by Thomas Scott
By the time everyone began to show up, he had the lawn chairs set out in the backyard, the grill lit and the drinks in the cooler. Delroy and Robert were the first to arrive and even though they had decided to make one big announcement to everyone regarding their engagement, when Sandy saw them she ran over, gave them both a big hug and stuck the ring right in their faces. “Look!” she said. “We’re getting married.”
They’d also decided they weren’t going to tell anyone about the pregnancy until Sandy had a chance to go to the doctor and make sure everything was okay. Virgil wondered how long that would last, mentally putting his money on sometime around two in the afternoon.
At his own insistence Robert took over the grill duties. “I’ve seen you cook, mon. Go. Relax. Da professionals are here. Respect.”
Over the next half hour or so Virgil and Sandy spent their time greeting everyone, listening to the ooh’s and ah’s regarding her ring and generally having more fun than they’d had in a long time. Then someone unexpected showed up.
“When I saw all the cars I almost turned around and left, but then I realized that I recognized most of them…”
“It’s okay, Cora. I’m glad you’re here. I was going to invite you, but...”
They walked down the slope of the backyard and stopped at the midpoint, away from the noise. Cora looked at nothing before she spoke.
“My father drank himself to death,” she said. “That’s a polite way of saying he was a raging alcoholic. He wasn’t mean or abusive or anything like that and it didn’t matter if he was drunk or sober, he was a good and kind and decent man. But he had this huge problem and no matter how hard he tried, Jonesy, he just couldn’t get past it. It was their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. He took her to the nicest restaurant he could afford and over the course of the evening he had quite a few too many. I don’t know why my mother wasn’t driving, only that she wasn’t. They never made it home. This was back before airbags and seatbelt laws and Mother’s Against Drunk Driving. They swerved off the road and when they hit the tree head-on they died instantly.”
“Ah, Jesus, Cora, I’m sorry.”
“Let me finish if you would please. I’m trying to apologize. My only sibling, my little sister…she was five years younger than me at the time…and it landed on me to take care of her. She became my responsibility. Something happened to her that night, Jonesy, the night our parents died. Something in her head clicked off. Have you ever seen the light go out of someone while they’re still alive? I have. I’d hoped never to see it again. I did everything I could, everything I knew how to do, but nothing worked. Eventually I took her to the doctor. He put her on some pills…antidepressants and tranquilizers. She began to take more and more, much more than she was supposed to and three months later I buried her too.”
She turned away from him for a moment and Virgil watched as she choked down a sob. “I’m a fifty-seven year old overweight black woman with absolutely no one in my life. I’ve no family, very few friends and even fewer people that I’ve let get close to me. Big surprise, huh? But you’re different, Jonesy. You’re the only person I’ve ever known besides my parents and my sister that I consider family. When you started on those pills I was concerned. When you didn’t stop I became worried. When you tossed your badge in the pond the look on your face was identical to the one I saw from my sister just before she died. The light had gone out of your eyes, Virgil, and I just couldn’t bear it. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been behaving. I’m sorry for the things I’ve done and said. I’m sorry for…well, I’m just sorry. I’m going to go now. I didn’t mean to intrude on your party.”
Virgil grabbed her arm and pulled her close. He felt her resistance, but only for a moment before she put her arms around him, pressed her face to his chest and sobbed. After a few moments she pulled back, wiped her eyes, straightened her blouse and walked away.
She didn’t get far, though. Sandy intercepted her, showed her the ring and led her to a chair. Virgil watched them talk for a minute and then Cora took out her phone and made a call.
No more than a half-hour later Virgil heard the sirens and the rumble of the Harley-Davidson State Police motorcycle protection detail. The governor knew how to make an entrance. There were twelve of them in all, six in front of the limo and six trailing and though Virgil had seen it before it remained an impressive site. When the governor climbed from the back of the limo he waved to Virgil and Sandy and walked over. Sandy gave him a big hug and showed him her ring.
“My goodness,” the governor said. “Isn’t that fantastic? Congratulations to both of you. I couldn’t be happier.” He admired the ring for a moment, winked at Virgil, then said, “I understand Cora is here. Would you two mind if I stayed for a bit. I need to have a word with her.”
“You’re welcome anytime, Governor,” Virgil said.
Sandy led the governor around to the backyard and Virgil walked over and invited the uniformed state cops back as well. They wouldn’t drink, of course, but he knew they could eat.
And so it went…
A short while later Virgil checked his phone and noticed that it was after two o’clock in the afternoon. He punched in Murton’s number and it went straight to voicemail. He tried Becky’s number next and got the same result. Cora and the governor had taken two chairs and walked them all the way down to the water’s edge where they sat in the shade of the willow tree. The chairs faced each other and both of them were deep in conversation, their forearms against their thighs. Politics. Pearson would have to be spun.
Someone had turned the music on and Delroy was dancing in the grass with one of the female motorcycle cops and Virgil wondered if life could be anymore strange and beautiful at the same time.
Fifteen minutes later he tried both Murton and Becky again with the same results.
