Save Me

by Monahan, Ashley

Marc

  Friday, old airstrip in Lincoln. 1 a.m. Pick up the Nissan GT-R at my pad - Ace

  Marc looked down at the text message.

  What about my job? Marc texted back.

  I need you to drive more than I need a lawyer. Be there.

  “Jesus!” Marc tossed his phone into the wall and collapsed into a recliner dropping his head. Why did Ace all of a sudden decide he wanted him to drive again? He was doing his service to the gang by offering them legal services. WHAT THE HELL. Marc rose to his feet and retrieved his phone. The screen was cracked.

  Okay. He texted back. Marc hadn’t driven since his early years of college. It had been years. They were jeopardizing his career, his very existence. He wasn’t going back to the life. He wasn’t going to be a drug mule, a dealer. Those days were gone. He wasn’t that man anymore.

  Marc stood up and got ready for work. He adorned a black slim fitted suit and royal blue tied, looking like a dapper gentleman, headed down to the ground floor, and hailed a taxi.

  *****

  Mercy

  “How long am I going to be in the hospital?” Mercy asked her doctor.

  “Until the risk of infection has passed.”

  “Will that be weeks? Months?”

  “I can’t give you a timeframe Mercy, I’m sorry.”

  Mercy felt dejected.

  “But you are doing very well considering. The fact that you’re alive is a miracle.”

  “I’ve been told.” She was thankful, but also angry. Angry at the man who hit her and left her for dead. Mad at herself for not listening to her instincts that night. Mad at Marc for not coming to the hospital. He’d promised. Mad at the trooper for arresting him.

  “I’ll be back to check on you later, okay.”

  “Thank you doctor.”

  The young Indian man walked out of the room and Mercy’s parents returned to her side. And that’s where they would remain, at their only child’s bedside, steadfast and supportive.

  *****

  Marc

  The sleek black Nissan GT-R sat lined up next to three other cars on an unmarked start line. A five mile straight shot to an abandoned warehouse on the other side of Lincoln, that was the race. Ace had dropped a large amount of money on him again, promising retribution if he failed him. Marc’s hands were covered in a sheen of sweat as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. His heart pounded in his chest. Thud, thud, thud. He could win, no doubt. The GT-R had more power than the other three sports cars and he was a far better driver than the other amateurs, which was exactly why Ace had dropped several thousand on him.

  Kent held his hand in the air counting down from three to naught and then dropped his hand. Marc took off the line instantly taking the lead. Behind him was a Porsche Panamera trying valiantly to catch him. The other two trailed and were of no threat.

  The Panamera took the outside on the two lane highway and tried to overtake him.

  “I don’t think so.” Marc veered left to cut him off. He looked down at his speedometer. 140 mph. They weren’t far from the finish line, didn’t take long at that speed.

  The Panamera cut to the right and Marc again cut him off. Darting left, Marc once again cut him off, but this time the Panamera lost control. Marc watched in his rearview mirror as the car violently crashed into a telephone pole, rolled over, and then came to a rest on its roof.

  “Shit…shit, shit, shit.” Marc eased off the gas just as he crossed the line. He slowed and then cut the wheel to go back to the wreckage. Ace was immediately at his window smacking it hard.

  “Get out of here.”

  “But Rames—”

  Ace opened the passenger side door and slid in.

  “Get the fuck out of here! Now!”

  “I’m not leaving him!” Marc pressed the gas and cut the wheel driving back toward Rames.

  “Turn the fuck around!” Ace had his Glock pointed at Marc once again. Marc hated his life. Hated. He looked at Ace coldly, slowed the car, and turned around. The cars at the warehouse disbursed quickly and Marc and Ace were out of town before police arrived on scene.

  “I’m getting fucking sick of you pointing that gun at me. Unless you are going to shoot me, don’t fucking point it at me.”

  “It’s the only means to keep you in line. You need a gentle reminder.”

  “I won your damn race Ace. What else do you want from me?”

  “You’re my driver from now on.”

  “What about my fucking job? I protect the Tiburons’ asses!” Marc eased the car onto the interstate back toward New York City.

  “You’re more useful to me as a driver. What you do during the day I could give a shit less about.”

  Marc wiped his face.

  “You don’t even care that Rames is probably dead.”

  “There’s nothing we could do for him, man. And he’s not a Tiburon.”

  To Ace, everyone was disposable. Rames, him, his damn mother for that matter.

  “You done good tonight. You earned me back my fifty Gs.”

  Like Marc gave a shit.

  “And pushed Rames off the road,” Marc said disgusted with himself.

  “You did what it takes. And that’s why you’re my driver. You whine like a little bitch the entire time, but you deliver.”

  Marc pushed the cruise control and leaned back into the seat trying to relax his locked muscles.

  “Let’s celebrate tonight, huh. A few women, a few drinks, a few hits.”

  Marc didn’t do drugs. That was one thing Ace couldn’t push on him no matter how hard he tried. The gang’s business was moving drugs, every kind of drug imaginable, but primarily cocaine. And street racing.

