Tempted by Trouble

by Eric Jerome Dickey

“You fired a gun at me. You fired a gun at me two times.”

  “I saved your life. If I didn’t pretend to shoot you, the people I work with would’ve killed you.”

  “Did you hear me? You traumatized me in ways that I can’t begin to explain. I’ve spent every second since you ran into the back of my SUV . . . every second I have been living in fear.”

  “I just wanted to pay you for your damages and get my father’s fedora.”

  “I don’t care about your father’s fedora.”

  Her voice remained low and intense, but it trembled with anger, fear, and the desire for revenge.

  She said, “I had no idea what you were going to do to me. I had no idea. Do you have any idea what that is like? I knew I was about to die, but I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know how long it would take. But what scared me even more were the horrible things I imagined you would do to me.”

  “I’m not a rapist.”

  “How would I know that?”

  Her anger was palpable. She wanted revenge.

  Face bruised, nose bloodied, distressed, and down on my knees, I grimaced at Abbey Rose.

  “I’m sorry. Those simple words are all that I can offer. That’s all I can say.”

  “You took me hostage, put a knife to my neck and threatened me, fired a gun at me twice, and all you can do is throw money at my feet and say that you’re sorry, as if that could erase what’s happened?”

  I could see the bottomless pain in Abbey Rose’s eyes. The light hit her eyes and what I saw was like looking inside a movie projector. I saw myself getting inside her SUV and knocking her books and coffee cup to the side, pulling out the Mexican switchblade while her heart beat like it wanted to explode inside her chest. I heard her begging me not to give her a horrible death as sirens and helicopters sounded all over the city of fallen angels.

  She said, “Move and I’ll shoot you.”

  Abbey Rose had on blue UCLA sweats and runner’s tennis shoes.

  She backed away and disappeared inside the house, but she was back within seconds. She had my father’s fedora in her hand. She tossed it at me and it landed near my feet. She kept her eyes on me, then tucked the bat underneath her armpit and squatted, picked up the envelope and moved into the light, read the front of the package, read her name and the two-word message, then paused before she stuffed it inside her sweats at the small of her back.

  Abbey Rose didn’t say anything for a long time.

  She whispered, “Close your eyes.”

  “I’m not closing my eyes.”

  She clenched her jaw and came a step closer. “One way or another you’re going to close your eyes. So do it your way, or do it my way, and if you do it my way, you’ll never be able to open your eyes again.”

  She had the gun. She believed that she was in control, that she held my life in her hands.

  So with reluctance, I closed my eyes.

  The temperature had plummeted and was in the upper forties. Over an hour went by before I heard Abbey Rose move around. By then I was in pain and cold from head to toes. Jackie would wake up soon, drunk and in custody, kicking and screaming.

  I whispered, “You still there?”

  Her voice trembled. “How does it feel?”

  “Cold. Fingers are numb. Everywhere you hit hurts bad.”

  Another moment passed.

  She asked, “Is there a reward for your capture?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “I hope there is. God knows I could use the money. And the publicity. I could be on CNN or even Oprah talking about how I trapped a despicable creature in my front yard. I captured a dangerous man all by myself. How does that sound to you, Dmytryk from Detroit?”

  After that she said nothing. It felt as if thirty more minutes passed.

  Abbey Rose snapped, “I’ve had enough of this. I’ve had all I can take of you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Leave. I want you to leave my property. I want you out of my life.”

  Fury rose in her voice and I imagined that same fury was in her body language.

  And that fury had probably moved from her heart and rested in the hand holding the gun.

  It took me a moment to open my eyes and adjust to my surroundings. If she was ready to give me my freedom, I wanted to hurry and seize the moment before her mood changed. But I couldn’t get up without falling flat on my face. My legs were in severe pain; every muscle tingled from the cold and lack of circulation. After three hours with nothing supporting my back, standing up was torture. My body ached and my sinuses drained as the cold air hugged me. I didn’t have the energy to raise my hand to wipe my face.

  She asked, “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you rob banks?”

  “Sounds like you’re asking for a thirty-second job pitch.”

  “Why do you do something so . . . disgusting?”

  It took me a moment, because for a moment I didn’t know where to start. Part of me wanted to remain silent, but the other part of me, the part that needed to talk through the pain, took over. I talked like I was on the stand at my trial, twelve of my peers staring at me through unsympathetic eyes, my words strong and intent, but at the same time filled with dignity and not begging for mercy because I accepted my life for what it had become.

  Abbey Rose said, “Your wife.”

  “What about her?”

  “You robbed banks for your wife.”

  “I did it for us.”

  “But she asked you to?”

  “She saw it as a viable option.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you do something like that?”

  It strained my neck to turn, but I glanced back and saw Abbey Rose had lowered her gun.

  “Is your wife with you?”

  “No. She left me. I haven’t heard from her for the last six months.”

  Lights were coming on in the houses in the neighborhood. Car after car passed by.

  I said, “You’re a writer.”

  “Part-time.”

  “What else do you do?”

  “Why?”

  “You know all about me, so I was asking.”

  “I was a teacher. But after nine years, I lost my job when our wonderful governor cut the budget and sent thousands of educators to the unemployment line.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that hard times have come to your front door.”

