by Layton Green
Go to school for global finance. Help run the family empire. Report to him every day. Marry whom he says. Buy the house he picks. Every last detail of her life planned out.
Why couldn’t she just walk away?
She asked herself that question every single day.
But she didn’t have the courage, either for running away or confrontation, so she had chosen a different, timeless route of protest: rebellion.
The drug money came easy. It felt good to earn something for herself, real money, and thumb her nose at her father (silently) in the process. Imagine if he knew! It was almost as good as telling him off to his face!
Bentley had set her up with the supply. She had a nose for business and plenty of friends to get started, and her reputation spread from there.
That was supposed to be it. The extent of her foray into crime. But then she sat in on a family meeting and heard her father talking about some old farmer who was ready to sell Carroll Street Homes, a property she knew her father had coveted for some time. Purely to antagonize him, she passed the opportunity on to Bentley, and he conceived the idea to buy it at any cost, knowing he could flood the trailer park with crime until the Creekville City Council changed the zoning.
The family had a vast investment portfolio, but with the factories long shuttered, Mackenzie’s father made most of his new money from property development. She would hit him where it hurt. Steal an investment in his own backyard. She would tell him about it one day, too. Right before she walked out with all her drug money and started a new life someplace else. She would beg her mother to come, but that would never happen. Her mother’s tea bag had steeped for far too long, the golden handcuffs twisted so tight she couldn’t twitch a muscle.
Rebellion became sedition, and nothing Mackenzie had ever done had felt quite so good. Now, sitting in that white-walled interview room with the detective, in one of those moments of true reflection that sprang from hitting rock bottom, she was self-aware enough to know she had done these things to get her father’s attention as much as hurt him. She both loved and hated him, just as she did herself.
And she despised him all the more because of it. He didn’t deserve an ounce of her love.
It was all going well until that fateful night at the restaurant. Bentley came in now and again, when he wanted to impress a girl. Take her away from the mean streets of East Durham and ply her with steaks and ambiance. It was how he and Mackenzie had met. She had waited on him a few times, heard about his reputation on the street, and approached him one night on the patio, when he had come in alone and stayed until closing. Had he known at the time ? Sensed her vulnerability and wanted her to approach him? She wouldn’t put it past him.
They hashed out their new arrangement on a cocktail napkin, which he burned in the candle flame flickering inside a mason jar in the center of the table. He rarely came in after that, but she met him in other places from time to time, always at his request. He avoided public recognition, didn’t need flash and attention like other gangsters. He had never made a pass at her or asked her to do anything she didn’t want to do.
Not until David.
A handsome kid, sure, but just a high school student. A busboy over the summer. Mackenzie knew he had a major crush on her, and he was a good listener, but he was not in her orbit. Not when it came to dating.
Still, they talked much more than anyone knew. Whenever she needed a friendly ear, or a dinner companion, he would meet her at the drop of a dime. One night in late September, unbeknownst to her, he had parked in the employee lot behind the restaurant, waiting for her shift to end. Feeling restless, he had left his Jeep and used a young crepe myrtle to climb atop the roof. He lay on his back and contemplated the starry sky as well-heeled diners bit into filet mignons and consulted the sommelier. He told her all this later, before his death.
This happened to be a night that Bentley himself had driven to meet Mackenzie and talk business. As David lurked overhead, unseen in the darkness and wondering what the fancy black Navigator was doing behind the restaurant, Mackenzie popped out during her shift, responding to Bentley’s text. Before David had a chance to react, Bentley lowered his window, puffed on a cigar, and talked in a low voice—but not too low for David to hear—in the otherwise empty back lot.
David didn’t hear much. Mackenzie would argue that point later, with Bentley, after he gave his terrible order. Only then would she understand just how merciless and vicious the crime lord was, so domineering he made her father seem like a timid, weak-willed minion.
She was never quite sure how Bentley knew David was there. David claimed he never made a sound, but Bentley said he heard a scuff on the roof after the conversation, ran the plates in the parking lot, and figured it out. However it happened, David himself confirmed it, when he confronted Mackenzie about her life of crime.
That was the worst thing of all. Despite how besotted the kid was, he didn’t ignore what he had heard or tell her it was cool.
He tried to convince her to stop working for Bentley.
He tried to make her a better person.
Even now, the knowledge made her shudder.
The next night, Bentley invited Mackenzie to his house for the first time. Down in his basement, after plying her with expensive cognac, he told her that David had overheard their conversation and said she had to kill him.
Had she heard correctly?
Kill him? Me?
Hell, no, she said.
Oh yes, he replied, in that chill-inducing voice, as hard as it was well mannered. You will indeed. You will do it in this way, and with this gun, on the very next night he comes to see you.
It was all so dreamy, she thought. Unreal. She wasn’t going to kill anyone. She wasn’t going to kill David.
But if she didn’t, Bentley said he would kill David himself, and frame her, and make sure she went to prison for the rest of her life.
How can you threaten me like that? she had said. I’ll just tell them you set me up.