  “I’m tired, I’ll just pick up my car and head back to my apartment. I have work in the morning. One of the Tiburons’ cases as a matter of fact.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Morales. Busted for assault and possession of a stolen firearm.”

  “Oh yeah. I remember that. How’s that case looking?”

  “Iron clad. He’s going away for a while.”

  “What a stupid fuck.”

  Marc turned off the interstate into the city. Forty minutes later they were at Ace’s house.

  “Here’s your cut.” Ace passed him an envelope of cash. Marc tucked it in his back pocket. “Keep driving like that and you won’t have to worry about working your nine to five.”

  “I like my nine to five.” Marc turned and sat in the seat of his rented Ford Taurus. Not the type of car he was accustomed to.

  Marc returned home to his apartment and collapsed into his bed. He fisted his sheets and thought of his future. If he even had one.

  RECOVERED

  Mercy

  A year had passed. The charges against Marc were entirely dismissed and the man who hit her still remained at large. It nearly consumed her. She wanted justice, retribution for that coward’s actions. And Marc. He’d never come. Didn’t answer his phone. Had moved from the address listed on the police report. He was a damn ghost.

  “How does it feel?” Her rehabilitation specialist asked her.

  Mercy held onto two metal handrails and walked slowly toward the portly woman who’d become a close friend.

  “Feels better than my last one.” Mercy let go of the rails and walked cautiously without assistance.

  “Doing good there girl.”

  “It feels good.” Mercy looked down at her new leg. Her first one had been painful and didn’t fit properly.

  “If it feels uncomfortable, you call your specialist and get right in. Don’t wait like you did last time.”

  “I wanted to give it time to get adjusted to it.”

  “Mhm. You just didn’t want to go to the doctor again.”

  “You know me too well Rosa.” Mercy sat down.

  For the next hour they worked together. Mercy exercised on a treadmill trying to adjust to the new limb. It would be a while before she could wear the leg for more than an hour at a time without it hurting like
a son of a—.

  “I’ll see you in a couple days?”

  “I’ll be back next week. I’m taking a few days off.”

  “Doing anything fun?”

  She had an agenda.

  “Just going to take it easy and relax.”

  “You deserve to.” Rosa patted her good knee.

  Mercy grabbed her crutches and Rosa followed her outside with her metal limb.

  “You take care girl.” Rosa put her appendage in the back seat and gave her a hug, Mercy returned it.

  “Thank you. You too.”

  Rosa walked back into the rehab center and Mercy started up her Jeep Grand Cherokee. A half hour later she was back at her house in Bellview.

  The past year had been full of trials and tribulations. There were days when she wanted to give up. There were days she wanted to jump in a boxing ring and just thrash someone, anyone, for no reason. And today, today she just wanted answers.

  “I’m on my way home, I’ll be a few minutes late,” Mercy said into the phone.

  “I’m here.”

  “I won’t be long.” Mercy hung up the phone and felt butterflies in her stomach.

  A silver Ford Explorer was parked in her driveway. Mercy didn’t bother to grab her prosthesis, immediately hobbling to the Explorer with her crutches. A man opened the door and stepped down. He was in his fifties, had white hair and silver rimmed glasses.

  “It took some time, but I have your information.”

  “Come on in.” Mercy unlocked the front door and he followed her to the dining room table.

  “This is the Marc Foster you wanted me to find, right?” James, her private investigator, said. He placed a picture of Marc on the table.

  “That’s him.” Her throat closed slightly. “Where did you find him?”

  “He lives in Queens.”

  “New York City?”

  “Yes.” James slid a piece of paper across the table. “This is his address.”

  “What did you find out about him?”

  “He disappears first thing in the morning to Brooklyn and returns late in the evenings to Queens. The crowd of men he frequents aren’t very savory.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He partakes in street races. He’s quite good, I must say.”

  Mercy didn’t believe it when the cops told her that. She didn’t want to believe he was a party to her accident. Now more questions than ever flooded her mind. Was it him? Had she imagined the second car? She was so sure there was a second one.

  “I have some background information if you’re interested.”

  “Um, sure.”

  “He’s twenty-eight. Grew up in Brooklyn. Went to school at NYU, law school at Harvard. Worked for a prestigious law firm in Manhattan until last fall when he fired for attendance issues. Mother overdosed when he was five, his father passed when he was twenty, he overdosed as well.”

  “Oh my…” Mercy felt pity for him.

  “The man hasn’t had an easy life.”

  “What does he do now?”

  “He spends his days in different places, but the majority of the time he is with a man called Ricardo del Toro, his street name is Ace.”

  “Who is he?”

  “A few small time arrests when he was a teen. Since then his nose has been clean. My guess is someone else is doing his dirty work.”

  “So you think he is some kind of, what, drug dealer?”

  “Possibly.”

  Mercy’s eyes furrowed. Marc wasn’t the man she’d pictured in her head. Her knight in shining armor could very well be a demon in disguise.

  “I’d stay away from this. As far away from this as you can Mercy. These aren’t good people.”

  But the desire to find him hadn’t waned.

  “Thank you, James.”

  “You’re very welcome. I just hope you don’t go after him.”

  Mercy looked up and met James’ concerned eyes.

  “No promises.”

