Hidden Virtue

by Nolon King

  Mo narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Why?”

  Frank shrugged. “Just wondering.”

  The brown sedan appeared at the edge of the property. Not driving too slow, or barreling along at the area’s typical breakneck speed. Even the mailman roared down the road as if making a time trial.

  Frank shifted his gaze to Mo as the sedan drove by. “How long will it take to pack?”

  Frank pushed off the RV to watch as the sedan faded down the lane.

  Mo spun to see what Frank was looking at, but the car disappeared at the stop sign with a turn. He pulled a small towel from his waistband. Scrubbed at his hands and wiped it across his chest. “What’s going on, Frank? What have you brought to my house?”

  Frank didn’t want to lie anymore, so he told Mo about what had happened at Home Depot. When he finished, Mo stood with his hands at his sides. Staring open-mouthed like he couldn’t get enough air. So Frank told him how he had ended up at Home Depot in the first place.

  The sun was dipping low by the time he finished. His throat was dry and his eyes burned from suppressing his tears. He heard a small choking behind him. Spun to see Gen standing there with a hand over her mouth. Face slack with horror.

  He wondered how much she had heard. If she now thought he was the monster all along. She shook her head as she came to him with open arms.

  He couldn’t believe it. How could she do this after what he had said? He fell into her, and she held him as he cried.

  Mo’s big hand put heat on his shoulder. Hot breath in his ear. “It ain’t your fault, man.”

  But Frank knew better, and it only made him cry harder.

  They offered him dinner. A drink on the porch. He declined. Mo nodded. “That’s probably best. It looks like we need to pack.”

  Gen touched his cheek and opened her mouth to say something, but she shook her head and stepped back. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

  He watched them walk away. In step and leaning into each other.

  Back at the barn, he wasted no time opening a bottle of tequila. Two ice cubes dropped into a glass. He went out to sit on his balcony, and as he raised the glass to his lips, Frank saw the sedan parked at the edge of the neighboring field.

  He barely registered the vehicle’s presence before it drove away.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Frank told himself he would be ready for anything, but fell into that bottle with his usual abandon. Drink after drink while watching the road in front and behind.

  The bottle returned the favor, though.

  He held it against his chest as he staggered to bed. Tipped it over his melting ice cube on the bottom of his glass. Frowned in disappointment when only a few drops came out.

  He managed to get the glass to his nightstand, but then his knees gave way, and he planted his face in the comforter. The bottle slid from his fingers to the floor. Rolled in a long spiral with a musical ring. Frank heard music as he fell asleep.

  Snatches of dreams about listening to the radio in the van as cops chased him out of Rosa Alta. All the girls he couldn’t save were in the seats behind him. The passenger seat was empty. That had upset him for some reason.

  Then he dreamed of the floor creaking underfoot as he tried running down the hall to save Jennifer and Becka.

  Another creak, loud enough to wake him.

  The wide circle of drool under his face was cold and slimy. His heart was back up in his neck, and his head pounded in time with every beat.

  The pressure from lying on his bladder was an immediate signal of panic.

  Then he heard the creak again. From the stairs leading up to his loft. The memory of the sedan at the edge of the field made him curl his lips in disgust. He knew they might come, and he still knocked the bottom out of a tequila bottle?

  He stayed still. Crawled his fingers across the floor like a spider. The moon was sending its cold glow through the windows. A nice October sky. He could see his hand clearly against the oak planking.

  Up to the nightstand where he eased the drawer open. Wrapped his fingers around the big stainless steel flashlight he kept in there. All metal construction and three big “D” batteries.

  He pulled it out. Made a snorting grunt. Breathed as loudly as he could.

  Another creak.

  He couldn’t tell where they were on the stairs. Halfway? Two from the top?

  Then whoever was in the lead hit the bottle. Must have planted his foot right down on top of it. The glass rolled out from under him, and the floor shuddered from the impact of his fall. It must have knocked the breath right out of him.