His answer to that was a long, booming laugh.
Eventually she agreed. What choice did she have ? He wouldn’t let her go, and she would say whatever it took to get out of that basement. Except before she left, the last thing he did was make her watch the video he had just recorded.
The one where Mackenzie had vowed to kill David.
So you see, Bentley had said, it is all ready for you. The boy is already dead. Your only choice is whether you will choose to live the rest of your life in freedom or rot in jail.
Except her freedom, she knew as soon as she left that evil house, was already gone. Bentley owned her now.
Please, Mackenzie had begged David in her mind. Leave town or quit school or run away to Siberia. Don’t ever come to see me again.
What happened next was a blur. Everything moved so quickly. David came to see her a few nights later, the night of October 2. He usually respected the barrier between them, the one where she called him if she wanted to see him, but that night he came into the restaurant distraught about his mother. They had just had a huge fight. He loved Claire very much but hated her relationship with Brett. David knew why she was dating him and despised the situation. They didn’t need the money, he kept telling his mother. Just each other. Just their love. They could live in a trailer in Carroll Street Homes for all he cared. Just don’t be a whore because of me.
David said he had told his mother exactly that, and she had slapped him. Hurt and angry, he jumped in his Jeep and fled to the restaurant, where he begged Mackenzie to go somewhere with him, anywhere. When she walked him to his Jeep, thinking only of what she had to do, he said he wanted to be more than friends. They had to go somewhere and talk it out, he said. Tonight. After her shift.
Her cell had buzzed, and she turned away to read it.
She swallowed. Oh God. He’s watching.
Moving as if in a dream, she told David to meet her in half an hour behind his house, so they could take a moonlit
walk in the woods. He had taken her to his house once before, when his mother was away, and showed her the path in the backyard. This was Bentley’s idea. He wanted someplace David would feel secure, but isolated enough for Cobra to clean up the mess.
Mackenzie hated the crime lord’s devious mind. She kept telling herself she wouldn’t do it. There had to be another way out of this nightmare. Yet half an hour later, one of Bentley’s associates dropped her off at the edge of Carroll Street Homes, and she found herself slipping through the woods to David’s house.
How’dyou get here? he asked in surprise, when he left the house to meet her.
Uber. Didn’t you see?
Nope, but I was showering. Why didn’t you knock?
I wasn’t sure about your mother.
He waved a hand. She’s out cold. What’s in the backpack?
Just a few clothes. Her lips curled. In case I need a change in the morning. Didn’t you say your mother never goes in your room?
He slipped an arm behind her back, pulling her in for a kiss, but she pulled away and traced a finger across his lips. Let’s see about that midnight stroll. The woods are sexy at night. She patted the backpack. I might have a blanket in here too.
David grinned. In that case, we’re gonna need some refreshments. He took her by the hand and, before she could protest, led her through the back door into the house. Mom takes a handful of pills every night. She wouldn’t know if an elephant came through.
As he grabbed a bottle of Four Roses bourbon from the study, Mackenzie was both terrified someone would see her and elated by the delay. She wanted a way out, she really did. She wanted his mom to wake up or the cops to come or a tree to fall on the house.
But she knew deep down, without a doubt, that Bentley would kill David no matter what happened. David had heard him discussing business and seen the crime lord’s car, maybe even his face. He could put him away. A chink in Bentley’s armor who couldn’t be allowed to live.
On the way out of the house, David locked up and took Mackenzie by the hand, leading her into the woods, never noticing the nine millimeter she had tucked into her jeans underneath her baggy sweater. When they reached the appointed spot in the clearing, she stopped and took him by the face, kissing him long and hard. At the end of the kiss, unable to help herself, she started sobbing.
Why are you crying?
I just... you’re just so good to me. So kind.
I like you too.
No, you don’t understand.
Understand what?
David . . .
Talk to me. We’ve always been able to talk. This doesn’t change anything.
I’m sorry, she whispered. So very sorry.
Sorry? Why? He lifted her chin and smiled. For not doing this sooner?
Tears poured down her cheeks. Yes, that. Very much that.
He gently wiped her eyes. Is it the drugs? I forgive you, you know. And I know why you’re doing it. But you have to stop. Your dad isn’t worth it.
Oh, David.
You’re only hurting yourself
When he leaned in to kiss her again, she shot him in the stomach. It felt like an out of body experience, as if someone else had taken control of her hand and pulled the trigger.
In disbelief, he moaned and staggered back from the force of the bullet, right before the pain hit him like a wrecking ball. As she dropped the gun and went to him, unable to follow through, her entire body shaking as she helped him to the ground, Cobra glided out of the trees as smooth and silent as a shadow.
Move, he said.
We don’t have to do this, she begged. He won’t tell anyone.
I said move.
No. I won’t.
He nodded at her backpack. You were supposed to put the tarp down. There’s blood everywhere.
I forgot. Don’t do this. Don’t kill him.
Unable to cope, she buried her head in David’s back, still holding him from behind. In disgust, Cobra jerked her away by the hair and tossed her aside.
