Not Even Past

by Dave White

  Martin pushed his chair in so hard, it clattered against the table.

  The barista looked up, waited to see if he was going to keep yelling, then went back to cleaning the coffeemaker.

  “Let’s go. Now.”

  Martin left the Starbucks. Donne sat for a second. He could just stay here. Call Kate, have her pick him up, and be done with it.

  No.

  He got up and followed Martin out the door, and into the fire.

  KATE GRABBED Donne’s laptop and opened it. The home screen was password protected, but she knew the login: KateJan14. The day they made things “official.”

  That January evening, they sat on the edge of his bed, her bra strap hanging off her shoulder, hair out of sorts, and the last remaining buzz of beer running through her veins. Her heart pumped hard, and she could feel a few beads of sweat drying at the nape of her neck. Jackson sat next to her shirtless, his hand on her thigh. He was breathing heavily.

  The scene reminded her of being a senior in high school. Creeping up to the edge of sex, but backing off at the last moment. Getting that rush, but feeling no release.

  It was their fifth night in a row hanging out together. Always started out the same, a couple of beers while watching TV or a movie, then ending up in the bedroom, edging close to the line.

  Kate exhaled and willed her heart rate to lower, and reminded herself she was an adult.

  “This is fun,” Jackson said.

  She smiled and nodded. Her heart beat faster instead.

  “I like you,” he said.

  She ran her hand through her hair, curling a strand over her ear. She bit her lip. You are not in high school, she commanded herself.

  “I like you too.”

  Oh, God. Shut up, Kate.

  Jackson laughed. “Your cheeks are turning red.”

  Her hand went from her ear to her left cheek, finger tips grazing her warm skin.

  “Shut up.”

  “I want to keep doing this,” he said. “I want to keep hanging out.”

  “Have I said I wanted to stop?”

  Jackson shook his head. “What do you think about making things official?”

  She said, “You mean like boyfriend and girlfriend?”

  Jackson leaned in and kissed her on the lips. A short peck, not like the kisses earlier. He lingered just long enough.

  “We could do a trial run, if you want.” Jackson backed up. “See how it goes.”

  It was her turn to lean in. She kissed him long and hard. When she pulled away his cheeks were red.

  “I don’t need a trial run,” she said.

  Now, she played with her engagement ring while she searched his computer. The Find My iPhone app wasn’t along the bar on the bottom of the screen. She stopped twirling the ring and reached for the touchpad. She scrolled through the finder and the app popped up. She clicked on it and it opened.

  The laptop prompted Kate for a password. She tried “KateJan14” again. Rejected.

  She typed it one more time, watching for typos, and was rejected again. The password the computer asked for was the same as his iTunes account, according to the window on the screen. He’d had iTunes long before he met her.

  Kate blew a strand of hair out of her face, placed the laptop next to her on the couch and got up. Pacing would help clear her mind. Trying to guess what Jackson liked before they met was a needle in the haystack. She leaned back over the computer and typed in “Molson.”

  Rejected again.

  Would an iTunes account lock you out?

  The last vestiges of wine sloshed in her stomach. Maybe if she ate something, it would settle her stomach. She wasn’t hungry, though. Not even a craving for chocolate. Rubbing her hands together, Kate circled the couch. A number of password combinations ran through her head, but none of them seemed right. They all keyed on names and events that had occurred after they met. Jackson wasn’t the kind of guy who spent time switching his passwords around to fool hackers.

  Pictures of Jeanne were still spread across the coffee table. Jackson with her in a park. At a Christmas party. In an office. They were all smiles. They were all touchy-feeling, arms around each other. Kate sat back down, picked up the stack and started to flip through them again. A chill ran through her.

  Tossing the pictures back on the coffee table, she watched them scatter and flip on to their backs. On the back of one was scrawled “I love you—10/15.”

  And then it clicked.

  Kate grabbed the laptop and typed in “JeanneOct15.” The pinwheel whirled for a moment, and then a red pin appeared on the computer screen map. It said “Jackson’s iPhone.” The address was in Perth Amboy. An option popped up on the screen to send the phone a text.

