Surprise Daddy

by Nicole Snow

  There's something in the way underneath his driver's seat when I reach down. I have to turn off the vacuum and pull with both hands just to move it.

  It's a thick black leather folio, bloated with so much material stuffed inside it's barely held together by the metal clasp.

  If only I'd been more careful pulling it out, I'd have saved everyone so much grief.

  Didn't work that way. My hand catches against the steering wheel when I lift it up, banging the leather binder so hard it comes apart. A hundred papers go flying out.

  “Shit!” I swear, hit the ground, and begin reaching for the material strewn everywhere, escaping underneath his car.

  Halfway through gathering it up, I get a good look at what's on those pages. My brain freezes, realizing what I'm seeing.

  Maybe a third of the mess are ordinary papers, lists of names and numbers. The rest, the other two thirds...

  They're pictures. Violent, sadistic, unspeakable photographs burned forever in my head. And the poor women in them, the girls, they're all too young.

  I swear I recognize a couple faces from the orphanage. The place was tied to his charity, which he used to bring me to a foster home in Split Harbor. Apparently, I wasn't the only one he freed, but nobody's seen the girls since.

  Certainly not around town.

  While I left hell, got on my feet, and found a life here, they've been God knows where, serving this animal and the other brutes in his hideous photos.

  My first instinct is to vomit. The second is to race for the phone, call Bart, and ask for advice because I don't know what the hell to do.

  I can't just call the cops on a Drayton. Nelson has everyone in this town in his back pocket, and its his word against mine.

  These sick, gruesome pictures are the only evidence I have that this man – this fucking monster – isn't the paragon of respect and charity everyone believes him to be.

  There's no other explanation. It's him in the photographs, leering at the girls. A decent man wouldn't be caught dead with what I've got tucked under my shaking arm.

  I have to get out of here. Need to bring it to someone, anyone who knows what to do with it. There's got to be some way to get Nelson Drayton, bring him to trial, and lock this vampire away where he'll never hurt anyone again.

  I'm pacing, trying not to let the panic win. I can't freeze up, damn it.

  Absent-mindedly, I crinkle up one page with names and numbers – probably other criminals involved in bringing him fresh victims – and stuff it in my pocket.

  There's no time to spare.

  I'm heading for the office, wracking my brain for options, when the asshole himself walks through the back door. He stops near the wall, stubbing his cigar out. He doesn't see me at first.

  Too bad I have to walk by him to get where I'm going. I try to make it, but he hears my footsteps, whips his head around, and stares at me like a wolf.

  “You done yet, kid?” he asks, taking a full second to notice the mess tucked under my arm. Then his old, evil eyes go wide. They darken, black holes full of fury, desperate to swallow me up. “Christ. That doesn't belong to you.”

  No shit. He's coming toward me, and he's pissed.

  I've been in bad places before in foster homes and orphanages, thrown in with unsavory characters from every corner of the Midwest. This is the first time my heart leaps in my throat, and beats so hard I freeze.

  He's almost got his hands on me when I start backing up. I hit the corner and I look around, shaking because there's nowhere else to run. Nelson stops in front of me, quietly seething.

  He's still trying to keep his composure. It's like watching a wild animal wearing a person's mask, the illusion hanging by a thread.

  “That isn't yours, boy. You took it from my car. Need you to give it back.” His voice is like ice. “Give it the fuck back to me. Now.”

  “No,” I tell him, standing up taller and straighter than I ever have in my life. Maybe if I can scare him, he'll back off, retreat, buy me some precious time. “You're not getting it again. I saw what's in here, Mr. Drayton...the girls...torture. You're seriously asking me to give it back, look the other way, pretend I never saw it?”

  “That's what I'm telling you to do, you stupid little shit.” Anger curls his lips into a wretched smile. He cocks his head, the blackness in his eyes deepening. “What do you think you're going to do with it, anyway? Run to the police? The FBI? I swear to God, I'll pay them whatever it takes to let me off the hook. I'll burn my treasures in front of their eyes. You've got a lot to learn about how this world works, kid, but let me give you a primer. I'm on top. You aren't. I can get away with shit that'll curdle your stomach. Don't make this a fight, or you'll find out what kind of damage money and a name can do.”

