Mariana bit her lip. “No.” she said.
“You’re lying,” Jessi accused. “I can tell.”
“Okay. He’s been there, but...”
“You’re going to have to do something about this sooner or later,” Jessi warned. “You know that, right?”
“Hm, maybe,” Mariana avoided the question. Then projecting her usual optimism she said, “It’s no big deal. I can handle it.”
“Until he kills you!”
“Look,” Mariana said. “You don’t need to worry about me. In a few days it’ll all be over.” Instantly, she kicked herself. This is what she’d been afraid would happen. She hadn’t meant to say it; the words had just sort of slipped out. A subconscious effort to quell the grilling from Jessi, she supposed.
“And how do you know that?”
Sighing Mariana said, “I just know.”
“Okay. Now you’ve got me worried,” Jessi breathed. “What did you do?”
“What makes you think I did anything?” Mariana protested.
“You wouldn’t be so confident this would be over in a few days unless you knew something,” Jessi pointed out.
“All you need to know,” Mariana said, “is that it’ll all be over soon.”
“Why do I have to drag every bit of information out of you?” Jessi lamented. “I am your friend, you know. And you can trust me.”
Mariana took another deep breath. This is exactly what she’d wanted to avoid. She should’ve known better. She did know better. Yet, for some reason she’d tried to buffalo her friend anyway. “Okay,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll tell you. I hired a guy to get rid of him.” The words came in a rush, like she found them distasteful and wanted to get it over with.
“Get rid of him?” Jessi sounded suspicious. “How?”
“You know, just get rid of him.”
“Permanently? As in dead?”
“Yes.”
“You hired a hit man?” Jessi was incredulous. “What were you thinking?”
“It was your idea,” Mariana reminded her.
“I was joking.” Jessi said in dismay. “I didn’t expect you to actually do it.”
“You also said I was going to have to do something sooner or later. Well, I did.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant. What happens when you get caught?”
“I don’t plan on being caught,” said Mariana dryly.
“No, not until the guy you hired tries to blackmail you. What are you going to do then?”
“He won’t,” Mariana replied confidently. “He owes me a favor.”
“Well, I’d say that his debt is paid,” Jessi remarked. “And someday, he’ll decide it’s you who owes him.”
“No. We have an ongoing deal. As long as I’m the D.A., he’ll never face any charges in Lincoln County.”
“Who is this guy?” Jessi exclaimed “Mr. Mafia?”
“Sort of,” Mariana said.
“You’ll regret this,” Jessi predicted. It was obvious she didn’t approve, though she was a little reluctant to condemn her friend for it. She knew Mariana had been through a lot and understood her plight, just not her thinking.
“Maybe,” Mariana didn’t sound convinced. She was still fuming and berating herself for bringing it up at all. Jessi was smart enough to keep her mouth shut; still, she would have preferred that no one knew anything.
“I knew there was something going on,” Jessi said. “And you tell me there’s nothing to worry about!”
“You’re the one who wanted to know,” Mariana told her.
Jessi tried to talk her friend out of going through with the deal, but Mariana informed her it was too late. Before hanging up Jessi said, “Call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks, but by tomorrow I should be doing just fine. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”
Mariana had finished the conversation sitting in her driveway. Now she got out of the car and as had become her routine, circled the house before going in, checking for signs of unwanted visitors. Seeing nothing out of place she started to unlock the door when she noticed a white envelope taped to the knocker. Perplexed, she snatched it up, frowning slightly as she read the return address. “Thurston Plumbing.” The rest of the envelope was blank. Plainly, it was not from Ethan.
“What would a plumber be doing here?” she muttered sliding her key into the lock. Laying the envelope on the back of her chair, the absent-minded attorney forgot about it and began fixing supper. Half an hour later, suddenly remembering the strange envelope, she hurried back to the living room and scooped it up. Tearing the end off, she discovered a handwritten note inside. With another puzzled frown, she read the short message.
“Sorry we missed you. Please call to reschedule.” It was signed “John. Thurston Plumbing.”
A little confused, Mariana stared at the paper. She hadn’t made an appointment with anyone, especially a plumber! Was this another of Ethan’s pranks? Shrugging, she returned to the kitchen. Talk about jumping to conclusions! Maybe the plumber had made a legitimate mistake and simply stopped at the wrong house. It certainly wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine that happening given the ineptitude of most businesses these days.
Dropping the envelope and note into the trash she went back to her cooking. And her thinking. Maybe Jessi was right. Okay, there was no maybe about it, Jessi was definitely right. But that didn’t change her predicament. So, it was either go through with this, or put up with Ethan’s shenanigans for the rest of her life. Always with the very real possibility of him telling what he knew hanging over her head. This way certainly eliminated that. And still, she knew Jessi was right.
She was only trading one set of problems for another. Frankie could easily spill his guts anytime he chose. Yet, he didn’t have thirty or so color pictures to back up his story. And he clearly benefited from their pact as much as she did, probably more. So, he shouldn’t be too inclined to rat her out and throw all of that away. Additionally, he wouldn’t be constantly harassing her; at least she thought he wouldn’t. That was definitely a huge plus in her favor!