  Frank heard a sound from the floor. Something like, Huuuuuuunn.

  A second voice cursed as feet hit the stairs in a rush.

  Frank dropped his right leg to the floor. Dug his toes in and drew a deep breath.

  Then he spun up from the bed with a roar. Let the flashlight fly out from his outstretched fingers to where he guessed the man would be when he hit the landing up top.

  The sound of the flashlight hitting the intruder in the chest was like a hundred-mile-an-hour strike landing in a catcher’s mitt. A beautiful impact of dumb drunk luck.

  Frank continued his spin off the other side of the bed. Down to the floor where he curled up in tight agony. The pull in his side felt like a knife ripping through.

  The second guy was a staggering shadow. Feet tripped up on his fallen comrade. One arm wheeling out for balance. The other holding his chest like he was having a massive heart attack.

  Frank worked onto his knees as the guy found his feet and bent over in pain. Frank hoped he had broken the guy’s sternum.

  Frank forced himself to his feet. He had no weapons. No defense against the gun in this guy’s hand. Frank saw teeth flash in a pained grin. The glitter of reflected moonlight off the barrel.

  He had only a railing behind the shooter, and the memory of sprinting up bleachers until he needed to puke.

  He pushed off to cover the short distance with as much force as he could drive through his hips. Dropped down just before contact, and hit the guy with his shoulder sinking into his gut, right under his ribs.

  Frank closed his eyes for what was coming, but instead of them both breaking through the railing and flying into the air — he even hoped they came down on top of the van — the railing cracked and rocked back, but held.

  The guy folded back with a choked cry. His gun sailed from his hand.

  Frank felt his neck whip back, and he stumbled back over the first guy’s still-struggling body. The back of his head bounced off the floor, and the room bloomed into a burning white light.

  His arms and legs moved. Flailing out for purchase, and he rolled over and onto his knees as his vision cleared. The second guy was on his knees. One arm over the sagging railing. The other one held against his chest. His face was a twisted grimace of pain.

  The guy that had slipped on the tequila bottle made it to his feet, but he was stooped over, panting in tiny sips of air.

  Frank figured this time might be the one, and he pushed to his feet for a second charge. Not nearly as impressive as the first one had been. Just knocking the first guy back into the second guy where they both clung to the railing for balance.

  Frank fell back on his ass, teeth clacking together as he landed.

  Right when the railing finally gave way.

  They went over the edge and fell to the concrete below. This time, Frank hoped they missed the van. The wet snapping of their landing sounded like reassurance.

  He managed to get to his feet. Made it over to the stairs without tripping on the tequila bottle. All the way to the bottom. The loft had been a traditional place to store hay in its prior life. Almost twenty feet up. It was a lot of stairs.

  He bent over to catch his breath. Ventured out to see how they had done.

  Not well.

  The light was poor, but Frank was sure the guy on the bottom was dead. A splatter of blood had sprayed out from where his face had made contact with the
ground.

  The guy on top had fared better. Rolling side to side and groaning, but there was blood in his teeth, and both arms seemed to bend in odd directions.

  Frank walked over and dropped down. Dug into the guy’s pockets until he found some keys. He leaned on him, and the guy curled up with a cry of pain.

  “Are these to your car?” Frank asked.

  The guy squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.

  “Very good,” Frank said.

  The guy cried out again when Frank pushed off against his chest. Walked in a circle around them until he found both pistols. Then dropped back down with a growl of frustration so he could check for anything else.

  One phone. A butterfly knife. No I.D.

  Frank went to the back door. Squinted out into the night. Saw the moon glint off the car at the end of the driveway. Not too far.

  He shuffled into the open. Kept his head down until he got to the car. Dropped in and gunned the engine. A Chrysler of some kind. He didn’t really care.

  He pulled it up to the door. Looked around for the trunk release for what felt like an hour before finding it.

  Back to the guys who were still in their crumpled pile. The top guy still moaning. Frank shook his head in disgust. “Suck it up, Nancy.”