He found Sandy sitting with Ed Donatti’s wife, Pam. “Listen,” Virgil said, “We’ve got quite a few more people here than what I planned on. We’re running low on food and drinks, not to mention ice. I’m going to make a quick run to the store. I’m also going to swing by Murt’s and find out what the hold up is. He should have been here by now.”
Sandy turned and looked at the table where the drinks were set up, then over to Robert who was still working the grill. “I think it looks like we’ve got enough.”
“Well, you can’t have too much.”
They stared at each other for a long minute. Pam straightened her skirt and looked like she was pretending that the conversation taking place between Virgil and Sandy was as normal as any she’d ever heard. “He’ll probably be here any minute now,” Sandy said.
Virgil leaned over and kissed her goodbye. “I’m just going to go check. I’ll be back before you know it.” He made it about three steps away before he heard Pam call out to him.
“Virgil?”
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t you take Ed with you?”
Virgil turned and looked out across the lawn. Donatti was near the edge of the pond with his young son, Jonas. Earlier, Virgil had set out some fishing gear and a small bucket of earthworms. He watched for a moment as Ed baited a hook for his son, then tossed the line out into the water before handing the pole back to Jonas. “Ah, look at him, Pam. He’s having the time of his life. Let him be.”
“I’ll watch Jonas, Virgil. Take Ed with you. Every time one of you guys go out alone anywhere it makes me nervous.”
Virgil smiled at her. “Well, I guess we can’t have that, can we?”
31
Virgil let Ed drive because Sandy’s car was hopelessly pinned at the front of the house by all the other vehicles. The traffic wasn’t bad and they made it to Murton’s house in less than thirty minutes. “Looks okay to me,” Donatti said.
“Check the back, will you?” Virgil said. “I’ve got the front.”
“Are we up against anything here?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. There are warrants out for Pate and Sigara. It’s a snake hunt now
and Miles is on it. But I should have heard from Murton by now.”
Virgil moved about halfway up the walk and waited until he saw Donatti get around to the back of the house. He stepped up on the porch, heard the familiar creak of the second step, noticed the uniform gap between the deck boards under his feet, the missing bolt at the base of the wrought iron hand rail, the cement patch on the foundation just under the front door that his father had to patch year after year. This had been Virgil’s home and he was as comfortable here as any place he’d ever been in his entire life.
But it wasn’t his home anymore no matter how familiar he may have been with the smallest of details. So against the previously stated wishes of his best friend and brother, against everything he should have been paying attention to and wasn’t, Virgil did what he thought was the appropriate thing to do.
He knocked on the door.
It had happened like this: Murton was freshly showered and ready to go exactly thirty minutes before they were supposed to be at the party, but Becky was running late. These earrings or those? This dress, or that one? Murton didn’t mind. He spent the time cleaning up the boxes and the bits of Styrofoam off the carpet from all the new computer equipment Becky had moved into the house. He stacked the boxes—four of them in all—and carried them to the back door. Tomorrow was trash day.
The boxes were stacked high enough that he could almost see where he was going. But he’d grown up in this house and knew his way without looking. He got all the way through the kitchen to the back door, then, balancing the boxes with one hand he twisted the knob and pulled the handle. When he did, Hector kicked him in the groin and then interlocked his fingers and brought both hands down across the back of his neck.
Murton landed face-first on the back steps of the porch, knocked out cold.
Hector grabbed the back of Murton’s collar and pulled him into the living room like a dog that might have just peed on the carpet. He hefted him into a chair then taped his hands and legs together and stuffed a rag into his mouth.
Then he stood still and listened.
The shower.
He moved up the stairs and followed the sounds to the end of the hall. When he walked into the bathroom he spent a few minutes admiring the shape of the woman behind the shower door. When the water turned off, Hector pointed his gun at the door and waited. When the woman stepped out he put his finger to his lips in a shush fashion. Her jaw dropped and before she could make a sound, Hector punched her square in the face. She dropped to the floor, out just as easily as the fed downstairs. Then there was a moment of indecision for Hector. Here was a beautiful woman, naked and unconscious. What would be the harm? She was going to die soon anyway. Why not have his way with her? He was going to do just that when he heard Pate’s voice behind him. “Get her downstairs, Hector.”
Hector grabbed her by her hair and pulled her naked body down the steps, her feet and ankles banging off the polished hardwood planks. Halfway down she started to moan and he hit her in the face again, this time with the butt of his long gun. That shut her up. He propped her in a chair next to the fed, taped her arms behind her back and her ankles to the legs of the chair, then stepped back to admire his work.
“What now, Boss?”
“Now we wake them. First we’re going to cut on the woman some. Not much, but enough to show them both, especially Wheeler, that we are serious. When we have their attention, they’ll tell us where Nichole Pope is, we’ll get the ticket and then come back and finish them. Go in the kitchen and get a sharp knife. No, no, wait. I’ve got a better idea. See if you can find a potato peeler. The peeler always makes them talk.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Murton felt the consciousness wash over him, heard the sounds from the kitchen, someone rattling around in the drawers. He opened his eyes and saw Pate staring at him. When he turned his head he saw Becky, naked and taped to a chair, her face bloody and swollen. He shook his head to clear the fog, spit the rag from his mouth and said, “Hey, Gus? I hope you’ve enjoyed your life. You’re going to die today.”
