Painkiller, Princess

by Chester Gattle

The lights flicked off, and the house went dark. Now nobody moved. The sicarios, Emmelia, Jacob, and Missy (Quincy too) fell quiet.

  Oscar then muttered, “What the fuck?”

  The back door snapped open. Light footsteps and then three silenced gunshots. Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.

  David, then Oscar, then Rubén fell to the floor dead.

  The door closed, and a fresh embrace of dog urine tickled Jacob.

  XXII.

  Day Thirteen, Still Tuesday

  Eight Dead

  Emmelia had affixed a gun with Velcro under the kitchen table. It was one of those just-in-case things. In the darkness, lying on her back, she reached up and roamed around for it as a breeze pushed through the hole in her house, mixing the scent of the woods with gunpowder and blood.

  Xiaolian had killed the sicarios (Emmelia was certain of it), and she’d be coming for Jacob next. Why the assassin hadn’t just shot him when she’d shot ROD, Emmelia had no idea, but with the cartel’s bane wounded like he was, this would be Xiaolian’s best chance.

  There it is.

  Emmelia pulled, and the Velcro tore, momentarily drowning out Jacob’s pained coughs.

  “Missy,” Jacob said with strained effort. “Missy.”

  “I’m here,” Missy whispered as she scooted across the floor to him. “Are they dead?”

  “I think so.”

  They were. Emmelia didn’t need to see anything more than the shadowy outline of their bodies to know they’d checked out for good.

  Missy helped Jacob to an upright position. He leaned back on his hands. “Emmelia?”

  She was keeping low, trying to hide under the table. “Get behind the couch,” she said. “And be quiet.”

  They waited through a full cycle of the freezer’s ice maker. The cubes clattered into the bin, and the tray was filled with water.

  “Maybe that’s it,” Emmelia finally said. Xiaolian wasn’t coming back. She was gone. Had she thought Jacob was one of the men?

  Emmelia tucked the gun into her waistband and pulled herself up off the floor and scanned the house. Five bodies.

  “Who was that?” Jacob mumbled, wetly coughing.

  “Emmelia’s DEA,” Missy said. “It was the DEA.”

  “That wasn’t DEA,” Emmelia corrected her as she snuck around the room, staying close to the walls. She peeked out the picture window. The yellow lamp at the end of her driveway revealed nothing. She scanned the stash house, catching glimpses of it through the trees; the lights were on, but there was no movement. If she checked the garage, would ROD’s SUV be gone? Had Xiaolian left? It seemed that way. But why? Maybe she’d understand it later when the adrenaline flushed from her system and she could think straight, but for now she hadn’t the slightest clue.

  Emmelia gave her phone a quick shake, and the flashlight came to life. She followed the light around the blood and the bodies to the electrical box in the garage and flipped the switches. Back inside, she told Jacob and Missy about the not-DEA-agent Xiaolian.

  “I don’t get it. You’re DEA?” Jacob pulled himself up on the couch and sat arrow straight, seemingly to keep the pressure off his rib.

  Emmelia gave him the same story she’d told Missy.

  “How long have you been undercover?” Jacob asked.

  Emmelia looked up and sighed. What would sound reasonable? In the movies, they were always complaining about their assignments being way too long, so she said, “Was supposed to be five months, but it’s been five years.”

  “Wow. I’m blown away.”

  Missy said, “Why’d Xiaolian kill them if she was working with them?”

  “No idea,” Emmelia said.

  “But the DEA will protect us now?” Missy asked.

  “Witness protection or something?” Jacob added.

  Emmelia didn’t know what to say. She was still a little surprised they were buying her ruse.

  Missy shook her head. “I don’t know about witness protection. That’s a little extreme.”

  “You don’t want that?” Emmelia asked.

  “Honestly? No.”

  “That’s fine,” Emmelia said. “There’s no budget for it anyway.”

  Jacob took a few photos of the dead sicarios.

  Missy hit his arm. “Gross. Don’t.”

