The Cold Spot

by Tom Piccirilli

  There was nothing else to say to that. Either the old man would make his move and Chase would be able to stop him, or he wouldn’t. If nothing else, his grandfather broke the complicated world down into a much simpler form. Every moment brought you right up to the edge. You could either win against him and live, or lose and die. Sometimes it was nice not having so many options to choose from.

  Jonah watched Rosso another minute and finally turned away. “All right, but let’s wipe this place and leave now, before he stirs any more shit.”

  Chase had planned on it anyway. He’d touched the back door, the cat food, the water bowl, what else? He looked around, seeing the photos again, thinking of Freddy staring at him in the garage, wondering how in the hell anyone could kill an old lady and a retarded man who never stopped smiling.

  Had he touched the kitchen table? Had he brushed against the garbage bags? He couldn’t take any chances, he had to clean it all. The cats looked at him. He took a step toward the kitchen and caught a blur of motion from the corner of his eye.

  Rosso said, “Oh God, no—” as Jonah took hold of the kid’s hair and eased his head back to expose the throat.

  Chase moved and opened his mouth but nothing came out except Walcroft’s noise.

  Fast, his hands always so fast, but now, for some reason, he was far too slow as he reached out and Jonah jabbed the guy called Timmy Rosso once under the left ear, severing the carotid.

  Then the old man cleaned the blade on the dying kid’s pant leg, two smooth strokes back and forth as Rosso’s face contorted into a look of profound amazement, and his hand started to come up, reaching with some urgency for Jonah’s hand the way a helpless grandson might reach for him across a short distance of enduring darkness.

  Three A.M., with only a glimmer of moonlight maneuvering between the slats of the blinds, Chase stood at the window staring at the house across the street thinking about the three corpses inside with all the hungry cats. How long before that became the stuff of urban legend and this town got put on the map by PETA’s newsletter? Images twisted at the back of his skull and he let out a soft grunt. He thought about dropping an anonymous tip, but then the cops would canvass the neighborhood and show up at his door asking if he’d seen anything suspicious, and that would just spook the shit out of Jonah.

  Lila, he thought, I’m seriously fucking up here.

  He leaned back against the dining-room table.

  They couldn’t go to the motel now. There was still a chance the crew might make a try for him. They should take the loot and pull a fade, but maybe he’d made it personal enough for them to come take a poke. He hoped so.

  He thought maybe the driver would show up at around midnight, gunning his engine in the driveway, flashing his high beams, and they could finish this thing the right way. Race against each other out in the streets, see who could stay on the road the longest. It was the only real shot he had left.

  Which meant he had no shot at all. His mind was wandering again. The rage squeezed up and tried to take him over. He crossed his arms and tightened his hold on himself. He had no cool right now. He had no cold.

  He’d played his hand poorly. He’d waited too long. He’d focused on the wrong things. The woman never should’ve been let go. He’d burned the bridge.

  A stakeout at the merchant’s would’ve been dangerous but it might’ve worked. If the cops hadn’t spotted him. If the crew hadn’t spotted him.

  He hadn’t thought it through clearly enough. He’d brought Jonah in too late. He shouldn’t have brought him in at all.

  His grandfather had grumbled a little about not being able to score the crew now, but he fully expected his hundred grand from the sale of the house. It was a big payday for doing nothing. The old man could head back to White Plains with his girl and pull whatever score he had cooking there and just collect the cash when the time came. Chase would hand it over, thinking, Who cares?

  The door to the guest room opened. The only light on in the house was the forty-watt bulb over the sink. In the dark, Angie padded to the refrigerator and started making another sandwich. She was naked. She stood there silhouetted, grabbing the last slice of cheese, a few wilted leaves of lettuce, a final squeeze of mustard. She ate quickly, gulping her food.

  Her body was muscular and shapely, her ass streamlined. Chase wondered if the old man had sent her out here to test him. But no matter how he turned it over he couldn’t figure out what the test could possibly be for.

