The Word of a Liar

by Beauchamp, Sally

  “I’m not going to hit you.” Linda moved his hands away. “You know why you don’t remember anything after that? You passed out. I barely got your clothes off you before you did. I was pissed. I thought bikers were made of heartier stuff.”

  “You mean we didn’t--”

  “No. We haven’t had sex yet, but I’m hoping to get around to that sometime today.” She stroked his dark beard. “You know, Mad Dog, I chose you out of all the other bikers at that bar to research. I hope you’re not going to disappoint me.”

  “What exactly did you want to research?”

  “For starters, I thought we could do a little exercise in the exploration of each other’s bodies. If that proves satisfactory, we could move on to more difficult issues such as… how long it takes a forty-one year old biker to tire when being ridden by a twenty-eight year old angel.”

  Linda smiled seductively. It set a match to Mad Dog’s stifled passion. He reached behind her neck, twisting a tress of golden hair around his fingers. He pulled her close and kissed her. Lust roared like a mighty lion. Mad Dog’s hungry kiss devoured her soft, wet mouth. His tongue delved, teased, and probed until his lungs begged for air.

  Linda gasped. Her blue eyes blazing, she smiled. “I suspect you’re going to do nicely as my lab rat.”

  Mad Dog pinned her to the bed. His breath came in heavy gasps. “So… what would you like your little lab rat to do?”

  “Show me everything you know.”

  “Everything?” Mad Dog cocked his head to one side.

  Linda’s eyebrows lifted. “Everything!”

  ***

  After putting JD to bed, Ellen went downstairs to talk to Mason. As the day had worn on, Mason’s good mood had turned sullen and dark. She decided it must be the pregnancy. Ellen heard him talking to someone as she neared the entrance to the TV room. Mason sat on the sofa. The room was dark. He held his cell phone to his ear.

  “Everything is arranged. Meet me at the Hardwood Warehouse on Twelfth and Vulcan at six o’clock tomorrow morning,” Mason said to the person on the other end. “I’ve got the money. Two hundred and fifty grand and that much more when the job’s done.”

  Mason turned toward the doorway. He looked surprised to see Ellen standing there.

  “Gotta go,” he said, in a nonchalant tone. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Mason set the cell on the arm of the sofa and turned to face Ellen.

  “JD finally asleep?”

  “Yes,” she said as she sat down next to him. “JD’s so excited you’re back. I think that’s why it took him so long to fall asleep.” Ellen smiled. “Who were you talking to?”

  Mason sighed. “Jack. I have to pick up a car tomorrow, so it looks like I’ll have to be gone early in the morning.”

  “I heard you say something about two hundred and fifty grand.”

  “Yeah. The car costs $500,000. I told you Jack sells expensive imports.”

  Mason put his arm around Ellen’s shoulders and hugged her into his chest. “Someday I’ll be able to buy you a car like that,” he said.

  “I’d be afraid to drive a car like that,” Ellen replied as she pulled away and looked at him. A stark plane of moonlight shone across Mason’s face. His knitted brow and the tight lines pulling at the corners of his eyes made Ellen anxious. His dark mood had worsened. She wondered if the phone call was to blame. Doubt nagged her, but she tried to ignore it.

  “What’s wrong, Mason? I know you told me this morning you didn’t want to talk about the pregnancy today—that you needed time to think. But maybe we should talk about it now.”

  Ellen leaned her head against his shoulder and then took his hand in hers. It was cold and clammy.

  Resting his head on the back of the sofa, Mason sighed. “Do you ever think about dying?” he asked.

  His question took Ellen by surprise. “Sometimes. Why?”

  Mason shrugged his shoulders. “I was thinking about JD not having a father and Mad Dog’s kids without a mother. Do you think Paul and Gina are somewhere else? That somehow they know what’s going on in this world?”

  Mason looked at Ellen.

  “I’d like to think so,” Ellen said.

  “What do you suppose it’s like to be dead?” Mason asked. “You never talk about the accident that killed Paul. Is it too painful?”

  Ellen shook her head. “Not anymore. I guess I thought it might be uncomfortable for you. Talking about my late husband.”

  Ellen took a deep breath and then exhaled.

