhere close to home.’

  ‘I don’t drink. I’m on medication.’

  ‘Okay, whatever you say. Do you want to go for something to eat?’

  ‘Not hungry.’ He motioned to the barman and another drink arrived in a chipped, stubby glass. He flipped his thumb in her direction. ‘She’s paying.’

  Mechanic nodded and ordered another whisky with ice.

  ‘Where is Jo?’ her father asked, draining his glass and rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘I don’t know, Dad. I told you, I’ve lost touch.’ The whisky arrived in a replica glass, minus the chips. Special treatment for new visitors no doubt.

  ‘I liked Jo, she was always good to me.’

  ‘Yes, I liked her too, Dad.’

  ‘She had class. She was always the one who would go far. She was the one who had something about her.’ Mechanic could feel her stomach sink. She sipped her drink, she was going to need it. Her father continued. ‘You know, when your mother left me for that douche bag, Jo was the one who kept me going, Jo was the one who got me through it.’

  Mechanic’s fingers turned white as they tightened around the glass.

  ‘Yes, Dad, Jo is a great person to be around. Now let’s go get some food.’

  ‘She always made me proud.’ He waved his hand and the barman poured dark liquid the consistency of sump oil into another chipped glass. ‘She had the looks, she had the brains, she was the full package.’

  He jabbed his thumb in Mechanic’s direction. The universal sign for ‘this one’s paying’.

  ‘Yes, okay, Dad, I get it. So can we go out for dinner as planned?’

  ‘It’s my one big regret that I lost touch with her. She would have looked after me. She would have made sure I was alright.’

  Mechanic knocked back the liquor, the ice cold against her lips.

  ‘You’re drinking yourself to death, Dad. I’m not sure Jo would be able to help.’

  ‘What do you know? I have medication every day and that keeps things in balance. I can have a few drinks because the meds counteract the booze.’

  ‘If you want to stay alive, you have to stop drinking.’

  ‘Don’t talk stupid and anyway who the fuck are you to talk?’ The low murmuring voices around them went silent.

  ‘I’m your daughter and I care about you.’

  Stewart Sells dropped his head forward and, with his chin resting on his chest, he gazed into his drink.

  ‘You want to know something?’

&nb
sp; ‘What?’

  He lifted his head and leaned in close.

  ‘You were a good fuck when you were younger but no man in his right mind would touch you now.’

  The glass shattered in her hand.

  ‘Shit!’ Mechanic jumped back as shards cut into her flesh.

  The bartender scuttled over with a handful of towels. He swept the pieces of glass from the bar and threw a filthy towel to Mechanic.

  ‘If you want trouble, go somewhere else,’ he said.

  Mechanic wrapped her hand in the cloth. How about I vault this bar and shove your head up your ass? She kept her mouth closed.

  ‘I’m sorry, it was an accident. There’s no trouble here.’

  Her father carried on as if nothing had happened.

  ‘I mean, look at you.’ Stewart Sells was poking his finger into her shoulder. ‘No wonder you’re not married, talk about damaged goods. You were only good for one thing back then and I doubt you can do that now.’

  Mechanic balled her bloodied hand in the towel.

  ‘Now Jo on the other hand, she was class. While you, you were nothing but a fuck bag.’

  He sank what remained of his drink and motioned to the bartender, who shook his head as he polished glasses with a stinking rag.

  ‘No more,’ he said.

  Stewart Sells grunted and slid from the stool. He steadied himself on Mechanic’s arm and staggered through the guys at the bar towards the exit.

  ‘The bitch is paying,’ he said over his shoulder.

  Tears fell onto the cracked veneer as Mechanic stared at the blood seeping through the towel. The barman tore a slip of paper from the till, stuffed it in a glass and slid it along the counter top. It came to rest in front of her.

  She hadn’t bargained on paying such a high price for the trip, and the cost had nothing to do with the ten bucks she left under the glass.

  26

  The needle on the speedometer hugged fifty-five as Lucas drove along the I-8 East away from San Diego. He was heading for Bonds Corner, a small unincorporated community in Imperial County, a journey of one hundred and thirty miles. It was in the middle of nowhere, its only claim to fame its location close to the Calexico US port of entry for trucks crossing the US-Mexican border. Lucas had to be there by 9.30pm.