  Kate’s heart started to pound again, just like that night when they started their trial run. She clicked the mouse and sent the text.

  Then she grabbed her purse and ran out the door.

  MARTIN PASSED the gun over to Donne. Donne took it and hefted it once, twice. It was a police issue—a glock like he’d used in the past. It felt comfortable in his hand. More comfortable than he expected.

  They sat about three-quarters of a mile away from the warehouse, waiting for the last legs of the sun to fade away. In front of them, it was mostly dark, only two streetlights illuminating the dark asphalt ahead of them.

  Despite the car’s air-conditioning, Donne was sweating. Life could change in an instant, and he wouldn’t be surprised if tonight was one of those instances. No cars passed them either way. In fact, there hadn’t been any movement around them for at least twenty minutes. And, then, it was only seagull landing, picking something off the ground, then flying away.

  Martin shook his head. “Dammit. I thought at least one of them would have left for the night.”

  “That makes sense.” Donne hefted the gun again. He tried to remember the last time he fired one. Was it just two years ago, along the Passaic River? Before his mother died? Didn’t feel that long.

  “Say what you want to say.”

  Donne sighed. “If Jeanne is in there, do you really think they’d leave her alone? I mean, it seems they want her alive. They want me for God knows what. Someone has to feed her, give her water. Let her use the bathroom.”

  “I thought at least one of them would have taken Juan home.”

  “Might they did already. And came back.”

  “Or maybe they’re still gone.” Martin tapped his hands on the steering wheel.

  “There’s two of us, and two of them.” Donne bit his cheek. “No problem.”

  Martin nodded. “Right. And when was the last time you shot a gun? You gave yours away.”

  “I’ll be fine. Let’s just be quick and get Jeanne out of there.”

  Martin turned the car off and opened the door. “Spread out. You see one of them, shoot ’em.” He paused. “Don’t shoot me. Let’s go.”

  IN WHAT was probably not the smartest move of the millennium, Donne kept his eyes on the ground as they walked. He didn’t want to trip over a twig or a cracked piece of pavement. He was moving slow, feeling the thud thud thud of his heart ahead of his foot’s pace.

  Martin was about ten yards ahead of him, in a jog. The warehouse sprawled beyond that, illuminated by a pale light in the office window. Martin’s plan, as he laid it out to Donne, was simple. Get them outside. Take them out. Get Jeanne. Figure everything else out later.

  When they reached the parking lot of the warehouse, Martin swung out to the left. The door to the office opened out that way and would give him a moment to aim before they appeared. Donne agreed to stay to the right, because it’d be a clearer shot. He wasn’t sure this plan was going to work, and he’d voiced that to Martin.

  Martin ignored him.“When the bullets start flying, instinct goes the hell out of the window. You know that.”

  Donne found a patch of tall grass to kneel in. He took a breath, trying to settle himself. He cell phone dinged that he had a text. Martin’s head snapped up and looked in
Donne’s direction. He fumbled for his phone, but gave up. There was movement inside the office.

  Martin picked up a rock the size of a softball and hurled it

  It slammed off the metal door with a clang, and landed right in front of it. Donne counted the seconds in his head. He got to fourteen before the door moved. It opened quickly, at first, but stalled when it hit the rock. He could see Nick push on the door. To the right of the door, he could see a shadow pressed against the window. Calvin, cloaked in darkness because of the light behind him.

  On one knee, Martin leveled his gun. Donne did the same and squeezed off a shot. The gun recoiled and Donne’s wrists snapped upwards. The bullet whizzed over everyone’s head.

  Nick pushed the door fully open, turned and leveled his gun in Donne’s general direction. Donne aimed as Nick cleared the frame of the door. He took another breath to steady.

  There were two pops before Donne could fire and Nick dropped to the ground. Martin was the quick draw.

