The Assassin's Keeper

by John McClements

  “Hey,” she said, fighting to keep the weariness out of her voice.

  “Hey Drinda, just wanted to check what time you’re coming tomorrow, honey.”

  “About six o’clock,” she said, and listened while her mother chatted away about her day and what her brother’s kids were up to.

  Everyone seemed to be doing just fine, she thought bitterly, putting down the phone. Everyone except for me. She tried Lee’s number, feeling tremendously low. It went straight to voicemail. He’d switched it off, probably to prevent her from reminding her that he had somewhere to be – somewhere, it seemed, that he didn’t want to be.

  Drinda went into the kitchen and made herself a coffee. She took her time. After all, he might have been stuck in an area with no cell signal, or somewhere it had to be turned off. He could be home any moment. She settled back down on the couch and glared at the phone, willing it to ring. She just wanted to hear Lee’s voice. Tears began to well up in her eyes. She blinked them away angrily, hating herself for feeling so weak.

  She was so focused on the phone that she didn’t notice it growing darker. The lights of a car passing by caught her eye and she shook herself. She had been sitting there for an hour and a half. Annoyed at herself, Drinda went to make dinner. She turned on all the lights in the apartment and switched on the radio. Loneliness is often easier to deal with in the light. She ate alone, as she had dreaded, though she found that she no longer had much of an appetite. Chasing the mac’n’cheese around the plate with her fork, she tried to remember the last time he had come home on time.

  In the end, she put her dinner to one side, keeping Lee’s hot for him in the oven. She flicked aimlessly through the channels on the TV, not taking anything in. Really, she knew, she should get up and do some housework, or call one of her friends and see if they wanted to meet up, but she felt so emotionally drained that staying on the couch was more or less the only option.

  She heard his key turn in the lock at a quarter to midnight. Early, for him.

  “Why the fuck didn’t you call me?” she demanded, not even bothering to turn around and look at him.

  “I know sweetheart, I know.” He didn’t sound particularly apologetic, more sort of peremptorily annoyed, as if he knew she was going to be upset. “You just can’t imagine – it’s been a nightmare.”

  Drinda sighed.

  “I was worried about you, Lee,” she said, turning the TV off. “I’ve had a shit day – the alarm was playing up again, the outside lights keep going on and off. Can you imagine how freaked out I was? And you didn’t even try to call me.”

  “I called you.”

  “You did not, I’ve been here by the phone the whole time!”

  He huffed, annoyed to have been caught out in such a stupid lie. He put the bottle of chardonnay – his peace offering – down on the coffee table with a thump.

  “I had to stop off to collect something.”

  Drinda knew what he meant. She rubbed frustrated hands across her face.

  “So, now you’re telling me that we don’t have any money,” she said, nearly in tears. “Again! What is going on with you?”

  She knocked the edge of her fork and it clinked against the plate, which still had most of her food on it. Lee seized the opportunity to change the subject.

  “You’ve got to be starving,” he said, concerned evident in his voice. It sounded insincere to Drinda. “But you’re only picking at your food as if you’re weight-conscious.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, ignoring him.

  “Because I knew it would upset you.”

  “This upset me!” she snapped. “I’m sick to death of being messed around.”

  “I’m sorry, I truly am,” said Lee, his voice already hardening, closing her out. “That’s just the way things are.”

  He slumped into the seat next to her, not even bothering to take his shoes or coat off. He slid the remote out of her hand and switched the TV back on to a car show that Drinda had no interest in whatsoever. Why couldn’t he tell that he was hurting her?

  After a while she asked, “Got any more little secrets you want to share? I’d like to know all of them now.”

  She didn’t get a response.

  “Have you gambled away all our money?”

  She gave him five full minutes to come up with an answer, but he didn’t even turn his head. Drinda sighed and stalked into their bedroom. She was a little afraid that Lee night get violent. She had seen him break a guy’s nose just for looking at her. He’d kicked him in the groin, too, and for a moment Drinda had seen him look down at the man, wanting to carry on. There had been something dark in his eyes, a spark of malevolence that she had never seen before.

  She rubbed her stomach where the last bruise he had given her was still healing. This hadn’t been the first souvenir of their damaged relationship and it wouldn’t be the last. Lee’s fists would often be pressed into her flesh, reminding her who was boss. He was always so precise with the way he hurt her – never leaving a mark anywhere anyone could see – and he was always sorry.

  He looked guilty and vulnerable, like a small boy caught with his hands in the cookie jar. There was disgust there, too, and she would be lying to herself if she thought it was all directed at him. A part of him hated her, hated that he had brought her here, hated the stress he was under trying to keep her. He’d always thought of himself as the breadwinner, though she worked just as hard as he did – and all her money was sucked up by the rent and his gambling habit.

  Sometimes he was nice to her, and she knew that he felt the stress of their situation, too. She was a physical girl. She needed to be touched, held. She was prone to running her fingers through his hair or down his back in a friendly scratch. She received reassurance and comfort from touch. Lee, it seemed, did not.