  I don't say anything. I look him in his wicked, beady eyes, clutching the leather folio tighter, my eyes scanning everything around us.

  There's Mickey's tall, messy toolbox, just a few feet away. All sorts of blunt objects laying out on top of it, right above the Playboy bunny sticker he's got slapped on the side.

  “I don't want to fight you,” I tell him. My voice crinkles in my throat, harsh and dry as autumn leaves. “But I can't give this up, Mr. Drayton. I won't.”

  “I'm not asking your permission, fuckwipe,” he growls, two vicious fists forming at his sides. “It seems you're confused. Let me help you out. You want to give me my property, go home, and pretend we never had this conversation. Only chance I'm going to give. Go ahead and stick your nose where it doesn't belong, I'll damned sure bite it off, boy. I'll burn you to the ground, and that'll just be the start.”

  He pauses, doing a slow turn, looking around the garage before he's facing me again. “I can, and I will, make everything go up in a puff of smoke. I'll close Bart's Auto. Ruin this place with liens and lawsuits so fast your stupid, righteous head will spin. Believe me, I'll make sure that you and everybody who ever worked here are done in this town, and their friends and families are done, and you're packed away in a state pen doing time for threatening an old man before your young life's gotten off the goddamned launch pad.”

  “No. No,” I say it again, instinct taking over, ready to fight and kill if I need to just to put this disgusting bastard away. “You don't scare me.”

  “No?” His feet are moving again, heading toward me, closing the narrow gap between us. “Then you're much stupider and selfish than you look. I'm not asking again. Give me my book!”

  He lunges. I have just enough time to whirl out away, race to Mickey's toolbox, and grab the first thing I see.

  Nelson charges me, hits me in the spine, and knocks me on the ground before I can turn around. His strength shocks me for a man his age, but the asshole's fighting for his life.

  He knows how fucked he is if I get this out. We both do.

  His weathered hands go around my throat and squeeze.

  There's no second guessing this. No time to find a legal, just way out that doesn't involve someone getting hurt. The look in his eyes tell me he's serious. He's going to kill me if I don't stop him in the next ten seconds.

  I hesitate for two more. Everything grows louder, like a violent, throbbing roar in my ears. It's my own blood, seething with adrenaline.

  My hand moves automatically, clenching the wrench. I put everything I've got into the swing, my one and only chance to take him out.

  There's a wet crack, like someone tossing a pumpkin on the street. The killing hands wrapped around my throat loosen, just as everything goes hazy and black.

  I think he's going down, falling on top of me, but I'm too weak to kick him off me.

  I pass out, the wrench falling out of my hand, overwhelmed with everything that's happened. Blackness drowns me.

  There's no telling how long I'm out. When I come back, the old demon's body is off me. In fact, he isn't anywhere to be found. There's no sign it ever happened, except for a rusty red stain drying on the ground next to me.

  Shit. Did he get away? I stagger to my
feet, suddenly noticing the black folio, and all the hell tucked inside, are also gone.

  “You're lucky I didn't have to throw water in your face, son. That was going to be Plan B.” Bart's voice causes me to jump.

  I turn around and see him wiping his hands, cleaning them with some chemical that makes my nostrils pucker. He's watching me sadly, like I've done something irredeemable. It hits me that, Jesus, maybe I have.

  Did I kill him? Murder the old man?

  I have to explain everything before it's too late. I rush up to the man who's been like a father to me, grab him by the shirt, and stare into his eyes, hoping maybe they'll give me a shred of peace and sanity.

  “Where did he go? And the pictures, the wrench...? Please, tell me you didn't let him get away.”

  “He's finished, Ryan. Doesn't take a genius to put two and two together. I saw the photos. Then I saw the wrench with your fingerprints on it and the blood pouring out of the crease in his skull. I'm looking at the bruises on your neck right now, son. I know you had no choice.”

  “Is he...dead?”

