by Mike McCrary
If Davis can prove to Justin that he doesn’t have anything, no money to pay, that he’s flat-out busted, then this could be all over. That was the plan he and Todd had been talking about. Davis can’t believe he did it, but he got Justin to believe it was his idea. Davis worked the salesman’s dream. The dream Todd described to him.
A thought swirls round and round, doing laps inside his head. A new confidence. A vulnerability has been found in Justin, a weak spot to strike in the armor. Davis can still win this and make things right. He’ll have to move fast on it, but for the first time Davis knows he can make it work.
He’s got something. A germ of an idea. An escalation in the plan.
He needs to talk to Todd.
29
“Are you kidding me?” Todd asks.
“It’s going to work,” Davis tells him, pressing the phone tight to his ear, talking low. He moves to shut the door to the bedroom. Before the door closes, he catches a quick look at his family sitting at the table having dinner. He told Hattie he wasn’t hungry, that they should go on without him and he’d grab something later. Hattie didn’t argue. Didn’t say a word. Neither did the girls.
He’s only pushing them further away while he’s fighting like hell to keep them. Engineering the ever-widening space between him and his family. He hates it.
He hates all that’s going on between them, but he’s almost there. This is so close to being over. He can feel it. This whole ugly part of their lives is about to be done, if he can just drag himself across the finish line. There might be a growing distance between them, but if he doesn’t do what he has to do right now, then his family could be lost for good.
“You want to sign everything away?” Todd asks.
“Have the lawyer draw it up. There’s a transfer of ownership section in the contract.”
“But, Davis—”
“It’s above the ‘transfer upon death’ section.” Davis is talking a mile a minute, letting his brain dump out into bursts of words. “He’ll update the fifty-fifty ownership to a hundred percent to you. I’ll do an e-signature on it, and that should be enough.” He snaps his fingers, remembering something. “And have him backdate it. Make it a couple of days after LA.”
“Not sure that’s even vaguely legal.”
“You can make him do it.”
“Probably, but why?”
“It’ll help the story. Also, have him draft a letter from you dated right after LA. Something about payment to me for the company. Make it for like twenty grand.”
“But I didn’t pay you—”
“It’ll look like I was so busted I had to sell low to cover his bullshit, and now I have next to nothing. Not even the company.” He pauses. Swallows hard. “Just an employee.”
“And when it’s over we make this all right, right? Get you back on the books, right?”
“Bet your ass.”
“You sure about all this? I mean the lawyer can do it, but do you want this?”
“You got a better way?”
“No.” Todd laughs. “I do, however, think you’re out of your mind, and I love you for it.”
“Control yourself,” Davis says. “A wise man once told me, when you’re all out of good ideas, you’ve got to go with the bad ones.” Davis smiles, knowing he’s echoing the words Todd told him when they started this thing.
There’s silence on the other end of the phone. Davis knows he got to him. Todd’s not one to show his feelings or, God forbid, talk about them, certainly not when he’s sober, but he does have them. They come out in moments of silence. In pauses while he collects himself during an emotional moment. In a glossy-eyed look that gets covered quickly by a joke or a verbal jab.
The silence between them lingers. Davis knows this is one of those moments. He pictures Todd sitting wherever he is with his eyes red, filled with tears that will never fall.
“You there, boss?” Davis asks.
“Oh, I’m here,” Todd says, his voice cracking. He coughs, then says, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll call the lawyer as soon as I get off the phone.”
Davis pulls the map Justin gave him from his pocket, letting his eyes drift in and out of focus as his mind twists and bends. Playing out the possibilities of the future. Working through scenarios. Rolling toward what is going to happen out there in the woods beyond the lake at midnight.
What’s waiting for me at that damn fat, green smiley face?
Only one way to find out.
“Last chance to back out,” Todd says. “You’re sure you want me to do this?”
