by Moxie Mezcal
When Stella finished, the silence hung heavy in the room. I finished writing down what she had said in my notebook and glanced over to Columbine, who no longer appeared to be having fun. I turned back to Stella and asked, "Did Cobb say who hired him, or did you ever get any indication from Isabel who from her past might be after her?"
"Patrick didn't say. I'm not sure he even knew who they really were. And as for Isabel herself, she never talked about her past at all. The only thing was, well..."
Stella trailed off, hesitating as to whether she should continue. "What is it?" Columbine prodded.
"There was one funny thing about her. She had this special John that she'd go to see once a year on April 18th – the same day every year, like clockwork. I don't know who he was, and I never saw him, but she told me about him. They had a special meeting place where he'd pick her up and take her to a fancy hotel. They'd stay in the penthouse, and she'd wash herself up with expensive soaps and lotions and perfumes. He'd give her a designer dress to wear to dinner, always at a fancy restaurant. He'd reserve them a private room and let her order anything she wanted, no regard for the price, and they'd always have a rare bottle of champagne with their meal. Then she'd sleep over through the night in that big penthouse bed with silk sheets. In the morning, he'd drop her back off at the meeting place, and she wouldn't hear from him again until their next date."
"The same day every year like clockwork," I repeated. "How long was this going on?"
"Ever since I first met her."
"And you didn't have any who he might have been. No guesses, no clues."
"Well, he obviously had to be someone very rich,. As for clues..." Stella paused again. "I'm not sure if this'll help, but she'd always wear the same necklace whenever she was going to meet him – a ruby pendent, and she only ever wore it for him."
Columbine's eyes nearly popped out of her skull.
I smiled. "Thank you, Stella. You've been very helpful."
She glanced down at the photograph of Jacinda again, and the tears finally came. But something struck me as peculiar about the way she cried – it wasn't hysterical sobbing, and it wasn't mournful weeping. Then, as a wide, beaming smile spread across Stella's face, I realized with surprise that they were tears of pride.
"My God, she looks so beautiful. It's almost like she's an entirely different person. So confident, so powerful, like she's queen bitch of the world." She let a bittersweet chuckle escape her lips. "I thought I knew her pretty well, but looking at this photo... I guess she's not who I thought she was."
* * *
12. She Begged Me To
I woke up in the middle of the night to the sounds of someone coughing violently amid the heavy smell of cheap whiskey and stale sweat. I sat up, and though still groggy and disoriented, I thought I could make out a figure standing at the foot of my bed in the darkness.
I reached over and switched on the lamp on my nightstand.
The first thing I noticed as my eyes adjusted to the light was the snub-nosed .22 revolver leveled at my head. The second thing I noticed was the tall, gaunt man holding it. He was still dressed in the same well-worn suit as he was wearing when he took the swing at me in the flophouse. His face was badly bruised, his left hand taped up, and a bright red splotch was visible on his shirt inside his open suit jacket. He was shaking and stunk of alcohol; his skin was a sickly pale color.
"I'm sorry I hit you the other night," Cobb said. "When I saw you in my room, I assumed you were one of them."
"One of who?" I asked.
"Don't be dense," he sneered.
I sat up and picked the gunk out of my eyes. Cobb continued, "After you left that night, I followed you, checked up on you. You really are a reporter."
He chuckled bitterly to himself and lowered the gun. Then he reached into his jacket pocket with the bandaged hand and produced the shiny blue box I had seen behind the vent in his room.
"I need you to take this and keep it safe," he said, tossing it to me. "No one can know you have it."
I caught the box and turned it over in my fingers. It was cold and metallic, a rectangle of roughly five inches by two inches. There weren't any visible joints or hinges, or any apparent way to open it.
"You need the Ariadne Key to open it," he said. "I heard them say that Lilian Lynch could get it."
"Who are they, exactly?" I pressed.
He shook his head. "I don't know. Lynch was the one who approached me about tracking down Ngo. She was the only one I ever dealt."
"Did she say why they wanted her dead?" I pressed.
He shook his head feebly. "No, they didn't even tell me who she was, at first. Just said I was looking for a whore named Isabel. I didn't know until I saw her, then of course I recognized her.
"I wasn't going to do it. I mean, I've done some pretty repugnant shit for money, but Jacinda Ngo was an angel, there was no way I was going to hand her over to those bastards.
"So I tried to figure out who they were instead, to see if there was some way to stop them. I tailed Lynch for a few days until she finally met up with the others. It was at some abandoned building downtown. There was one other car parked outside beside hers, it was an old '57 Chevy Del Rey, blue, no plates. I snapped a photo of it on my way in.
"Inside, I couldn't get close enough to see any of them, but that was when I heard them talking about the box and opening it with the Ariadne Key. I waited until they all left and jimmied open the cabinet where they kept it locked up.
"Then I headed back to Jacinda to warn her, but she said was tired of running, tired of hiding. I don't know why, but she seemed especially shook up when she saw that photo of the blue car. She said she had done terrible things in her life and that she always knew she'd eventually have to pay for them. She begged me to go through with it. She fucking begged me to."
