A Coin for Charon

by Dallas Mullican

  Red Cap eyed Gabriel while rubbing his damaged knee. “You’re dead, motherfucker.” He worked his good leg underneath him.

  Gabriel knew only seconds remained before the oaf could stand and his advantage disappeared. He ran at Red Cap with a wild overhead feint. The big man dragged himself backward, raising his arms to defend against a punch that didn’t come. Gabriel hauled an intact cinder block from the pile, and hefted it over his head. Red Cap threw his weight to the side in an effort to get his head out from under the strike. Much to his surprise—and pain—his huge skull was not the target. Gabriel brought it down with all his strength on Red Cap’s injured knee. The big man howled. Again, and again, Gabriel smashed concrete into denim; the third time, it shattered into pieces. The crack of bones filled the alley. Red Cap screamed in agony.

  Gabriel brushed dust and crumbled stone from his hands, and picked up the length of rebar. He stepped over him, adopting the posture of a knight with a rebar sword. His anger faded to a sense of purpose and resolve. He pictured Wanda lying in the hospital bed, blind and scared. He heard Mother’s voice telling tales of valor.

  His grip tightened on the rod.

  Red Cap stared at the rebar with an expression that comprehended he was about to die. With quivering lips and fear dominating his eyes, he brought his hands up, both guarding himself and waving Gabriel away. Neither would work. Gabriel stood fast, confident nothing Rep Cap did would stop the length of steel from finding his skull.

  “God no, please don’t. I’m sorry about the old lady. I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just wanted her money. I was desperate, man, you gotta understand. I got three kids to feed. Please don’t kill me, please.…” Red Cap cried. He lay there bawling like a toddler after a vaccine injection.

  His pleas did not stay Gabriel’s hand. The whisper of the Gods breezed through his mind. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.

  Gabriel lowered his arm. Vengeance was not his calling, not his purpose.

  Their will be done.

  Gabriel numbed. His fingers loosened until the rebar slipped free and hit the pavement with an echoing clang that carried through the narrow alley. He reached into this pocket, withdrew the silver ring with a small opal stone, and tossed it to Red Cap.

  “You need this more than I.”

  Gabriel walked away. Red Cap clutched his shattered leg, repeating thank you over and over.

  * * *

  As he returned home, he thought of Wanda. Gabriel viewed death differently than most. He did not look upon it with the same fear. Nevertheless, Wanda’s passing left a hollow place inside him. His attachment to her and Henry surprised him in some ways. Their acceptance of him surprised him more. Perhaps they were surrogates for all he had lost and the family he needed.

  Wanda’s words echoed through his thoughts, but it was another’s voice he heard.

  “I’m scared, Gabriel.”

  Elisabeth weakened with each passing year. Her soliloquies turned from the cheerful to the tragic. No longer did she recite Hermia or Rosalind, but instead, verses uttered by the likes of Ophelia and Desdemona in their most angst-ridden moments.

  “They bore him barefac’d on the bier. And in this grave rain’d many a tear. Fare you well my dove!” she said, her voice filled with despair.

  Gabriel assumed she mourned his father. When she began to exhibit a new persona, he understood how much she missed Mason, and how lost she felt without him. He soon longed for this Elisabeth to recede back into his mother’s subconscious.

  “Where is your father? I never wanted it to be like this. After the accident, after things grew so hard…I didn’t like this place. Never did. I didn’t know anything about the country, how to live. Mason showed me, best he could, but I missed teaching. I had so many dreams. This was not the life I wanted, only your father’s love sustained me.”

  Gabriel had never heard his mother speak this way. Gone the actress and the poet, leaving this frightened woman. She sounded no different from anyone else living in this area. She sounded…normal. The girl, the young woman from years past, before madness claimed her mind, pushed to the surface. The characters she played, mere deceptions designed to hide from herself.

