by Jonas Saul
It had to be the tinnitus the doctor had talked about. Noises in her head. Foreign sounds.
Other words came to her. The name Violeta. Parkman had talked about that woman. Something about Violeta wanting to hurt her.
Maybe after she was done with Parkman, she would find out who Violeta was and why they were connected.
The memories were returning faster than expected. With five hours left on the road, she could try to remember as much as possible before she arrived in Santa Rosa.
Won’t Parkman be surprised when he sees that she’s still alive and now she’s the one with a gun?
As she sat on the shoulder of the road, her vision blurred. The morning sun wasn’t too hot yet. Maybe now was a good time to nap. She didn’t want to push herself too hard.
She locked the doors and slid along the front seat, pushing her purchases from the store onto the passenger side floor.
A minute later, Sarah fell asleep with dreams of her sister, Vivian.
Chapter 25
Martin, Violeta’s driver, pulled up outside a three-story apartment building that ran the length of the block. Each apartment had a small balcony, some dotted with barbecues. But not apartment 302.
Violeta’s pet ex-cons were given enough furniture to sit and sleep on. Once they were situated, they had to earn their keep. She had promised to protect them as long as she could, but if things ever went awry, she had a plan in place to distance herself from them.
The lease was a month-to-month and it was in her husband’s name. Whatever these idiots got caught for, Oliver would be questioned and Violeta would spill the beans. It was all his fault. Everything was. She had never met the two ex-cons, she would say, except in passing.
Her word—her rich and respected citizen of the community word—against two ex-cons living in an apartment paid for by her ex-husband.
Too perfect.
“Is Derek here yet?” she asked Martin in her customary curt voice. Employees were paid for what they did, and paid well. She wasn’t their friend and this wasn’t a popularity contest. Being mean for mean sake wasn’t necessary, but neither was being nice for nice sake. They had a job to do and they were paid for that job. End of story.
“Yes, ma’am. He’s on the third floor waiting for your direction.”
“Fine. Take me up, then.”
Martin got out and opened her door.
She sighed and exited the vehicle. She followed him to the front doors of the apartment building where she inserted one of the many keys she had cut for the building.
On the third floor, Derek, her head bodyguard, waited in the stairwell.
“I thought I’d cover this exit so the ex-cons wouldn’t leave without me noticing,” Derek said as a way of explaining himself.
It irritated her when an employee prattled on like a schoolchild with an A on their report card. But they were a necessity in a world filled with stupid people.
“Good thinking,” she said and then bit her tongue. “Now, let’s go see what they’re up to, shall we?”
Derek led the way down the hall. At the door to apartment 302, Derek listened a moment, then knocked.
Violeta stayed back a few feet, the apartment key in her hand.
Derek knocked again.
She handed him the key.
Derek unlocked the door and pushed it open hard. It banged against the wall on the inside.
Martin pulled his gun.
Violeta almost slapped Derek for making so much noise. Nothing like letting the entire neighborhood know they were there.
Both men moved inside the apartment. Violeta checked the hallway, but didn’t see any nosy parkers. She stepped over the threshold and closed the door quietly.
Something banged to her right. A door smacked open on her left. Both of her men were doing what they were paid handsomely to do. Root out the rodents.
“Hey, what the—” a male voice started, but the crack of a slap cut him off.
“Violeta, come to the bedroom.” Derek’s voice.
The smell got to her first. Something overcooked. Pasta, or macaroni and cheese, was splattered on the floor outside the kitchen door. A dark liquid had spilled and splattered around it. Like red wine. Or blood.
On her way to the bedroom, she passed the living room with a used couch and a cheap television. Beer bottles littered the floor wherever pizza boxes weren’t scattered. A large glass item she thought they called a bong sat on a coffee table the ex-cons had fashioned out of boxes.
What kind of life is this?
She got to the bedroom door, covered her nose and looked inside.
Both ex-cons were sprawled out on two separate mattresses, a naked woman with each man. There were no bed covers and all their clothes were piled in heaps throughout the bedroom. Another glass bong was at the head of one of the mattresses. More beer bottles were scattered about, two of them lying on their side with large, circular dark stains on the carpet at the open neck of the bottle.
Derek had ex-con number one in a head lock.
“Let him go. He can’t breathe and he’s no good to us dead.”
Derek released him and the skinny ex-con fell back to the mattress, his eyes wide in fear.
“You haff to unnerstand,” he said, not bothering to cover his genitals. “We bin in the joint a long time. Then weeze on the street. You settin’ us up in ere was kind an all, but we needin’ some pussy, right.”