  ***

  In the other room, Lee poured himself a drink and considered calling an old girlfriend. He even got as far as picking up the phone, but after listening to the dial tone for a few seconds he changed his mind and carefully replaced the receiver. He didn’t want Drinda to hear. He knocked back the contents of his glass in seconds.

  He left Drinda to her own devices and stamped down to the parking lot. She could be so difficult sometimes. They’d been together for three years now and he’d always promised to look after her. Somehow he needed to get back the money he’d lost – but first he needed another drink.

  Bubbling with rage, he parked his car outside a gas station club, the neon lights above the door casting a sickly glow over the parking lot. He walked through to the main part of the club and shook his head. The place seemed brighter somehow, shinier – everything was covered in a dazzling mass of tinsel that refracted the light and hurt his eyes. The festive decorations had gone up, lending the bar a gaudy level of glitz that it usually couldn’t achieve.

  It was a busy, lively night – one of those nights when everyone seemed to have come in after a good day, intending to have a good night. Pretty girls were nice to homely guys, homely guys were nice to homely girls. People were buying rounds for strangers just because. It was festive and festival. It was coming to the end of the night, now, nearly closing. He knew he would have to be quick.

  He knew that Frankie came in sometimes and he searched the crowd for her, but she was nowhere to be seen among the club’s usual hotch-potch of patrons. Frowning, he leaned against the bar and called over the bartender.

  “Is Frankie West around?” he asked, after ordering a beer. “The redhead – the boss’s daughter.”

  “No.”

  “Thanks,” Lee said. “I appreciate the help.”

  He had been about to leave but the bartender glanced furtively around and beckoned him back.

  “I might be able to help,” he said, confidingly.

  Lee stared at him suspiciously.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “What’s it worth?” asked the bartender.

  “Give me her number and I’ll give you twenty.”
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  “Fifty and it’s yours.”

  Lee nodded and handed over a pen.

  ***

  He knocked on the door and forced his way past Frankie as soon as she opened it. He pushed straight past her before she had a chance to say anything and kicked the door shut behind him.

  “Please, Frankie – I need to talk to you,” he insisted.

  “Leave me alone!” she cried.

  “Please – I need the money I loaned you back.”

  “You’re not getting anything from me!” she cried, backing into a corner of the room. She was shivering now and Lee couldn’t tell if it was from fear or from the cold blast of air that had followed him into her apartment.

  “Frankie…”

  Lee shook his head, despairing. He never should have got involved with her – he’d been with Drinda at the time, and drink had got the better of him. Drinda didn’t know and Lee wanted to keep it that way. It had been nothing, really, and it had meant nothing to him at all. Those five months had been an aberration.

  “You stay away from me, Lee, or I’ll tell Drinda everything!”

  Lee raised his eyes to the ceiling, trying to keep his cool.

  “You will do no such thing!” he hissed, taking another step forwards.

  Frankie shrank back, visibly wincing.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, you stupid woman.”

  He sighed. He wasn’t getting anywhere here.

  “I need the money, Frankie. You’re going to have to pay me back sometime,” he warned her.

  Lee left her trembling in a corner of her kitchen and went home.

  Drinda was curled up in the bedroom, crying. He rubbed her back, muttering soothing words into her ear – words he really meant, and would continue to mean right up to the moment when they became inconvenient.

  “I can’t live like this, Lee,” she sobbed, exhaustedly into his shoulder. “I just can’t.”

  “I’ve been an idiot,” he said, and she readily agreed. “Are we okay?”

  “What did you talk about?” she asked, sniffing. Lee rolled his eyes. Drinda always came back to this, though he was sure she’d never found out about Frankie, or any of the others. “What is she like? I mean, really like? Was she like the girls in the magazines?”

  “You’re wrong,” he lied, soothingly. “I never went to see any girls. Sweetheart, what we’re dealing with right now is – look, I just need to make sure we’re okay. That’s all I need,” he insisted, steering the conversation away.

  Drinda shook her head – he wasn’t sure if she believed him this time, but she pressed herself up against him, almost desperately, all warm and lush.

  “That’s all I need, too,” she purred. “Please, Lee, I’m freaked out. I know you – I know you don’t want to talk right now and that’s fine, but I need you. I need you to be with me. I feel so stupid,” she added, though it was barely more than a whisper. Lee wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear it. “I love you.” Her voice was oddly hollow, as if she was trying to will him to love her back.

  Lee did care, deep down. He did love her, really, but at any opportunity he would cheat. He couldn’t help it – it was simply a part of his nature. He thought of Drinda as an escape from everything else, an easy option. He liked to know that she would be there when he got home, waiting for him. She would be cold at first, staring at the wall, waiting for him to say the first word. It had become a mental challenge to get her to open up to him – his own personal, human crossword puzzle.

  ***

  Time passed, as is the nature of things, and Drinda held their relationship together with sheer grit. Lee was grateful, she tried hard. He was determined to find the money to make it work.

