The Coldest Mile

by Tom Piccirilli

  The seamed face, the white hair, the prison tats on display. An angel on the left forearm and a devil on the right, both in midflight with drawn flaming swords.

  Under the angel: Sandra, Mary, and Michael.

  Jonah's mother, his wife and his son, Chase's father.

  Under the devil, peering through a pitchfork: Joshua. Jonah's father.

  And beneath that, not a tattoo exactly but a scar, a homemade scratching that had gotten infected and would forever remain mottled. Chase.

  Something different about him, but what?

  It took a moment.

  Jesus Christ.

  The old man's face.

  The old man's face with a hint of human expression. Something like worry.

  Chase couldn't believe it. He lowered the gun an inch. Jonah said, This is a trap, you're going to die.

  Jonah said, “I'm glad you're here.”

  Dex gave orders and the others cleared out. That told Chase that they hadn't been Dex's circus score crew but the hangers- on, the ones he put to use when he needed them to do the minor jobs and rough stuff. A crew wouldn't split without seeing the outcome.

  Jonah held a place of certain respect. Dex moved across the room and sat at the table, lit a cigarette, and said to Chase, “Think I can have my gun back?”

  Chase ignored him, staring at his grandfather, trying to figure out his next move. He'd thought that maybe he'd wanted the old man dead. Did he still? He might never get another chance. He could feel himself wanting to say to Jonah, Seriously, are you totally cracked? The fucking circus?

  “Where's the girl?” Chase asked.

  The worry, if it had ever actually been there in the old man, was gone. Jonah gave him a long, steady look, emotionless as always. No hate, anger, or surprise. Jonah studied him, his gaze moving almost imperceptibly. Flicking over Chase's face, his hands, noting body language, lining up the angles. “What kid?”

  “Your daughter. Angie's daughter. Kylie.”

  Jonah, immovable stone. Giving nothing, showing nothing, incapable of even pretense.

  “Why did you have to ace them all?”

  “Who?”

  Chase brought the gun up again and pressed it against the hollow of Jonah's throat. His rage, more alive than he was, clawed at his back, scrambling to get a better toehold. It crawled down his arm and ignited his trigger finger.

  Sweat trickled down his forehead, easing into the furrows and wrinkles between his eyes. He let out a sound that was part laugh, part snarl, the kind of thing he might've done in bed with Lila. He thought that two in the chest wouldn't be enough for Jonah. Maybe not even the whole clip. He still had the switchblade. The point of the switchblade driven through the old man's left eye and sinking it to the hilt in his brain. Maybe. Maybe that would do it. But first he had to find out about the girl. All that mattered now was making sure the girl was safe.

  He tried to speak but nothing came loose. Little Walt in the lagoon. Chase's mother in the kitchen. Angie in the Newark motel. All of them crowding his head.

  Who. The old man had actually asked who. Like he couldn't remember. Like maybe the list of victims was too long for him to remember.

  “Dash,” Chase said. “Milly. Walt. A four-year-old kid. He played with your daughter. You dumped him in the water.”

  A new kind of sheen appeared in Jonah's granite eyes, like rain on rock. “You think I did that?”

  “Where's the girl?”

  “Why do you care?”

  Chase wet his lips but nothing would come for a minute. “Where is she?”

  “I don't know,” Jonah said.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I'm looking for her. You've got it all wrong. She was taken. The family was already dead when I got down here.” Then the old man spoke in a voice that was almost graced with a hint of love. “I could use your help.”

  Chase dropped back a step. It was a show of weakness and he fully expected Jonah to take advantage of it. Rush forward and cripple Chase with a vicious hook to the sternum.

  But the old man did nothing, just stood there staring, waiting.

  It took a few seconds to put it all together. Chase had everything backward. He'd imagined Jonah had gone in and murdered Dash and then hunted after Milly and Walt and iced them after he'd gotten Kylie back. He recalled being shocked that Jonah had been able to recover from his wounds so fast and get down to Florida so much quicker than Chase had been able to.

