Cold Summer Nights

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  "It's just me."

  Nick tried to catch his breath, but his pulse was racing too fast. Guardedly, he poked his tousled head over the bed and squinted. “Summer?”

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she said quietly, getting up.

  Nick stumbled to his feet and turned on the light. He squinted at the thin brunette wearing the same jeans and low cut top she had on earlier.

  He put a hand to his chest, feeling every beat of his kicking heart. If he was thirty years older he probably would have just had a major heart attack. "What the hell?"

  She frowned. "I’m sorry, but I couldn't take a chance on that cop finding me."

  Nick's eyes darted around the room. “How’d you get in here?”

  “The patio doors were unlocked.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “No they weren’t. I locked them before going to bed. I double-checked everything.”

  She shrugged. “You must’ve missed one.”

  He scanned the room with wild eyes again, trying to breathe. "I didn’t miss one,” he scowled. “How'd you get your car out of the driveway?"

  "I went around on the grass and over the curb."

  Nick’s jaw dropped. "That’s impossible! He checked the grass for tire tracks with his flashlight."

  She shrugged again. “Nick, I just wanted to…”

  “Why isn't your phone working?" he interrupted.

  An ashamed smile crept across her colorless lips. "I forgot to pay the bill and they shut it off."

  He let out an exhausted sigh and realized he was standing in his underwear. Hurriedly, he threw on a pair of sweats and began pacing the small room. "He said there’s no record of you at Wells Fargo, or any record of you anywhere."

  She tilted her head and let go of a long sigh. "I'm sorry I had to lie to you. I couldn't take the chance of telling you the truth, of telling anyone the truth."

  His cold stare was long and unwavering. “What's the truth?” he whispered.

  "The truth is," she began, a lone tear escaping down her pallid cheek. "I should’ve never gotten you involved in any of this."

  His brow folded. "Any of what?"

  She dropped her eyes to her hands and twisted her bony fingers.

  "Did…did you kill Amy?"

  Her mouth popped open, insult skittering across her face. “Are you serious?”

  He threw his arms out into the air. “I don’t even know who you are! Of course I’m serious. All I know is you have some bullshit story about an alleged abusive husband in the mob.”

  “He wasn’t my husband and it’s not bullshit!” she snapped, dropping back onto the bed. “I - didn't - kill - Amy. I don't even know what she looks like," she sobbed.

  Nick slid down into the gray armchair and shot a glum look her way. "I gave him the missing persons flier," he said flatly.

  He didn’t think it was possible for her face to lose anymore color but it did.

  “You what?" she said gravely.

  “He was threatening to take me to jail! What was I supposed to do?”

  Her face dropped into her hands. Tears slipped through her fingers and disappeared into the carpeting.

  He shifted uneasily in the chair.

  “I am so screwed,” she sniffled.

  “You?” he snorted. “I’m the one who got stuck with another…” He bit his lip before continuing.

  She lifted her wet face and dried her hands on her jeans. “This is the last thing you need right now with your grandma and everything. I am so sorry.”

  He watched her get up and walk out of the room. “Where are you going?” he asked, following her into the living room.

  She wiped tears from her face and shook her head. “I've got to figure some things out. I just wanted to let you know I’m sorry for lying to you. I had no right to drag you into this.”

  Nick put his hands on his hips as she grasped the front doorknob. “So what now?”

  She opened the door and turned back to him. “I don’t know.”

  They held each other’s stare for a brief moment that seemed like forever. The silence was infectious.

  “Well, how do I get a hold of you?”

  “It’s probably best that you don’t, at least for awhile” she said, stepping out onto the front porch and sinuously gliding down the cement steps.

  He followed her onto the porch, his incredulous eyes watching her briskly walk to the driveway. His mind screamed at him to say something as she got into her car. To stop her. To help her. If he let her go now, he may never see her again. He galloped down the steps and raised a hand into the air as she backed into the dimly lit street. “Wait!” he yelled, as she stepped on the gas without looking back. When her taillights faded into the night, he stood at the end of the driveway, listening to the cicadas conduct their nightly orchestra beneath a blanket of radiant stars above.