  Or was Jonah just concerned with showing off? Saying, Look at what keeps me warm at night.

  The gold hoop in her pierced navel gleamed. The grinning dolphin tattoo, poised as if leaping through the ring, was winking. He hadn’t caught that before. He also hadn’t noticed the light stretch marks. She’d had at least one kid. So where was it? With her aunt back in Florida? Did she hand it over to an adoption agency without even looking to see if it was a boy or a girl?

  Angie knew Chase was behind her. She didn’t mind. She didn’t turn. He sensed her knowing attitude, the confidence in her stance even while she swallowed down her last bite and made for the water jug. As she bent, a soft ripple worked from her upper back to her shoulder to her arm. Her ass wriggled the slightest bit. She stood and started to sip, her breasts silhouetted in the dim fridge light, her throat working. With the back of her hand she wiped her mouth, then sighed and shook her hair out. She held the jug between her breasts and her nipples hardened dramatically. She turned.

  Her eyes found him in the dark.

  They burned with understanding. They stripped him down layer by layer. Chase could feel himself being peeled back and opened up until he was as naked as she was. He wondered if she would go deeper and get to his very center.

  “You know,” she said, “he talks a lot about you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Even before he got word from you. He used to go on and on.”

  Chase stepped into the kitchen. “You’re kidding.”

  “I don’t do kidding.”

  No, of course she didn’t. “So what did he say?”

  “Oh, about the scores you pulled together when you weren’t even a teenager yet. How good you were slipping into houses and, later on, behind the wheel. How all the strings respected you, even though you were only a kid. He says those few years when you were together were his happiest time in his whole bent life. He’s also sorry he didn’t come to your wedding.”

  Chase looked at her. Angie was lying but he didn’t know why. Jonah might’ve talked about his past, told her some of the stories and given her the facts, but there wouldn’t have been any sentimentality. He wasn’t capable of it.

  Who the fuck did she think she was kidding? Was she trying to spare Chase’s feelings or to make him feel tighter with Jonah in order to lull him?

  Angie wasn’t grinning but the dolphin was. The damn thing distracted him more than her bikini wax. She took another sip of water and a dribble escaped down her chin. He knew he was supposed to lick it off. She tried to put a smile in her eyes, but he read only a hint of fear and impatience.

  Then he knew she was trying to humanize the old man. Make him seem less hard, even a touch loving. And weak. Not invulnerable. She’d over-played her hand but he didn’t want her to realize it. Angie was ready for the next thing and had to make some kind of a move in order to get out. Now that the score hadn’t gone down, she was ready to cut free of Jonah.

  And she wanted Chase to kill him.

  It made him realize how imposing Jonah still was. Here was a woman who laid him, saw him go naked into the shower, slept beside him. Who could press her .25 to his head at any time she liked if only she could overcome her terror that he might wake up at that exact moment. And she still couldn’t do it. Which is what had saved her so far.

  “He loves you, you know,” she told him.

  “Sure,” Chase said.

  “In his own way. In the only way he knows how, being who he is. What he is.”

  “Yeah,” he sai
d, sounding like an idiot even to himself, which in this case was good. Maybe it would get her to underestimate him.

  “You’re the only one he loves. Everyone else he destroys. More than you know.”

  Where was she leading him? She was trying to drop subtle hints now so that later she would really have him hooked. What wasn’t he picking up on?

  Chase tried to see it, wondering if he ever did pop Jonah, and Angie was right there beside him, how long would it take her before she put the Bernadelli in his ear and vented his brainpan? Would he make even ten seconds? No, five tops.

  She said, “Don’t feel too upset about what happened over there.”

  “What?”

  “I can see it’s eating you up. He only did what you invited him here to do, right? What you couldn’t do yourself. It’s what you expected, isn’t it? What you were hoping for?”

  He nodded because there was nothing else to do.

