Snow is not the Time

by Wendy Meadows

  Ali nodded her head as her teeth beginning to chatter. She looked around at the boxes of pastries stacked on the metal shelves. She didn’t mind being locked in the refrigerator after the terrifying experience of being forced out of the kitchen at gunpoint. “My mom is going to be so mad,” she moaned in misery.

  “Maybe not,” Sarah said. Her mind was racing as she evaluated their situation. Even though Mickey had been smart enough to disarm her, he had not been smart enough to check the heavily insulated cooler for anything that might be helpful. “Amanda, I need your help,” she said, pointing at the metal shelves.

  “Okay, MacGyver,” Amanda said excitedly, despite the chill, “what do you have in mind? Are you going to make a bomb out of a toilet paper roll?”

  “No. But,” Sarah said in a hopeful voice, “maybe we can make some noise. Mickey and his wife took off, but Ali’s mother is sure to come by sooner or later. We need to let her know we’re trapped in here.”

  “Hey, that’s right,” Amanda said. She felt herself begin to fill with hope and looked at Ali. “Will your mother be coming by to check on you?”

  “My mother always comes by after closing to do the books,” Ali said and checked the pink watch wrapped around her left wrist. “So about ten minutes from now my life will be officially over.”

  “Be brave,” Sarah said, focusing on the task ahead. She began moving boxes off the top of the metal shelf beside her. Amanda and Ali took the boxes and set them down. When the shelf was clear, Sarah began working on removing a single metal bar with her numb hands. The task was tedious and finally Amanda had to lend an extra pair of hands to leverage a single bar loose. It finally came free in her hands.

  “Okay,” Sarah said, breathing hard, “let’s start tapping out an SOS.”

  Amanda and Ali watched as Sarah began striking the inside of the cooler door. They covered their ears against the noise and waited. Twenty long minutes passed. Just when Sarah was about to give up and start formulating a new plan, the cooler door was yanked open and a short, plump woman with a scared face appeared. “Ali’s not at fault here. We’ll explain later,” Sarah told the startled woman, and then grabbed Amanda’s hand. “Ali, we’ll be back!” she promised as they raced out of the cooler.

  Ali’s mother stared at her daughter. “Young lady?” she asked. Ali sighed.

  Sarah raced into the coffee shop and grabbed her coat. “I hope we’re not too late,” she said, throwing on her coat.

  Amanda slid her own coat on and ran for the door. “Mickey wouldn’t kill Conrad, would he?” she asked.

  “Maybe not Mickey, but his wife sure will,” Sarah said. She dashed outside into the heavily falling snow. The street was now completely white. Not a single vehicle was moving. The only sign of movement that caught her eye were Snyder’s two men, who were walking down the sidewalk toward Sarah and Amanda. Sarah froze. “Don’t move,” she warned, wishing she still had her gun.

  Amanda turned to see the thugs approaching. Both men were armed. “I’m not moving an inch,” she replied as snowflakes settled in her hair.

  “Where is Mr. Smith?” one of the men asked Sarah when they were close enough. His voice held no compassion or mercy.

  “Where were you?” Sarah retorted, thinking fast. “I thought you were supposed to be watching us. Where were you when those armed criminals locked us in the cooler of that coffee shop?”

  The men looked at each other in confusion. “Who?”

  “Two men who said Snyder sent them to replace you,” Sarah said in a convincingly upset voice. “They locked me and my friend in the cooler and told us they would be back later to kill us. The owner of the coffee shop just showed up and let us out. Now, I want answers and I want them now!”

  “Yeah,” Amanda added, hoping she sounded tough.

  The thugs were silent. The quiet of the cold snowy night closed in around them. “Snyder has been acting funny,” one of them finally said quietly to the other.

  “He could be planning to go black,” the second man muttered.

  “Go black?” Sarah asked.

  “Kill off his zone, leave it black, and relocate without leaving a trace.”

  “So that’s why those two men said they were here to replace you,” Sarah said, finding confidence in her attempt to deceive Snyder’s minions. Perhaps, she prayed, she could scare them away without a single shot being fired.