  He got the guy by the ankle and started dragging, sweating and out of breath by the time he arrived at the car. Hunched over his side.

  Ain’t nothing to it but to do it.

  He got the guy into the trunk. Made more difficult by his struggles, and the whimpers of pain in his ear. He expected Mo to come running out at any moment, but maybe it wasn’t as loud as Frank thought.

  Back to the other guy, and as expected, it was easier flopping the dead one up into the trunk. He wasn’t struggling.

  Frank slammed the lid. Got back behind the wheel and drove to the end of the lane. There was a county building a mile or so to the west. Bordered by a lot of overgrowth. Easy to put it there. Or maybe the old electric station to the east. Gravel piles and old shipping containers.

  The station was closer, so Frank turned left.

  When he got there, the gate was locked with a chain, but Frank put the nose of the sedan right up on it. Eased the car into it, the engine whining. Then it gave way with a snap that whipped his head again. Shooting fingers of ice down his spine.

  He pulled the car toward the back where branches hung low to touch a dome of gravel. Past a row of rusting cubes that could make an excellent homeless shelter.

  He got out. Tossed the phone into the gravel. Gave it a couple stomps, but his heart wasn’t in it. His side screamed in protest whenever he lifted his boot.

  There was a slight thump from the trunk. A muffled voice. Frank left it behind him as he staggered back to the gate.

  He pulled it closed. Looped the chain back up so it looked like it was still holding. Turned around and dropped his head to take a few deep breaths. The abandoned power station had been closer, but he still had to walk all the way back.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The pain woke him a little before Mo’s shouting voice.

  “What the fuck?”

  It took Frank two tries before he could finally sit up. When he made it to his feet, he couldn’t stand straight up. Bent over like an old man.

  He walked over to the stairs without picking his feet up.

  At the top, he looked down to see Mo standing at the bloodstain in the middle of a scatter of railing debris.

  He held his hands out to his sides. Looked up at Frank. Pointed to the blood. Then he pointed to the trail leading out the back door.

  Frank shook his head. Dismissed the question with a flap of his hand before turning around to make his way to the coffeemaker. One of those off-brand pod types that brewed in seconds instead of his drip machine.

  It tasted like garbage, but it was fast. He didn’t need good, he just needed something now.

  Mo must have taken his time, because he just got to the top of the stairs as Frank was taking his first sip. He sighed in pleasure. Not at the taste, but the heat. The experience.

  “Frank … buddy. What is going on?”

  Frank smiled over his cup. “You tell me. I just woke up.”

  Mo pointed at Frank’s chest. “You look like dogshit. Is that your blood?”

  Frank shook his head. Told the story of the two unfortunate souls that snuck up on him in the night. Then he looked around Mo’s side. Saw that the bottle had almost rolled back beneath the bed.

  Mo watched without comment as Frank bent gingerly down to retrieve it. Then he carried the bottle into the kitchen and returned it to the shelf.

  “And there it’ll stay.” He stood and met Mo’s gaze. “You know, for luck.”

  Mo held one hand up in dismissal. Shook his head in disbelief. Walked to the stairs without saying a word. Paused to look over the edge. Shook his head again as he descended. Walked out into the morning sun.

  Frank stepped out onto the balcony with his coffee. Shielded his eyes as Mo made it across the yard to the RV. There were bags stacked against the front wheel. He was still shaking his head when he opened the side door to put them inside.

  Frank finished his coffee, almost burning his tongue. Then he took a long, cold shower. There was still tenderness everywhere, but it was tolerable as he dried off and got dressed. He finished with a holster clipped to the back of his waistband. The butterfly knife he had gotten from Thing 1 … or had it been Thing 2?

  He dropped it in his pocket. Slid into his flip-flops before grabbing a couple bottles and heading to the house.

  Gen stopped him before he made it to the porch. She pulled him into the shade of the big oak out front.

  “We need to go over how to take care of him, okay?”

