Made for Breaking

by Lauren Gilley

  The same delivery guy from before climbed out from behind the wheel and went around to open the rear hatch doors. Lisa bit her lip again and this time it had nothing to do with a smile.

  “What’s wrong?” Drew asked, getting to his feet. Hektor growled at him and he shot the dog a wary glance. “You alright?”

  “Fine,” she lied, watching the delivery boy prop a glass vase full of white lilies in the crook of his elbow as he started for the door. She licked suddenly dry lips. “Can you get the door for him?”

  “Sure.” He watched her as he sidestepped over and pushed the door open, which made her more uneasy. Having a witness to her discomfort made her feel more vulnerable, which was possibly the worst sensation in the world. But he didn’t look away, his eyes feeling obvious and heavy on her as she signed for the flowers, scrounged up a smile for the delivery guy, answered his inquiry as to her having a secret admirer with a weak “guess so,” and then collapsed back into her chair.

  Eventually, Drew sat back down. “If this is what you’re like when somebody sends you flowers, I’d hate to see your reaction to candy.”

  He meant it as a joke, but she didn’t respond, instead leaned forward to retrieve the note from amidst the flowers. She knew what it would say, but read it anyway. All the pretty colors for a pretty girl. Goose bumps prickled up her arms.

  “Can you excuse me for a minute?”

  When she didn’t get up, he asked, “Oh, so…you want me to leave?”

  “Yeah, if you would.”

  “I’m not quitting my job.”

  “I only have three vacation days left and I’m not using them because of some creep.”

  Ray watched his wife and daughter pace around the living room like two caged lionesses and asked himself how many times he’d counseled a client about the importance of maintaining a daily routine even in the face of threats. Quitting a job or locking yourself away in your home was the fastest way to ensure a stalker’s success, not to mention it tended to royally screw up a person’s life.

  But he wanted nothing more than to brick up every entrance of the house and not let either of his girls see the light of day again.

  “Your mother and I can float you some extra cash to make up for your tips at the bar,” he told Lisa, and she glared at him so fiercely he thought she might bare her teeth at him and snarl.

  He turned to Cheryl. “And you don’t make that much anyway – ”

  “Do not!” she snapped. “Don’t feed me that shit about you being able to afford all this off the garage and those stupid bouncer gigs the boys pull off. This is a team effort, Ray!”

  “God, why did I not go to college and get a real job,” Lisa groaned.

  Two identical bundles of lilies in glass vases sprouted from the coffee table and were as disturbing as two live grenades. Well…almost. But they were giving Ray heart palpitations none the less.

  “I’m trying to keep you both safe,” he said through his teeth.

  “From what, exactly?” Cheryl demanded. She paused, arms crossed, one leg propped out to the side in a pose that never failed to make him uncomfortable. “From some mystery flower-giver you won’t tell us about?”

  He scowled. “Yes.”

  “Do you think we’re completely defenseless?”

  Not the point! He wanted to scream at her. He would have worried even if they were walking around in plate armor with a gun in each hand.

  “I’m taking a shower,” Lisa announced with another groan and abandoned her pacing as she headed for the stairs.

  “You are not going to work tonight,” Ray called after her, feeling desperately out of control of this situation.

  “I have the night off,” she bit back and kept walking.

  When she was gone, Cheryl came closer, looming over the coffee table. “What’s going on?” she demanded in a low hiss.

  He released his breath in a defeated rush and let his eyes linger on the flowers, their pretty white petals and lush greenery. Lying to his wife was too difficult because she never let it go, never accepted the falsities he fed her. He checked to see that Lisa had truly left the room. “You remember my last case?”

  Her unhappy expression seemed to freeze. She nodded. “Carl Shilling.”

  It felt grievous to voice his worries, to put them in her head and make them real for her, so he decided to shave off some of the gory details. “He had a fixation with flowers” - he spread their petals over his dead wife and daughter - “and he left a message – ”

  Cheryl sucked in a quick, startled breath. “But – but, he went to prison, and he wouldn’t know us at all…” It wasn’t a question, but she was looking for an answer. The anger bled out of her dark eyes and in its place, fear glazed over them.