  He still worked for Frankie’s father – it was how they had met in the first place. Apart from the bar he owned a factory down on fifty-seventh street. The company had a new contract with some big steel storage house and Lee’s job was to ensure that it had enough electrical equipment in stock at all times. He was responsible for purchasing and organising maintenance, and his immediate manager, Michael West, trusted him to write the cheques on the company’s behalf. It was easy enough to produce a fictitious invoice and write out a cheque for himself. $2000 dollars would make a dent in their debts. He wrote out the cheque for cash.

  Drinda drove him to the bank that day on her way to work, but he didn’t tell her about the cheque. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.

  Lee didn’t notice the man on the corner, watching him proceed into the bank and back out again. He didn’t see him take a photograph of him, or notice when he followed him along the street.

  ***

  The feeling of impending doom crept up on Drinda when she showered that morning and followed her all day, through work at the hair studio. Working with other people’s hair usually relaxed her, but today it didn’t do a thing for her. The worst feeling in the world is when you know someone is going to lie to you and you have to wait for them to do it. Lee needed his freedom. He didn’t like to explain himself, especially not to her.

  He’d had plans to meet the guys for days, but he still didn’t tell her until an hour before.

  “Hey, I thought I’d join the guys for cards tonight,” he said, nonchalantly. “If that’s okay with you.”

  Drinda didn’t even bother to sigh. It wasn’t okay with her and it didn’t matter to him at all. She was used to it now. She had even grown numb to the drugs he occasionally brought home from the guys who were doing brisk business in a secret spot by the river. She had seen him. These days she simply turned a blind eye to it. It was simpler, and it meant he didn’t give her any more bruises.

  He had the car that night so the next afternoon she walked to her mother’s house. She was exhausted, and out on the street, with no one else around, she didn’t need to pretend to be strong. She didn’t even bother to look up until she got to the house. To her astonishment, two suits from the FBI were standing guard outside the front door of her mother’s house.

  Drinda stared at them, blinking. She looked around, as one coming out of a dream. Their black Ford Crown Victory was parked directly in front of the drive, almost blocking it. They seemed to have kicked the door in. Her mother, wide eyed and terrified, was just inside the door, explaining that Drinda wasn’t due home from the hair salon yet.

  “Mom?” she said, but got no further as the men who had been looming over her mother immediately handcuffed Drinda and escorted her firmly to their car.

  ***

  They waited until she was at the Sheriff’s Office to tell her that Lee was dead.

  He had been found in the trunk of his car with the pointed end of a metal comb shoved through his throat on the old road that ran by the canal. Drinda had been so shocked that she couldn’t even speak – she could barely hear the agents’ voices. It sounded like they were coming from a long way away, or as if she were underwater. Someone released her handcuffs and she fell to her knees, the world spinning around her. They dragged her roughly to her feet and processed her.

  It wasn’t until she was thrust into the cell that she realised she had been charged with his murder.

  Eventually, shock turned to fury. She was sick of being treated like a criminal. They hadn’t even bothered to interview her, they’d just decided she must have done it. She pummelled her pillow in rage. She loved Lee. He wasn’t perfect, but that didn’t matter to her. Finally, she burst into big, noisy tears and wept into the bed until they came to get her.

  ***

  She stared at the detective sitting across the interrogation room table. Detective Potts was a hardworking impatient policeman in his forties. His suit jacket was permanently crinkled because the moment he no longer had to wear it he would toss if over the back of the seat in his car. He had already decided that she was guilty. She wondered why he was even bothering.

  “This is your lawyer,” Detective Potts explained, shortly.

  “Please let me talk to my client in private,” the lawyer requested,
but Potts ignored him.

  “Drinda Tanner, you have been charged with murder in the first degree,” said the detective. “Do you understand?”

  Drinda burst into tears. She couldn’t help it – nothing made any sense anymore. Her lawyer sat very still, remaining silent as he and the detective waited for her answer. She looked up at him after a long, tense minute where she tried to come up with an answer that didn’t call the detective’s parentage into question.

  She wiped angry, helpless tears away with the backs of her fingers and glared at the man.

  “Look, if you’d just let me tell you, I did not kill Lee.”

  “Do you know why you are here?” the detective asked, somewhat patronisingly.

  “Yes, you just told me I am here because you believe I killed Lee. I did not. I have no idea why you think that I did.”

  “If you could stick to answering the questions I ask you, Miss, that would be a great help,” said the detective, smarmily. “Did you kill your boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “You cashed a stolen cheque with him, but it wasn’t enough, was it, Miss?” he accused. “So you planned and calculated the murder of your boyfriend. He was found dead with the pointed end of a metal comb forced through his carotid artery.”

  Drinda gaped at him. No one had told her how Lee had died. The image of that handsome neck, bloodied and torn swam in front of her eyes. God, what a horrible way to die, she thought.

  “No!” she gasped. “Wait – what cheque?”

  “We have evidence that puts you in the car at the time of the murder,” Detective Potts insisted.

  Drinda broke down and sobbed.

  “You can’t have, I wasn’t there!” she cried. “I have done nothing wrong! I drove Lee to the bank on Thursday and then he took my car after he dropped me off at the salon – he was going out to meet some of his friends.”

  She stared hopelessly at this man who wanted her to go to prison. He poured her a glass of water, which she greedily gulped down.