  He had known. He must’ve known that when Jonah had turned away from Rosso and said, All right, but let’s wipe this place, the old man was lying. The old man had never conceded on anything, had never said all right. Chase hadn’t believed him about anything else, so how could he have trusted him about that?

  Chase hadn’t. He’d known when Jonah had drawn the knife that there was no way the kid would ever be let go, no matter how dumb he was.

  Chase was fast. He should’ve been able to reach his grandfather. But he hadn’t even tried.

  “I can make you feel better,” she said, and eased toward him, her tits bouncing lightly, her body expectant. She tried smiling again and this time made it. She wet her lips. “Even if it’s only for a little while, I can make you feel good again.”

  “No,” he told her, “you really can’t.”

  Lila sat with his mother at the kitchen table. There were bagels and cream cheese. Steam rose from two coffee cups and wavered in the air.

  It wasn’t the kitchen in this house. The table setting was familiar but he couldn’t place it. Maybe they were in Mississippi, or maybe this was where his mother was murdered. He couldn’t remember.

  They were talking quietly together, in deep conversation. There was an air of importance to it all. Lila’s tone grew more urgent. He kept waiting for her voice to rise and call out for him, but she continued in the same hushed manner. It bothered the hell out of him, knowing they were sharing secrets. Was there anything more awful than your mother and wife trading info about you? Christ. There was that whole sisterhood thing. They’d talk about shit that would send guys screaming out of the room.

  His mother responded with a strange calm, her expression almost smug. The two of them going back and forth, being a little petty about it now since they were both pulling faces. Chase, struggling to move nearer, was unable to do so. He tried to speak but couldn’t hear himself.

  Both women looked up with a start. They stared at him with real worry. His mother’s features quickly shifted into a frown, and Lila gazed at him with loving concern.

  He’d made another mistake. What had he done wrong?

  The dead will find a way. They’ll make you listen.

  He tried to speak again and this time heard himself say, “All right, I’m listening.”

  In weak and unrecognizable voices, they began to speak

  Angie stood at the foot of the bed, gripping the toe of his shoe. He’d slept in his clothes again.

  “You were moaning,” she said. “You woke us.”

  Chase cleared his throat and said, “Sorry.”

  Behind her, Jonah stood wearing nothing but briefs, looking well laid and rested, holding his .38. There wasn’t an inch of sag on him, his muscles were still large and cut. His chest was thatched with thick white hair. His numerous scars were even more marbled. A couple of old bullet wounds, some knife slashes, a lot of beatings. You looked at his body and you couldn’t figure out how anybody had survived all that. He glanced at Chase but said nothing. He silently receded and half a minute later there was the sound of the shower.

  “What were you dreaming about?” Angie asked.

  Chase sat up and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I don’t remember,” he told her, wishing it was the truth.

  He finally noticed she was dressed in Lila’s clothes. A rose silk blouse he’d bought her for their first Christmas in Mississippi together, and black leggings that Lila only tried on once and said made her ass look too big. They hadn’t. They didn’t make Angie’s ass look too big either. They held tight and really drew the eye, which seemed to be the reason she’d chosen them. The .25 must be in the waistband at the small of her back.

  It meant she’d gone through the drawers while he was sleeping. He shouldn’t have been so out of it, but the lack of sleep had finally caught up with him, and the nightmares were getting worse.

  He looked at her, trying not to show anything.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Angie said. “I wear the same size your wife did.”

  “So I see.”

  “She had good taste. Not exactly mine, but very nice anyway. We had to leave most of my stuff back in Aspen when the last score went bad, and I haven’t had a chance to do any shopping.” She checked herself in the mirror. “Does it bother you?”

  Chase fought to smile. He was glad he couldn’t see the result. “Not at all. You look wonderful in them.”

  “Thank you for that. All women like a passing compliment, even me, and I never put too much stock in them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too many guys use them just to fuck you. Fuck your cunt or fuck you over. But they’re still nice to hear.”