“We all have needs,” Violeta said from the door, then under her breath, “like a shower.”
“Wha?”
“We all have needs, but mine come first. Do you know why?”
The two horrid females and ex-con number two hadn’t woken up yet.
What did they take last night?
“No,” he said. “Why?”
“Because I’m the one who pays for all this, that’s why.”
He nodded vigorously. “And we like the set up.”
“Good. I’m glad you like it.”
One of the girls stirred in her sleep, her skinny legs and bony body a testament to what meth did to people. Violeta would have to have a talk with Tam about drugs next week. Maybe she would visit this apartment with Tam next time and leave her behind for a night so the ex-cons could show her what life is like on the disgusting side of the world. One night with these two scum, drinking, fucking and getting high, and Tam would realize just how good she had it at home, safe with her mother.
A new idea came to her. Maybe when Tam was eighteen in a few months she would let these two deadbeats bed her down. Show Tam a real good time. After that taste got in her mouth, Tam would forever search for a clean, fine gentleman, and never speak of her time with men like these.
Violeta decided to keep these vermin around for a while. Men like them could be useful, even if she wanted to use pliers on their limp penises to teach them a lesson. Men like this only learned from pain. Their hierarchy was built on it. The whole alpha male shit was how the other half lived. Acting macho and tough. Educated and civilized people weren’t at company barbecues trying to impress each other with whose dick was longer. It was the uneducated and uncivilized who partook in such barbaric games.
But too much pain would render these ex-cons useless to her and she needed them. Discarding them would be something to look forward to.
“Derek, Martin, get them up and dressed and bring them out to the living room. Leave the whores. I see the whores again, it’ll be in the hospital.”
She shifted her gaze to the living room and walked away.
Minutes later, her guards held one man by each arm, pants on. Ex-con number two looked half asleep, but he was on his feet and his eyes were fluttering, trying to open.
“Okay,” Violeta said. “Here’s what you have to do.”
The one Derek was holding nodded so hard, she thought he’d knock himself over.
“Before two o’clock this afternoon, I want both of you at Parkman’s home address. Do you remember where it is or do I have to remind you?�
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The ex-con stared at the ceiling for a second, then clucked his tongue and swiveled his gaze to meet her eyes.
“I got it.” He tapped the side of his head. “In here.”
“Good. I need you to go and remove the little listening devices we planted in his apartment. I need all of them. You cannot leave even one behind. Understand?”
“You mean the little electronic bug thingys?”
Who knew these idiots would know that term? She thought listening devices was the better choice so they could avoid any further wasted time on going back and forth.
Derek shrugged. Martin just held the other idiot who remained semi-conscious.
“Yes, I mean the little bugs.” It came out sounding derisive.
“What if he comes home while we’re there?”
“Then knock him out and call me, but he won’t. Parkman was last seen in Toronto, on the other side of the continent in another country, embroiled in another matter.”
“Embroiled?”
“Look, can you do what I have asked you?”
“We can do that, right Pete?” He slapped the other ex-con with his free hand, but only got a short grunt in return.
Violeta had seen enough. “You’re damn right you can do that.” She stepped closer. Ex-con number one’s eyes widened. “I spent a lot of money for this shit hole. The deal was you would do small jobs for me. You two fuckups agreed. I even said there might be periods where we could go months without a job, at which time you two were free to enjoy the apartment, the money, the booze. No one said anything about drugs and no one said you couldn’t answer the fucking phone.” She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “So clean yourself up, get dressed and go to Parkman’s house. Eat his food. Wreck the place. I don’t care. Just wait there until I call you. I need two people picked up later tonight or tomorrow and I need you two ready to do the job and not drunk or high. Is that clear?”
His head bobbed. “Unnerstood.”
She moved closer until she was only inches from his nose. The movement of Derek’s arm told her that he had tightened his grip so the punk couldn’t try anything.
“There are only two ways this goes down,” she said. “One, you work for me and enjoy your life. Or two, you don’t do what I say and I will cripple you.”
“Cripple? You mean like in speech?”
“Speech?” His logic was driving her insane. “What do you mean, speech?”
“You said cripple. Do you mean like a figure in your speech? Like, cripple us with money?”
“Are you trying to say a figure of speech?”
He nodded.