  The sicarios, each of them, had been shot in the head. There were no exit wounds, but the floor was thick with a syrupy, pinkish fluid dripping from their ears, a typical result, Emmelia knew, when slugs liquefied the contents of a skull. She’d have to send some photos to Avispón; he wouldn’t believe it otherwise.

  “Pictures for Tina,” Jacob mumbled, slipping the phone into his pocket with a groan. He tested his rib, stretching side to side.

  “I think I can fix this,” Emmelia said. “Like for good. Jacob, get on the floor.” She waved her hand at an empty area near the table. “We’ll stage your death. I’ll send pictures to the cartel. They won’t know it’s not real.”

  “Until my book comes out,” Jacob said.

  Emmelia laughed. “Your book’s not coming out.”

  “Huh?”

  “Screw your book,” she said. “Now play dead.”

  “I can’t not publish it.”

  “Are you serious?” Missy said. “This is actually perfect. Get on the floor. Now.”

  “Come on,” Jacob whined. “Really?”

  Emmelia shouted, “If Avispón thinks you’re dead, that’s it. You can go home.”

  “Jacob,” Missy growled. “Do you want to publish your book, or do you want to be alive?”

  “Both?”

  Missy shook her head. “Lie down. Do it.”

  He examined the spot on the floor where Emmelia had pointed, then lowered himself to it. “My ribs,” he grumbled.

  Emmelia grinned. “Let’s make this quick.”

  As Jacob settled himself, Emmelia shifted to the pile formerly known as Tiff and Gregory. Bump’s girl was facedown, her back shredded and split open, the steam wand sunk deep between her blistered raw shoulder blades. Gregory was leaning against the wall, his chin to his chest.

  Had Emmelia known there’d been that much pent-up pressure in her little home espresso machine, she would’ve turned the damn thing off a week ago.

  Worked out, though.

  She snapped a few pictures of Tiff, then leaned in to get a shot of Gregory’s strangely peaceful face.

  Behind her, Jacob started up with a coughing fit.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Any blood?”

  He inspected his hand. “Not yet.”

  Missy sighed. “Don’t say that.”

  Emmelia turned back to Gregory. His eyes were wide open and looking at her. “Oh, shit!”

  Gregory mumbled, “Do I still get my ten grand?”

  She blinked several times. “Um, sure.”

  “Sweet.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ugh. My head fucking hurts.” His eyes settled on Tiff’s mangled corpse beside him. “What the…?” He rolled away toward the living room but stopped after a few rotations and clutched his head. “I’m going to be sick.”

  Emmelia let him be—the concussion would keep him docile for the next hour or so—and went to Jacob, who was up on his elbow, watching Gregory. “Lie down,” she said.

  On his back, arms at his sides, Jacob stared up at Emmelia. “How’s this?”

  Missy looked him over. “I wouldn’t buy it.”

  “Put an arm out,” Emmelia instructed. “And bend your leg at a funny angle.” Jacob did as asked. Emmelia shook her head. “Missy, lie facedown across his legs.” Emmelia took a step back, giving Missy room to position herself. “That’s good. But still…” She hurried off down the hall. “Stay put.”

  “What’re you doing?” Missy asked, her face an inch from the floor.

  “Blood,” Emmelia answered as she passed the still-woozy Gregory.

  “Huh?” Jacob gasped before having another coughing fit.

  Missy got up. “Blood?”

  Emme
lia returned with a dustpan and pointed at the sicarios.

  “You’re not putting their blood on us!” Missy screamed.

  “You don’t look dead.”

  “I don’t care. I’m not getting AIDS or hep or whatever they’ve got.”

  “What do you want me to do? I don’t have time for this.”

  “Use ketchup or something,” Jacob said.

  “Fine.” Emmelia tossed the dustpan aside and whipped together a concoction of ketchup, chocolate syrup, cornstarch, and water until it resembled the real thing pooled around the sicarios. “Put your head down,” she instructed Missy as she rounded the table. Holding the bowl above them, she then coated the two, carefully matching the volume of cake-batter blood to that of the sicarios.

  Gregory shuffled to the couch and watched her finish the decoration. “Is this going online?” He was speaking with a slight slur.