While her decision may not have been a moral or ethical one, she felt it was the correct one for her situation. The only choice she had, she kept telling herself. The lesser of two evils. Besides, as she had told Jessi, it was a little too late to change it now. By this time, Frankie Arimante had surely located Ethan again. Maybe the guy was already dead.
She felt neither remorse nor joy at the thought, though an immense hopeful relief did accompany it. Undeniably, the prospect had her in good spirits.
Supper was done and Mariana still contemplated her dilemma. Analyzing the quandary she was in served only to intensify her anger. Ultimately, the bottom line was she simply didn’t care if the action she’d taken was right or wrong. Life isn’t fair. Everyone loses at times. She’d had her share of troubles, like everyone else. At the moment however, she was winning, or thought she was anyway. As long as that was the case, she intended to press on and take full advantage of it. Ethan could bite the bullet, so to speak, and take it like a man.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A new house offers a wealth of possibilities and Ethan was reveling in the experience. The cozy one-bedroom home was a far cry from the ten by ten stone cell, and a major improvement over the tiny hotel room. The fenced backyard and lilac trees reminded him of Jenna and then his sons, Austin and Cody. They would have loved this place. The inside of the house was exceptionally clean, and smelled of new carpet and fresh paint. For over an hour, Ethan explored every nook and cranny, before finally returning to the living room. The house was perfect, except for one thing. Furniture. The lack of it left the rooms empty and bare. Kind of lonely.
Not much could be done about the loneliness he decided. He’d left the only prospect of having a companion, Lacy, eighty-five miles away in another town. Briefly entertaining the pleasant thought of the gorgeous saleslady, who had seemed interested in him, he scowled, knowing it would never work out
. Not yet anyway. Not until his business with Mariana with finished. Maybe then he could think of finding a girlfriend and having a life. Just when that might be, he didn’t know.
For now, he chose to ignore the feeling and contented himself brainstorming over interior designs. The windows needed curtains, and the brightly painted walls were practically begging for something, anything, to be displayed on them.
He smiled a happy and contented smile, and slowly nodded approvingly. He was going to like living here. Already, despite the foreboding nature created by the emptiness, he felt quite at home.
As cozy as the place was though, and as much as he liked it, in no way could it compare to the style and comfort of the home where he and Jenna had lived. His lighthearted mood suddenly turned sour as he recalled his real purpose in renting the house and why he’d left the hotel.
One person bore the blame for it all, and it sure wasn’t him! Thanks to her, his family would never see this place. And, he’d never see them. He looked wistfully out the window, to the scene outside. Mariana was still free, just like everyone else out there. And no matter what he did, or as much as he tormented her, that’s the way she would remain, free and easy, with nothing to ever bother her. Unless he decided to end this by killing her. That was becoming more of an inviting possibility all the time.
He suffered no delusional misconceptions that he’d ever be able to prove his case to a judge, or that he’d ever even have the chance to try. There could be no legal recourse. The one cold hard fact he’d learned from this whole insane experience was that the justice system was nothing but a farce. Justice was nowhere to be found when a rouge court wielded its power to effect its own desired outcome of a case.
Scrapping the whimsical idea of shopping for home furnishings, Ethan instead drove downtown looking for contractors. Plumbers, electricians, carpenters; it didn’t matter what they were as long as they made house calls. He didn’t need any work done; he planned to send a parade of nonstop filthy construction workers traipsing to Mariana’s door. He’d already made one such appointment with a plumber just to test the water, so to speak. But he had a lot more of the same in mind. More trivial shenanigans. But then, as long as they had the desired effect on Mariana, they weren’t so trivial at all.
He could easily have used the computer to do his searching, having set it up on the floor in his new home, but this way he was able to reacquaint himself with his old hometown. A lot had changed in the last sixteen years and parts of the community were almost like a new city. Yet, many of the memorable characteristics were still there.
Armed with a pen and paper, he drove up and down the streets, jotting down any place he saw that would fit his plan. The chore consumed the rest of the morning, and most of the afternoon. By four o’clock, he had over seventy businesses on his list.
Oblivious to the growing hunger pangs and his growling stomach, Ethan sorted through the papers as he drove home. There would be plenty of time for eating and furnishing the house after he’d made a few phone calls.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, papers spread out in front of him, one by one, he dialed the numbers from the list. Checking off the names as he went, Ethan scheduled a total of seventeen appointments for Mariana. Figuring that would keep her busy for awhile, he laid papers aside and set out on another excursion in his quest to find a decent restaurant.
It was another futile endeavor.
His new house still needed furniture and hoping to have better luck with that than finding a restaurant, he stopped at the first department store on the way home. Caught up in the frenzied excitement, he spent nearly twice what he planned. Besides the furniture, he found there were many other things the house would need; curtains, bath towels, dishrags, the list seemed endless. The amount at the register was depressing. At the rate he’d been going through money lately, he’d be out of funds in a few short months.
“I’m really going to have to find a job,” he grumbled as the stark realization began to sink in. Not only did he need money to live, but more importantly, to finance his personal war against Mariana. But, he still had a while before it became a necessity, and he gladly pushed the troubling thought from his mind.