  “So the money you brought me, I really need it. I just don’t know if I can keep it. That wouldn’t be right to do. This is probably stolen money. This is dirty money.”

  “I borrowed four from a loan shark and the rest came out of my pockets.”

  Abbey Rose stood. Her features remained outlined, but the heat from her eyes illuminated her anguish. It was the second time that night I looked into the eyes of a heartbroken woman. Abbey Rose shook her head like I was the saddest thing she’d ever seen.

  I said, “I’m sorry, Abbey Rose. I’m sorry for everything.”

  Her frown was strong. “I can’t believe you actually came to my home.”

  “With honorable intentions.”

  She watched me for a moment. “Your bruises—”

  “Don’t worry about me. Whatever I received, I deserved ten times over.”

  “You’re lucky. I was aiming at your head, but you ducked.”

  “My father was a boxer. I guess that I inherited some of his natural instinct.”

  “Either way, you’ll need medical attention.”

  “I don’t have insurance, so I’ll have to buy a Band-Aid and rough this on my own.”

  Abbey Rose told me not to move, then she went inside, locked her screen door, and vanished inside her home. A few moments passed before she opened the door and handed me a white bottle. I looked at the bottle, could make out CVS PHARMACY across the top, heard at least twenty pills rattle, but my eyes were too watery to read the smaller lettering on the label.

  “What’s this?”

  “Vicodin.”<
br />
  “This won’t be necessary.”

  “Take them,” she said. “And go.”

  “You haven’t called the police?”

  “Not yet. I should have, but not yet.”

  “But you have to.”

  “You’re a criminal.”

  “It’s been a bad day. My friends were shot. One of them was killed.”

  “He was a criminal and he received what he deserved.”

  “Maybe. But he was a family man. He had a wife and kids. My other friend was shot too, and he had a family as well. All they were trying to do was take care of their families.”

  “What about the family of the security guard who was shot?”

  “He’s a hero too.”

  “Stop searching for empathy. I have none for people like you, not after what you did.”

  “I panicked. I was afraid. Things went bad and got out of control.”

  “How could you do something so heinous? You sound and dress very smart. You’re very educated, I can tell that. I want to know what it’s like to do what you have done. I saw the news. I saw them interviewing the people who worked at the Wells Fargo. One girl was crying so hard she couldn’t talk. You’ve ruined the lives of over a dozen people.”

  I coughed and wanted to spit but swallowed. More coughs came before I licked around my mouth and tried to see if I tasted blood. I couldn’t tell how much damage she had done.

  I dropped the bottle of Vicodin Abbey gave me inside my coat pocket, then fought to my feet and found my balance before I slipped my fedora on my head.

  I limped to the gate, looked back, and said, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  “Am I safe?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are your friends going to look for me, come back to my home and . . .”

  “They have no idea who you are. They don’t know your name. You’re safe.”

  “How do I know that you’re not lying to me right now?”

  “I’ve sacrificed everything to protect you. I lied to the people I work with. If it falls apart, it’s me they’ll kill. They don’t know. And they have no way of finding out. You’re free. No matter what happens to me this morning, you’re free. I’m the wanted man.”

  She shook her head and took a step away from me.

  She snapped, “Ahora, te vas de mi casa y de mi vida.”

  Her Spanish was firm and crisp, her pronunciation good enough to stop me where I stood. Her Spanish was better than my wife’s Spanish, maybe better than mine.

  Each word sounded like agony as I responded “Te escucho, y te comprendo todo . . . todo lo que dijiste.”

  I fought with my injuries, hurried and limped to my Buick, then leaned against the car and grimaced. Jackie was just as I had left her. She sat up for a moment and looked around, then collapsed again. I took a hundred breaths and saw the sky becoming light enough to reveal the army of mountains that stood around Los Angeles. It took forever for me to open the door and crawl inside. It took another forever to pull out my keys and slide them inside the ignition. Then I made a U-turn and drove away, sped toward Vernon, and turned left, mixed with early-morning traffic that was battling toward I-110, and from there I would hide among thousands and find the I-10, the sun rising over the palm trees, the body that housed my soul dying a slow death.

  16

  Dallas, Georgia. It was a red, white, and blue land inside America’s zip code 30132.

  Jackie was waiting. When I called her, she said that she was right off Merchants Drive and parked on Main Street close to Curl’s Pharmacy, a strip that had free parking from post to post and was lined with Christmas decorations and old election campaign posters for the local Republican. The heart of Main Street was simple, a city block long and lined with the Dallas Theater, Beauty Nook, Main Street Sandwich Shop, and sprinkled with one- and two-story buildings. A few of those historic edifices were antique shops that carried this area’s history back into the Civil War. What concerned me had been planted where Main Street turned into North Confederate; at that intersection was the building that housed the local police department.

  Jackie was inside Sal’s Pizzeria. She was sitting at a table and eating chicken soup when I walked inside. She was alone reading the front page of the Dallas New Era. A Paulding-Neighbor was next to her, unopened. For some reason I had expected Eddie Coyle to be there too. I’d expected a setup. I sat down and Jackie reached to her left side and pulled a book out of a Barnes & Noble bag. She slid the book across the table.