  Amanda had caught on to Sarah’s plan and now she jumped on board. “At first we thought it was you two goons who were locking us in the cooler. You all look the same... same haircut, same face, same mean eyes. You boys don’t date much, do you?”

  As if they were twins who could reach each other’s minds, the two men lowered their guns in unison. “Snyder is going black,” the first man said, tucking his gun away into a shoulder holster. “He’s been incommunicado long enough. He’ll be after us, next.”

  “Let’s go,” the second man agreed. He pointed a threatening finger at Sarah and Amanda. “You never saw us. If you say otherwise, Snyder or no Snyder, we’ll make you regret every single syllable.”

  Sarah raised her hands into the air. “All I want to do is get out of this town, guys. I didn’t come here to die.”

  “Let’s keep it that way,” the first man warned, and the two of them turned and sprinted away.

  Sarah waited until they had vanished into the snow before speaking. “Let’s go,” she told Amanda quickly.

  Amanda grabbed Sarah and hugged her. “You, love, are a genius, and my hero.”

  “Experience and nothing else,” Sarah dismissed the praise with a sigh, and then hugged her friend back. “I took a dangerous chance that paid off.”

  Amanda patted Sarah’s shoulder. “You mean you used your brain and it paid off.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Sarah hurried around to the driver’s side door of the SUV. The falling snow felt different from the snow in Alaska. Even though it was clean and white, it wasn’t her snow; it wasn’t the same snow that covered her cabin and transformed her remote world into something strange and wonderful.

  “Are you okay, Los Angeles?” Amanda asked, pausing as she opened the passenger’s side door.

  “Huh? Oh, I’m fine.” Sarah focused her mind. She could think only of Conrad. She hurried to climb into the driver’s side seat and buckled her seat belt. “This snowstorm isn’t going to help anyone.”

  “We’ve been through worse,” Amanda reminded her. She pointed at the road. “Floor it, love. We have to get back to that roach motel before the fat lady sings.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. Only Amanda could twist American sayings like that. “Hold on to your seat,” she said as the SUV roared off through the snow.

  Chapter Eight

  At the motel, Conrad groaned in pain as his eyes fluttered open. “You’re awake,” he heard Snyder say in a sour voice.

  “What...” Conrad could see only blurry images before his eyes and he was in pain. An awful smell emanated from the dirty carpet his face was pressed against. The foul odor was a mixture of old cigarette smoke, rotten food and sickly-sweet liquor that nearly made Conrad vomit.

  “Your friend Mickey decided to pay you a visit, remember?” Snyder asked bitterly. Conrad blinked blearily and looked up to see Snyder on a rickety wooden chair with his arms tied behind his back and his ankles tied to the legs of the chair, powerless to assist Conrad. Not that he would have offered to help if the situation had permitted him to do so anyway. “He’s coming back to kill us.”

  Conrad lifted his face off the floor and tried to move but found that the pain was coming from his hands that were tied behind his back, and his ankles that were tied together. “Messings?” he called out.

  He looked around the room as best he could from his position until he spotted the chief lying unconscious on the bed in the middle of the motel room. “Messings is alive,” Snyder assured Conrad in a tired voice. “Listen to me. We need to work as a team. If you help me, I’ll forget about our little encounter and ev
en let Messings live out the remainder of his miserable life.”

  Conrad struggled to keep his nose away from the carpet. He waited until his mind focused and his vision cleared. He vaguely remembered Mickey’s sudden, violent arrival. The shock and anguish of seeing him alive was almost as terrible as the blow he had landed on Conrad’s jaw to knock him out. He took another breath before speaking. “I heard Mickey say... you had to die.”

  “Yes,” Snyder confirmed. “Detective Spencer, your friend intends to kill me because he discovered I knew he was alive. The man who I cremated was only a bum. I took an x-ray before the cremation and ran a private dental check to confirm my suspicions. Mickey fooled me and paid off Hank Dean to support his plan. It seems like Mr. Dean was playing both sides but ended up taking a hard nose dive.”

  Just then Chief Messings moaned in pain from the bed. Mickey had struck hard, swift, and fast. “How could he betray me?” Conrad whispered to himself as sorrow and fury erupted anew in his heart. “Mickey... how... why? He was my friend.”