  But no, Jonah had been running behind too. He was the one who'd slit the crime-scene tape.

  “Oh Christ,” Chase breathed. He finally understood what Lila had been trying to tell him today, what he'd seen but hadn't understood.

  Kel Clarke on the ground, the Taurus laid up against the hydrant with the hood open. Chase had glanced into the back of the car and seen the seat belt angled downward, the hint of gray plastic.

  There'd been a baby seat in back. He'd seen the top of it and the fact had registered deep within him. If he'd only taken a step closer, he would've seen Kylie there.

  The only other family blood he still had. She'd been within arm's length.

  Little Walt in the lagoon, put there by Kel Clarke.

  Chase backed up until his legs touched a chair. He sat heavily, sick to his guts. Part of him couldn't stick to the idea, the guilt was too strong. In the backseat of the car, just sitting there, but quiet, so quiet after Chase had slammed on the brakes and the Taurus had cracked into him. Not a sound out of her. Maybe she was dead already. Maybe her neck had snapped in the accident. It might be his fault.

  A baby's blood on his hands.

  Dex and his grandfather sat at the table too. Dex, sure of himself and caring little about the personal shit going on around him, kept his eyes on Chase and didn't go for another piece. There was no need. He knew this had nothing to do with him. He'd spent a lifetime sizing men up. Those dark eyes had judged Chase and found him an incapable enemy. Still, he listened intently.

  Jonah reached out, took the gun gently from Chase's hands.

  “Tell me what happened,” Chase said.

  It was a short story. Jonah came for Kylie and found the house taped up. He got inside and saw what had happened. He held out a little hope that Milly and the kids had gotten away. Dex had a couple good snitches tied in to the cops, but the police had no leads. Then, the other day, Jonah saw the same news broadcast Chase did when he learned Milly and Walt were found in the lagoon.

  “Somebody was sniffing around. I spotted him hounding my tail while we were setting up the score at a motel.”

  “That the guy by the ice machine?”

  “Sloane told you.”

  “Yeah. What'd you get out of him?”

  “Nothing but the name on his license. There wasn't time. He pulled a piece on me.”

  Dex let out a chuckle. “Now that was a hell of a day. We were just getting ready to talk business with some boys when your grandpa here, he gets up and leaves the room saying he's going to get some ice to cool down the beer. He walks down the hall, shoots this guy standing in the alcove. The bullet ricochets, sounds like a tommy gun going off. There's candy machines, soda machines, all this exploding glass. You got low- class tourists right next door, a couple of fat kids in flip- flops and hip waders, their fat parents right behind them wanting to get some chocolate bars. Jonah comes back in says we have to move the meeting, so we move, except half the guys we want to bring in on the score all vanish.”

  Dex talking just to make sure that nobody forgot he was there, that he knew secrets, that this was his pad, and everything that occurred here was under his banner. And if there was money involved, he wanted his piece.

  Jonah knew it too and said, “We shouldn't talk here.”

  Chase said, “So who was he?”

  “The name on his license was Fleischer. Jason Fleischer.”

  Kel Clarke's partner, another one from Earl and Ellie Raymond's string. Another stupid kid too dumb to even get some fake ID. So th
ey'd been in it together. Grabbing Kylie.

  A little shaky now, the adrenaline easing back, the rage dissipating. Chase was starting to feel the ass-kicking. He said to his grandfather, “Let's go.”

  Russ was still asleep in the GTO. Jonah looked at him and said, “What's this?”

  “This is Russ.”

  “He was your first meet.”

  “Yeah, but he has a drinking problem, a drug problem, and a driving problem too.”

  Jonah opened the passenger door and Russ flopped out onto the sidewalk. “Dex needs to clear out the third- stringers and find himself one real solid crew.”

  “This way he keeps his finger in every pie. And there's a lot of bodies between him and the cops.” Chase moved around the front of the Goat. Russ gurgled and snorted but didn't wake up. Jonah climbed in over him and Chase gunned it.