  In ways Gabriel could not describe, these rare moments of lucidity frightened him more than her alter-selves. He knew the actress, the poet, and all the rest. He grew up with them, watched them dance and recite for hours on end. This person wore no mask. Visceral, honest pain lay etched in her every feature from the haunted eyes to the sorrow-filled smile. The others he might humor or comfort, this one…nothing eased her pain.

  Twenty-four years old now, Gabriel had spent the last decade trying to keep the farm running. He struggled daily to keep food on the table and clothes on their backs. But the heat of recent summers had scorched the land. Little rain and no money for fertilizer or insecticide meant no crops. He had slaughtered the last of the animals weeks ago. The freezer was filled and would last through one more winter.

  The bank had claimed all their equipment for back mortgage payments. So little remained, and now Elisabeth’s health gradually worsened by the day. Her body followed her mind toward disintegration.

  One day, while helping her dress, Gabriel felt a rock-hard knot in her belly, larger than his fist. He knew she would not live long. On occasion, he had witnessed cancer in his animals, and held no illusions about what would come.

  “When down her weedy trophies and herself fell in the weeping brook. Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay to muddy death,” Elisabeth said, her voice lifeless, monotone.

  “No, you will recover. I will take care of you.” Yet, in truth, he did not know how. Ill-prepared to care for her, Gabriel could only attempt to keep her comfortable, provide what needs he could, and hope the end came swiftly.

  It did not. More than a year passed and Elisabeth hung on. Maybe a hospital would treat her, insurance or no, but she would not hear of it, becoming wild and violent at the mere mention.

  “No. No, I will not be cut and prodded by strangers. Unhand me.” She screamed and lashed out, striking Gabriel across his chest.

  “Mother, calm down. You will hurt yourself. Mother, please.” He attempted to restrain her, but she lunged away, falling hard to the floor. “Oh mother. You must not do such things. I am only trying to help you.” Gabriel assisted her to her feet.

  “Doth the lady protest too much?” She said and began to laugh uncontrollably.

  Gabriel, near tears, felt lost. He could overpower her and take her to the hospital against her will. The process would cause her such pain, and in the end, he doubted any treatment could reverse her condition.

  So they lived with Elisabeth in constant pain and Gabriel helpless. Day after day, always the same, until the day she asked him to kill her.

  CHAPTER

  25

  “How did Michael get bail? They promised me he wouldn’t.” Becca, livid, stomped across the floor. Near tears, she could not believe her luck. Just when things seemed to be looking up, the bottom fell out again.

  “I don’t know. Some judge granted it, nothing we can do,” said Marlowe. “You have the restraining order. Any violation will revoke his bail.”

  “If he believes he’s facing life in prison already, what’s to stop him from tacking on a count of assault? Or murder? You don’t know him. He knows someone framed him. He’ll blame me. I knew he was into something. The phone calls, the odd hours, and he knows I knew. After I called the police the night he…well, it won’t be a leap to believe I took more drastic measures.”

  “Try to calm down. I’ve got a patrol car in front of the house, and a uniform set up out back. He won’t get within a hundred yards without being spotted.”

  Becca blinked. “You can do that over a restraining order?”

  “No, but I can on suspicion Seraphim may return to finish what he started.”

  Becca sighed. “My guardian angel. I keep getting you in deeper and deeper, don’t I?” She embraced him.

&n
bsp; “It’s okay. I took it on, no one forced me.” Marlowe lifted her head with a finger under her chin. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “I believe you. I do. It’s just that my nerves are fried. I’ve been peeking outside and jumping at every sound for hours. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

  “You’ve taken worse. I understand the not knowing can be worse than facing actual harm. The fact is, Michael is an asshole with a nasty temper, but he’s also a cop. He knows how this works. He’s not stupid. If he has any chance of beating the drug rap, he can’t afford to compound things by violating his bail. And besides, it’ll take some time to process him out of the tank.”

  “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I’ll try to hold it together.”

  “Good. Now I’ve got some things to take care of. I still have a job to do, you know. I’ll check in on you later, okay?”

  “Okay…and Marlowe.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you, for everything.”