With a little ingenuity in packing, he was able to load all of the boxes of ready to assemble furniture into his car. Then remembering he had no tools, he made another trip into the store before heading home.
Unloading and carrying his treasures into the house took well over an hour. He stacked the boxes in the living room and, pausing to catch his breath, looked over his newly acquired treasures; an entertainment center, kitchen table and chairs, a computer desk, nightstand, and a bookshelf, as well as several smaller pieces. The quality of this furniture was greatly lacking, as the label “Made in China” made abundantly clear, but it would do for now.
First, he tightened up the bolts on his bed and then turned his attention to the other furniture. It looked like a long night of work but he didn’t mind. He approached the job with more enthusiasm than he’d had in quite awhile and decided it was due to the fact he would be doing something for himself for a change.
Deciphering the poorly written instructions turned out to be not nearly as much fun as he’d imagined. Sorting through hundreds of nuts, bolts, screws, and other fasteners, along with dozens of pieces of hardware, was both tedious and time-consuming. But it did keep him occupied. Finishing the dining room table and chairs first, he eyed the entertainment center. By far, it was the largest and most complicated item he’d bought. Which meant, it would take the most time to complete. Shrugging, he knelt and began opening the cardboard box.
“I’ll never get it done if I don’t start,” he said in his most philosophical voice.
Sliding the pre-cut boards out of the box, Ethan stacked them against the wall, leaving the center of the floor clear for working. Tearing open the bag of fittings, he studied the directions and arranged the assortment of pieces. Methodically, he began tapping the cams and cam locks into the pre-drilled holes.
The peaceful night was suddenly broken by the sound of the living room picture window shattering, followed immediately by a sharp thud coming from the wall only inches behind him. A startled look on his face, Ethan’s reaction was delayed only a fraction of a second. Without having time to think about what he was doing, he stared for a brief moment into the empty black space, where the window had been. Then, as the realization of what just happened settled into the gray matter inside his skull, he dove headlong for the hallway. He hadn’t heard a shot, but it had definitely been a bullet, that had smashed through the windowpane and then embedded itself in the wall. A bullet clearly intended for him!
Heart pounding, nerves on edge and his mind racing, Ethan lay perfectly still on the carpeted floor of the hall. Wondering if his unknown assailant would appear to check the success of his shot, or to make another attempt, Ethan subconsciously held his breath. Either way, he needed to be ready.
Hearing the ominous sound of crunching leaves, he tensed, expectantly waiting for the gunman to reveal himself. Slowly, warily, and as quietly as possible, he stood to his feet, careful to keep his body out of sight. From his vantage point in the darkened hall, only six feet from the broken window, he positioned himself as close to the doorway as he could. Still clutching the hammer he’d been using on the furniture, he raised it over his head as he heard the gunman climbing over the windowsill.
Though he desperately wanted to have a look, he dared not a peek around the corner. Patience was the key to staying alive. Still, he was dying to see who it was that had tried to kill him.
Listening as the heavy footsteps grew nearer; he tried to visualize the location of the intruder. Armed with only a hammer, his strike had to be perfectly timed. To act too quickly would expose his body to the gunman. Any delay, would net the same result. Either way, he’d be dead. There would be no second chance.
Thanks to his placement of the lamp, the dark shadow on the opposite wall helped him judge when to make his
move. Like a mountain lion poised to pounce on an unsuspecting prey, he held his ground until the last possible moment, and then sprang into action.
The intruder was approaching from his left, and taking a single step forward, Ethan swung the hammer with as much force as he could muster. With only a split second to identify the target and aim his weapon, he acted without hesitation.
The impact of the hammer blow connecting with the man’s skull sent the body of the attacker reeling. Sprawling face down into a motionless heap on the floor, the man made no sound. The pistol he’d clutched in his right hand fell harmlessly to the carpeted floor. Ethan kicked it out of reach, keeping his attention on the body, which still had not moved. Worried the gunman may not have been alone; a cautious Ethan again retreated into the protective recess of the hallway, out of the light and away from the window. Warily, he kept his eyes glued to the lifeless form lying on the living room floor.
Waiting a full ten minutes, and then halfway convinced no one else was present, and confident man inside his house no longer posed a danger, he bent to his hands and knees. Staying low, he ventured forward. Shaking the body, and getting no response, Ethan felt for a pulse. There was none. And there was no breathing. The man was dead!
Surprisingly, only a tiny trickle of blood ran slowly from the gash on the man’s head where the hammer had wickedly sunk deep into the scalp. The seeping blood trailed down the man’s cheek and soaked into to the carpet. Though at a loss as to what to do for a minute or two, Ethan didn’t panic. Searching through his shopping bags, he found the curtains for the living room window. Wasting no time, he removed the rod from the wall and attached the curtains, hanging them over the open window. The thin material didn’t offer much protection, but it did give him a little privacy by keeping the neighbors, or anyone else who happened to be passing by, from seeing the dead man lying conspicuously on his living room floor.
That taken care of, Ethan examined his attacker—or victim. The man appeared to have been approximately his own height, but was more heavyset, with black hair and a mustache. His skin was olive toned. The stereotypical description of a mobster.
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