  I picked it up. It was a heavy book, almost six hundred pages long. I flipped the book over and stared down at a beautiful picture of Abbey Rose’s face.

  I slid the book back to Jackie. She put it back on her left side.

  She said, “Wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

  “You’re a manipulative woman.”

  “I go after what I need and I get it. Same as you, Dmytryk. Same as you.”

  “But you don’t care what the collateral damage might be. I do. I care about the damage.”

  “You’ll get over it and you can survive this, provided I don’t tell Eddie Coyle or his brother. Eddie Coyle is a murderer and a sociopath and an opportunist and his personality flaws make him good at what he does. That’s why women love him. He’s an evil bastard and evil bastards are irresistible.”

  “To someone who is weak and lost and suffers from diminished self-esteem, yeah, he would be.”

  Another mild coughing fit attacked me. When I was done, the pain in my back grabbed at me.

  Jackie asked, “Do you want to go to the emergency room?”

  “I’ll be fine, Jackie.”

  “Despite any other deals we make, make sure you pay me back my money.”

  “What do you know about the pending withdrawal?”

  “They’ve been tight-lipped about it. Rick knew the details. Sammy didn’t know everything. With Rick and Sammy gone, Eddie Coyle pulled you in. That’s the best I can tell you right now.”

  “Why don’t you know?”

  “Because I don’t care. I just want to do it, get the money, and do what I have to do.”

  A moment passed. She’d said Sammy’s name and her face became flushed.

  She whispered, “Sammy told me he loved me.”

  A pretty waitress named Mo came to the table, brought us glasses of water, and asked me what I would like from the menu. I ordered the same thing Jackie had, chicken soup. She looked at my split lip and bruised face. Some surprise registered in her eyes, but she didn’t ask any questions.

  When Mo walked away, I looked down at my left hand, stared at my wedding ring for a moment before I raised my head and frowned at Jackie. She didn’t say anything, just held the arrogant demeanor of a desperate woman who thought that she had the upper hand.

  Jackie said, “Now you know about your loyal wife and your buddy Eddie Coyle.”

  I nodded. My eyes were on the ghosts standing in the middle of the street. “Let Los Angeles be the topic of this sub-rosa meeting, not Cora and Eddie Coyle.”

  Jackie sipped her soup.

  I asked, “What’s your bottom line?”

  “I want my money repaid. Plus another ten thousand to keep Abbey Rose between us.”

  I smiled my father’s “you’ve gone too far” smile. He gave that smile to men and never hesitated to extend that same smile to a woman like Jackie.

  “Me, you, Cora, and Eddie Coyle.”

  “And Bishop.”

  “And Bishop.” A moment passed. “Jackie, you played me.”

  “No more than Sammy and Rick played you. We all have roles and I’m playing mine.”

  “You’re blackmailing me, is that what this is?”

  “Dmytryk.”

  “What?”

  She took a deep breath. “Sammy used to give me this formula. Zinc, fructose, potassium, vitamin C, protein, and free amino acids. It clears up my skin.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “
And now I need a fresh supply.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “Sammy understood all of my problems and he didn’t judge or try and ridicule me.”

  “Zinc and protein. That’s what you wanted from me in Texas.”

  “At first.”

  “You were in the bathroom for an hour.”

  “I did what I had to do. At first. I’ll admit that. That was all I wanted. But . . . you’re different. I was thinking, if the guy I had a child with were someone like you, then I wouldn’t have the problems I have now. Your wife, she took you for granted, Dmytryk.”

  “You played me big-time.”

  “I felt for you and wanted to console you the best way I could.”

  “With sex.”

  “It was better than sending a text message.”

  “What is up with you and this soft attitude, Jackie? This isn’t you. You’re an alcoholic who sleeps with married men, has sex with the bedroom door wide open for everyone to see, kills people for fun, and shoots innocent televisions to make a point.”

  “If that’s all you see when you look at me, then I wish you were dead, Dmytryk. You’re nothing to me and you’ll never be anything more than a nerd in an insurance man’s shoes.”

  “Now, that’s the frantic, inconsiderate, self-centered Jackie I know.”

  “I’m a good woman. Sammy was going to leave his wife and be with me.”

  “I wouldn’t take bets on that one.”

  “He was. Sammy was a man of his word. Everything that Sammy did for me, every promise Sammy ever made, you messed that up for me and now you owe me.”

  My attention remained outside. For a moment I saw Rick and Sammy.

  Jackie gave me a one-sided smile. “You have to make good on Sammy’s promises.”

  “I’m not kidnapping your kid.”

  She paused. Frowned. Then she smiled again and said, “Cora knows we slept together. She didn’t look too happy about it.”

  “Why did you tell her?”

  “Because I don’t like her. I’ve never liked her. Eddie Coyle doesn’t need her in his crew.”

  “Because she’s prettier than you. She’s prettier and has the kind of skin you wish you had.”

  Jackie threw her frigid water in my face. I picked up my glass and returned the gesture. Water crashed against her face and she howled and choked. I picked up a napkin and wiped my face, then I smiled.