  “You’ve done that already.” He grinned.

  “I have, but then you do more stuff for me. I have to keep thanking you.”

  “Well, I like the way you thank me, so I’ll have to keep doing stuff.”

  Becca escorted Marlowe to the door and watched him leave, comforted by the sight of the police cruiser parked on the street. Michael would never come here now. She repeated it over and over, hoping eventually she might believe it.

  The house’s every creak and groan startled her. A shifting shadow sent her rechecking locks on doors and windows. She needed to get her mind off it. Becca turned on the television, finally found a station not broadcasting news on Seraphim, and sat back with a glass of wine.

  Only a single glass; need to keep my wits.

  Just one…to take the edge off.

  * * *

  Max watched the man leave Dr. Drenning’s home. Formidable looking fellow—muscular, like a boxer. If the man returned with Max inside, it would be a problem. He could not take on a man that size, not in his condition, not even if he were perfectly healthy. Even so, it did not matter. Nothing could interfere with his mission.

  Dr. Drenning stood at the door until the man drove away. Max watched her wave and then disappear inside. Not something he did every day, this endeavor taxed both his courage and his ingenuity. Staring at the house, all the things that could go wrong made his head thump and his pulse quicken.

  He might as well try breaking into Fort Knox, out of his element by miles. Max needed a plan. Seraphim might return for the doctor at any moment. He had to get inside—yet, how could he gain entrance to the house with that police car parked so close? The front was obviously too risky. Maybe the back door.

  One of the two policemen got out of the patrol car and walked around to the rear of the home. Perhaps, he would simply check around and come back. After several minutes, the cop did not return.

  Dammit. What now?

  Max was not a thief. Breaking into a locked home seemed hard enough, but while avoiding the notice of two cops…impossible. Still, there must be a way. Seraphim would not have sent him if it were unachievable. A test? Surely, a test of his dedication—his desire to save her.

  Lacking any expertise for breaking and entering, Max felt his stress level climb. The only bit of good luck, his pain had lessened to tolerable. The doctor said his cancer now encroached on the pain centers in his brain, blocking some reception from the nerves. He called it fortunate for someone in Max’s condition. Max called it an answered prayer. On the down side, the condition might reverse at any time, amplifying the pain rather than dampening it. Still, for now, it felt like a blessing from heaven, and he owed repayment for the gift.

  Max stared at the house and thought of Dr. Drenning. A hero for once in his life, he could be the champion rather than the villain, the savior instead of the destroyer. He would stand for her, take her place and die in her stead. A grand sacrifice.

  I will stand for you.

  * * *

  Marlowe did not need another complication. Michael could pose a problem, and Marlowe did not have the time to worry with him. He wanted Michael out of circulation—permanently. Michael needed to violate his bail agreement, and Marlowe intended to give him a little help.

  He walked across the street from Birmingham Metro to County lock-up. Michael would be back on the streets soon. Processing bail could take a while, however, especially when Marlowe suggested to the guard there might be some problems with the paperwork. Pesky red tape…poor Michael.

  Now to make certain he stayed put. Marlowe always prepared a contingency plan, but working it now could prove tricky. Only one play left…and Raze was not going to like it.

  * * *

  A battered white sports car pulled up to the curb in front of the house. Max ducked low in the bushes as a man got out and headed toward the front door. Scrawny, more a kid really, dressed in torn jeans and a shirt that had seen better days. His sandy colored hair, cropped short, sported a long rat-tail dangling down his back. The cop in the patrol car stepped out, his hand resting on his sidearm. He moved cautiously up behind Rattail, and slid the gun free.

  “Down. On the ground right now,” shouted the policeman, gun trained on the man.

  Rattail raised his hands high above his head and said something Max could not quite make out.

  “I said down. On your knees, hands behind your head. Do it now asshole,” said the cop. The commotion brought the second policeman rushing around the corner of the house. He took a position opposite his partner, leaving Rattail nowhere to go.