  “Paul was a contractor. He had a business called Castles of Your Own. After ten years, it started making a good profit, and we decided to buy a cabin in Door County. We planned to spend Father’s Day weekend there before we signed on the dotted line. The day we were supposed to leave, Paul came home late. I wanted to wait and go the next morning, but he insisted we leave that night.”

  Ellen glanced over at the dead TV and then back to Mason.

  “Reluctantly, I agreed but insisted on driving. On Highway 57, it started raining. Paul woke up. He put his hand on my thigh and smiled that crooked smile I loved and asked if I wanted him to take over.”

  Ellen let go of Mason’s hand and began to knot the ties of her robe into a long braid.

  “I hadn’t gone far when an oncoming car flashed its lights. I thought my high beams were on, so I glanced at the dashboard. In that split second, a deer leaped into the road. It struck the van and then came crashing through the windshield. I lost control. I remember the headlights bobbing up and down when the van left the pavement and then this terrible crushing force. We’d struck a tree.”

  Ellen looked at the knotted belt and then began to untie it.

  “The next thing I remember was a young state trooper tapping on the window, asking me if I was okay. He looked scared. Rain poured down his poncho. Steam rose off the crushed hood of the van, and I started to panic, thinking it was going to catch fire. In the backseat, JD was screaming.”

  Mason hugged Ellen into his side, and she wrapped her arm around his chest.

  Ellen sighed.

  “When the trooper shone his flashlight on Paul, I saw he was dead. He was slumped back in the broken seat, and his face was grotesquely misshapen. Glass, chunks of animal fur, and blood covered his hair and lap. I looked down and saw fragments of glass covering my legs too. I tried to brush them off. I didn’t even feel the sharp edges cutting my palms.”

  Ellen paused to listen to the grandfather clock in the foyer as it began to chime. She counted each melodious beat in her head. After the tenth strike, the clock fell silent. She continued.

  “I turned to JD. Lightening flashed and I could see his frightened face and the surrounding horror. Paramedics ran down the embankment. The trooper didn’t want me to get out, but I had to get to JD. He took JD out of the car seat and then handed him to me. JD wailed for his blanket. That sweet man searched until he found it. The trooper shook it out because it was covered in fur and glass and then gave it to JD. He helped us up the embankment. He even gave JD a piggy back ride which made JD laugh.”

  Ellen smiled at Mason.

  Mason squeezed her tighter.

  “At the hospital, the trooper stayed with JD while the doctors examined me and took me to see Paul’s body. My knees went weak when I saw Paul’s bruised face. I barely recognized him. I took his hand. It was so cold. At that moment, I understood death, its finality, and why people want to believe in an afterlife. Paul wasn’t in that room. He was gone….”

  Ellen ran her fingers through her hair. She was surprised that after all that time bitter tears stung her eyes. She swallowed.

  “When I went out into the waiting room, JD was sitting next to the state trooper. The poor man was trying to read JD a story, but JD was too terrified to be consoled by any stranger. I took JD in my arms and told him Daddy wouldn’t be coming home with us. Daddy was dead. He was with Jesus and the angels.

  “The trooper asked me if I’d called someone, but I told him I would ca
ll in the morning. There was nothing anyone could do. The trooper took us to a nearby motel. I could tell he was worried about us. He told me to call the post if I needed anything and he’d come.”

  Ellen reached for the box of tissues on the end table.

  “I regret not calling that trooper and thanking him for his kindness,” she said as she dabbed her eyes with the tissue.

  Mason took Ellen’s hand. “You were in a horrible accident; I don’t think that trooper was expecting you to call and thank him.”

  “This was different, Mason. He went beyond the call of duty.”

  “Maybe, but he was still just doing his job.”

  “I know that. It’s like when students come and visit me after they’ve graduated and they thank me for helping them get through: it’s very gratifying. I’m sure it would have been the same for that trooper if I’d taken the time to call him.”

  Ellen looked at Mason. The troubled look in his eyes had intensified.

  “I wish I could read your mind, Mason Hackett. There’s something you’re not telling me. Why this sudden preoccupation with death?”

  Mason turned away without answering, confirming Ellen’s suspicions that the phone call she’d overheard hadn’t been about cars.