  Emmelia said, “Never.” She set the bowl on the table.

  Quincy sniffed at the sticky mess before giving it a taste test.

  “Sick,” Gregory blubbered.

  Emmelia shooed the pug aside and took her photos. After studying them for a moment, she said, “Yeah, that’s fine. Go wipe yourselves off.”

  Missy and Jacob drifted to the bathroom, dripping fake blood, while Emmelia texted Avispón the photos. She wrote, “Jacob White killed your men. I killed him and his girl.” She hoped he’d see the message soon. If Xiaolian was still around, he’d call her off. Until then, though, there wasn’t much else she could do.

  Except for maybe disposing of the bodies spread across her floor while it was still dark out.

  She could wrap them in plastic (there was an industrial-size roll of wrap in the basement that she used to repackage marijuana) and take them…where? Could she just dig a hole and drop them in? Dissolve them in an acid bath and then dump the slurry in the hole? Fargo them with a wood chipper?

  She’d never disposed of a body before, let alone four. In Chicago, she’d just walked away, left the body where it’d lain. Just another death, another statistic for that city of nearly three million people. But not in Duluth. She had to hide these, and hide them well. No one would be reporting the disappearances of Rubén, Oscar, David, or Tiff, so there wouldn’t be a search, but she still couldn’t have someone stumbling across bones and fragments of clothes in the woods a year from now.

  As she considered her options, she grabbed a mop and bucket from her pantry and put Gregory to work.

  “I’m too dizzy,” he said.

  She shoved the mop in his hand and went downstairs for the plastic wrap. When she returned, Gregory was leaning over the back of the couch. She dumped the wrap at his feet.

  “I’m going to pass out,” he grumbled.

  “Until you do, get to work. Penance.”

  Jacob and Missy stepped out of the bathroom in stained but no longer dripping clothes.

  Emmelia went to them. “Good,” she said. “Now get out of here.”

  “Where?” Jacob asked.

  “Minneapolis. Go home. You’re dead. You’re safe.”

  “Does the DEA have a Minneapolis office? Can you tell them about this? Maybe they can keep an eye on things?”

  Emmelia said it wasn’t necessary. “But fine. Consider it done. Don’t expect any personal visits or check-ins, though. They’re busy.”

  “I’m okay with that.”

  “And don’t you bother them.”

  “No problem. We won’t.”

  Emmelia gestured toward the door.

  Leaning around her, Jacob waved at Gregory. “See ya. Thanks, I think.”

  Gregory turned from the table, whiter than ever, and vomited.

  ~

  Everyone but Gregory stood in the driveway as the hooting of an owl made for conversation. They were watching the house across the street. Quiet and lifeless.

  Jacob, hands shoved in his pockets, said, “Sorry about all this.”

  Emmelia shrugged.

  “The DEA should give you a medal or an award.”

  “I’ll get promoted at some point.”

  “Good.” He looked up at the stars. “Wish it wasn’t the middle of the night. Would’ve stopped at the Coffee Princess one more time.”

  Emmelia smirked. “You’ll just have to come back up here.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  Missy groaned. “Maybe you won’t.”

  “She’s right,” Emmelia said. “You stay away. Keep your head down. Don’t need the cartel finding out you’re alive.”

  “I’ll definitely be taking it easy for a while.” Jacob touched his chest and drew a careful breath.

  “How’s it feel?” Emmelia asked.

  “Better. It was really hurting, but it’s mostly gone.”

  “The initial shock.” Emmelia leaned closer to Jacob and Missy. “You know not to tell anyone about me and the DEA, right?”

  “Not a word,” Jacob promised.

  Missy crossed her heart. “Not a word.”

  “How many you think you’ll arrest?” Jacob asked.

  “Couple hundred, minimum,” Emmelia said. “Stretches from Chicago to Winnipeg. It’s big. Could be a long time before anything happens, though. Another five years, at least. A lot of work left to do.”

  “Wish I could be there when it all goes down.”

  “It’s not like the movies.”

  “Still. Bet it feels good getting the bad guys.”

  Emmelia smiled.