Outside, I heard the sound of a car pull up in front of my building. I jumped up to look out my window and saw a blue classic car come to a stop and idle for a couple seconds before taking off again down the street.
"Holy shit, is this the car?" I asked as I turned back to look at Cobb, but he was gone.
---
"Do you know where Lilian Lynch lives?" I barked into my cell phone.
"Yeah, of course. Why?" Columbine asked, the low grumble of her voice confirming that I had in fact just woken her up.
"I need you to give me her address. I have to go see her right now, it's an emergency."
There was a brief pause, then Columbine finally answered wearily, "Hang on, I'll come pick you up and we'll go over together."
"Fine."
"It'll be a little while, though. That was my friend's car I was borrowing, so I'll have to work out getting it back from her."
"Okay, but hurry," I said and hung up.
About an hour and a half later, I got a text saying she was outside.
After bounding down the stairs, I found the same Volvo from earlier waiting in front of the building, but Columbine was in passenger seat. Violet was driving.
"She insisted on coming along," Columbine explained with a playful cattiness as I climbed into the back seat. "She didn't want me driving the car late at night."
"I don't want you driving it all," Violet rebutted. "I didn't even realize you took it this afternoon."
Then she glanced up to look at me in the rearview, and our eyes locked on each other's reflection.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi," I replied stupidly, feeling my cheeks grow warm and flush and suddenly becoming grateful that Columbine had insisted on picking me up.
About ten minutes later we arrived at Lilian Lynch's townhouse, which was part of a very exclusive west-side development. Violet pulled the Volvo up behind a white Asterion van parked out in front. As I got out of the car and walked past it, I thought I heard a buzzing static noise coming from the back of the van. I paused for a closer listen, but then realized that Columbine was already at the iron gate, tapping numbers into the intercom.
I ran up to join the two women just in time to hear the intercom give its last couple beeps before cutting off. "No answer, she must not be home," Columbine said. "It's okay, I know the code. We can just go upstairs and wait."
She typed *71839 on the keypad and opened the gate. We continued up the stairs to Lily's front door. Columbine fished the spare key out of its hiding place inside a wall-mounted light fixture and let us in.
As we walked into the living, we found the lights out and the place empty. Columbine continued on down the hallway to the bedroom door, but it was locked.
"I don't know where she keeps this key," she said apologetically and gave a few raps on the door. There was no answer, so she knocked again, more loudly.
"Lil, it's me. Are you in there?"
Still, there was no response.
"Maybe she's asleep," Violet suggested.
Columbine knocked again. "Lil, wake up. I need to talk to you. It's important."
"What the hell is going on here?"
The three of us whipped around to see Lily behind us, walking into her apartment, dressed in a black cocktail dress and done up as if coming home from a night out.
"If you're not in there, why's the door locked?" Columbine asked.
With a bitter scowl affixed to her face, Lily pushed her way past me and stood next to Columbine.
"What do you mean? There's no lock on that door."
Lily tried to open the door but found that, indeed, it wouldn't budge. "What the fuck?"
"Watch out," I said and gave the door a few good, solid kicks. It finally gave way, and as the four us ran in, I stooped down to pick up the screwdriver that someone had stuck into the jamb.
Then there was a scream, and I jumped up to find the three women standing frozen in terror.
Patrick Cobb was lying on top of Lily's bed, completely naked, blood leaking out all over the sheets from the gaping, jagged gash across his neck.
---
I paced back and forth across the room while Lily sat silently on the foot of the bed beside Cobb's corpse. The two of us were alone in the room.
"So explain to me again why we shouldn't call the police about the dead body in your bed?"
Lily sighed deeply. "I'm tired." She was slumped forward, her head hanging low, eyes downcast and locked onto her hands, which she rubbed together nervously. "Tired of the lies, tired of the sneaking around, tired of Max's fucking suspicious prodding all day, trying to see how far he can push me before I just snap."
Her voice had reached a bitter crescendo with that last word and then dropped off sharply. She sat there looking deflated and beaten, and I almost found myself feeling sorry for the cold-hearted bitch.
"Is that why you haven't given them the Ariadne Key yet?" I asked, taking a shot.
She nodded listlessly. "That's what this is all about," she pointed to Cobb, "they're sending me a message. Get back in line, or you're next. No one walks away."
"Who are they?" I asked.
She looked at me like I had just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable. "Like I'm going to tell you that."
"Why not tell Max?" I shot back. "He might forgive you if you come clean, especially if you hand over your accomplices."
She scoffed. "You don't know Max. There are no second chances with him. You're either with him, or you just vanish."
"Is that why you don't want to call the cops?" I probed. "Because if he finds out about it, he'll take it as proof you've been working against him?"
She nodded. I looked down at my shoes and kicked the ball of my foot against her carpet a few times.
"Fuck," I spat. "Well give me a hand with the son of a bitch, then."