  “Did you lie to me about that phone call?” Ellen asked.

  Mason sighed. He looked at her.

  “Yes,” he admitted, surprising himself. Tired of the deceit, he saw no harm in telling her part of the truth. Soon she’d know everything. He only hoped she’d still love him.

  Ellen stared intently into his eyes. “It wasn’t about a car. It’s something dangerous. Something where you might die,” she said.

  Mason squeezed her hand. “When I leave in the morning, Ellen, try not to think the worst of me. If there is a God, He sent you to me. Before I met you and JD, I didn’t realize how empty my life was.”

  A single tear rolled down Ellen’s cheek, tearing at the core of Mason’s soul. He reached over and cupped her face in his hand.

  “I love you, Ellen. That’s the only truth I’m sure of.”

  Ellen took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled.

  “You want to know what death is like, Mason Hackett? I’ll tell you. It’s coming home from the grocery store and instead of seeing Paul sitting in his recliner watching a football game, the house is quiet. Sitting down at dinner, you look over at the chair he’s always sat in and it’s empty. You can’t hear him walking down the hall or his laughter. You lie in bed alone every night. Time wears on and you begin to realize even though you’re going through the motions of living, you’re dead inside.”

  Ellen shook her head and then looked down. When she looked up again, their eyes connected like the night sky meeting the blue of morning.

  “Mason, you brought me back to life, and I can’t bear to think of losing you. I want to hear your laughter and the heavy thud of your boots coming down the hallway into my bedroom. I don’t want to be a widow twice. If something happens to you, I might not come back a second time. So whatever it is you think you must do, think about how much I love you, and ask yourself if it’s worth it.”

  Ellen stood up. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “Are you coming?”

  “I’ll be up soon.”

  Ellen nodded and then turned to leave.

  Mason’s words stopped her as she reached the threshold. “Ellen,” he asked, “would you reconsider having the abortion?”

  Ellen didn’t turn around. “I don’t think so,” she replied and then left Mason sitting alone in the darkness.

  CHAPTER thirty

  Mad Dog held his Smith and Wesson .357 magnum with a steady hand, methodically running a cleaning rod through the barrel. He wanted no mistakes. Satisfied the revolver was clean, he loaded the cylinder with jacketed one hundred and fifty-eight grain hollow points. He snapped it shut and tucked the pistol into his waistband and then dropped the fully loaded speed loaders into the right-hand pocket of his jacket.

  The clock on the wall reported the time, to be 4:00 a.m. Mad Dog picked up the mug of coffee on the kitchen table and took a sip. The hot, bitter liquid warmed his slightly chilled body. He felt surprisingly calm. Linda had been a magnificent distraction and release. He smiled as he recalled the note he’d left her.

  In it he’d expressed his gratitude for being chosen as her lab rat and that he hoped he’d exceeded her expectations. If more research was required, she could find him at the Ritz. Mad Dog wondered if that were true. In a couple of hours, he might be dead. But one thing was certain, before he died, either he or Rambo would kill Jack Nelson.

  ***

  Ellen pretended to sleep when she heard Mason get up to dress. Peeking through squinted eyes, she read the clock. 4:05. Mason came over to her side of the bed. She slammed her eyes shut. He bent down, kissing her on the temple, and then whispered, “I love you.”

  She listened to the thud of his boots travel down the hall, pause at JD’s bedroom, and then continue down the stairs. Three hours earlier, when he’d finally come to bed, he’d made love to her. No wild cries of passion commemorated the moment, only soft, lonely moans like the wind when it moves through the graceful limbs of pine trees in March, that precarious time between winter and spring. She waited for the sound of his truck pulling out of her driveway but remembered he’d walked.

  Ellen threw back the covers and then went to the window. The yellow glow of the street lamp illuminated the desolate road. A light snow fluttered to the black asphalt and then died. She watched Mason disappear up the block to his house.

