Fear is not your friend when you’re hanging from a smooth rail. Fear makes you sweat. It makes your palms sweat. Evan’s palms were very sweaty. And the rail was already wet from the rain. His grip was slipping.
Then, above the wind and Ira’s desperate shouts below him, came a noise that made his blood run cold, worries about his grip already forgotten—the first protesting creak from the grab rail.
Lauren heard it too. It snapped her out of the catatonic stupor that had seized her, galvanized her into action. She leapt to her feet, dived down the aisle, the angle of the floor tipping her forwards, bouncing her off the side. She tumbled into the cockpit, grabbed Eckert by the shoulder and pulled him gently out of the way.
She leaned across him, took hold of the yoke, shuddering at the feel of it, slick with his blood. Gradually, expertly, her eyes never leaving the instruments, she brought the plane back to level flight, only then pulling back to stop the descent.
Eckert moaned weakly, drifting back into consciousness. He startled at her presence leaning across him before he realized what was happening.
‘We were going into a spiral,’ she shouted above the wind noise.
He nodded weakly.
‘I’ve got it now.’
His voice was so quiet she didn’t catch the words but his hands on the yoke told her he understood what had happened. She squeezed his hand gently. How long would he last before he passed out again? She looked to the back. Evan’s grip wouldn’t survive another sharp roll.
She was wasting time.
‘I’ve got it,’ he said again, his voice stronger.
Evan didn’t have time to wait for her. Another creak from the grab rail turned his insides to ice water. Then he felt something that sent a wave of relief and guilt coursing through his veins. Ira’s grip slipped on his ankle.
He looked down into Ira’s face staring up at him, the fear distorting his features until he looked barely human. He saw Arturo’s mutilated face reflected in the hysterical eyes, saw handcuffs swaying gently on a rail in the back of a van that smelled of human excrement and urine, saw Eckert crucified across the aircraft doorway, his fingernails torn out. He pictured himself, side by side with Lauren, forced at gunpoint to kneel in that same doorway by the man whose eyes begged him now to save him. And he knew that if the roles were reversed Ira would kick shamelessly at the hand that gripped his ankle, hacking viciously at the broken fingers until they came free. But despite every vile image and knowing thought that swamped his mind and tore at his heart he still couldn’t let Ira fall to his death without one last effort.
He drew his stomach tight, core muscles clenched hard as steel. Sucking in a massive breath, he absorbed the oxygen deep into his lungs, felt it sledding through his veins, every nerve end crackling. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, he embraced the images in his mind, finding courage in the face of their depravity, as he drew up his leg, muscle and bone and ligament and sinew shrieking in protest.
An inch, two inches, then six, his whole body vibrating with the effort. With his right hand he gripped the grabrail as if he was trying to squeeze blood from it, then uncurled the fingers of his left hand and let go.
He thrust his left arm down towards Ira as his leg rose up inch-by-inch to meet it. His fingers were still three inches from his foot when Ira threw out his flailing left arm and caught Evan’s wrist in a death grip.
Above them the grab rail screeched as screws pulled through the aluminium shell of the plane.
Ira panicked at the sound.
Faster than the eye could follow he let go of Evan’s ankle and clamped his right hand on top of his left on Evan’s wrist.
It was a mistake that would cost him his life.
A foot is bigger than a hand, harder to slip through fingers. And wet skin lubricated by sweat is more slippery than the wet denim of a pair of old jeans.
Immediately Ira’s grip slipped.
Evan saw in his eyes the realization of his mistake, the indecision. And then he saw something else. Resignation. Acceptance of the fact that it didn’t make the slightest difference whether he tried to hold onto Evan’s wrist with both hands or grab his ankle again. He was going to die come what may.
His fingers slipped a second time, another inch closer to freefall. And once it had started, it couldn’t be stopped. His nails dug deep into Evan’s flesh, raking through it, drawing blood, an involuntary reaction, a natural instinct hard-wired into every living thing.
All at once the burning pain in Evan’s flesh was gone as Ira chose to release his grip, the final acceptance of what could not be changed, an attempt at dignity in the choice to let go.
He tried to shout something to Evan but the wind stole his words. No matter, Evan read them on his lips.
A second later he was gone, freefalling to his certain death.
Evan shot his left arm up, got his fingers around the rail. The sudden impact was too much, the final straw for the rail’s fixings. Steel screws ripped through aluminum, surrendered their hold.
It was too late.
Too late for fate to have its wicked way.
The plane had already banked hard to the right as Lauren finally made up her mind, took decisive action. The grab rail pulled out of the roof. Evan hung suspended, understanding in some small way what Ira had felt a second earlier. Then he dropped liked a stone into the welcome of the large exit door now directly under him, head over heels into the wall on the other side.
Chapter 56
‘WOW! THE JERUSALEM TAVERN,’ Guillory said as Evan held the door open for her. ‘Who’d want a trip to Baltimore when you can have a night out here?’