  “Well, that went good,” he mumbled, scratching his head and slowly making his way back inside.

  His churning thoughts pushed sleep from the realm of possibility so he dropped onto the couch and let his eyes roam the quiet room. The feel of the mattress dipping down when she had sat down next to him haunted his mind and body. Goose bumps plagued his arms. It was a feeling no one should ever have to feel, no one who wasn’t expecting it. He shook his head wondering how she had gotten in. He grabbed the remote from the coffee table and hit the red power button. Nothing happened.

  Nick woke with a thick head, which had to suit up and begin battling intrusive thoughts right out of the gate. The last thing he wanted to do was go to his grandma’s funeral this morning. As he brushed his teeth, he stared at the dark circles ringing his eyes in the bathroom mirror, a gift from two hours of sleep. With any luck, a hot shower and the coffee he could already smell brewing in the kitchen would make him look like less of a heroin addict today.

  He arrived early at Westover Funeral Home to make sure everything was in order before the service. The long, golden door handle was cool in his hand and for a moment he thought about leaving, but guilt crept in and he pulled the door open instead. The smell of flowers and dead people slapped him in the face as soon as he stepped inside. He figured this is what a barrel of embalming fluid would smell like inside a flower shop.

  He hung up his coat and the impeccably dressed funeral director tenderly ushered him into the small room holding his grandma’s casket. Even from across the room, the heavy make-up made her look like a mannequin. As they walked past the rows of folding chairs and bouquets of brightly colored flowers, Frank gently repeated how things would progress from the service to the cemetery procession afterwards. Nick missed most of it. He was too busy staring at his grandma, who was getting closer and striking the same funeral pose she had donned in his nightmares.

  They stopped in front of the shiny casket, his grandma Helen resembling someone he didn’t recognize. Frank remained quiet for a minute and then said something about a hearse in a stoic voice. He adjusted the yellow carnation on his expensive suit lapel and told Nick to let him know if he needed anything. On autopilot, Nick thanked him and turned back to the brown casket as Frank disappeared into the wide hallway outside the room. With puffy eyes, Nick gazed at the doughy skin poking out of her favorite red dress with white polka dots. He glanced behind him and sighed, wishing his brother was running on time for once in his life.

  He took a deep breath of the fragrant air and straightened his sports coat and tie. She looked better with her teeth in but they hadn’t been able to do much with her stringy white hair. He felt terrible for wishing he was anywhere else but here. His grandma deserved better than that from him.

  When her eyes opened, his heart caught in his throat. Without blinking, her clear eyes stared at the popcorn ceiling above. Nick stood frozen, his pulse beginning to race as her hollow stare seemed oblivious to his presence. He tried to back away but couldn’t move. Her soulless glare was unwavering. The silence grew thicker, like they were the only two on the entire planet. Suddenly, her dark eyes
slowly turned towards him. Just like in his dreams. He swallowed. She knew about the stolen quarters.

  A hand landed on his shoulder and he screamed.

  “Jesus Christ,” Matt whispered, with a frown. “Take it easy, Nick.”

  Nick looked from his taller brother back to his grandma, who was lying in her coffin with her eyes closed like any normal corpse would have the decency to do at their funeral.

  Matt’s eyebrows dipped further when he saw the rings around Nick’s eyes. “Are you okay?”

  Nick nodded and wiped sweat from his upper lip. “Just didn’t sleep very well last night.”

  Matt turned to their grandma. “Man, she looks like a store mannequin,” he whispered.

  “Glad you could make it,” Nick said, loosening his tie.

  “Sorry,” Matt said softly. “Been kind of a tough morning.”

  Nick snorted. “Tell me about it.”

  “Guess we’re all having one of those days,” Matt said morosely, not taking his eyes from their grandma’s body.

  Nick inhaled a long breath and let it out. “Listen, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Matt slowly turned to Nick with thin eyes. “What’s that?”