  There was a muffled curse from inside the warehouse, and then the glass exploded outward as Calvin fired his own gun from the window. Donne hit the dirt flat. He heard bullets whizzing off to left, and then a few thuds as they buried themselves in the ground.

  Donne could see Martin, down on one knee, edging himself toward the warehouse wall. Calvin didn’t have a good vantage point from the window and wouldn’t be able to hit anything without getting lucky.

  Maybe if he laid some cover fire down, a few random shots toward the warehouse, it would flush Calvin outside. He aimed the gun and squeezed the trigger. Two more shot flew into the night.

  There was another volley of bullets from the window. Martin was standing now, pressed flat against the warehouse wall. Calvin must have know where Martin was because of the way Nick had fallen.

  The gunfire stopped, and for a moment, all Donne could hear was the water licking the docks. The odor of sulfur and gunpowder filled the air.

  The door swung open even farther, and Calvin filled the frame. He toed Nick and said his name, but there wasn’t a reaction. Donne could see Martin tensing. Calvin took another step, his gun in front of him. He snapped his body to the left, jumping out of the door frame, but it was too late. Martin snapped off two shots and Calvin’s body whirled away from him. Calvin’s gun went off once, and then he dropped to the ground.

  Martin stepped up to the bodies and kicked one gun away.

  Donne was up and running toward him. “They dead?”

  Looking up at him, Martin said, “Get that door open in there. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Donne was going to argue further, but he needed to know if Jeanne was inside. He went through the doorway, trying not to step in the dark red puddle that was forming. He looked at the door, and saw it was padlocked. He went to the desk, and realized that at some point they had to have taken Juan home. The office was empty.

  He pulled doors open and found nothing. But he still had the glock. He approached the door, aimed and fired. The padlock shattered, and Donne fell to the ground when he heard the whine of the ricochet. After he got up, he jammed the gun into his belt.

  A gunshot went off outside and Donne froze.

  “Bill?” he asked.

  “Get inside. I’m just making sure here.”

  Donne pulled the door open and stepped into darkness. Behind him there was another gunshot, but he didn’t care. He reached out for the wall and felt for a switch.

  “Jeanne?” he called out.

  There was a soft, muffled moan. His heart jitterbugged.

  His hand found a switch and he flicked it. He heard the loud clunk that he heard when he opened the website.

  Jesus Christ.

  The spotlight went on and illuminated Jeanne. She was duct taped to a chair by her wrists and her face was slumped over on to her shoulder. He hair was in front of her face. Donne’s heart was pounding. His forehead was wet.

  He ran.

  Jeanne’s head lifted and looked in her direction. Her eyes went wide, and she was trying to say something, but was gagged. Donne fell to his knees in front of her. He remembered the day he proposed to her, outside the Olde Town Tavern. He tried to go down to only one knee, but the beer decided otherwise. This time, it was nerves. Then she’d laughed. Now he could see tears in her eyes.

  He pulled the gag off her mouth.

  “Jackson,” she said. “You found me.”

  “I—I—” He didn’t have the words. Too much was trying to get out of his brain. Things he’d wanted to say for years. Questions. His eyes burned, and his temple throbbed.

  “We have to get you out of here.”

  “I’m so tired,” she said. “So thirsty.”

  He pulled at the duct tape, but it didn’t give. She groaned as he did it, and he apologized. Over and over again. He was so sorry. The lead ball in his stomach was expanding, pressing against his ribs.

  The keys in his pocket. They sharpest thing he had. Donne retrieved them and began to saw at the tape.

  “What happened?” she asked. “I heard shots.”

  “I want to know what happened to you,” he said. He kept sawing, and then her left arm was free. She put it on his shoulder. He tried to remember the last time she’d touched him, but couldn’t.

  The second piece of duct tape was easier. It was her right arm, and it seemed that she’d been working on it already. He pictured her, slowing tugging against it when she was alone. Trying to free herself.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “I’m so tired,” she said.

  The tape came loose and Jeanne fell forward. As he caught her, his keys clattered to the ground.