  Nervous, she went downstairs to wait for his truck to drive by. She paced the length of the room until she saw headlights. Mason drove past. She knew that whatever he’d involved himself in must be illegal. It was the only reason that made sense as to why he couldn’t tell her where he was going and explain his talk about dying. Somehow she needed to stop Mason before he ended up in prison or dead. She remembered him saying something about a warehouse. Mad Dog owned a warehouse. They’d gone there once to see his Mustang. Is Mad Dog involved in this, too? With JD upstairs asleep, Ellen knew she couldn’t go after him. Spider and Dee Dee! They’re only a couple of blocks away. She picked up the phone and dialed their number.

  ***

  Mad Dog parked in the back of the warehouse. Frost clung to the tangled shrubbery outlining the Creel River. At the horizon, daylight squinted. Where the weak sun couldn’t reach the pavement, it remained encrusted with a thin coat of white ice. Mad Dog got out and looked around. Any minute, Rambo should arrive. They planned to meet at 5:30. It was 5:28.

  He went to the rear entry door and unlocked it. Stepping into the space, he flicked on a panel of lights and looked around the vast room. He glanced up at the tripods of metal beams running along the roof. The fluorescent light fixtures poured harsh white light on the gray block walls and concrete floor. At the opposite end of the warehouse, Mad Dog’s ‘69 Mustang slept soundly next to his Harley Road King and vintage Shovel Head.

  He glanced at his watch. 5:35. He stood by the narrow window overlooking the parking lot. He faced the door in case any uninvited guests showed up. Sweat dampened his hairline. His hands, cold and clammy, fingered his pistol. He removed a flask from his jacket and slugged down some whiskey. Where the hell is Rambo?

  A silver Audi pulled up next to his truck. Adrenalin accelerated Mad Dog’s pulse. He took another drink and then removed his pistol. Jack got out of the car. Sunglasses, gloves, a long black coat with a scarf hanging loosely around his shoulders, Jack looked like he was going to Sunday morning mass. He’ll be well-dressed when he meets his maker. Mad Dog took a last sip and then tucked the flask back into his jacket. The passenger door opened. Mad Dog swallowed. Muck Eye stepped out. What the fuck is Muck Eye doing here? The two men approached. Mad Dog took aim. Where the hell is Rambo?

  The doorknob turned. Sunlight scored the concrete floor. The two men entered. Jack’s malignant eyes fell on Mad Dog’s raised pistol. The door slammed. Sunli
ght vanished. Jack raised his hands above his head. Muck Eye followed suit.

  “Don’t shoot. Let’s talk first,” Jack said as he stepped closer.

  “What’s Muck Eye doing here? Not that it matters. Saves me the trouble of tracking him down and killing him, too.”

  Jack smiled. “I brought him along because he has something to tell you.” Jack glanced over at the small man. “Don’t you?”

  Muck Eye looked at Mad Dog. A blackened left eye was swollen shut. A wide gash sliced the bridge of his nose, a deep purple bruise colored his right cheek, and a thin scab formed over a split lip.

  Jack, or one of his boys, worked him over pretty good, Mad Dog thought.

  “Jack didn’t kill your wife, Mad Dog. That night at the Ritz, I was out of my head. The night your wife was killed, Jack and I were in Chicago. I have the receipt from the Hilton in my pocket if you don’t believe me.” Muck Eye patted his jacket.

  “You put your hand in that pocket, I’m going to put a bullet between your eyes, you fucking little weasel.” Mad Dog steadied his pistol.

  Muck Eye dropped his hands to his side.

  “Mr. O’Donnell, perhaps we could work out an equitable deal regarding this whole unfortunate incident. After all, I’m sure neither one of us wants to end up dead today,” Jack said as he unbuttoned his coat.

  “What kind of deal?” Mad Dog cleared his parched throat.

  “I don’t know. How much was your wife’s life worth? Fifty thousand? A hundred thousand?” Jack cocked his head, lifting his eyebrows. “Let’s make it two hundred and fifty thousand. Think of it. No financial worries. You could send your kids to college with plenty left over.”

  Mad Dog sited his pistol. “No amount of money is worth my wife’s life, you mother fucker!”

  Footsteps interrupted. Movement in his periphery made Mad Dog glance over at his Mustang. Mason walked toward him, Glock in hand. He’s been here the whole time and hasn’t made himself known? Mad Dog thought and swallowed. He didn’t know who to point his weapon at. The room closed in.