  “I don’t wanna!” rang out from behind them.

  They turned to see Madison crying and twisting away from her mother’s grip.

  “Oh brother, here we go again,” Matt moaned, walking towards them.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rusty gulped loudly, staring at Nick from the other end of the ratty couch. “Her eyes opened?”

  “It seemed so real,” Nick said blankly, spacing out on a brown stain on the carpet.

  “I don’t know, Nicky. Nothing would surprise me anymore.”

  Nick turned to meet his eyes. “Even the mafia story? Come on.”

  Rusty shrugged. “I just can’t believe you rolled over on your girlfriend like that.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend. And do you want to go to jail?”

  “You better hope you don't go to jail because everyone's gonna know you're a snitch."

  “Whatever, dude,” Nick said, glancing at the newspaper lying next to the black gun on the coffee table. "I thought you were never going to buy one of these again."

  Rusty followed his gaze to the paper. "I found it on somebody's door step down the hall."

  Nick arched an eyebrow at him. “You found it?”

  “Just wanted to see how bad it is without my article,” he laughed. “And just like I thought, it’s bad.”

  Nick didn’t hear a word he said. "Gang shootings?" he whispered, picking up the paper.

  "Oh yeah, I saw that. Looks like the gangbangers around here may be a little tougher than I thought. Not counting the two who were killed last night."

  Nick stared at the color photos of the two dead men. Reggie Cummings and Terrell Williams looked unhappy in their respective pictures, like they had gotten a glimpse of their future.

  “I’m never going to that gas station again,” Rusty snorted. “Unless I’m really desperate for some good crack or something.”

  Nick’s eyes snapped back to the picture of Terrell Williams.

  ‘Yo Terrell, what’re you getting his number or something?’ echoed through Nick’s weary mind. Someone had yelled that in the background when he had tried calling Rusty back the day Nick had blown the sale with Ms. Gardner. He looked up from the paper, his skin taking on a waxy complexion. “What payphone did you call me from that day?"

  Rusty scrunched his face up. "Payphone?”

  “When you called to tell me about Amy,” he said impatiently.

  “That very gas station,” he said, nodding to the story in the paper. “It’s right by the donut shop I went to for breakfast that morning.”

  Nick's eyes dropped back to the article and he began reading aloud, more to himself than anything else. “The two men were gunned down by at least one unknown assailant just after three in the morning.”

  Rusty frowned and looked around the room. “What are we reading bedtime stories to each other now? I already read that.”

  Nick dropped the paper onto the coffee table. “When I tried calling you back that day, thinking you had gotten a new phone, I got that payphone instead.”

  Rusty stared at him, confusion flickering across his face.

  “Some gangbanger sounding guy named Terrell answered,” he continued, tapping the picture of Terrell Williams.

  Rusty looked at the photo and started laughing. “What? You think it’s the same guy?”

  Nick told him about the guy knowing his name and giving him the same warning his grandma had given him.

  Rusty squinted at him. “Stay away from whom?”

  Nick shrugged. “All I know is they both gave me the same warning just before they died.”

  Rusty stared blankly at him. “Oh man, you've gone bat shit crazy,” he said in a dismayed whisper.

  Nick cocked his head, returning an icy glare.

  Rusty locked eyes with him.

  A loud knock on the front door jerked them from their staring contest. Rusty hurriedly slid the gun under the couch and got up to open the door.

  “Rusty Carson?” a short Hispanic man asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Detective Rodriguez, Des Moines PD,” he said, holding up a shiny silver badge attached to a black leather wallet. “I’d like to ask you a couple questions if you’ve got a minute,” he said firmly, returning the wallet to his back pocket and looking past Rusty to Nick.

  “Join the club,” Rusty smirked, turning back for the couch. “This is Nick Foley. You probably want to interrogate him too.”

  Rodriguez shut the door and studied Nick. “As a matter of fact I do,” he said, proceeding to tell them about Detective Hubbard’s horrific car accident.

