by L. T. Ryan
He continued through the house with a plan to check each room. He didn’t get past the base of the stairs, though. A car pulled into the driveway and stopped by the front door. The windows were covered, so he couldn’t tell who was out there. He shut his eyes, listened, heard a man speaking, then a woman. Dottie and Leon, he supposed.
There was the sound of a key turning a lock, then the cracking of an old door that sticks in the frame, warped after decades expanding and contracting.
Dottie walked in first.
“Jack?” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to tell you in person.”
Dottie’s gaze dropped an inch or two, she turned her head. Jack thought he saw the beginnings of a tear or two.
Leon walked in behind her.
“What are you doing here, Jack?”
“Beginning to feel unwanted,” Jack said.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” Dottie said, her voice shaky. “What if someone followed you?”
“Between Leon and myself, are you really worried about a couple guys showing up here?”
She shook her head. “Not really.”
Jack heard two more voices, both female, one recognizable. Dottie took a step back, reached behind and closed the door. Jack looked over her shoulder, wondered who was out there.
“So tell me, how did it go down?” Dottie said, strong and in control. She leaned back against the door. Leon stood by her side, grabbed her hand. She gripped his so hard her knuckles turned white.
“I didn’t have to do anything.”
“What?”
“His own guy shot him from behind then offed the third guy in their group.”
“Who?” Leon said. “What did he look like?”
“I can do better than that. I know his name.”
No one spoke for a few seconds.
“Owen,” Jack said.
“Son of a bitch,” Leon said. “Why?”
“They were meeting in a warehouse with Naseer, Yafi, and a couple others. Thornton was trying to prove he had the biggest balls in the room. Didn’t work out so well for him. Best I can tell, Owen and Naseer were working together before this happened. It wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. It was premeditated.”
“Was it quick?” Dottie asked.
Jack nodded, added, “Painless. Dead before he hit the ground. Never saw it coming.”
Dottie’s expression didn’t change.
“Did you want it otherwise?” Jack said.
She didn’t reply.
“Same thing for the other guy, although he saw it coming. Thornton was in the back of the head, the other guy was between the eyes.”
Leon shook his head. Dottie wiped a tear from her cheek, the only one that fell.
“One more thing,” Jack said.
“Yes?” Dottie said.
“Mason Sutton. You know him?”
“What about him?” Dottie said.
But Jack didn’t reply. He didn’t speak because the door opened and a memory walked in.
And she looked more beautiful than Jack remembered.
“Jack,” she said.
“Erin,” Jack said.
“Shit,” Dottie said.
“Dottie,” Leon said. “Come with me.”
Dottie looked between Jack and Erin, shook her head, said, “Shit,” again. Then, she allowed Leon to pull her toward the kitchen.
“What are you doing here?” Erin said.
Jack took a step forward. He wanted to smell her, touch her, make sure she was real. Her hair was darker than the dirty blond it had been seven years ago. Her eyes were still green, lips still full. She looked better than she did back then, more mature, in a good way.
“I…” The words wouldn’t form.
“Auntie Dottie called you up, did she?”
Jack nodded.
“Not about me, I hope.”
Jack shook his head, unable to break the stare.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Jack.” A smile, quick and playful, danced on her face.
“I never thought I’d see you again. Not after the way things ended.”
“The way things ended. You mean you telling me ‘Sorry babe, I gotta run’?”
“I never said that. I’d never call you babe.”
She laughed and the tension between them melted, the equivalent of an inch off an iceberg.
“How long will you be in town?” she asked.
“I don’t…” Jack paused, rubbed his chin. “Not long, I don’t think at least.”
“Oh well, probably for the best. We’re getting ready to take off for a few days.”
“Where are you—”
The door opened and both Erin and Jack turned their heads toward the sound.
“This is—”
“Hannah,” Jack finished Erin’s sentence. The girl that had occupied the seat next to him for six hours on a plane, then later a cab, was unmistakable. The fact that she showed up in the house had him wondering if her story on the flight had been a cover.
“Jack? What are you doing here?”
“You two know each other?” Erin said.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “We sat next to each other on the flight over.”
“What a small world,” Hannah said. “How do you know Erin?”
Jack smiled and looked toward Erin, who blushed. He said, “Long story. I’m actually here on a visit to Dottie, who I’m guessing is your employer?”
“Yeah, sure is.” Hannah smiled wide. “And I should probably go see if she needs me to do anything before we leave.”
As she left, the door opened once again. A young girl stepped inside. She wore a yellow and white checkered sun dress with blue buttons and a fake carnation sewn in just below the right shoulder. The outfit complimented her blond hair and blue eyes. Jack figured she was five. And shy. She avoided looking at Jack directly and took cover behind Erin. Her small arms threaded around Erin’s right thigh.
“Mummy,” the girl said. “Who is this?”
“You’re a mother?” Jack said.
Erin smiled, shrugged, lifted her eyebrows.
“So, you’re married then?” He dropped his gaze to her waist, looking for her left ring finger.
“No,” she said.
“Mia.”
Jack turned and saw Dottie standing at the kitchen door.
