by Rob Ashman
He busied himself in the bathroom and emerged fully clothed. Mechanic wondered if there was another pile of dirty clothes in the bathroom and he had dressed himself from that. It looked as though he had.
‘Ready,’ he said.
They walked out of the complex and across the street to the rib shack. They were greeted by the same waitress as the previous day who ushered them to the same table. Mechanic seized her chance and grabbed a menu.
‘I’ll be back to take your order in a minute,’ said the waitress.
They both sat in silence deciding what to eat.
‘How was your evening?’ Stewart Sells had a gift for saying the unexpected.
‘Not good, now you ask. We had a fight, don’t you remember? I called to take you to dinner and I found you in a bar.’
Mechanic tried to make light of the situation and present it as a hilarious mix-up.
‘Oh yeah, right. It’s my meds, they make me a little crazy. No harm meant, no harm done.’
Mechanic thought about the cocktail of drugs he must be taking: sorafenib, morphine, alprazolam, diuretics. None of them had the side effect of making a person bat-shit crazy. And anyway, drugs or no drugs, what was said last night was meant to cause maximum harm. She tore herself away from her train of thought.
It was the whisky talking, that’s all. Mechanic kept trying to convince herself.
‘Let’s put it behind us,’ she said. ‘What would you like?’
‘You picking up the check?’
Mechanic paused. ‘As always.’
‘Then it’s gotta be steak and eggs,’ he said triumphantly.
The waitress arrived and Mechanic ordered an omelette and coffee. As the waitress was about to leave, Stewart beckoned for her to lean forward. He whispered in her ear. She nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
‘What you got planned today?’ Mechanic asked.
‘Not a lot, I thought we might hang out together.’
‘That would be great. What do you want to do?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. How about if we take things on the fly. Do what we please.’
‘Yes, okay, that sounds good.’ This was much better.
The waitress appeared carrying a tray with two glasses on it. She placed them on the table. Mechanic stared at the drinks, picked one up and sniffed it. It was whisky. Two double shots.
‘Excuse me.’ Mechanic held up her hand, but the waitress was gone.
‘I thought a little livener would set us up for the day.’
‘I’m not drinking at nine thirty in the morning.’
‘They’re not for you.’ He picked up a glass and drained it down in one. The second one quickly followed.
‘Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that?’
‘Nonsense, I take my meds first thing in the morning and no one tells me it’s too early to do that.’
The waitress returned to their table with fresh cutlery, coffee and two more glasses of whisky. She arranged the knives and forks in front of them and straightened out the napkins.
‘Dad,’ Mechanic said. ‘Steady on.’
‘It’s gonna be a good day, I can tell.’ The four shots of liquor met the same swift ending as the others.
Mechanic watched her father sink the whisky and rearranged the cutlery and napkins. Unnecessarily.
The waitress showed up again, cleared away the glasses and replaced them with two more. Mechanic said nothing.
‘Do you hear anything from Jo?’ He put the glass to his lips.
Mechanic said nothing.
‘Do you hear from Jo?’ He banged the empty glass down on the table and grabbed the other one.
‘No, Dad, I keep telling you. We’ve lost touch.’
‘That’s a shame. Me too. I miss Jo.’ He tipped the liquid into his mouth and knocked his head back. It ran down his throat with all the after effects of drinking cola. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Oh good, here comes our food,’ was all Mechanic could think to say.
The waitress served up the plates and left two more glasses on the table.
He went to pick one up and Mechanic put her hand on his.
‘How about we eat?’
He stared at her for a second and removed his hand.
‘Yes, okay, they’re not going anywhere, are they?’ He snatched the knife and fork and tore into his steak.
Mechanic observed her father as though it was feeding time at the zoo. He sawed away at the meat and slashed at the eggs. She watched his right hand shake under the pressure of cutting through the steak with a heavy serrated knife.
A knife like that could take a man’s head off, she thought.
He folded a forkful of meat into his mouth.
‘I was thinking,’ he said treating Mechanic to a full view of the meat as he chewed it around in his mouth. ‘How do you fancy spending more time here?’
Mechanic tried to avoid looking at the macerated food.
‘You mean stay longer?’
‘Yes, it would be good for us to get to know each other better, don’t you think?’
These were the words Mechanic had been waiting to hear.
‘Yes, of course. I have some time owing to me at work and could book more nights at the motel if that’s what you want.’
He downed a whisky and shovelled in more egg.
‘I was thinking we could, you know, do things together.’
‘I want to spend time with you, Dad. There are issues that need sorting out and they could take time. We have to talk them through.’ Mechanic was so overcome she ignored the next drink as it disappeared down his neck.
‘That’s settled then. We’ll start today.’
‘Yes, that would be great.’ Waves of emotion swept over her.
They both ate in silence. Mechanic was bursting with the excitement of a new start. A new chapter. Finally a chance to lay to rest the demons of the past.
Two more whiskies arrived. Mechanic motioned for the waitress to take them away but her father raised his hand.
‘I’ll make these the last.’ His speech was slurred.