‘Exactly. Anyway, you wouldn’t have liked it. It rained the whole time. And you don’t like flying at the best of times. You’d have freaked out in that jump plane.’
‘Right,’ she said as they got settled at the bar.
He did the translation as he ordered the beers. Right meant they’d never have ended up in that situation if she’d been there. She was doing him a favor not spelling it out.
‘Did you ask Lauren where she’s been for the past five years?’ she said.
‘She spent a lot of it in Europe.’
‘And how are they getting along now she’s back?’
He knew what she was doing.
‘Well, you know, like two perfect strangers after five years apart. Feeling their way.’
She nodded, not looking at him, took a swallow of beer.
‘Uh-huh.’
He translated that one too. Uh-huh meant just like you and Sarah if you ever see her again. They watched each other over their beer bottles in the mirror behind the bar, silly grins on their faces. She broke the silence first.
‘Okay speed dial—’
‘Speed dial?’
‘Yeah. That’s my new name for you. As in the Grim Reaper’s got your number on speed dial. One day soon he’s going to get through. You want to tell me what happened in that plane?’
He stretched, his stomach tightening just thinking about it, and started to talk her through it. He’d barely got two words out when she interrupted him.
‘What happened to Eckert?’
He took a long swallow of beer before he answered which pretty much answered for him.
‘He didn’t make it. There was nothing we could do for him. He died while we were still in the air. I don’t know how he lasted so long.’
‘Same as you, probably. Just plain ornery.’
He didn’t bother trying to deny it. He might need that breath another time.
‘At least it means Valentine Waits is going to be busy for a while. Your friends in Organized Crime will have a field day when they get hold of what was in Eckert’s safe deposit box.’
She wasn’t really listening, her brow furrowed.
‘What about Ira? What stopped Lauren from pushing him out?’
It was as if the room around them drew back and faded away. The noisy barroom sounds subsided, voices more subdued, the music on t
he jukebox winding down like old 45 rpm vinyl put on too slow. The lights reflecting off the mirror behind the bar seemed to dim. Evan heard Ira Wait’s voice and the howling of the wind through the open exit door, felt the cold and damp of the night air chilling their bones.
‘There were five of us,’ Ira had said. ‘Garrett and myself, Jake and Kristina in the back, Eckert up front.’
Garrett stood directly behind Eckert, a gun held loosely at his side. At the back Ira forced Jake at gunpoint to cuff himself to the grabrail by his left hand. Kristina sat on the bench nearest the open door, her arms clamped tightly around her body, unable to stop herself shaking.
It wasn’t the cold or the prospect of what they threatened to do. She knew they wouldn’t dare. What made her shiver came from inside herself, from the guilt. And from the fear that tonight it would all come out. She’d seen Garrett’s face as he pushed her into the plane, the sly smile that wasn’t only because of the way he cupped his hand around her ass and squeezed as he hoisted her up, some whispered misogyny on his lips.
Somehow, he had learned the truth. She had an awful premonition that this was where and when he planned to share it with her husband, for no reason other than out of good old-fashioned spite.
At twelve thousand feet her fears were proved right, her worst nightmare brought to life.
‘Hey, Kristina,’ Garrett yelled.
She ignored him, refused to turn around to look at his jeering face. Except continuing to look the way she was, directly into Jake’s face, wouldn’t be any better in a minute’s time.
‘Kristina. Tell him who the girl’s father is.’
Something died inside her at that moment. She stared out of the open exit door, heard the blackness beyond it calling to her.
‘Kristina?’
Jake this time, not Garrett, happy to watch what he had set in motion play out.
‘What’s he talking about?’
She stared at the floor, at her feet, at the endless night, anywhere but his face. Because he’d never believe her whatever she said. And why should he?
‘Kristina. Look at me.’
‘Tell him, Kristina,’ Garrett shouted. ‘You’ve got five seconds before I do.’
‘Shut the fuck up, you retard,’ Jake roared.
‘I’m the retard?’ Garrett’s eyes bulged. ‘At least I haven’t spent the last ten years bringing up another man’s kid because she’—he jabbed his finger at Kristina’s horrified face—‘couldn’t leave my father without giving him one last taste of what he was losing. Except it didn’t work out that way, did it Kristina? You were the one ended up with something to remember him by.’
Everything went very quiet. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. And then all hell broke loose.
Kristina leapt to her feet, took Jake’s face in her hands, his beard rough against her skin.
‘It’s not true. I wouldn’t do that.’
She screamed it over and over, her mouth ugly and twisted, hot tears streaming down her face.
He barely saw her through the red mist of his rage. All he saw was Garrett, laughing openly at the lives he’d wrecked with a few simple words. Because everybody in that plane knew he’d spoken the truth. Jake tore at his restraint, the grabrail flexing as he tried to rip it out of the roof, his right arm stretched over Kristina’s shoulder as he clawed uselessly at Garrett’s taunting face eight feet away.