  Nick went slack-jawed, his brow folding into creases. “What?” he gasped.

  Rodriguez nodded solemnly. “Looks like the accelerator got stuck,” he told them, resting his hands on his hips and exposing a black handgun, tucked inside a shoulder holster, beneath his brown leather jacket. “That’s what it looks like anyway.”

  Rusty looked to Nick and back to the detective. “I thought they fixed that problem on those hybrids.”

  A noise in the bathroom caused their heads to snap in unison to the bathroom down the hall.

  “Someone else here?” Rodriguez asked, nodding towards the closed door.

  Rusty peered at the door with suspicious eyes. “That wasn’t closed before,” he muttered.Rodriguez looked at him funny and approached the door. They grew quiet as he gently put his ear to it, listening for any movement on the other side. He pulled away and glanced at Nick and Rusty before lightly knocking. No one answered. “Hello? Police Department.”

  Silence met his warning.

  Nick watched him grip the worn brass knob and slowly turn it.

  Rodriguez eased the door open, his right hand instinctively disappearing beneath his leather jacket. Light from the living room windows cut into the dark bathroom. Hesitantly, he stepped inside and flipped on the light switch.

  Rusty and Nick exchanged glances in the living room as the sound of the red shower curtain whipping back along the metal bar whizzed out of the tiny room.

  The detective laughed. “Just a bottle of shampoo,” he yelled, returning it to a shelf and coming back out with a sheepish grin. He sat down on the couch and chuckled, looking a bit pale. “Sorry, guess I’m a little jumpy.” He pulled his electronic tablet from an inside coat pocket and told them about the traffic accident with the teen in the pickup truck that Detective Hubbard had witnessed on his way back to Nick’s house yesterday.

  The color drained from Rusty’s face. “What’d he say?”

  “He said the kid told him, quote ‘she was the one he wanted’,” he repeated, reading from the tablet.

  Rusty swallowed loudly and shot a sideways look to Nick. “And the kid…died?”

  Rodriguez slowly nodded. “Skull fracture.”
/>
  “Who’s the one he wanted?” Nick asked.

  Rodriguez shook his head. “No idea, but the kid also said that ‘many will die’.”

  Rusty got up from the couch and went to work wearing out the carpet with his frantic pacing.

  “I know,” Rodriguez snorted. “It sounds crazy but what’s even crazier is that my friend is now dead.” He paused, staring at the coffee table with glassy eyes. “He was a good man and I can guarantee ya one thing, we’re going to figure out what the Santa Maria is going on here,” he said, his Hispanic accent breaking through.

  Rusty stopped pacing and looked at Nick. “It’s his girlfriend.”

  Rodriguez followed Rusty’s glare. “Summer Parker?”

  “Yes.” Rusty shouted. “Whatever her name is!”

  Nick frowned and cocked his head at Rusty. “Who’s the snitch now?”

  Rodriguez then hit Nick with the same questions Hubbard had and Nick gave him the same answers. Nick also told him about Summer stopping by the night before and leaving in a huff.

  Detective Rodriguez punched the information into the tablet and looked up. “So you have no way to contact her?”

  Nick shook his head.

  The cop stared at him thoughtfully. “How is it possible you don’t know where your girlfriend lives?”

  Nick told him the same thing he had told Hubbard, sweat beginning to glisten on his upper lip.

  Rodriguez stared off into space, formulating his next question. “The mob, huh?”

  Nick nodded, wiping his lip with the back of his hand.

  “Under normal circumstances, I would think you’re both lying. But there’s nothing normal about any of this,” Rodriguez sighed, giving them each a card. “Call me as soon as she shows up again,” he told them, heading for the door. He opened the door and turned back around. “And don’t leave town.”

  Rusty and Nick nodded in unison. Rodriguez studied them for a moment longer and then left.

  Rusty leaned against the door and traded a long stare with his friend. One that said what the other was thinking.

  “I can’t believe it,” Rusty whispered.

  Nick dropped his eyes back to the newspaper.