  I honestly don't know what answer I want. Is it worse knowing I've killed a man, or that the sick fuck got away?

  Bart's expression turns stone cold. He nods. “Caught him trying to get up when I walked in. We're all very lucky on the timing. You hit him hard, enough to do some serious damage. Just not enough to put him away for good. You don't have to worry about him anymore. I finished what you started.”

  “Finished?” I realize I'm not looking at my boss or future father-in-law anymore.

  I'm staring at a man who used to be special forces more than twenty years ago. Cold blooded, efficient, and always accurate.

  Nelson is done. Thank God. That's all I need to know.

  I don't need the details, and he isn't offering them.

  “What about the folio, Bart? We've got to bring them to someone who knows what to do. I'll tell them how I got them, who was in those pictures with the girls. I don't give a damn if I'm testifying against the mafia. Dead or alive, people need to know. Maybe they can help his victims, if they're are still out there.”

  “You're in no condition to throw your life away, son. Frankly, neither am I.”

  His words make me blink. I don't understand. I'm shaking my head, slowly releasing his shirt, pacing back and forth over the blood stain on the floor.

  “What are you saying?”

  “You're leaving tonight, Ryan. I've done everything I know how to prep his body to be laid out just the way I want, to take the flak off both of us. But I can't work miracles, son. They're going to think it was one of us who did him in, and if I turn over those pictures, it's going to be pinned on us.”

  I can't believe I'm hearing this. I'm not sure whether it's the defeat in his words, or the coolness in his voice that turns my stomach the most. “He's dead, man! Gone. There's no way he can come back and twist the truth. Why in the hell wouldn't we do the right thing?”

  “Because there's plenty more where he came from, Ryan. The Draytons are a powerful family. You don't just kill their head and expect them to take the fall. They'll stomp us like ants with their money and connections. I've lived in this town a lot longer than you, son. Long enough to know people like us don't win when we take them on through the system. We've done the right thing, the only thing we can, taking it onto ourselves and putting him away like this. That's the best case scenario, son. Unfortunately, with everything else, the damage is done.”

  My head's about to explode. Next time I turn around, stop moving, and plant my feet firmly on the ground, I point my finger. “I can't let it go! It's insanity. You saw what was in those pictures, right?”

  He nods.

  “Then you also know what a sick fucking pervert we're dealing with. I don't care how corrupt he is. We'll go to the Feds. There's got to be somebody who'll look at all this, bring it where it matters, and end them all if they're in on it, without costing us our livelihoods!”

  “There's nothing to show them, Ryan. I took the entire folio out behind the shed in the back, and burned it. I'll be vacuuming up the ashes later.”

  “You did...what?!” My ears are ringing.

  It's like the world is imploding on itself because I can't comprehend what's happening anymore. Burying my face in my hands, I back into the nearest wall, and start sliding down. It's impossible to stand with the only thing that might save our lives, gone to the seven winds.

  “I'm sad that you're going to hate me, son, but I'd rather save your life. Even if we got the evidence into the right hands, the Draytons would have you in the hardest, dirtiest prison they can find.” He grabs a mop, and sloshes another acrid chemical over the blood stain on the floor, calmly scrubbing it with a brush.

  “I don't care!” I mutter. It's weaker than it should be, words like lead pushed through my teeth.

  “Well, I do. I'm not going to let them bring you up on murder charges, Ryan. I'm also not going to throw Bets, Matt, Kara, and all my employees under the goddamned bus. You'll have to trust me on this, son. You're leaving tonight to make a new life for yourself, and that's the way it's got to be.”

  I'm hunkered down in disbelief, my face buried in my hands. At least a half hour blurs by with Bart cleaning the blood.

  When he's finished, there's no sign a man ever died on the floor, and I'm no closer to answers.

  “Let me talk to Kara,” I tell him, standing, reaching for the landline attached to the wall.

  He runs up and tears it out of my hand before I can press a single button. “You still don't get it. When I said you're leaving tonight, son, I meant for good. You're vanishing like a ghost with no goodbyes. I can't allow it.”