  He felt air on his neck. Jeanne’s breath. He started to shake. He remembered mornings, rolling over into her. Smelling the shampoo in her hair, and the faint scent of Puddles, her dog. The dog she gave away when they got engaged. Now she smelled like dirt and glue.

  “Oh my god.” The voice wasn’t Donne’s and it wasn’t Jeanne.

  Her head lifted off Donne’s shoulder. No, he thought. Just give me one more minute.

  “Bill?” she said.

  Donne tried to hold tight, but felt her pushing against him. Pushing him away. She stood up, but stumbled. Donne tried to catch her.

  “Bill? You’re here?”

  “I’m here,” he said.

  The lead ball in Donne’s stomach exploded and pain radiated through his entire body. He got to his feet in time to see her fall into Bill’s arms.

  She said his name. Again.

  Bill held her tight with his left hand. His gun was still in his right. Donne dropped his head and started to walk toward them. The corners of his eyes stung and his cheeks felt wet.

  He thought of Kate. He should call Kate.

  “Thank you, Jackson,” Martin said. “But I don’t need your help anymore.”

  Bill Martin lifted his free arm, and time stopped for Jackson Donne. He didn’t have time to say anything.

  Martin pulled the trigger three times.

  DONNE’S EYES snapped open and he gasped for breath. He was on his back, but he wasn’t sure for how long. His nerves, muscles, and brain were screaming for him to get up and run. A warm, thick liquid was making his clothes sticky. His body felt heavy and he was having trouble getting to his feet. Every time he tried to push himself up, he fell back down.

  Intellectually, he knew he’d been shot. He was getting cold. He knew he was covered in blood. And it was hard to breathe.

  The funny thing was it didn’t hurt.

  Donne rolled over on to his stomach and started to crawl. The warm liquid now spread to his pants and palms of his hands. He looked at them and saw they were covered in red.

  This is how I’m going to die, he thought. Covered in blood in a warehouse in Perth Amboy.

  He pushed himself forward and tried to figure out if Bill Martin and Jeanne were still there. His only urge was to crawl, find a way to escape, but part of him expected to be shot
again. One last bullet to the brain to make everything go dark.

  Air was getting caught in the back of his throat, and he spit to try and clear his mouth. He wondered where he’d been shot and why it didn’t hurt. When he was a cop, Martin and he interviewed a gangbanger who’d been dealing dope to college kids. The guy told them he’d been shot three or four times, but it didn’t hurt. The heat from the bullet numbs the wound.

  “People don’t scream because of the pain,” the guy said. “They scream because they’re scared to die.”

  And Donne realized he wasn’t screaming. Maybe he should. Yell for help. Yell for his mother. Yell for someone.

  He pulled himself forward some more, away from the chair Jeanne had been bound to, and toward the office. He couldn’t see Martin and Jeanne. They must have left.

  Did he black out? Had he been dead for a few minutes? Why did they leave without finishing the job?

  Donne got some air down into his lungs. It helped. He pushed forward, imagining a trail of blood behind him, like that Sean Connery scene in The Untouchables. He was a slug. A shot and dying slug, leaving a trail.

  He tried to talk, but nothing had come out. He wondered if he’d been shot in the throat, and that’s why he couldn’t speak.

  Listen, he told himself. Try to hear something that can help you. A truck, a ship in the distance. Maybe a ringing phone.

  His phone. He could dial 911. Even if they couldn’t hear him, they could track the call, couldn’t that?

  Or was that only landlines?

  He could hear the lapping water again. The wind blew through the open hangar of the warehouse, and metal creaked. No one drove by, that he could tell. It seemed like his hearing was malfunctioning, though. The wind would fade in and out, and the lapping water seemed to transition to static.

  Inching backward along the floor, Donne moved his arms from in front of him down to his right pocket. He slipped his hand inside and found his iPhone. He wrapped his fingers around hit and started to pull. That’s when the pain came. It was hot and burned and shot throughout his body, radiating out ward like sonar.

  He opened his mouth to scream, but only a gasp of air came out.