“No, crippled is not a figure of speech. I mean, literally cripple you. If you don’t answer your phone when I call, someone will come to the apartment and break your spines with a Louisville Slugger. I will order them to beat you until they sever your spinal cord. How much you anger me will dictate how far up the spine is severed.” She thought about Oliver and how he got jumped and knifed in the back. “Or maybe I’ll have them use a knife.”
“Um, ma’am, the spine is pretty protected. I used a knife on a guy once and I had a hard time with the bones.” He avoided her eyes. “It would have to be a lucky stab to paralyze someone with a knife. Maybe a sword.” He looked at her. “But with a knife, you would really have to dig. It can be done, but a bullet is the best—”
“Oh, shut up!”
Derek shook the ex-con violently.
Maybe what he was saying made sense. That’s why she used them, because they had unique skills and knowledge. Could Oliver be paralyzed from a lucky jab by streets thugs? Did Elias Kostas play her like a used fiddle to extort money?
So many things to handle in such a short time. Oliver would be here soon and Parkman was probably on his way home. As far as she could tell from her inquiries, he hadn’t been arrested in Toronto.
In the middle of the ex-con’s living room, standing amongst their filth, the feeling of being overwhelmed caused her to waver.
“Ma’am?” Derek said. “You good? You cool?”
Violeta snapped out of it, blinked, then stared at the ex-con in Derek’s arms.
“Get to Parkman’s apartment. Do your job. Then wait there for my call. I may have another job for you. Now, clean this place and yourself up and get going.”
The ex-con nodded that ridiculous bobble head again.
She walked past him and tugged on Derek’s arm. He leaned down closer to her.
“Bruise them, but make sure they can still work.”
He nodded.
By the time she made it to the hallway of the third floor and quietly shut the door to the apartment, she heard the first blows.
She smiled.
Everything was coming together after all.
Chapter 26
A buzzer sounded.
Sarah rolled in her sleep, her arm numb, then settled back down. Pins and needles coursed through her hand.
A car raced by. Then something larger. The ambulance shook with the vibration from the wind.
She opened her eyes. The buzzer sounded again.
What the hell?
A red light blinked on the dash near where the glove box was. She pushed the button.
A metallic voice said, “You can’t keep us back here forever. We only have enough food for a few more days.”
It all came back to her. The sun had moved higher, her shirt stuck to her from the swelter inside the ambulance.
She sat up slowly, favoring her tingling arm. Before going too far, she opened a can of Red Bull. It was still a little cool. The loaf of bread was close. She opened that, set it on the seat beside her, turned the vehicle on and merged into the light traffic.
The buzzer sounded again.
She turned on the radio, tuned it to a hard rock station, ate some dry bread, and downed it with Red Bull.
She had lost time, but now she was well rested. The road wasn’t busy, the driving easy. She settled back for the five-hour trip behind the wheel and thought about her horrible dream.
It didn’t make sense. She had a glimpse of a crypt. She was inside the crypt, somewhere in Italy, sitting on the other side of a desk, talking to a crazed man. She thought his name was Soprano or something. Then she tossed bullets, live ammunition, into the open fire and ducked out of the way.
Why would she do such a thing? Where were these memories coming from?
There was a feeling that the memories weren’t coming back disjointed and random, but in an organized manner, leading her somewhere.
She caught a glimpse of another image: Parkman tied to a cross in a church, crucified.
Because he had shot her in the head, that should have made her happy. But this image bothered her. Something about it wasn’t right.
As if a TV screen turned on in her mind, she watched Parkman on the cross and saw herself watching him from the pews. No happiness accompanied the image. The girl standing by the pews, the Sarah she watched, was mortified, angry, and ready to murder people because of what they had done to Parkman.
That aligned with what she already knew. He had been a friend. But since he had shot her in the head, she wanted to be the one to crucify him.
She checked her speed and mirrors. After another drink of Red Bull, she had one more piece of dry bread.
Could she have it wrong? Wasn’t it Parkman who shot her? If not, then why did she see it happen in her mind? The image of him pulling his weapon and firing from point blank range was real. Where did it come from if it wasn’t real?
She pushed on, confident she knew what she saw and trusted it because it made sense. Parkman had been a friend. A dear friend, who always had a toothpick in his mouth.
She smiled at the thought. It was something special to always remember him by.
But this dear friend had betrayed her and shot her in the head. He was working for the woman Violeta, and Violeta had hired him out of Santa Rosa. The memories were reforming, coming back to her, and just in time as she would be in
Santa Rosa soon.
One thing saddened her more than anything else. That she could be so unloved that a friend would rather see her dead.