  “He did.” But he got out. “And he wouldn’t know you.” But he wants to hurt me. The note…baby, you don’t understand about the note, and Rene’s broken neck, and little Anna all covered in blood…

  “Then – ” She ran her hands through her hair, realized too late her dark locks were done up in a clip and that she was ruining her ‘do; she took the thing out and came around to sit beside him. “Raymond.” His mother was dead, so sometimes she liked to fill the role herself. “I know you don’t like to scare Lis, but I can handle it. You know who’s sending the flowers, don’t you?”

  Yes. “Not really for sure, no.”

  She lifted a single brow in challenge.

  “I just get worried, is all.” She wasn’t buying it. “So, please, let me be worried for a little while and I’ll…I dunno, send one of the boys to sit on a stool while Lis works, keep an eye on her.”

  “I guess that could work.”

  “You’re smarter that those women who pretend the world’s made out of marshmallows,” he said, and she conceded with a nod and a twitchy smile.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not being paranoid, I’m being cautious. Humor me for a bit until this blows over?”

  Cheryl had a hundred questions shining in her eyes, but she nodded, slid her hand into his. He saw her shoulders sag as she sighed and felt a pang of sympathy for her; he wasn’t easy to live with and in truth, it was a miracle she hadn’t left him long ago.

  ***

  Eddie and Sly’s rented house was a ranch with gray wood siding and a brick façade. It was situated on a dead-end road in a nameless subdivision full of tall, well-established trees and forty-year-old homes that were owned by original tenants or what looked to be young families with Fisher Price toys in the yards. It had a chain link fence around the perimeter and a carport instead of a garage, no landscaping, just lawn and concrete front stoop. But it was as neat and tidy as a hospital.

  Except for the fridge. There were things growing in the fridge. But whatever they were, they seemed to be in an earlier stage of development than the things that had been growing in Josh’s fridge.

  Drew pushed aside a jar of what he thought were jalapeños and grabbed one of the chocolate protein shakes he’d bought the day before – one was already missing thanks to his roommates. As he stepped back and closed the door of the dingy white Maytag, Sly seemed to materialize in the threshold between kitchen and living room. Drew didn’t want to be startled, but he couldn’t quite help it.

  Sly – continuing to prove that he didn’t in fact smile more once you’d spent more time around him – twitched his brows in a look that suggested he knew he’d surprised Drew. He held up his cell phone in one hand. “Just got off the line with Ray. He’s got a job for you tomorrow night.”

  “Really? What?”

  14

  In retrospect, Lisa wished she’d walked her flowers around to the dumpster the moment they’d arrived, and chucked them in, note and all, without telling her father about any of it. Because then she wouldn’t have been required to bring a security detail to work.

  Night had yet to fall, but what was left of the sun was hidden behind the trees, the sky overhead a backdrop of murky blue-gray, the orange neon of the Double Vis
ion billboard flickering ominously against it. A steady stream of traffic was snaking its way into the parking lot, but Lisa’s protectors of the evening had managed to find a spot beside hers – oh, how lucky. As she tugged at the too-short, frayed hem of her denim miniskirt, she watched, scowling, as Eddie and Drew climbed out of Mark’s old blue Chevy and came around behind the tailgate to join her.

  “This is beyond unnecessary,” she said, smoothing her hands down the front of her lemon yellow halter top.

  Eddie – who’d attempted to dress up in a black button-up and dark, dark jeans – licked his thumb and crouched down to wipe a spot off one of his white sneakers. “You say it all you want, sweetheart, but one of your old man’s checks means I gotta disagree with you.”