Pate opened his mouth to say something, but there was a knock at the door. He turned away from Murton’s words, leveled his shotgun at the front door and emptied both barrels from a distance of less than three feet.
Virgil would have died right then and there except Pate had loaded the shotgun with slugs instead of buckshot. The first shot blew through the door and Virgil jumped sideways, landed on his shoulder, rolled and then spun back around as Pate fired the second shot. Virgil drew his weapon, leaned around the corner just past the shattered door and saw Pate standing next to Murton, the shotgun pointed directly at Murton’s neck.
Murton gave him the slightest of nods, no more than a quarter inch at the most but that was all Virgil needed.
Had he thought about it, he might have hesitated.
You’ve got people in your life who are going to need you.
He didn’t think about it.
Virgil fired three shots and Pate was dead before he hit the ground. When he rushed inside, Murton said, “Hector. Out the back.”
That’s when Virgil heard three more shots.
Donatti was almost at the back steps when he heard the shotgun blasts. He yanked the Glock from his ankle holster, ran up the steps and barreled through the back door. Hector was right there. They ended up on the floor in a pile, snarling and scrapping for survival, but Donatti had already had a few drinks at the party and wasn’t quite as fast as he could have been. Hector rolled him, got Donatti pinned on his back and buried the sharp, pointed end of the potato peeler in the center of his neck, right below his Adam’s apple. Just as he did, Donatti began pulling the trigger on his Glock. He got off three shots before he didn’t have the strength to pull the trigger anymore.
Virgil raced down the hall, his .45 leading the way, made the kitchen in about three seconds and found Hector on top of Donatti. He pulled him off, rolled him over and saw the bullet wounds in his chest. He was breathing, but just barely. When he looked at Ed, Virgil saw that there was something sticking out of his neck. Donatti was trying to pull at the handle, but his strength and coordination were fading. Blood was pouring from the wound and his shirt was already soaked. His lips and the skin around his eyes were starting to turn blue.
Virgil grabbed a knife from the rack, ran back to the front room, screaming Murton’s name along the way. He cut him loose as fast as he could. “It’s Ed. He’s down. In the kitchen. It’s bad, man. Really bad. He’s been stabbed in the neck. I’ve got Becky. Go!”
Murton had medical field training in the Army and Virgil knew he was Donatti’s best hope for survival. Virgil cut Becky loose, carried her to the sofa and covered her with a blanket. She was a mess, but she’d live. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911 as he ran back into the kitchen.
“Stop yelling,” Murton said. “They won’t be able to understand you.”
Virgil tried not to shout, managed to relay their location to the emergency dispatcher then let the phone drop to the floor. “Tell me what to do.”
“It’s not good, Jonesy. His airway’s blocked and from the amount of blood he’s probably got arterial damage. I don’t know how bad it is. If I pull the knife he’ll either drown in his own blood or bleed out. If I don’t he’s going to suffocate.”
“He’s turning blue, Murt. We’ve got to do something.”
Murton looked up at the counter. “There are plastic straws in the silverware drawer. And get me the paring knife from the rack. Hurry, get right down here with me now, right on the other side.”
Virgil handed Murton the knife and the straw. Murton took the knife and said, “Hold the straw. Give it to me when I ask for it.”
Virgil had his hand on Ed’s chest and could feel his heart. It felt like it was beating way too fast. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve got to open him up. It’s the only way to stop the bleeding and get him some air.”
“Ah, Jesus, Murt.”
Murton ig
nored him, touched the blade to Donatti’s neck right below the handle of the other knife and began to cut.
Virgil listened for the sirens, but didn’t hear any.
Murton made an L-shaped cut in Donatti’s neck that intersected with his wound. He set the knife aside, said, “Ready with the straw,” then pulled what turned out to be a potato peeler from Ed’s neck. A burst of blood sprayed out and Murton said, “Straw.” Virgil handed him the straw and Murton pushed it into the hole where the peeler had been. Ed’s chest instantly began to rise and fall. He was breathing, but the blood was pouring from his wound. “Get me some paper towels. We’re not out of the woods yet.”
Virgil grabbed the roll of towels and peeled off a wad and held them out. Murton grabbed the wad and said, “Not like that. Take one sheet at a time and fold it over until it’s as small as you can get it.”
He did what Murton told him and when he had the paper towel folded the proper way, Murton took it and said, “Just like that. Keep ‘em coming.”
Virgil began to tear and fold as fast as he could. He’d hand the towels to Murt and he pressed them to Donatti’s neck and they turned red and were completely soaked through before he was finished with the next.
“Faster,” he said. Somewhere in the back of Virgil’s mind it registered just how calm Murton was. “It’s not working. He’s breathing, but he’s losing too much blood.” Then Virgil witnessed something he was sure he’d never forget no matter how long he lived. Murton picked up the knife and sliced more skin and tissue and muscle from around the wound, stuck two fingers inside Donatti’s neck and just like that, the bleeding slowed to no more than a trickle. “I’ve got it pinched off. Put your hand right over the top of mine and hold it in place.”