* * *
13. Throw Up, Jerk Off, and Go Fetal
The Volvo pulled off the freeway and entered the industrial sector. I was riding shot gun and giving Violet directions to the San Hermes River through a series of back roads. As she drove, I would from time to time catch a whiff of her scent or sneak a glimpse at her face from the corner of my eye, and it was enough to make me forget the grisly cargo laying across the back seat.
"Turn here," I instructed, "and you're going to want to follow this dirt road to that small bridge over the river. This used to be where the train tracks crossed the river. But they moved the line like fifteen years ago. No one comes out this way anymore."
"Looks good," Violet agreed.
Suddenly I heard a sharp, wheezy gasp come from the back seat, followed by a series of wet gurgles.
Violet looked over her shoulder. "Oh fuck!"
Cobb lunged forward, wedged himself in the gap between our seats, and threw his arms around Violet's neck. Blood sprayed everywhere, and the Volvo jerked violently to the right, veering off the road and cutting through a vacant lot.
In panic, Violet tried to stomp on the brake, but missed and instead hit the gas. We careened wildly through the lot, bouncing over cement dividers and scraping the passenger side of the car against a light post, sending a shower of sparks sailing through the black night air.
I saw that we were going to miss the bridge and instead head straight into the river. I jammed my hand under Cobb's naked flesh and yanked on the emergency brake. The volvo skidded to a stop just inches from the edge of the embankment.
Violet exploded out of the driver's side door in a panic and scurried backward across the ground. I got out and threw open the back door. Cobb's leg shot out, and his foot connected squarely in my face, breaking my nose. I dove in, yanked him free, and tossed him to the ground.
I sent my boot flying into Cobb's side and connected with a loud crack of ribs. I kept kicking him, half out of panic, half out of anger, my heart thumping loudly in my chest and my head buzzing from the rush of adrenaline.
Cobb flailed about wildly and gasped for air, moving his mouth like a fish out of water. Blood dribbled from his parted lips, bubbling up as it filled with air and then bursting.
Violet came up from behind me and nudged me aside, then raised a large boulder over her head and slammed it down, crushing the top half of Cobb's face and splattering chunks of gore across the ground like stepping on a ketchup packet.
There were no more bubbles forming on his lips.
"What the fuck was that?" Violet exclaimed. "How is that even possible?"
I clutched at my head, feeling a blinding pain shooting through my brain, vaguely aware of the faint sound of static somewhere at the edge of hearing. I wiped at my face and discovered my nose was bleeding.
"Fuck. Just give me a hand," I managed to groan.
We lugged Cobb out onto the bridge and rested him on top of the guard rail.
"Maybe we should find something to weigh the body down with," Violet ventured. "So it'll sink? I dunno, I don't have much experience with this sort of thing."
I peeked over the side of bridge. From this vantage point, I could faintly see the Guadalupe Bridge about a mile downstream. "Actually, the current looks pretty strong. It'll probably carry him far enough away before he washes up. If someone finds him, it'll just look like a bum who lost a fight or something."
"He's fucking naked," she objected.
"Fuck. Whatever," I said, losing my patience and heaving Cobb over the side, then watching as the river carried him out of sight.
"Oh shit," I said under my breath. "I think there's someone down there. Fuck, they've seen us."
I squinted my eyes to try to make out the two faint bodies walking along the riverbank in the distance.
"Where, I don't see anything?" Violet asked, her voice tinged with panic.
"Over there on the right," I said, but when I looked back to where I'd seen them, there was nothing.
Violet hooked her arm through mine and gently tugged me in the direction of the car. "Come on, you're just freaked out by this fucked-up situation. You need to relax."
We walked back to the car and sank into our seats, taking a moment to decompress. "You're not in any particular hurry to get home, are you?" she asked, biting her lower lip
mischievously.
"Not particularly," I replied and thought for a moment that maybe – just maybe – I had a shot with this girl.
She flashed a wry grin. "Open the glove compartment."
I popped open the door and found a pipe, a lighter, and a rolled up sandwich baggie of pot.
"Tip tip hurrah," I said and proceeded to pack a bowl while Violet plugged her iPod into the car's stereo. I lit the bowl and took my first hit just as Neutral Milk Hotel started to play.
"Man, I haven't heard this album in years," I said as I exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.
"It's one of my favorites," Violet beamed, taking the pipe from me.
She leaned against me and rested her head on my chest as she took a couple tokes herself, then passed it back to me. We smoked in silence, just relaxing and enjoying to the music. I stroked my fingers through her vibrant purple hair, then leaned forward to inhale deeply and savor the sweet honey scent of her perfume.
When the bowl was cashed, Violet sat up to dump the ashes out the window. She turned to look at me, her eyelids heavy, lips curled into a half-smile, and seemed to be waiting for me to do something.
So I did.
I leaned forward and placed a hand on her cheek as I moved in to kiss her. Our lips locked softly but passionately. The stereo sang out:
What a beautiful dream
That could flash on the screen
In the blink of an eye and be gone from me
She pulled back, reluctantly, and lifted her left hand to show a ring on her finger.
"How did I not see that before?" I wondered aloud.
She giggled as she started up the car again. "You seem to have this ability to see only what you want to see and miss anything that's convenient to miss."