  Her eyes were red.

  Frank smiled, but shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “But Frank, if you don’t—”

  “Gen.” He put the bottles under one arm to hold her hands. “I know how to take care of him.”

  Her face crumpled into grief, and she lunged forward to wrap him in a shaking embrace. He gritted his teeth against the pain her strong arms caused. Stood there and took it until she was ready to step back.

  She put one hand on his cheek. Smiled through her tears. “He is such a good soul. The world will be different without a man like him in it.”

  “I know.”

  She nodded. “Or a man like you.”

  She whirled away and marched to the RV. The door slammed behind her.

  Frank turned to the porch, and saw Mo with his giant arms crossed over his broad chest.

  “My man!” Mo shouted.

  Frank nodded as he walked to the porch. Put one of the bottles on the railing. A rye bourbon he had gotten at some liquor store or another. The second bottle was a Tres Amigos tequila. One of his favorites. He uncorked it. Took a drink off the top. Handed the bottle up to Mo.

  He took it. “I don’t touch this stuff no more.” Then a pull for himself, swallowed with a wince before he handed the bottle back. “I’ll see you.”

  Frank didn’t voice his doubt.

  They passed each other on the steps, and Frank turned to watch him walk away. Waited until he heard the RV. Watched them turn into the road and turn out of sight at the stop sign.

  He took his bottles inside. Set them on the island before cutting into GG’s room. Stopped just inside the door to find the wheelchair sitting next to the bed. One of GG’s legs dangling off the side. “Help me in there, Dad.”

  Through some trial and error, and a lot of cursing from GG, they got him situated without breaking anything. Both of them breathless and pale. Frank sweating despite how cool it was in the house.

  GG leaned back as his pump bubbled away. “When they coming back?”

  Frank sat on the edge of the bed. “They didn’t say, but it’ll probably only be a couple of days. Through the end of the week. Until we get our business taken care of.”

  GG grinned. “The business
of killing me?”

  “At least.” Frank nodded, pointing to GG’s bare legs. “You want a blanket?”

  “Fuck no. I can’t feel ‘em anyway.”

  Frank pointed at his head. “What about one of those beanie things?”

  GG rolled his eye. “Gen is the absolutest, that’s for sure, but that thing just makes me hot and itchy.”

  He tipped his head at the stand carrying his morphine pump. “I got that thing jacked up. Let’s get out to the porch. I wanna listen to the rain.”

  Frank glanced at the sun shining against the backs of the curtain. Shrugged as he got behind the chair and threaded through the door. He paused at the island for the bottles. Snapped his fingers when he realized he needed a glass. Went around to get one, but froze in front of the sink.

  “It’s the one next to the fridge,” GG said. “Get one for me too.”

  His words were slurred form his numb side. From so much narcotics. Add alcohol to the mix, and Frank didn’t think the conversation would last very long.

  The temperature had dropped quite a bit since being inside. A dark line of clouds in the southern sky. Looked like GG was going to get his rain after all.

  Frank wheeled the chair in front of the window. Stepped on the rubber brake. Sat in the white rocker next to the little table. Poured two glasses. Leaned over with a wheezing grunt to hand the second glass into GG’s good hand.

  Rain started to patter on the grass as he raised a toast. “To you, buddy.”

  GG closed his eyes. “Why me?”

  “Because I can’t think of anything better.”

  GG burst into laughter that ended in a coughing fit. He held his glass away from his body until it passed. Lifted his glass to join Frank’s. Knocked it back like water.

  When he held his glass over for more, Frank didn’t hesitate.

  GG set himself upright, and closed his eyes. “Will it hurt?”

  Frank took a sip. “Will what hurt?”

  “The end.”

  Frank thought about what his daughter went through at her end. Then he shook his head. “Probably not as much as the life before it did.”

  GG knocked his second drink back. A small shudder as it went down. He blew his breath out as if blowing on a hot bite of pizza. “I’m fucking scared, Dad.”