“Fair enough. See you soon,” I said as I closed the door.
The sun had already set, but I could see without the light of the old fashioned streetlamps that were blinking on and off, undecided if it was actually time to get to work or not. I pulled my cap down lower to try and hide my face. I wasn’t worried about anyone around there noticing me, but I didn’t want my father to. There were a lot of people on the street and it was easy to figure out who were the locals and who were the tourists that had obviously taken a wrong turn off of Duval Street. We were in the projects after all, if you could even call them that in this town. They were nothing compared to the poorer neighborhoods of Dade County.
I stepped into the shadow cast by one of the two story buildings that lined the street and watched my father as he spoke on his phone while sitting in his car. Once he got out, I followed him away from the buildings and down a side alley that resembled a shanty town more than an actual residential street. Even in this neighborhood it stood strangely out of place.
My father paused under the dim light cast by the overhead lamp of the front porch. He turned around once to check the street behind him. I waited in the shadows at the end of the alley until he was let inside by someone I could not see. I lingered a few minutes before I made my way closer to the house he had entered and snuck around to watch through a cloudy window on the side of the house. My father and another man were talking inside a living room, if you could call it that. It appeared to be what you would expect a crack house to look like, belatedly realizing that is exactly what it was.
Their muffled voices traveled through the grimy glass as they argued about a debt that was past due. My heart sank. I knew what my father did for Tony, but I was led to believe that this trip was about him and me. Knowing that the entire trip was a farce, I walked away from the house and straight back to the taxi.
“That was fast,” the cabbie said once I was seated inside.
“Take me back to the hotel, please.”
“You got it.”
Once I got back to the room, I packed up all of my stuff. Using a fake ID and credit card I had applied for under the same false identity, I booked another room for the night and a ticket for the first flight out in the morning. I did not want to be in the same town as him, let alone the same room. He crushed the little hope that I had allowed myself to feel that day. Maybe he was right and my leaving was for the best.
That was the last day I ever spent with my father.
The thump and vibration of tires rolling over the reflectors that lined the highway jolted me awake, my exhaustion from the day before still cradling my body. I called Hugo to keep my fatigue and boredom at bay. Also, I needed something from him.
“Hugo, I need a favor,” I said once I heard him pick up.
“What do you need, Berty?” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Some wheels, please. Something that says I have money, but I don’t need to show it off. Well, not show it off too much if you catch my drift. Maybe a Lexus or C-Class. You think you can handle that?”
“Oh, I can handle that. When do you want to pick it up?”
“Whenever it’s ready, but I’ve got a rental until then.”
“So you’re headed back to Miami, then?” he asked, sounding disappointed.
“I’m almost there, but I’m not staying in Miami.”
“So where are you staying?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I said, unsure if I should tell him the truth or not. “Somewhere close, though. I’ve got a couple of places to look at next week. I was thinking maybe Ft. Lauderdale. I don’t want to be much farther than that. I can’t be too close, either. I’m sure you understand why that is.”
He laughed before he answered. “Good ole’ Jenks still following you around like a lost puppy?”
“Something like that,” I said and smiled.
“So where does he think you are?”
“Not here, that’s for sure. I didn’t tell him where I was going. Just that I’d call him when I figured it out and technically I haven’t, so it’s not like I lied.”
Hugo and Jenks had a volatile relationship at best. I knew Hugo wouldn’t divulge my secrets, though. It irked the shit out of Jenks that my father and Hugo were so close. Hugo was like my fun uncle and Jenks was like a nagging wife. Hugo took great joy in teaching me how to drive and hot wire a car. I thought Jenks was going to have an aneurism when he found out. In response, Jenks attempted to teach me the law and introduced me to Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. Both were equally helpful considering the lifestyle I led. They couldn’t get more opposite if they tried, but they were both always very good to me and I cared about them equally, even though I always told each of them that I liked them more than the other. My father had always played the role of referee between them and it looked like taking over his vengeful plot wasn’t the only job he left me to handle in his absence.
“Well, I’ve got a place on the beach up that way if you’re interested. It’s nice. Big. Safe. You’ll like it.”
“You’ve already done too much. I can’t keep taking from you. You know I hate owing anyone anything.”
“Roberta, your father was my best friend. You’re like my daughter. He’d come back to life and kill me if I didn’t. Don’t even think about saying no.”
After agreeing to give him my answer after I looked at the house for myself, I hung up and continued the drive to my hotel in Ft. Lauderdale. The first thing I did once inside my room was retrieve my favorite gun from the safe and stroked it like it was a long lost pet. I’d missed it while I’d been away and the comfort and security it afforded me. Finally feeling less vulnerable, I took a shower, laid in bed and fell asleep.
My eyes opened to a darkened room. The curtains were closed and I was unsure if it was night or day. It took me a few moments to get my bearings. Oh yeah, my hotel room in Ft. Lauderdale; three different rooms, three different hotels, three different cities, all in less than three days would leave anyone a little disoriented. I checked the alarm and realized I’d slept for almost twenty-four hours. The whole day was already shot so I turned back over in bed and passed out again.