  “The only friend you have in this life is yourself, Detective Spencer,” Snyder pointed out in a tired, bitter voice. “Now, if you assist me, we can walk out of this alive and part peacefully. Can we agree to work as a team?”

  “Drop dead,” Conrad snapped. “I wouldn’t help you if my life depended on it. You’re a filthy worm, Snyder. You may wear a fancy suit and talk with clever words and fool all the people in your nice little town, but underneath it all, where it counts, you’re nothing more than a filthy worm that ought to be stepped on.”

  “Very well,” Snyder replied quietly, “choose your own path.”

  Conrad fell silent. He tested the strength of his bonds and clenched his jaw in frustration to find the knots solid and unmoving.

  Moments later the door to the motel room opened and Mickey walked in with his wife. With a look of regret in his eyes, he closed the door and gazed down at his former friend. “Conrad—”

  “Don’t talk to me,” Conrad growled fiercely. Breathing hard, he gritted out, “You were my friend, Mickey... my friend, man, and you betrayed me.”

  “No,” Mickey begged, dropping down to his knees. “Conrad, you have to believe me, I never intended for us to be at odds like this. I called you for help... I...”

  “Untie me and let me help you now, then,” Conrad countered. “If you really are my friend, untie me right now.”

  “No,” Melinda said quickly. “Mickey, my sister will be here any minute with Macey. We have to end this.”

  Mickey stared at Conrad in remorse. “Your friend called a payphone. It was our signal... My wife thought it was her sister and answered the call. I... we... caught up with your friends at a coffee shop in town. I didn’t kill them,” he added hastily, seeing the furious, fearful look in Conrad’s eyes. “I just locked them in a walk-in cooler. I’m not going to kill anyone but Snyder,” he promised.

  “What?” Melinda asked in a shocked voice. “Mickey, are you crazy? We can’t leave any witnesses. Think about your daughter, for crying out loud.”

  “I am thinking about Macey,” Mickey snapped at his wife. “Melinda, I’m not going to kill the only real friend I ever had. Conrad and I have history. We... made it through some real tough times together.”

  “My sister is risking her life watching Macey and driving here to pick us up,” Melinda yelled. “Mickey, you’d better do your part.”

  Mickey stood up. “Only Snyder dies,” he told her firmly. “Melinda, I mean it. Conrad and I are solid... I owe him, okay?”

  “What do you owe that man, then?” Melinda cried hysterically, pointing her gun at Chief Messings. “Is he more important than our own daughter?”

  “No,” Mickey said. He leaned back against the door. “But I can’t look my daughter in her sweet eyes knowing that I’ve killed two more innocent men, Melinda. This has to end here. Snyder will die, and only Snyder.”

  “And that’s your final answer?” Melinda asked in a suddenly calm, low voice that sent alarm through Conrad’s chest.

  “Yes.” Mickey was at the door, looking down at the gun in his hands.

  Conrad watched as Melinda slowly raised her gun and turned around to face her husband. “Oh, Mickey, I wished you hadn’t said that.”

  Mickey stared at his wife. “Melinda, what are you doing?”

  “She’s betraying you,” Snyder laughed. “Oh, this is very amusing. At least I’ll get a good show before I die.”

  Melinda ignored Snyder. Her eyes were laser-focused on Mickey’s face. “My sister isn’t coming to pick me up. McCallister’s daughter is. She's had Macey this whole time.”

  “What?” Mickey asked, reeling back as if from a physical blow.

  “Oh, come on, Mickey,” Melinda snapped, “did you really think I forgave you for putting my daughter’s life at risk? Carly McCallister came to me, not you, she came to me and gave me a choice... you or my daughter. That’s why I gave Dean the number to the payphone. He was supposed to give the number to Carly. But when you decided to kill Dean, I couldn’t let you find the number, so I put the number in a trash bag and shoved it into the oven hoping to cause a fire.”

  “You...” Mickey said in shock.

  “I was going to kill Carly McCallister for you, Mickey... I really wanted to forgive you and believe that you were putting your family first. I had it all planned out. But now I see that you will never put me or Macey first.” Melinda’s eyes were wide with wrath.