Davis knows this is a decision he might not be able to fix later. There are an immeasurable number of things that can go wrong with this. He feels like he’s standing at the edge of a diving board, high on top of a skyscraper, and one simple word spoken by him will be what pushes him off. Him giving that one simple word will send him hurtling down into the darkness of the abyss. A nosedive into the dark of the unknown, with no way to turn back.
Will there be a safe landing?
“Hey, you there? You sure you want me to do this?”
Davis licks his lips. Clears his throat.
He gives the one simple word.
“Yes.”
Part IV
30
Davis’s footfalls crunch the ground.
The barely legible map is clutched tight in his hand, while the moon provides his only light. He waited for Hattie and the girls to fall asleep before he slipped out of the house about an hour ago, lying awake in the shadows of the house, waiting for what seemed like forever. Waiting until he felt it was safe to go out into the night. He put on some clothes that could pass for exercise wear, just in case Hattie woke up and saw him, knowing damn well that wouldn’t smooth the edges on any questions she’d have. Davis hasn’t jogged in years, but it’s better than no excuse at all.
No matter. This is all worth it. Peace is worth the risk. Peace for his battered brain. Peace for his home, for his children, for his wife, for what’s left of his life. Davis’s hope has been refreshed. Hope that this is the end.
His heart pumps hard against his ribs. He’s not sure he’s taken a breath since he left Hattie in bed, thankful she at least slept in the room tonight. He tried not to think about it, but as he looked to her his mind did wander to the idea that he might not be back. That this might be the last time he saw his wife. His children. So, he stole an extra second or two before he left, watching her sleep peacefully. He wanted to reach out. Touch her. Play with her hair like he used to. Tell her he loved her and that he was doing what he felt he had to do.
After he left the bedroom, he walked down the hall to the room their girls are sharing. Cracking the door open slightly, he stole a peek into the room. He didn’t linger, not because he didn’t want to, but because the pain of looking at his daughters was making him think of not leaving. His girls. The thought of never seeing them again was too much. He knew if he stayed much longer he might not leave at all. The longer he looked, the more he didn’t want to go out into the night and meet Justin.
But Davis knew he had to come out here. Here in the woods, past the lake, under the midnight moonlight. Toward a spot on a map marked by a fat, green smiley face.
Davis readjusts his messenger bag that he has thrown over his shoulder. He opens it and checks the contents. He’s checked five times since he left the house. Each time he does it he knows he’s being completely paranoid, but he doesn’t care. The importance of what’s in this bag cannot be overestimated. This bag holds the future of everything. Everything that Davis has in the world.
He stops in his tracks, frozen, as if his feet have grown roots plunging deep into the ground. He hears the sounds of footsteps. Not running, but nothing creeping his way either. It’s more the sound of feet dragging the ground, pausing, then stomping back down hard with a thump. A crackle of leaves. A brush of grass. The sounds are coming from up ahead, not far. Seems to be from over a slight hill that is just out of Davis’s sight line.
He balls up his fists, feeling his nails dig into his palms. His heart rises up to the back of his throat. Breathing in deep, he releases the air from his lungs, then pushes himself to move up over the hill. The map tells him what’s there—the fat, green smiley face tells him everything he needs to know.
As he clears the top of the hill, he can see Justin in a small open area surrounded by trees. As if nature has created a perfect circular stage, with trees as the audience.
Justin dances under the moon. Some form of waltz with himself. Moving, gliding with a madman’s grace. His eyes closed shut while moving to a tune only he can hear. His lips are moving slightly, whispering to himself, perhaps singing a tune to himself. He’s back to being the Justin that Davis knew.
The Justin from the bar in LA.
Slick as hell. Dressed in a dark, smart suit and a crisp, white shirt with a bloodred silk tie that sways as his body moves to an unheard rhythm. Not a hair out of place, with the custom-tailored threads clinging to his athletic build. His Italian shoes shine in the moonlight as they glide over the grass, shuffling among the leaves.