  The wheel in his hands steadied him. Held him firmly in his seat, in his space, despite the fact that the presence of the old man was a storm sweeping down on him, even now growing in strength.

  He threw the car into drive and the engine's power moved into him. He checked the rearview thinking what it would be like for the girl to be back there, strapped into her seat, playing with a doll. The unfairness of it heated Chase, got the sweat prickling his scalp again. The dead owned him. The old man owned him.

  “The guy who has Kylie, his name is Kel Clarke,” Chase said.

  Jonah showed nothing. He didn't even turn in his seat to look at Chase. The old man just listened, already formulating some kind of plan that would vary and shift and adjust as Chase spoke. You had to wonder if Jonah started off every new minute with the idea of killing you, and that you were still alive now only because you proved yourself useful enough to keep breathing.

  “Is she still alive?”

  “I think so.”

  “But you don't know for sure.”

  “No.”

  “Clarke. I don't know the name.”

  “He ran with Earl and Ellie Raymond. So did Jason Fleischer. That's why the two of them were down here.”

  “Because of what happened in Newark.”

  “Yeah.”

  “They were that close a crew?”

  “No. Clarke thought we would come after him.”

  “Why?”

  “He rattled.”

  “Another moron that Ellie Raymond had wrapped around her finger. How'd they find Kylie?”

  Chase took his time before allowing himself to say her name. “Angie. They knew some of the people she strung with before she hooked up with you. Somebody pointed them to Dash's house.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Chase didn't want to explain that he'd run into Clarke and let him go. It would only increase tension. But he didn't have a lie ready and the old man would only smell it on him anyway. So he told the truth. Jonah listened impassively, the way he listened to everything, even when it was about his missing daughter. He said, “You should've killed him.”

  “I didn't know what was going on.”

  “You still should've killed him.” Jonah shook his head. “It still doesn't explain how Fleischer found me.”

  “Maybe luck. He could've connected with any of the third- stringers and picked up on your name. Maybe he figured you'd eventually make contact with Dex and just kept watching some of the crew. The grifters on this circuit, they don't have many rules. They don't act like pros. They talk easy. They're sloppy.”

  “I knew Dex had too many people around. I should have pulled out.”

  “Why didn't you?”

  The old man said nothing but Chase thought he could figure it. Jonah really had been hurting after Newark. He didn't want to have to do a lot of work. He allowed someone else to run the score and maybe, as he recovered, he got a little lazy.

  “After you aced Fleischer and the meet got moved to a new place, Clarke lost sight of you.”

  “I got more careful then. How did he get onto your tail?”

  “He's paranoid, a little nuts. Maybe he was in love with Ellie Raymond and wanted to ice us for her. He had the Dash house staked out. He's working with at least one other person. When I checked on Kylie, they followed me.”

  “And you didn't catch them?”

  What else could he say. He'd been hurting too. His shoulder still infected, popping tranqs, bennies, the dreams making him even sicker. “I was sloppy too.”

  “Okay.”

  “Why didn't you check in with Georgie Murphy?” Chase asked. “He could've told you some of this. Could've warned you.”

  “Murphy's dead. His kid Georgie is a worrier who cares more about selling cars than acting as a drop. He's been getting more and more nervous. He thinks the feebs are onto him. I don't trust him anymore.” Inclining his head the slightest bit in Chase's direction. “What are you doing down here?”

  “I came looking for you.”

  “I told you not to.”

  “Yeah.”

  Leaving it at that. With everything between them still right there, growing by the second. The static charge picking up serious wattage. Jonah not even bothering to say, You thought I could ace a little kid? How could you possibly believe that? Not even annoyed by it. Not denying it. Not caring in the least. Saying nothing more about Kylie, never actually asking for help.

  When Chase had needed the old man to hunt down the crew that killed Lila, he'd been forced to cough up a hundred grand to buy his grandfather's talents. In the end, Jonah hadn't done much of anything at all, but there the prick sat satisfied that Chase was in his pocket.