Mechanic finished her breakfast and nursed her coffee. Her father was still hacking away at the rare meat swimming in runny egg yolk.
‘Where are you staying?’ he said through another mouthful of food.
‘At a place called The Kings Motel. It’s not great but it was cheap.’
‘I know it. We could take a ride down there after. You can show me around.’
‘There’s a park and a lake, we could take a walk.’
‘How about you take me to the hotel and we chill out there for a while.’
‘Er, yes, okay.’
He slurped another whisky down.
‘I’m done,’ he said throwing his cutlery onto his plate. He was swaying in his chair and suddenly lurched forward putting both hands out towards her on the table. ‘So what do you say? How about we spend some time together at the motel?’
‘Yes, that would be nice.’
Mechanic felt something brush against her leg. Like a cat was walking under the table. It touched her again. She looked down to see her father rubbing his foot up and down her leg.
She was paralysed.
He leaned back in his chair and drank the last glass dry. He was smiling at her.
She watched as his foot stroked up and down. She tried to move her leg away, but it wouldn’t budge.
‘Shall we go?’ His voice slurred out the words as he fixed her with a lopsided grin.
Mechanic was fixated by the movement of his foot. She felt numb. She stared at the knife.
A knife like that could take a man’s head off. The words rattled around in her head.
Her father leaned forward and linked his fingers together under his chin.
‘You ready?’
A knife like that could take a man’s head off.
Boiling rage erupted through Mechanic’s body. She sprang to her feet, her hands shaking, desperately tryin
g to control herself.
A knife like that could take a man’s head off.
Mechanic lunged forward and seized the knife.
Stewart Sells jumped back in his chair, his eyes bulging and his mouth wide open.
A knife like that could take a man’s head off.
The blade flashed in an arc.
The woman on the next table shrieked and cowered beneath her napkin.
The serrated edge slammed into wood as Mechanic plunged it into the table. The crockery bounced around and shattered on the floor.
Mechanic ran from the restaurant and out into the street. She bent forward, covered her head with her hands, and let out an agonising scream. It was a terrifying sound.
The knife was sticking straight up, the carved handle vibrating back and forth with the point buried deep in the table.
Stewart Sells sat rigid in his chair. All eyes were on him as the whisky swam around in his brain.
‘What the fuck’s got into her?’ he said to no one in particular.
He remained seated as the manager rushed over.
‘Are you alright, sir?’
Stewart Sells considered the question carefully. No, he wasn’t alright. He had a large check to settle and was now too drunk to rent a damn car to drive to Phoenix.
29
Mills was bouncing off the walls. It had been two days, and by now he should have the Helix Holdings file in his sweaty hands. But so far he had received nothing. This was the second morning he had got up at 4am to call his counterpart in Florida PD as soon as he got into work.
He had bombarded them with calls requesting immediate updates. And every time he received the standard response.
‘I can assure you we are working hard on this, but if the file isn’t there I can’t send it to you.’
Mills had threatened to take things further up the line, which hadn’t gone down well. This had made Mills as popular in Florida as he was in Vegas. All he could do was wait, and make nuisance calls.
Jameson had also been hard at work finishing the initial planning phase of the job. He had pulled an all-nighter, which was not unusual for him. He often survived on two hours sleep and functioned perfectly well the next day.
He switched off his computer, shuffled papers into a large manila envelope and sealed it shut. He scribbled on the front and stuck a stamp in the corner. Tomorrow morning it would be sitting in P.O. Box 508 waiting to be collected.
The planning had taken less time than expected. The target had come to Jameson’s attention in the recent past when he had provided an intel report on the same man. Jameson’s men on the ground had done their homework and the intel was still current, so with a few minor amendments they were good to go.
Jameson had remembered the previous job as a summary execution, a killing that would send a message to others that said ‘I’m the new boss’. It would appear that things had not gone to plan. The target was obviously alive and well, and continuing to piss people off, and the previous client had not been seen again.
It was time for a shower and to head off to work.
Jameson threw the envelope onto the passenger seat and started the engine. In his mirror he could see a car parked on the other side of the road. The driver had his window down and was staring at him.
It was Lucas.
Jameson reversed from his drive and drew up next to Lucas. He nodded and pulled away. Lucas cruised in behind and followed. They drove out of the estate and onto the freeway. Four lanes rammed with morning commuter traffic, everyone in a rush, everyone in the wrong lane, everyone getting their day off to a bad start.
Lucas stayed well back. Jameson signalled and eased over to the nearside lane. Lucas followed suit. A junction came up and both cars ran down the exit ramp to join an old beat-up single lane road. As they travelled along it for about three miles, the road surface got progressively worse with sections of the asphalt crumbling way. Lucas could feel the suspension bottoming out as they crunched along. He noticed there were no other cars in sight.
Jameson pulled off the track and came to rest on a piece of waste ground under a railway bridge. Lucas swung his rental car around and parked next to him, facing the opposite direction. Both men buzzed down their windows.
‘Don’t do that,’ Jameson said.
‘Do what?’