Davis pauses for a moment to watch. Rational thoughts escape him as his fear grips him tighter and tighter. He squeezes his fists, not sure if his nails have broken skin. He feels his fear turning fast however.
Turning to anger.
He can’t believe how calm this man is, dancing alone in the woods in the dead of night as if the world simply did not exist. In complete control of the chaos he’s created. The proverbial eye of the storm. Davis feels anger ball up in his stomach. His mind shifts to a much different place. He’s done marveling at the mental state of this man. This cancer.
This Justin.
He looks into the bag he has thrown over his shoulder one last time. Checks the contents. Rubs his hand on the leather, thinking of the papers that rest safely inside. The plan rips through his jumbled thoughts. He’s thought it through. Talked it through with Todd. This plan, it has to work. There is no backup. Nothing to try next and no way to turn back if it doesn’t. If this does not work, there is nothing.
Davis clears his throat.
Justin puts up a finger, requesting a moment, not bothering to look up, as if he knew the whole time Davis was there. He spins, sways, then slides his feet together for a final pose, holding it for a silent count, then takes a bow. After a long pause, Justin rises up, looking slightly disappointed there was no applause.
Davis moves closer to him, folding the map up and stuffing it into his back pocket.
“They don’t have clocks back at the house?” Justin asks.
Davis stares.
“Late. You. You’re late. That’s what I’m saying about you.”
“I had to wait. I couldn’t just—"
“Just screwin’ with ya. Relax, man.” Justin eyes the bag. “Whatcha got there? My goddamn money? Perhaps? Maybe?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Oh no,” Justin says with a playful frown. “So I guess you’ve decided to do something else for me. Plan B.”
Davis’s teeth grind.
“Didn’t see you going that route.” Justin giggles. “I mean I get it, right? You do a dirty deed, then it’s over. Boom. Murder is less of a hassle than sneaking money around from the wife and all that skeezy shit.”
Each word digs into Davis’s thoughts, boring their way inside, taking up residence in his brain. Worming their way in and out, digging deeper and deeper. Justin holds up a hand and nods as if he’s figured something out that’s been eating at him.
“Wait. I get it.”
“What?” Davis says between clinched teeth.
“Well, I guess you do have a taste for it now. Don’t you, killer?”
“That’s…” Davis’s tongue gets tangled in the words. “That’s a lie.”
“Not sure it’s a lie, Big Fun. I mean, I wasn’t there, of course. I was in spirit, always in spirit, but I wasn’t actually in the room.”
“Stop.”
“They say the best memories are the ones we forget.”
Davis feels off-balance. His mind spins through the images from his phone, all of them, landing on the one of Tilley dead on the floor. This time, Davis’s mind adds movement to the image. He can see the blood pouring from her throat. Imagines the sounds she made. Gasping. Fighting for a last bit of air. Last bit of life.
“Look, man. You’re the one who wanted to get college-girl drunk that night.”
“Stop talking.”
“I think you need to talk about it. Talking helps. It’s damn healthy, even. Lets you get all that shit out.”
Justin inches closer, his words becoming sharper, hitting harder. Davis steps back, only to find his back against something. He’s been backed up into a tree. Justin stops only a foot away from him, cocks his head birdlike, studying Davis. He seems to be thinking something over. Analyzing. Creating. Picking away at an idea.
Justin’s eyes flare. His lips curl. Davis can almost see Justin’s mind lock and load, latching onto an idea. A ringside seat to Justin’s brain landing on something that excites him. There’s a spark. Davis can see it. Something horrible is pacing back and forth behind Justin’s pulsing eyes.
Justin’s face lights up.
“Did Tilley scream? Did she fight?” Justin snaps his fingers. “Wait, you did it while she was sleeping, didn’t you?” He claps his hands together with glee. “You did. You sick bastard.”
“No.” Davis turns away from Justin. “That’s not what happened,” he whispers to himself.
“Just tell me one more thing.”