When I finally got out of bed the next day I felt refreshed, until I remembered who’s life I was living and then I felt nothing. I ordered room service and once I was finished I left to go check out the house that Hugo had offered. The sooner I got settled in a more permanent place, the sooner I could get the show on the road. I’d waited almost twenty-two years to complete my mission and I‘d grown tired of waiting. Every passing second felt like a second wasted.
The first thought I had as I pulled up to the house was that it was enormous. It was not the image I wanted to project to Eddie, that much I knew, but I would make it work. During my day of traveling, I had decided to play the role of an orphaned, recently graduated college student who was trying to figure out what to do next in her life, which, after all, was almost the truth and an easy lie to remember. I parked the car in the driveway and got out to take a closer look at what would be my new home for a while. I called Hugo to tell him I’d take it and set a time for me to pick up the keys.
My next plan of attack was one that I was dreading. I needed new clothes. My wardrobe consisted of jeans and t-shirts, since I never had a reason to get dressed up for anything, and because I hated shopping. I always felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman whenever I entered any high-end store. I could have afforded to purchase anything within them, but it was not my style. I knew I was going to need some help when it came to the persona I needed to create. Leaving my new house behind, I headed for the shopping destination of anyone who is anyone in South Florida: Bal Harbour.
As I strolled past the stores, I watched as men and women, too preoccupied with themselves to notice my apparent discomfort, carried on with their extravagant shopping. I caught my reflection in a store window and took a long look at myself. My jeans were faded and torn, my Chucks were scuffed and dirty, my hair a tangled mess piled on top o
f my head. A saleswoman stepped up to the glass and smiled then waved her hand, beckoning someone inside. I looked over my shoulder, wondering who she was silently communicating with. When I turned back to face her, she was still standing there with a knowing smile on her face. I was so used to being invisible that it didn’t immediately register that she was in fact gesturing to me.
She greeted me as I stepped inside. I gave an awkward smile and looked around the store, noticing it was lingerie. My cheeks flushed as I took in the risqué underthings I would never dare to wear.
“Why don’t you wait in here,” she said as she pulled me towards the dressing room, “and I’ll bring you some options.”
“Uh …” was all I could say. I had no business being in here, but I needed all the help I could get.
She smiled that knowing smile again and shoved me inside before closing the door. As I waited for her to return, I looked at my reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror. Loosening my hair from its messy bun, I shook my head and let it fall down my back. I had not worn my contacts today and my blue eyes shown bright against my suntanned skin and bottle brunette hair. I stepped towards the mirror as I ran my fingers over my face, pulling at my cheeks and eyes, wondering where the hell the little blonde girl I once was had disappeared to. I knew she was there, buried underneath the rubble of my life, but I wasn’t sure if she was still alive or just another memory I carried with me. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply and held my breath as long as I could. A knock at the door disturbed my attempt to center myself. I released the air from my lungs and opened the door, once again allowing someone else to shape who I was to become.
Even though the shopping trip was a success, it was still a painful endeavor. Asking anyone for help had never been easy for me and I was exhausted from the experience, my stress level through the roof. There had only ever been one activity that allowed me to release that kind of tension: a little target practice. I decided to visit the gun range instead of heading back to my room. My phone rang as I was driving down the highway, the hands free feature informing me that it was Jenks who was calling. Impatient bastard. I told him I’d call him when I settled. I ignored it, deciding to check the voicemail later if he left one. I prayed that he or one of his minions hadn’t spotted me. I hated the thought of having to go through this kind of ordeal again. So far everything was panning out rather smoothly, which I should have recognized as a sign that disaster was right around the corner. But the voicemail alert never sounded, so I never found out the purpose of his call. I turned off the phone just in case he was attempting to triangulate my location.
As I drove on, the memory of the weekends spent with my father at the range resurfaced from the depths of my recollection. One in particular stuck out more than the others and with good reason. It was the day I’d landed my first bulls-eye. It was also the day I learned the truth about how I was brought into the world—baptized in blood.
We’d been at the range for hours. My father had long since grown annoyed at my lack of focus, only speaking while I was reloading. “Again,” he said in between clips. I lost count after a while. But then, a tiny miracle happened. I aimed. I shot. I hit the target, right smack in the middle. I turned to my father expecting to see a smile upon his face, but he only seemed slightly less agitated. Making my father proud was not an easy task and I had decided long ago to just stop trying. He wasn’t the only one who was disappointed in my failures.
“Again,” he said. I guess he wanted to be assured that it wasn’t a fluke. I turned back to the target, took a deep breath, aimed, exhaled as I pulled the trigger, and hit the target dead center. This time when I turned around, he wore a huge grin.
“Let’s go for ice cream at Jaxson’s.”
I returned his smile and left to wait by the car as he spoke to the manager. He exited the building carrying something in a flat paper bag. I wanted to ask what was inside, but I’d learned long ago not to question him. My father was a reticent man on his best day and I didn’t want to ruin the good mood that he seemed to be in.