  She sighed, miserable, and glanced to Drew. He was more casual in jeans and a t-shirt, and far less comfortable about the whole thing. With his hands in his pockets and his shoulders bunched up, he looked like he’d rather be anyplace else, which struck Lisa as odd. Eddie would have arm-wrestled for the chance to sit around in a bar and watch hot chicks twitch their way across the dance floor while he was on the company clock. Conversely, Drew was staring across the parking lot with worry lines pressed between his dark eyebrows; he turned his head in her direction as if he’d felt her eyes on him. Lisa looked away first – not sure she was at all comfortable with him tagging along; he looked edgy and nervous and like he was taking this much too seriously. Eddie wouldn’t bother her – he’d be too busy watching everyone else – but she wasn’t comfortable with this near-stranger staring at her all night. Especially not since she was dressed like a piece of meat.

  “Well.” She slipped the strap of her purse over her head. “Guess stalling won’t make this any better.”

  “You know.” Eddie fell in beside her and draped an arm across her shoulders as they walked, leaving Drew to follow. “You have to be here anyway, but me…I’m the one who’s had his night ruined.”

  “You can’t make me feel guilty,” she said, and meant it. “You know you’d be chasing tail anyway.” He snorted. “Might as well do it with free beer.”

  “Free?”

  “I’m a very important person here.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  The Double Vision had been monstrous and overwhelming on her first visit, this terrifying crush of humanity and debauchery. Now, though familiar, even comfortable at times, it still felt like six acres of amusement park packed in under a roof. Though the lot was filling up, the interior of the bar looked almost empty. Customers already inside had come early to snag the good tables up on the balcony or favorite stools at the bar. A pair of gray, grizzled biker types were at one of the pool tables. A trio of girls who looked like they’d smiled their way past the bouncers with fake IDs were already into the tequila shots and attempting to dance, much to the amusement of the older men watching them from a nearby table.

  The usual.

  Lisa started down the wide steps – carefully, thanks to her platforms – to the main floor and headed toward the bar, feeling about twelve-years-old with an escort tailing her. Even if she liked Eddie – which she did – and even if she was fast developing this urge to let her eyes move over Drew – which she was – the idea of them being sent after her, like guard dogs, put spurs in the flanks of her self-righteousness.

  Regular people did not have bodyguards. Regular dads called the police and double checked their locks at night and didn’t send boxers and dishonorably discharged Navy SEALs to work with their daughters on the off chance that flower-stalkers showed up. Then again…ordinary girls didn’t have flower-stalkers, did they? Nor fathers who cared about them so much.

  She sighed as she drew up to the massive, free-floating bar and traded waves with one of her fellow bartenders, Holly. She understood her dad’s need to play certain things close to the vest. She was just frustrated with the shady life she seemed to be living lately. All the secrets and shifty eyes were getting to her.

  “You guys can hang out here.” She half-turned and waved to indicate bar stools to the boys.

  “For now,” Eddie said with a smirk.

  Cheryl’s yellow million bells had overgrown their pot and tumbled over the side, a waterfall of lemon and green, the perkiest, happiest flowers in all of her garden. She loved her pine chipped beds bursting with perennials, but she loved the pots on the porch too. Delicately, she pinched the dead blossoms off and put them in the plastic bucket she was using for trash/compost.

  The sun had just slipped like an orange bobber beneath the dark surface of the horizon, but the porch lamps offered plenty of light for her task. Behind her, she heard the ice cubes shift in Sly’s glass. She could smell the butter and garlic of the leftover pasta she’d reheated for him.

  “Dinner good?” she asked, pausing to wipe the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her gloved hand. She felt her feathered bangs get stuck along her temples.

  “Yup.”

  She’d always liked Sly. Mark was the happy one and Eddie the one who always said things he shouldn’t. But Sly was the quiet one. Lisa had a theory about quietness: it didn’t mean a person was stupid, only that he was listening better than everyone else. And that was true for Sly. He saw things other people didn’t see, heard things others were too loud to pick up on. It was the reason he was here alone, and why Ray had felt the need to send two men with Lisa; Sly was twice as effective as everyone else.