Anger and frustration and hatred and humiliation erupted from his throat, filling the cabin with a torrent of mindless abuse and impotent threats.
Over it all, her throat hoarse, Kristina screamed her mantra into his face.
I wouldn’t do that.
He was suddenly aware of her, a minor irritation in his way, one more obstacle preventing him from reaching his tormentor at the front, now thrusting obscenely with his hips as Jake lunged at him.
He forgot where he was, forgot about the open exit door next to him. He pushed Kristina away from him, not wanting the feel of her touch on his skin.
It wasn’t a hard push.
It didn’t need to be.
Ira had watched her face at the exact moment Jake pushed her. He saw surprise replace the anguish in her eyes as she teetered on the edge. Maybe she didn’t have time to catch hold of the rail. Or maybe she didn’t try to. He thought he saw something else in her eyes that he was never sure of afterwards. At the time he’d have sworn it was relief, an easy way out.
Then she was gone, nothing left but a pitiful wail swallowed up by the night.
‘Jesus,’ Guillory said, ‘I need another beer.’
Evan felt as if the words had all come out in one breath. His chest heaved, his head swimming. The bartender put a beer in front of Guillory. Evan seized it before it hit the bar, poured it down his throat.
‘Help yourself,’ she said as she watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. ‘You think he was telling the truth?’
‘I left you some,’ he said, placing the three-quarters-empty bottle back in front of her and picking up his own full one. She snatched it out of his hand.
‘Well?’ she said.
‘I think so. It explains why Jake killed himself. And when Eckert told me about what happened he said Kristina kept screaming they wouldn’t do that. He thought she meant throwing her out.’
‘But she was really saying I wouldn’t do that, talking about herself.’
He nodded and was quiet a long time, drawing patterns on the bar with the bottom of his bottle.
‘What is it?’ she said, meaning what was on his mind, not what was he drawing.
He shrugged so she knew something big was coming.
‘Ira didn’t tell us the part about what he thought he saw, that maybe Kristina let herself fall, when he told the rest of it. He told me that as he let go of my hand. I didn’t tell Lauren.’
She thought about it but couldn’t come up with a good answer.
‘It’s difficult. Probably best this way. She’s got a lot to think about as it is. Like having Valentine Waits for a father.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Hang on a sec . . . why would he want to kill his own daughter?’
He stopped playing with the beer bottle, noticed that he’d subconsciously drawn the number 80.
‘I don’t think he did. It was Ira all along. He thought she killed Garrett and was worried he was next. And Tomás the sidekick was up for killing anyone, anytime, just for fun.’
‘You did the whole planet a big favor there. Talking about degenerates . . .’
He didn’t know how she did it, always bringing it back to him. He pretended he didn’t hear.
‘So?’ she said to the side of his head.
‘So, what?’
‘Don’t be an ass. What are you going to say to Adamson?’
He glanced around at the door, wondered if he could get there before her. A strong hand gripped the back of his neck, told him to get real.
‘Don’t even think about it. I assume that means you’re going to do what he wants.’
‘You want another beer?’
‘You want a poke in the eye?’
‘Yeah, I suppose so.’
‘What? Poke in the eye or hop to it when Adamson snaps his fingers?’
He slipped off the stool.
‘Come on. Let’s go and get some dinner.’
She hesitated.
‘You’re not going to make me put on a dress and some lipstick, are you?’
‘No, not this time. Seeing as I forgot to put on my suit and tie.’
She gave him a big smile, the one that made him ache inside if it caught him unawares, and slipped her arm through his as they made their way towards the door.
She cleared her throat. She wasn’t ready to let it go.
‘I know I’m wasting my breath and you won’t take any notice of what I say about Adamson—’
He suddenly remembered he hadn’t told her yet about the person Adamson wanted him to find most likely being in Mexico, with an unhealthy
lifestyle aka was a criminal, and would need persuading, read bribing, to come back.
‘—but what I want to know is, what are you going to say to your sister about the money?’
He grinned at her, wide enough to make her suspicious. Already she wished she hadn’t asked.
‘It might not come to that.’
‘Spit it out.’
‘I told her I needed it myself because I was thinking of buying a house, somewhere—’
‘To settle down? Start a family?’
He shrugged like he wasn’t responsible for the way women’s minds worked.
‘She might have got that impression.’
‘Really? How strange. Did she get any other impressions?’
All at once, he felt as if he was two miles high again, hanging from the grabrail, the feeling of sharp nails digging into his flesh, the same sense of impending doom. He didn’t say anything. The hole was deep enough already.
‘Do I need to change my phone number?’ she said.
‘It might be a good idea.’
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Resurrection Blues Page 34