  The wheel in his hands steadied him. You had to hold out hope. “We need to find someone who ran with Angie before you hooked up with her. Clarke might've stayed in touch with them. Maybe we can work backward and find him. The guy he was working with drove a Dodge pickup. Give me the names of who she worked with.”

  “It's a big list,” Jonah said.

  “Good. More chance we'll get a hit.”

  “So what if we do? People know people, especially down here on this circuit. It's smaller. The big money here is in drugs and illegal Cubans.”

  “Not carnivals and circuses? Stealing balloons? Holding up the lion tamers and the guy who shovels the elephant shit?”

  “It was a solid score.”

  It was the first time in days that Chase felt like laughing, but he swallowed it down and held it close inside his chest.

  “We have to start someplace. This is it. We might get lucky.”

  Even for Jonah this was hitting a little close to home. The idea that he had to start asking around for Angie's friends. The woman he'd killed, following the murders of her sister and her family. All these people dead because Jonah had wanted a teenage lover.

  He found an old pen in the glove box, grabbed the map, and began writing in the borders. He scribbled name after name without hesitation. The man on the slide to seventy but his memory as sharp as ever.

  He threw the pen in the backseat and tossed the map on the dashboard.

  “Add Clarke's and Fleischer's names to it,” Chase said.

  “I did.”

  “Good. You can ask Dex for contact info.”

  “No, that's over. He knows we're trouble now.”

  “He didn't figure that out when you waxed the guy at the ice machine?”

  “The score is blown and it's my fault. He'll be looking for a way to burn us and make some cash off it.”

  “Since when is that something new?”

  The wheel in his hands steadied him, but his thoughts twisted backward to Newark, the look in Ellie Raymond's eyes when he shot her twice in the heart. He eased down on the gas, started flying up the road, with no real idea of where he was going, and liking it. The old man, always a shitty driver, even a shitty passenger, never wearing his belt, stared through the windshield and said nothing.

  Earl and Ellie Raymond had been first- rate pros, but they'd put together strings using fall guys and assholes, whoever they needed at the time, nitwits they could use
and abandon, set up and decimate.

  “I've got some people I can ask.” Thinking of Hildy and the others. And if not them, then Arno and his oily play pals.

  Chase didn't bother to knock, just walked in and found the crew sitting back watching a DVD. The three foster brothers and Hildy there with popcorn—no, cheese curls, their fingers and faces orange and flaked with crumbs—everybody taking it easy after the bad night with Arno.

  Mackie's left wrist had a cast on it. Tons's decapitated pinkie had been splinted and retaped. Boze looked like he'd spent the day wondering how he could get out from under the other two, scowling at the screen, orange lips pursed in thought.

  Her ponytail bobbing as she turned to him, Hildy said, “Jeez, who knocked you around this time? Dex? Your grandfather? It couldn't have been Russ.”

  “No.”

  “Did you find the old man?”

  “Yeah, he's out in the car, and now I need to find somebody else.”

  She licked her fingers, not even trying to be sexy about it, but somehow she still was. “How's the little girl?”

  “We don't know yet, she's missing.” “Missing? I thought he had her.” “He doesn't. We're trying to find her.” “God, let me guess. Now you're after the guys who ran us off the road?” “Yeah.”

  “I told you it was stupid letting them go.” “You did tell me,” Chase said. “I do recall that.” “And I told you that I didn't want to be near you when they came back to cap you.”

  “And I said you wouldn't be.” He handed her the map with the names written along the edge. “Here, look at this list and tell me if you recognize anyone who works the area or who recently came into town.”

  Boze got to his feet and checked over her shoulder. No surprise in his expression at all. That meant she'd told her boys everything. You had to figure that. Boze's eyes flitted back and forth from the map to Chase, trying to see how much of this might be trouble that might work back to him. Chase thought Boze was the only smart guy he'd run into since he left Jersey.