She said, “Come in here, Mia. Let your mother talk with her friend.”
They waited while the little girl skipped toward the kitchen. Before she reached Dottie, she looked back and smiled at Jack. Then just as quickly, turned around and bolted past her great-aunt.
“So, that’s my daughter, Mia.”
“She’s adorable.”
“Yes, she is.”
“What is she, five?”
“She’s quite the character.”
“I bet. Probably acts just like you. Looks like you. You probably know that.”
“Mostly.”
“She doesn’t have your eyes.”
“She has her father’s eyes.”
“Who was her father?”
“She likes the park, playing football, soccer that is. Natural athlete, like her father. She’s faster than all the boys, even the ones two or three years older. She plays soccer against kids three years older than her. You believe that?”
Jack smiled, said nothing.
“She’s not five. She’s six. Six and a half, actually.”
Jack said nothing. His smile faded. He took a step back.
“I didn’t know,” Erin said. “When we had that stupid argument, I barely remember what was said anymore. I guess something along the lines of not being able to be with a man who did the things you did. Jack, I was scared, that’s all. I had no idea it would send you away. And I didn’t know then. I didn’t know about her. If I had, things would have been different.”
“This…I…What?” His heart beat inside his chest faster than he ever recalled. He’d faced down armed men, been capture
d, tortured, beaten. Nothing had ever frightened and excited him as much as this moment. Chills raced down his spine. The flesh of his arms and thighs prickled. Tears swallowed up his eyes.
“She was born seven months after you left.”
“She’s…?”
“Yes, Mia is your daughter, Jack.”
CHAPTER 21
“Bear?”
Bear looked up from the book in his lap and smiled at Mandy. “Yeah?”
“How much longer are we gonna stay here?”
He shared the girl’s frustration at being cooped up in the small motel room. When they’d left D.C., he had every intention of heading north. But a gut instinct told him drive south and go someplace he’d never been. Four hours into the trip, he made a random right turn. Now, they were an hour east of Memphis, Tennessee. He had no idea how long they’d stay, or where they’d go next. He didn’t want to touch any of his bank accounts. Not yet. Not until he was sure they were in the clear. And that, he knew, could take some time.
Bear knew where he wanted to go, though. Paris. Back to Kat’s.
“Please tell me?” Mandy mocked a pout.
“I don’t know,” Bear said. “As long as it takes.”
“As long as what takes?”
He wanted to answer truthfully. But he couldn’t open himself up to anyone like that, least of all an eleven year old girl.
“It,” he said. “Didn’t you hear me? Got wax in your ears?”
“Whatever.” Mandy turned her back to him and resumed playing on the Game Boy he’d purchased for her in Charlottesville.
He flipped his book open, found the right page, but disruption interfered in the form of shouts outside his door.
“What the hell is that?” he said, rising from his chair. He glanced at his watch. Not even eight in the morning yet. He stepped between the two queen beds, slid open the nightstand drawer, retrieved his pistol. He tucked the handgun into the waistband of his khaki cargo shorts then adjusted his Hawaiian shirt so it covered the handle while still allowing him quick access.
“What’s the matter?” Mandy said. “Who is that?”
“I want you to walk behind me. But when you get to the bathroom, go inside and shut and lock the door.”
“Bear, you’re scaring me.”
He knelt, dipped his head, made eye contact at her level. “It’s probably nothing, sweetie. Just being extra careful. OK?”
“OK,” she said.
He knew she had put on her brave face for him. Sometimes he wondered if being around her helped the girl. He feared that the situations he put her in would do more to mess her up later in life. Maybe she’d be better off at a boarding school in France or Switzerland or wherever people send their kids when they have too much money and not enough patience.
Bear started toward the door, Mandy in tow. She clutched his left hand. He felt her breath, hot and quick, against his forearm. He glanced to his right, at the mirror, and saw her reaching for his shirt tail with one hand. There was a slight tug downward when she grabbed hold of it. He stopped in front of the bathroom, looked over his shoulder.
“All right, go in,” he whispered.
She nodded, said nothing. Her small frame slipped out from behind him and disappeared into the bathroom. Most kids would have flung the door closed, oblivious to their surroundings. But not Mandy. Bear had taught her well. She carefully closed the door and turned the handle so that the latch didn’t make a sound.
Good girl, thought Bear.
He crossed the remaining five feet in a couple steps, turned sideways at the waist. The voices outside rose. He cupped his hand to the door and placed his ear to his hand.
“I’m tired of your crap, Stevie,” one man said. “I want my friggin’ money, and I want it now.”
“I don’t have it,” Stevie said. “I need another week, Don.”
“That’s what you said two weeks ago,” Don said. “Yet here I am, still three large short.”
The words and cadence were the same as he would hear in New York. The accents were full of southern twang, the words drawn out. This amused Bear. He found himself smiling despite the uncertainty of the situation.
He slid his foot to the left. His large frame followed. He positioned his right eye in front of the peephole. Normally, he would not have done this. The moment his face crossed in front of the small hole, it would darken on the outside, alerting anyone there to his presence. However, he felt sure that the men on the other side of the door were nothing more than common hood rats.