  “Do me a favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Bring an armed bodyguard if you go.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She put her hand on his forearm. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” James rose and took a step back. “Bye Mercy.”

  “Bye.”

  James walked out the front door and Mercy stared at the picture of Marc. He was more handsome than she remembered, but her memory of that night wasn’t sharp. He had a muscular build, tall frame, strong jawline, and beautiful blue eyes. What she did remember was his calming voice and soothing touch. Then she remembered the fear when he left her side. She shuttered from the memories.

  *****

  Marc

  Returning from another drop, Marc drove his Porsche to his comfortable home in Queens. The car was slightly out of place in the neighborhood, but he wasn’t willing to part with his baby. He had a garage to hide it in and an alarm. Thankfully Ace didn’t make him reside in Brooklyn. He hated it as it was that he had to spend his days there. No longer did he work as a successful lawyer for Grumman and Lutz Law Firm, now he was reduced to working full-time for Ace. He wouldn’t pass a background check to obtain another position as a lawyer. Not after the charges associated with a few of his races. He’d been arrested twice since he’d started racing for Ace once again. It had cost him a pretty penny to get his license reinstated after it was suspended for several months. Not that it mattered, he still drove.

  Marc went to pull into his driveway, but there was already a car in the drive. The hackles on the back of his neck rose. Why was someone at his house?

  Marc parked on the street and cautiously walked up his driveway. A woman sat on his entry way steps. Marc took her in. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. Her hair fell at her shoulders and was a shimmering shade of brown, her features were soft, her green eyes vibrant.

  “Can I help you?” Marc asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

  With difficulty, the woman brought herself to her feet, using a handrail for support.

  “Yes, I believe you can.”

  Marc waited for an explanation, but she offered none. She looked at him with a glare that he felt penetrate his soul.

  “Alright. What can I help you with?”

  “You don’t remember me?” She seemed upset.

  Marc starred trying to place her, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He felt an inexplicable connection with this stranger though. Why?

  “I…” Marc racked his brain and then a flashback rocked him. Her bloodied body on the side of the road, helpless, begging him not to leave her. Marc stared for some time before he found his voice again. “Mercy,” he said breathless.

  She looked at him, a cross between anger and excitement in her glare.

  “You look…amazing.” And she was beautiful. More beautiful than he remembered.

  “A little better than the last time you saw me I imagine.”

  “How are you?”

  She didn’t answer his question.

  “I want to know what happened that night.”

  Marc put his hands in the pockets of his denim jeans.

  “I told the police already.”

  “I want you to tell me.”

  He couldn’t tell her the truth.

  “They told me you hit me, but they didn’t have proof to support it, that’s why they dropped the charges.”

  “I didn’t hit you Mercy.”

  “I know.” She took a few steps toward him and Marc saw a slight gimp in her step. “But you know who did.”

  “I don’t.” Uncomfortable was an understatement to describe how he felt at that moment under her prying little eyes. “I wish I could tell you I did.”

  “I know you know who it was. You were talking to a second man. I remember.”

  Marc averted his eyes to the ground.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The truth would be a good start.”

  Marc could feel her ga
ze pinned upon him.

  “Mercy, I’m glad you’re okay, I really am. And I’m glad to see you, but I don’t have the answers to the questions you’re asking.”

  “Please,” she pleaded. “I deserve to know who the coward was that took my leg and nearly killed me!”

  Marc brought his eyes up to hers and incredible guilt overcame him. She’d lost her leg.

  “I know you were racing that night. That you race as some kind of damn hobby. But you’re racing nearly killed me! Just because you didn’t hit me, doesn’t mean you weren’t a part of it! I want to know the truth!”

  Marc’s stomach dropped to the ground.

  “Why are you protecting the person who did this to me?” Tears started to flow down her eyes. “I just want to confront him. I deserve that!”

  Marc couldn’t disagree.

  “I’m angry, I’m hurt…” Mercy wiped her eyes, “I’m mad as hell!”

  “I’m sorry Mercy.”

  “Sorry doesn’t turn the clock back a year.” Her stance waivered. “Sorry doesn’t give me my damn leg back. Doesn’t give me my life back!”

  Marc took a deep breath and took a step closer.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop saying that. I don’t care if you’re sorry, I just want to know! Please!”

  Marc wanted to tell her. Wanted to run Jose into the ground himself, the fucking coward.

  “I was racing, you’re right.”

  Mercy waited for him to continue.

  “It was in part my fault for being involved in that.”

  Mercy nodded her head.

  “But, I can’t tell you any more than that, I wish I could.”

  “What?” The expression on her face changed to absolute hate.

  “These aren’t good people. You don’t understand. Telling you who did this isn’t going to change anything. If anything it will put you in danger.”

  “Put me in danger? More danger than fucking cutting my leg off?!” Mercy pushed his chest. Marc took a step backward. They needed to move this melee out of his driveway before the cops were called.

  “Let’s go inside and talk.”

  “I want to talk out here!” She pushed him again.

  “Mercy, please.”

  Marc walked around her and unlocked the door. She was significantly slower than him, so he had time to go inside before she could assault him again.