  “You know, something about being guarded makes my evening less relaxing,” she joked.

  He snorted.

  “Ray’s being paranoid about all this.”

  “He’s good at that.”

  Her legs sore from crouching, she sat back on the porch planks and stretched them out in front of her, arms draped over her knees. “You’re smart.” She turned her head so she could see him sitting in one of the white rocking chairs against the wall. He lifted a brow in acknowledgment. “Tell me something: how worried should I be about all this?”

  “I’m sitting here watching you pick dead flowers…how worried do you think you should be?”

  Cheryl sighed. “Good point.”

  “I’m not going to ask you what you’re doing with this,” Tony had said as he’d passed Ray the index card, “but for Christ’s sakes, don’t get yourselves arrested. Or get me arrested.”

  Tony’s worries had been all for naught; Ray was perfectly capable of comporting himself in a professional, polite manner. Certainly.

  At least, that’s what he told himself as he walked through the automatic sliding glass doors and into the air lock at the La Quinta Inn and Suites where Carl Shilling worked.

  As was typical of most hotel chains, the air lock opened into a lobby with tan tile floors and decorated with affordable furniture that had been designed to look more expensive than it was. Ray glanced over the dark wood and green upholstery of the chairs, saw open double doors to the left that probably led into a small dining room where continental breakfast was served, ahead to the elevators, and finally to the right where two young women in blazers stood behind the registration counter.

  The women – and they were girls, really, younger than Lisa – were flipping through magazines and talking animatedly with one another, lots of hand gestures and “oh my God”s thrown in for emphasis. By the time Ray reached the counter, he’d come to the conclusion that some celebrity or other had dumped some other celebrity or some such bullshit. It was after nine and the lobby was a ghost town, so neither employee seemed all that eager to set aside their gossip and tend to business.

  “Yessss.” The brunette put an extra S or two on for emphasis. “She actually dumped him for Derek Whitley! Can you believe that?”

  “What? No way!” The blonde grabbed for the magazine, but froze, purple-manicured nails stuck like claws in the air, and glanced up at Ray and Mark. “Oh, um, hi. Just a sec.” She raked her purple nails back through her hair, gave her head a little toss, and straightened her gr
een blazer. “’Kay. You guys need to make a reservation or something?”

  Ray almost wanted to smile. Almost. “No. Actually, I checked out this morning, but I’m afraid I left a bag behind. I was wondering if I could look through your lost-and-found.”

  The girls traded looks. “Yeah,” the slack-jawed brunette finally said.

  “The janitor staff keeps up with that stuff,” the blonde said. “We gotta have our manager walk you back, though.”

  “That’s fine; I’ll wait.”

  The blonde walked off, presumably to get the manager, and the brunette returned to the magazine.

  Mark leaned closer, his voice not even a whisper. “And what if we don’t see Shilling?”

  “I’m not leaving till we do.”

  ***

  Eddie was so not taking this seriously. Drew was so wired he felt sure he’d somehow been plugged into an electrical outlet, and conversely, Eddie was draping himself all over a golden-haired chick in a leopard print dress. While Drew had sipped on a beer, he’d counted Eddie’s three Jack and Cokes.

  It was annoying. Ray had told them to “watch Lisa,” so that’s what he was doing. He’d watched her attempt to flirt with a group of college-age boys in what had to be a ploy for a big tip. He’d watched her tug at the hem of her skirt while a comically frustrated expression darkened her face. He’d watched little chips of ice run down the beer bottles in her hands and land on her thighs; and he’d watched the goose flesh erupt on her legs because of it. He’d watched her and watched her and watched her until he had tunnel vision. So long that, as she finished serving a couple their drinks and headed his way, he didn’t force his eyes away and try to look casual. She had her elbows propped on the bar and was leaning down in his face, flashing cleavage and a pinched expression, her heart pendant necklace swinging forward on its chain before he could react.