  As commanded, Rattail fell to his knees and clasped his hands behind his head. The cop jerked them down and snapped handcuffs tight onto the wrists. Seated across the street, Max could just make out the exchange.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” asked the cop.

  “Raze, man, I’m Raze. Shit, these cuffs are too tight. Freaking hurt. I ain’t going nowhere, can’t you loosen ‘em a little.”

  The cop tapped Raze on the head with the butt of his gun. “I asked you a question. What are you doing here?”

  “Ouch. Officer Drenning sent me to pick up a package for him, okay. I got business here.”

  “Well, Raaaze,” said the cop in a mocking tone. “Let’s get this package, and then we can go down to the station and have a long talk. What do ya say?”

  * * *

  Becca answered the door. “What’s going on?”

  “This guy says your husband told him to pick up a package. I’m thinking he’s trying to get rid of his stash. He didn’t know we’d be watching the house. Dumbass,” said the policeman, a satisfied smile on his face. His partner held their captive by the link between the steel handcuffs. “I’m Bateman, this is Kirkpatrick.”

  “Come on in,” she said, nodding to each in turn. “Please be careful. Don’t break anything,”

  “Where to, Raze?” asked Bateman.

  “Basement, behind the washer.”

  “Criminals, so predictable.” Kirkpatrick shoved Raze toward the stairs.

  Becca remained in the doorway above the basement. She prayed they actually found drugs down there. She prayed Michael could have been so stupid. Surely more drugs would keep him in jail, unless they considered it all part of the previous crime. If so, it might not affect his bail.

  Stay positive. They’ll find the drugs. Michael will remain in jail. Positive.

  She could hear clanging and objects shifting below. Becca hoped they didn’t damage her new washer and dryer.

  “Got it. Nice,” Bateman said.

  They came up the stairs, Bateman bouncing a sack in his palm, Kirkpatrick still pushing Raze from behind. Oddly, Raze did not appear particularly worried.

  * * *

  Marlowe arrived a half hour after Bateman and Kirkpatrick took off with Raze in tow. Out of habit, he scanned the street: not a soul in sight. Becca waited for him in the doorway, hands on hips, her lips pursed with playful accusation. />
  “Any idea what that was all about?” she asked.

  “I have no idea what you’re referring to my dear,” Marlowe said with a grin.

  “No? Seems Michael sent one of his friends over to retrieve his hidden drugs. I guess he wanted to get them out of the house before someone found them.”

  “Fancy that. I did hear something about it, now that you mention it. Seems that Raze guy is on parole. I hear you’re not supposed to associate with parolees while incarcerated or on bail. And the drugs…not good for ol’ Michael. Pretty clear violation of his bail agreement. Looks like he’ll stay locked up until the trial. Pity, some people never learn.”

  “I can’t believe I’m thankful there were drugs in my house.”

  “Bit of luck there.”

  Becca eyed him closely, catching the glibness in his tone. “You knew they were there, didn’t you?”

  “I suspected as much…since I put them there.”

  “What?” asked Becca, her eyes wide.

  “Plan B, in case Michael didn’t take to the meeting with Raze. Figured someone could tip the police off he hid a stash here. Glad now I left them in place. You never know when things will come in handy.”

  “Remind me never to cross you, Detective Gentry. Now, I’ll race you to the bedroom.” Becca darted for the stairs with Marlowe hot on her heels.

  * * *

  Max watched the police shove Raze into the backseat of the cruiser and depart. Soon after, Boxer returned. Busy place. How many people would come and go? It made him nervous. For the millionth time, Max wondered if his sanity had completely fled. Still, he must trust Seraphim to guide him.

  With the police gone, Max relocated to the east side of the house. He did not know if they were gone for good, or would soon return. No choice but to proceed under the suspicion they might be back. From his new vantage point, he noticed a small window slightly above ground level and set into a basement wall. He might be able to pry it open without alerting Dr. Drenning. It seemed his only option. Waiting for the cover of night, Max sat with his back to a large oak and listened for the voice to whisper direction into his mind.