And Bear was a professional exterminator when it came to that kind of vermin.
One man stood tall, loose, relaxed. He leaned his elbow and forearm against the weathered wooden railing, crossed his left leg over his right. He gestured a lot with his right hand as he spoke. His hair was dark, slicked back. He wore imitation designer sunglasses. After years in New York, Bear could spot them from twenty feet away. This guy was Don.
The other guy, Stevie, stood four feet away, just out of Don’s reach. He alternated from the balls of his feet to his heels, like he was ready to take off in a sprint. His hair was short, thinning, brown. His face was thin, the skin covering it pocked and scarred. He squinted against the bright sunlight. Bear figured that since the guy couldn’t afford to pay his buddy back, Stevie must have figured it best to not wear his imitation designer sunglasses around Don.
Bear noticed one more thing. Stevie had had a bulge above the rear of his left hip. His left index and middle fingers twitched non-stop.
Bear cursed under his breath.
He flicked the security lock. It swung from right to left with a tiny squeak. He cracked the door open. The chatter on the other side stopped. Both men turned their heads toward him. He placed his mouth close to the gap. Turned his head to the side in an attempt to keep it out of sight.
“You guys mind taking your argument somewhere else?” he said.
“Screw you,” Don said. “Close your goddamn door before I smash your face with it.”
Bear shut the door. Took a step back. Clenched his fists.
The door muffled the sound of Don’s laughter. The guy managed to stop long enough to say, “That guy’s more of a pussy than you are, Stevie.”
Bear walked toward the back of the room. He bounced around and shook his hands, like a fighter preparing for a match. But in this case, Bear was trying to calm down. He promised himself that he’d change. He needed to leave his old ways behind. He knew that. Straight was the only way forward. Petty incidents like this would only serve to get him into trouble.
But he couldn’t shake the guy’s smug voice from his head.
“Screw that punk.”
He bolted for the door, whipped it open.
Both men turned, wide eyed. Bear dwarfed them.
“I told you to take it somewhere else.”
Don shook his head and reverted back to form. “You must really want me to smash your head against the door.”
Bear stepped forward. He stood inches from the man, towered over the guy. “Listen runt, I can do more than smash your face in. I can give you two solid weeks of pain so intense you’ll wish I’d simply pulled a trigger and ended your pathetic little life.”
Don didn’t back down. He shoved Bear in the chest.
The big man didn’t budge. He cocked his right arm back, poised to strike.
“Bear?”
Mandy.
Bear unclenched his fists, held his hands out in front of him. He took a step back, shook his head at Don, and continued backward into the hotel room.
The fear on Don’s face faded. A smile replaced the grimace he wore moments ago. He said, “Damn pussy.”
It took everything he had for Bear to close the door.
“What happened?” Mandy said.
“What are you doing outside of the bathroom?” Bear said. He clasped his shaking hands together.
“I heard you stomping by, and the door whip open, and yelling. I was scared.”
He c
losed his eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. He knew Mandy had been frightened throughout the ordeal. As scared as she looked at that moment, he knew it had to be three times worse while hiding behind the door.
“OK,” Bear said. “Look, it’s going to be OK. Just a couple guys having an argument out there. They’ll be gone in a—”
BOOM!
“Son of a bitch,” Bear yelled. He pushed Mandy into the bathroom and pulled the door closed. A second shot rang out. Bear pulled his pistol. He lunged toward the door and pulled it open instead of checking through the peephole first.
Stevie stood over Don’s wriggling body. He aimed the gun at Don’s head.
“You just couldn’t wait, could ya? You had to go and threaten my sister. Well, fuck you, Don.”
Don stammered, pleaded for his life. He didn’t appear to be able to use his arms or legs. He had no chance of escaping. Stevie stepped forward stood over the man’s chest. He leaned over, grabbed the back of Don’s head with his left hand, placed the barrel of his pistol on the guy’s forehead.
Don tried to lift his arms, couldn’t. He had no control over his limbs. Electrical impulses caused his body to convulse. Bear figured one of the bullets severed the guy’s spine.
Stevie pulled the trigger a third time. Blood and brain and skull exploded and hovered in the air like a mushroom cloud. Bear felt it coat the exposed skin of his hands and arms and legs.
“Son of a bitch,” Bear said.
Stevie turned the gun on him. It shook in the guy’s hands.
“You don’t want to do this,” Bear said.
The faint sound of sirens grew louder. Stevie swiveled his head around, looked up and down the walkway, over the railing at the parking lot, out at the road.
“Just run, man,” Bear said.
Stevie dropped his pistol and took off running. He made it halfway down the stairs, then hopped over the railing. He collapsed on the ground, stayed there for a minute, then got up. The sirens grew louder, but Bear couldn’t see the police cruisers yet. Stevie jumped into a 1980s Firebird or Trans Am. The vehicle roared to life. It darted forward, then whipped around in a semi-circle, kicking up dust and smoke and bits of gravel as it peeled out of the parking lot.