  Missy stepped forward, arms out for a hug. “We should go. Be safe.”

  “You too.”

  Jacob extended his hand for a shake, but Emmelia gave him a hug instead, not squeezing too tightly. As she stepped back, she stared at him. “No talking about any of this. And keep your head down.”

  “Of course.”

  “Seriously,” Emmelia said. “Not a word to anyone. I can’t stress that enough. You could get me killed.”

  “I’ll never say a thing. But let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. Anything. I’d love to help.”

  “You’ve done plenty.” Emmelia sighed. “Go.”

  Missy corralled Quincy and put him in the backseat as Jacob pushed their suitcases beside the dog.

  After climbing behind the wheel, he looked up to give a final wave, but Emmelia had already stepped inside. He flipped on the headlights, illuminating the ATV. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but there was a pile of hockey gear along the wall next to it.

  Wouldn’t have figured her for a rink rat.

  But then again, he hadn’t pegged her for a DEA agent either. If she was anything like him, she probably used the open ice as an escape. He couldn’t wait until he had his shoulder surgery and got back to playing again. He really needed the release. December, he reminded himself as he backed down the driveway.

  ~

  Xiaolian was curled up on her side, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight around her legs. Her small frame plus a contortionist’s ability to shift bone in joints meant she took up very little space.

  She’d gotten to this point purely by chance. Just a glimpse of something unusual out the living-room window as she’d come up from the basement earlier. Whatever it’d been, mostly just a dark shadow, it had dipped away fast.

  The men had taken no notice, but not one to dismiss even the slightest of oddities, she’d gone to investigate, creeping around the house, peering out the windows.

  But there’d been nothing, only the empty yard and crowded woods.

  So she’d headed to the second floor. The master bedroom in the southwest corner of the house looked down on the deck and the backyard and out over the garage. Still nothing to see.

  There’d been something, though, and she popped the western-facing window open and climbed onto the garage, where she got an earful of riotous frogs and chirring, clicking, snapping insects. Walking along the edge of the garage roof, she spotted nothing but the lightning bugs blinking in the woods.

  Using the windowsill as a boost, she
climbed to the very top of the house and silently headed to the other side.

  Over the treetops to the south, the city of Duluth let off a ghostly glow; to the north, it was simply an endless expanse of starlit sky. Emmelia’s house across the street was dark and empty. The coffee lady was at her café.

  A soft wind guided Xiaolian to the back corner of the house where she laid down and inched to the edge. Below her, someone was slinking along in the landscaping. He (she was certain it was a man by his gait) glanced into the basement window, then vanished underneath the deck. The basement door clicked open.

  Xiaolian looked around the yard (the man appeared to be alone) then pushed back from the roofline and hurried to the garage, dropped down, and leapt to the grass before dashing into the woods. She circled through the brush and brambles until she had a clear sight of the basement.

  One of the back-room doors opened and the light from within spilled out, silhouetting the man. The purple Xolo—just a speck from that distance—shot like a bullet from the room and scurried up the stairs.

  Xiaolian stayed where she was, collecting rather than confronting, and when Jacob made his escape with the pug in his arms, she let him go. She followed the woods to where she could get a sightline into the living room and watched the men jumping and juking the unseen menace. As she was just about to go back inside and do what she should’ve done the moment ROD had betrayed her, Emmelia came up the driveway. Apparently the Coffee Princess wasn’t at her café.

  Emmelia opened the door and the hairless dog raced down the driveway before bolting up the street toward the turnaround like it knew exactly where it intended to go.

  Xiaolian turned back to the house as Emmelia made her way into the basement. Before fully descending, she said something to Oscar to get him to return to the top step.

  At least she knows who she’s dealing with.

  Upon her return, ROD spoke with her for a minute, then watched her leave. They had a discussion among themselves that inevitably led to a few gut punches before Rubén and David went to the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets.

  Oscar stood alone in the living room, looking around for a moment, before he turned and walked out the front door. When Rubén and David came back and saw he’d left them, they tossed the bags of chips and pretzels aside, and went across the street after him.