We sat at a booth by the window, him eating a vanilla cone and me with my bubble gum ice cream. “You did good today, Berty.”
Praise from my father was rare and I reveled in it. I was elated and decided in that moment that I would throw my life into pleasing him if it meant that he might love me, that maybe this is what it took to make him want to spend more time with me. He smiled at me for the second time that day and then rubbed my hair with his free hand. For the first time in my young life, I felt like we were a normal father and daughter pair enjoying a normal weekend together.
I’ll never forget the conversation we had in the car on the way home. I was high on sugar and my head was swollen with the pride I felt emanating from my father. I took a chance, one that could have paid off badly, and dared to ask the one question that had haunted me for my entire conscious life. I looked over at my father to gauge his mood. His switch flipped so quickly that I was usually unsure as to how he was feeling until it was too late and I’d gotten myself into trouble. The look on his face was still peaceful, but I couldn’t seem to get the words out.
“You want to ask me something?” he said as he kept his eyes on the road.
How did he know that? “No,” I replied, suddenly losing my nerve. We’d had such a good day and I didn’t want to ruin it. Another time, I told myself. I’ll ask him another time.
“I don’t think you’re being honest with me, young lady. You know how I feel about that. No secrets between us, remember? We’re all that each other has. Don’t ever forget that.”
Even then I knew how hypocritical that statement had been. He harbored so many secrets that were untouchable, even as I got older. If he were still alive, I am sure he would tell me that it was all for my own good. Total. Bullshit. It was for his own good and nothing would ever convince me otherwise. I did eventually ask my question, though. I knew he wasn’t going to be happy with what I said, but I did it anyway.
“What really happened to Mom?” I asked once I felt brave enough.
He sighed and didn’t reply for so long, I was sure that he wasn’t going to answer me. “I knew you’d ask this question one day. I guess I just always thought you’d be older when you did. You’re growing up so fast, though. I can’t believe how time flies.” He pulled into our driveway and I followed him inside, hoping he would continue the conversation.
I took a seat on the couch and waited for him to continue. I’d already thrown down the gauntlet. Now I had to wait and see if he would pick it up. He took a seat across the room and looked at me with a familiar sadness in his eyes. I’d only ever seen that expression when he was looking at pictures of my mother. He missed her; there was no doubt about that. I wondered if anyone would ever love me enough to miss me that much if I were no longer around. Probably not.
“What do you know or should I say what do you think you know about what happened?”
I swallowed hard before I answered. “Just that she died when I was born.”
“That’s true. Do you know how she died?”
How would I know this? I was a child and no one spoke of such things in front of me. Maybe I’d missed a clue or a conversation somehow. Either way, I was eager for the information I was hoping he would share.
“No,” I finally answered.
He looked away from me as he told me what happened. “She was shot, Roberta. She was shot in her car as she was parking it in the driveway.”
I gasped in horror at the years I’d spent playing hopscotch and jump rope over the very place my mother had died. Even then I knew how morbid that thought was, even if I didn’t know the exact word to associate with the feeling. I closed my eyes, trying to shake the sickness that had come over me and waited for him to continue. As I sat there absorbing my father’s words, a question formed in my head. Aha! Now I understood why he hadn’t continued. He was waiting for me to fully grasp the meaning behind his last statement.
“She was pregnant with me
when she was shot?”
His only response was a slight nod of his head. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I had conflicting emotions over this. I’d always assumed she died giving birth to me and had secretly hated my existence because of that belief. I’d also assumed that it was the reason my father was so distant. If it wasn’t because of that, then what was it? I was relieved to finally know that I wasn’t the cause of her death, but also sickened at the thought of my relief. What did that say about the person I was? I needed more answers.
“Who did it?” I asked to try to escape the thoughts in my own mind.
At this, he stood up and headed for the door. Where was he going?
“Come with me and I’ll show you,” he said as he picked up his keys from the small table near the door.
The sun was just beginning its descent as we drove towards old Coconut Grove. The homes were picturesque with trees that hung over the streets, the canopy casting the neighborhood in a dreamy shadow. I’d never been to that part of town before. It was beautiful and so far removed from the urbanity of Miami, even though it was only a few miles away from the hustle and bustle of the city. My father parked on the street in front of a palatial waterfront home and turned off the engine.
“Now what?” I asked my father, trying to figure out what a mansion in an upscale part of town had to do with my mother’s murder.
“Now we wait,” he replied.
The sun had set and the sky had grown dark while we waited for something to happen. What that something was, I wasn’t sure. Over an hour passed and neither one of us spoke. He’d already shared so much and I was afraid to push my luck any further. A little while later, a shiny black car pulled into the drive. The driver and a man in the front seat got out and opened the rear doors of the car. Another man and a boy who looked to be about my age got out. The first two men scanned the streets as the passengers retreated into the house.
The Mermaid & The Crocodile (The Kill List Series Book One) Page 5