  He didn’t quite get that one, but let it slide. He got a change of clothes and used the three-quarter bath to take a quick shower. When he got out, the old man was just finishing up in the other bathroom. Jonah had spent a hell of a long time in there. He hadn’t put the fan on and the steam burst into the corridor. Maybe he’d needed to loosen up, his muscles bothering him after all the sneaking around through the neighbors’ yards last night.

  After Jonah got dressed, Chase took them out for breakfast. He drove by the Nicholson house without glancing over at it. Jonah was looking nowhere and everywhere, and Chase knew his grandfather must be wondering if he’d soon drop an anonymous tip. If Chase would be able to take the idea of a house full of bodies right across the street.

  The dream had helped him on that point. Chase already had his own house full of bodies, he didn’t need to sweat another one.

  The Chevelle wanted to roar and he wanted to with it, really let it rip up the street. But he tamped the need down, holding on to it. There’d be another time. He knew right then, there was still one last chance. He held on to it the way he gripped the steering wheel. With dead-white knuckles.

  At the diner, while they ate, Angie slid a slice of raisin-bread toast almost between her teeth and left it perched while she asked, “So what are you going to do now? Go back to teaching?”

  “No,” Chase said.

  “Start stealing cars again?”

  Chase let it sit out there and didn’t answer. Jonah chewed his eggs and bacon, watching him without watching him. He’d talk about the house money pretty soon, just to make sure Chase hadn’t forgotten about his promise.

  “Then what?” Angie said.

  “It’s not entirely over yet,” he told her.

  “No? What do you mean? What else is there?”

  “One last shot,” he said.

  Jonah looked up. “Cleveland.”

  “Yeah.”

  Jonah shook his head, his eyes black and endlessly steady. “That’s no help. They were running a game on that idiot.”

  “Yeah, but that piece of it rang true. The two crew members talking. One a little drunk, a little too loud. It sounded like a slip to me.”

  “Not to me. They’re too good.”

  Chase shrugged.

  “You still owe me a hundred grand.”

  “I know.”

  Angie fluffed the shoulde
rs of her blouse. Chase was sure it was just so he’d take another look at her rack. It was a good head game, wearing Lila’s clothes. Angie was young but she’d picked up a lot of hard-fought insight. Working with Jonah had just refined her own natural facility.

  “Are you still with me on this?” Chase asked his grandfather.

  “There isn’t anything anymore. You had a thread and let it go. I told you that you were playing it wrong.”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  Chase stood and paid the check. He didn’t say anything on the way back. He found himself in the rearview and thought that perhaps he had changed just enough to go the rest of the road alone.

  When they got back to the house, Chase expected the old man to pack up and take off without another word. But Jonah sat on the couch and started watching the tapes again. Maybe he really did have a thing for Marisa Iverson.

  Chase went out to the garage and worked on the Chevelle a little more. Fifteen minutes later Angie came out. She leaned against the passenger door and he heard the thump of the .25 clocking the metal. She watched him milking the carburetor and timing chain for every last second he could pull from it.

  She said, “You get overzealous too.”

  “I like things clean.”

  Angie said, “You really going to pay him a hundred g’s for doing nothing?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at him like he was an idiot, and said, “You’re an idiot.”

  Chase let it slide. He was letting more and more slide and wondered when it would stop, and what would happen right after that.

  “How much of a cut will you walk away with?” he asked.

  “Full partners. I get half. But I can’t walk away.”

  “You could always go back to Miami.”

  “I’ll never go back to Miami.”

  “Then what are you complaining for?”

  “Are you really as thick as you seem, or are you pretending?”

  “I’m pretending.”

  She frowned and turned aside, and in profile Chase saw the surgery scars more prominently, but somehow he seemed to like them even more. It was a good metaphor—one minute you saw one thing, the next something else. It all depended on the light and the angle.