“Stop,” Davis says louder.
“I gotta know.”
“Just don’t, please.”
Justin claps his hands, jumping back and bouncing on the balls of his feet, then stops cold, standing straight, like a well-dressed exclamation point. He licks his lips, taking a pause for dramatic effect.
“Tell me.” Justin points a finger toward Davis. “When you killed her, did she squeal like she did when you fucked her?”
A fire ignites inside Davis. He launches from the tree, charging hard at Justin with all that he has. Fueled by an untapped rage that’s been kept stowed away for way too long.
Justin barely blinks. Barely moves. He makes a quick tilt right then grabs Davis by the shirt, tossing him aside like a bag of trash. Davis fumbles over his feet, skids into the dirt, then rolls to a stop.
“Okay, that was crass. Perhaps too much. I can admit that.” Justin flips his hair back. “Apologies. Sometimes I shouldn’t say everything in my head.” He helps Davis to his feet, brushing off the leaves and dirt. “Daddy called it the gumball disease. You know, like every idea drops from your brain to your tongue like a gumball machine.”
Davis pushes him away, clinging to his bag.
“Now. Enough with the kicking each other in the nuts.” Justin eyes the bag. “Let’s have a look at whatcha got in that bag of yours.”
Davis feels his stomach tighten. His mouth goes dry. He wants to give him the bag, but he knows that once he does it’s going to start a war that he might not win. A bonfire that will lead either to his freedom or his destruction.
“Well? Is this your way of building up some drama?” Justin waits with his hand out. “Don’t bother. You’re better than that.”
Davis thinks of his girls. Of Hattie. Of everything he’s worked to build in this life.
He throws the bag at Justin. It lands hard to Justin’s chest. The force makes him take a step back. Justin raises his eyebrows, faking being impressed with the force of the toss.
Davis’s eyes bounce as he watches Justin rifle through the bag. His eyes scan documents, his lips moving while he reads over the dense paragraphs. Davis can see the arrogant bullshit that Justin was lathered in only moments ago fading away into the night. Something in his face has dulled. Maybe only slightly, but that wild energy surging inside him isn’t as strong as it was.
Davis permits a smi
le. This is going to work. He can feel it.
Davis thinks of killing him right now, while he’s preoccupied. He shakes his head, surprised by his own thoughts. He’s never considered the possibility until now—taking another man’s life. In a flash of imagination, he envisions himself bashing Justin’s head into a tree over and over again. He can hear the crunch of Justin’s skull inside his own thoughts. The spitting of blood. The gargled moans of pain after the dull thumps of bark. The satisfaction. Davis plays it all out in his mind without an ounce of effort.
Is this what I’ve become?
Am I a violent man? Am I capable of what those pictures showed?
For the first time, he considers the idea that maybe he did it. Maybe he did it all.
Maybe he killed Tilley.
Did I?
No. There’s no way he could have done that. The very idea of killing her, in that way, makes him sick even now. He thinks of taking a knife and slicing a person’s throat. The act of it. The physical mechanics of it. The sights. The sounds. The feeling of steel on skin. The cutting. As his mind churns, he can’t help but feel some familiarity.
Is this imagination or memory?
In a brief moment of passion, did something set him off while he was under the influence of whatever drugs they used on him? Was he crazed with chemicals, booze and lust? Did he simply make the move, void of any thought or conscience? If he can stand here and think of killing Justin, then maybe he could have done the same with Tilley.
“No,” he whispers to himself.
An image of Tilley pops into his mind. He squeezes his eyes shut.
Justin flips through the pages.
Tilley on her back, moaning with pleasure. She licks her lips then sucks his finger. The initial rush. The spark in her eyes as he enters her.
Davis squeezes his eyes tighter.
Pages flip one after another.
Tilley’s eyes open wide, her mouth fighting for air as the blood floods from her throat.
Davis wraps his face in his hands, runs his fingers through his hair, now slick with sweat.