  “But—”

  “But what?” Melinda screamed, on the verge of tears. “You created a brilliant plan to fool Carly McCallister and kill Snyder,” she said, her voice suddenly changing from angry to loving, “but then... oh, Mickey, your old friend showed up and you... I saw you start to change.” Her voice became furious again. “Your plan with Dean failed. Conrad showed up but he didn’t kill Snyder like you hoped he would, and here we are, one big messed up family with more loose ends than we can handle, all because you can’t step up. Not even for your wife. Not even for your own beloved daughter.” Melinda blinked once and tears ran down her cheeks, but she stood steadily. “Well it ends now!”

  Mickey stared at his wife and then looked down at Conrad. “I couldn’t kill you,” he told Conrad in a pained voice. “We go way back... we bled together, you and me. I... when you showed up here, Conrad, everything changed. I didn’t know what to do. My brain tried to work you into the problem, but...”

  “I get it, okay?” Conrad cut Mickey off and looked up at Melinda. “Finish the job, sister,” he told her. “If you’re going to shoot me, do it. Enough with the talk.”

  Just then, Chief Messings let out another moan, turned over on his side and rolled off the bed. He hit the ground hard, landing out of sight. Melinda gritted her teeth in frustration at the delay. “Put that man back on the bed,” she ordered Mickey, gesturing with the gun.

  Mickey put his hands out in front of him. “Easy now,” he said nervously. “Melinda, don’t do anything that you’ll regret. We have Macey to think about.”

  “Do it now!” Melinda screamed.

  “Okay, okay!” Mickey ran over to Chief Messings and knelt down. As he did so, Chief Messings opened his eyes a fraction and nodded toward his ankle. “My gun,” he whispered, and then let out another moan.

  Mickey licked his lips. With his back to Melinda, he knew she couldn’t see his hands. Making a split-second decision, he reached towards Chief Messings’ right ankle and retrieved the gun sitting in the holster. He left the gun on the floor at his feet, making it look like part of his struggle to haul Chief Messings’ limp body back onto the bed.

  “There,” he told Melinda from the far side of the dingy motel bed, breathing hard, when he finally accomplished it. “Now, please, calm down and let’s talk.”

  Snyder laughed quietly. “Oh, this is quite amusing,” he said. “To die in a comedy act.”

  “Shut up!” Melinda yelled, but she was still focused on her husband. She couldn’t see that Snyder was slo
wly attempting to free his wrist behind his back, as Conrad watched quietly from the floor. He had to admire Snyder’s dogged struggle. The man must be in some pain, as Conrad could see his skin straining against the rope and the handcuffs. He seemed to be working to free only one hand – Conrad realized the man probably had a cell phone in his jacket pocket that he was planning to dial surreptitiously.

  “This is all your fault, Mickey,” Melinda was still ranting. “You want to talk? No, you’re going to listen. You destroyed our family with your gambling. At first, you told me you were only betting on a few basketball games... no harm, just for fun. But then our bank account started to run out... and then our savings vanished. I didn’t even have money to buy Macey a pair of shoes for the new school year!”

  “I know, I know,” Mickey said, lowering his eyes in shame. “You have to understand. I kept thinking that I could get back all the money I lost, I could make it all go away, if I just hit it big on one game. But I kept losing... and losing...”

  “And losing,” Melinda added fiercely. “And now, Mickey, you’ve lost the most important thing in your life: your daughter. I will never let Macey love you ever again, do you hear me?”

  Mickey bowed his head. He looked down at Chief Messings’ gun lying at his feet. His heart was sick at the choice he had to make: either let his wife kill his best friend and turn his daughter against him, or swallow his pride and take an even bigger risk. “One last game,” he whispered, so that even Conrad could barely hear him, and then he grabbed his chest.

  “What is it?” Melinda asked.

  “My... chest,” Mickey said in a horribly strained voice, and then he dropped to the floor.

  Melinda froze for an instant in shock. “Oh Mickey, I can’t believe I was going to – we’ve been through so much pain–” She raced frantically to her husband. “Mickey, don’t—”

  Melinda stopped short.

  Mickey was pointing Chief Messings’ gun at her. “Put down the gun, baby,” he said in a heartbroken voice.