Then he stood over David and shot him in the head.
41
As Preach stood in front of Claire’s cell and unlocked the door, all he could see was an image of the last night he had spent with Ari, making love as rain slashed the windows, the rise and fall of her chest as she slept, thunder rattling the panes, his gaze lingering on the sharp angles and delicate curves of her face, the fine-boned features radiating strength and mystery and integrity, a woman he loved inside and out.
How could he have been so stupid?
“You’re free to go,” he said to Claire.
She sat up on her cot, blinking the sleep away. It was 6 a.m. Sunday morning. Preach had spent the night at the station, dealing with Mackenzie and the aftermath, unable to sleep as the adrenaline ebbed. “What happened?”
“Mackenzie confessed.”
“Mackenzie ? David’s Mackenzie ?”
As Preach gave her an abbreviated version of the story, Claire’s face turned whiter and whiter, until she clenched the bedsheet and jumped to her feet. “That bitch. I can’t believe . . . oh God, Joe. Oh my God.”
He held the cell door open while she sobbed, understanding the power of closure. He didn’t try to comfort her, and she didn’t ask him to.
When she calmed, she dried her eyes and shrugged into a gray sweater. “You kept investigating, didn’t you? After I was arrested?”
“I did.”
“Why did you believe me ?”
“Just a gut instinct.”
“Well,” she said, tossing her hair and lacing her pink designer tennis shoes before she stepped into the hallway, “thanks.” She said it in a flippant manner, almost coldly.
“It’s my job.”
“I still can’t believe you arrested me” she said, with a shake of her head.
He shut the cell door behind her. “Is that right?”
“I just, you know.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“I didn’t think you would do it.”
“You mean because I was in love with you?”
“I wouldn’t go that far . . . maybe lust is a better term?”
He pressed his lips together, nodding. “You think you’re pretty special, don’t you?”
“I just did what a mother had to do. To get justice for my son.” “You think I worked the case because I was attracted to you?”
“No, I think you worked it harder because of that.” She took a step closer and laid a hand on his arm. “Didn’t you?”
He pulled his arm away. “I’d say we’ll see each other around, but we probably won’t.”
“It was nothing personal, Joe.”
He smiled at her, soft and knowing. “I finally figured it out, you know” “Figured out what?”
“You still want to know why I believed you?”
“Sure,” she said, her voice cold and distant once again.
“Something about your involvement in the case—about you in general—always struck me as off. I never could put my finger on what it was until last night. I’m a detective, see. I’m trained to look for incongruities. Contradictions. You’re a very good actress, Claire, but what kills any great lie is a kernel of truth that shines through. In my world, it’s usually guilt. But in your case, I realized the only thing about you that was genuine was your grief.”
After seeing Claire out, Preach went back to the holding cells to check on Blue. She was still sleeping soundly, curled on her side like a child.
It struck him how young and brave she was. He wished he could do something to improve her circumstances, to bring back her father, but maybe this experience would be a wake-up call to her mother.
He decided to let Blue sleep, but he made a vow to do something for her that very day.
Just as soon as he got some rest.
Because he had a feeling he would need it.
Later that evening, as the fading sunlight backlit the horizon, whorls of pink dancing through wispy banks of clouds, Preach
parked outside Bentley Montgomery’s two-story house in East Durham. He was out of his jurisdiction, but he didn’t care. It was not meant to be a visit made in his official capacity.
This one was personal.
One of Bentley’s black-suited goons opened the door. Preach flashed his badge right away to ward off trouble. “I’m here to see Bentley.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“Just tell him it’s Detective Everson.”
The bodyguard closed the door. When it opened a few minutes later, Bentley himself stepped outside, dressed in dark slacks, a purple dress shirt, and an ankle-length wool overcoat. “Walk with me, Detective.”
“Where to ?”
Bentley had already left the front stoop. “To see the neighborhood. Unless you’re too afraid of East Durham to take a little stroll?”
Preach stuffed his hands in the pockets of his double-breasted overcoat. “Lead on.”
A few inches taller than Preach, thicker even than the bodyguard, Bentley patted his ample belly and said, “I have to work in my evening constitutional, and I thought it might be good for you to visit your own backyard.”
“I know East Durham.”
“Do you now?” he chuckled, as they started down a sidewalk warped by tree roots. “Or do you just know the pimps and pushers you arrest?”
“Speaking of arrests, Cobra has stabilized.”
“Who ?” Bentley said.
Preach didn’t give him the benefit of a reaction. “I’ll be interviewing him in the morning. Durham PD gets him next.”
When Preach glanced over at Bentley, he was chilled by the utter lack of concern in his eyes.
“That house right there,” Bentley said, pointing at a tiny bungalow with windows covered with shredded plastic, “belongs to the widow of a war veteran. The government says they overpaid on her husband’s disability. They’re claiming a hundred grand in back benefits. She’s eighty- five and works two jobs, because neither employer gives her any health benefits. Slave labor, is what it is.”