  I don't know if it's the confusion, or the horror of what he's saying. It takes all my strength to lift him up, throw him against the wall, and scream in his face.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?! I have to tell her what's happened here! Or, at least, somebody does.”

  “She'll never know a thing. I'm taking this to my grave, Ryan, and it's the way it has to be.” The same green eyes on my beautiful fiancee drill into me. They're hard, sad, and determined. “You need to keep quiet, too. The entire town is going to think you killed him, regardless of what we say or do. I told you, I can't work miracles. When I lay his body out, I'm going to tell them I found him like that. The wrench, they'll find in the dumpster out back, but it won't have your fingerprints.”

  “You're not telling them anything, you selfish, backstabbing sonofabitch. I'll tell them my version.”

  “Son, please.” His eyes turn dark, desperate. “I'm trying to reason with you. Hate me, call me every name in the book if it makes you feel better about what's going to go down. But I'm driving you down to the docks and putting you on the first boat I see. You've been out with the crew enough times to know how to get anything with a motor out on Superior, or near enough.”

  No, no, no. Fuck no.

  I'm shaking my head, and then I start shaking him. He never fights back, just stands there and takes it. Hot, crazy tears stream down my face as I'm slamming the only man I loved like family into the wall, raging because he's telling me everything I'll never accept.

  I don't care about the truth.

  I care about seeing her, fulfilling our promise, making her my wife. One brutal, but justified murder shouldn't fucking change that.

  “Please,” he repeats, when I've lost the will to throw him into the brick again. “If you go behind my back, you refuse to listen, I can't stop you. But you'll do it knowing you're ruining your life, and Kara's too. You'll wreck the whole family's.”

  “We can all leave. Find another town. They can't keep me in prison forever, and I'll send every damned dime straight to you, if that's what it takes to support the family. I'm supposed to be a part of it, remember?” My eyes search his, looking for the same acceptance I saw the day he gave me his blessing to date his daughter.

  “And you always will be. I love you, son, because you're
always willing to do the right thing, after all the shit you've suffered. You've got a good heart. There's no man I'd rather hand Kara off to. If it'd been anything but this, you know, I would've walked her straight down the aisle, into your arms.”

  I see the familiar spark in his eyes, behind the sadness. It hasn't changed. He puts his hands against my chest, gently pushing me away, and gives me the saddest smile in the world.

  “Think about her for a second. She'd want you to be happy and alive, Ryan. Not stabbed to death by some punk in the shower because he's pissed you won't join his gang for protection. You're too good a man for prison. You'll wind up dead if you go there. I don't care if we ever clear everybody's name, including yours. It's no good if you're gone, and my girl will never forgive me if I had a way to stop it. Well, I do. If you come to your senses, we'll get in my truck and go right now. I'll hand you all the money I can spare, and make it up to whoever's boat we steal later, one way or another.”

  He won't stop stabbing me in the chest. I've stopped resisting because he's right, damn it, he's so right it's killing me worse than Nelson's evil hands ever did.

  There's a boom in the distance. Loud and mournful, dense enough to shake the ceiling. Bart puts his hand on my shoulder, giving me the most fatherly squeeze I'll ever get.

  “Go, son. Leave the rest to me. You have to get on that ship and go now. It's your only chance. Remember – and it's going to be an absolute bitch – you can't come back. You can't call her. You can't write, phone, email, or send a note by fucking pigeon to anyone here. Because if you do, and they realize where you are...”

  I get it. Fuck, do I understand, like a blow to the face.

  Defeated, I follow him out to the truck. It's raining by the time we get to the marina. He leads me over to the best boat docked there, the new thirty foot baby with the little cabin old man McCoy bought when he sold his land in Wisconsin last year.

  He's trusting, like most people still are in this little town. It doesn't take us long to find the spare keys he's tucked into the ship's rear storage.

  It's bigger than anything I've ever piloted before, but the controls seem familiar. Bart stands over my shoulder in the cabin. He doesn't leave until I've started her up, done a few checks, and taken down the tether from the dock. Then he takes an envelope and shoves it into my hand.