‘Don’t turn up at my house like that.’
‘I like the personal touch. Do you have news for me?’
Jameson wanted to press the point but let it drop.
‘Yes, it’s done. It will be with my guy tomorrow.’
‘That’s fast.’
‘Let’s just say we got a lucky break.’
‘What happens next?’
‘I talk it through with my man and we agree the finer details.’
‘I’m impressed,’ said Lucas. ‘My client will also be impressed. But then you did come highly recommended.’
‘Do you have something for me?’
‘I do.’ Lucas handed Jameson a brown paper bag through the window. He looked inside. Twenty paper bricks, each containing a thousand dollars.
‘When will it take place?’ asked Lucas.
‘I will provide you with the details, as requested, when I have a confirmed plan with my guy.’
‘Sounds fair enough. Do you know when that will be?’
‘Tomorrow, maybe the next day. It depends.’
‘Okay, Jameson. I will be in touch.’
‘Don’t turn up at my house.’
It was too late. Lucas had buzzed his window closed, rolled out from under the bridge and rejoined the road. He would have liked a swift getaway but instead he had to trundle along trying not to burst his tyres. He was pleased with his performance but was full of nagging anxiety. The money drop had meant he had to leave Harper and Moran to their own devices, and he was worried that when he got back there would only be one of them left.
Jameson let him go. The money smelled good. He watched Lucas disappear into the distance. There was no point getting too close when there was no need. He waited ten minutes then swung his car onto the road.
He was already late for work but first he had to stop off at a post office.
Mechanic drove back with her hands clenched so tight around the steering wheel her knuckles were white. What the fuck was I thinking? It was madness to assume her father would behave any differently. He had always been a pig, and that’s what she got. What was she thinking?
She stared through the windshield with vacant eyes. Towns, road signs and traffic flew by but she saw none of them. She was numb.
Where do I go from here?
What impact does this have on the voices in my head?
The questions tumbled around her along with the picture of that knife as it slammed into the table.
At the one hundred mile mark she’d loosened her grip on the wheel and was paying attention to the road. By one hundred and fifty miles she had pulled over to fill up with fuel and get an extra strong coffee. She emptied the entire contents of the sugar dispenser into the mug. The massive rush of caffeine and sugar ensured she was buzzing for the next two hours. She began to feel human again.
At three hundred miles her mind was wandering onto other things.
I wonder who the target is on the latest job?
Where’s it going to take place?
By ten miles from home she was thinking more clearly. She had been stupid to believe the trip would resolve anything. Her father was a monster who was never going to change. He would soon be dead and she would raise a glass on the day. Until then she had to draw a line under it and move on.
Mechanic marched through her front door. She ached from the journey and was hungry. She dumped her bags and headed into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator. She took out a piece of cooked chicken and a carton of fruit juice and ate standing up. The red indicator on her phone was blinking – she had a message.
Mechanic pushed the button and a voice said, ‘Hey, Jess, wondered if you fancied
a beer tomorrow. Call me back. Bye.’
The voice was light and cheery. It was Jameson. It meant she had mail to collect tomorrow morning.
She checked the time, four thirty.
She finished off the chicken and the juice and went into the bedroom to change. She decided to do what she always did when she wanted to blow away the cobwebs, she reached for her running shoes. Fifteen minutes later she was pounding down Sixth Avenue towards the harbour. This time she was taking it easy. The six-hour journey had sent her muscles to sleep and the run was waking them up nicely.
Mechanic crossed into Marina Park South and followed her usual route. The view across the bay to Coronado Island was spectacular. It wasn’t a real island, it was connected to the mainland by a spit of land which ran south to Imperial Beach. Coronado was one of Mechanic’s favourite places to go to chill out. The beach was amazing.
She left the park behind her and ran north parallel to the water until she reached Seaport Village, a bustling collection of tourist shops and restaurants. The sun was dipping in the sky and felt warm on her face as she chewed up the miles. She felt relaxed, endorphins coursing around her body.
Mechanic had chosen one of her longer routes, a distance of about eight miles. She would be back before six, in time for a long hot soak in the bath followed by a healthy dinner and an early night. She would sleep better tonight.
Moran’s jaw dropped open as Mechanic ran past.
30
‘I’m telling you, it was her,’ Moran said, her hands held out in front of her with her palms turned up, exasperated by her constant need to repeat herself.
‘Are you sure?’ Lucas asked again, pacing around the room.
‘For fuck’s sake, I was as close to her as I am to you now.’
Following his morning meeting with Jameson, Lucas had arrived back at the hotel to find that despite his worse fears Moran and Harper both appeared to be in one piece. However, they were not both in one place. There were two notes left on the table. One said Gone to find a bar, the other said Gone out. Neither was signed but it was clear which one was which. Harper had returned a few hours later stinking of beer, and fell asleep in the chair. Lucas wiled away the time watching TV, planning and speculating on what Jameson was doing. Moran had taken off into the city to calm down and find a different place to stay. She was still angry at Harper and wanted to give herself space. She had even done a little shopping, which was not like her at all.