Two Wrongs

by Morgan Mandel

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Kevin

  KEVIN YAWNED AND stuck another hot dog in the microwave. He could have called in sick today, but someone might remember later. Almost too exhausted to eat, he raised the bun to his mouth. His lethargy was not surprising since he’d spent the entire night before watching television, then worked all day on an alarm system at Brown Elementary. He’d probably screwed that up.

  The doorbell rang. His mind flashed back. Were the police here? Should he dash down the fire escape?

  “Who’s there?” he called, ready to bolt.

  “It’s Brad.”

  The tone gave nothing away, yet Kevin knew his friend could be more of a threat than the law. His fingers picked at the doorknob, as if it were hot toast. Summoning courage, he grabbed and turned it.

  “Hi, how’re you doing?” he asked.

  With blank, inscrutable features, Brad stepped inside. In the lengthening silence, Kevin’s nerves jangled.

  His friend let out a sigh. “Hey, we go back a long time, don’t we?”

  Kevin nodded, wondering where the conversation was headed.

  “I have to say, in a way I don’t blame you. I know about the hell you went through. And you did get a golden opportunity.”

  “But, I didn’t—”

  “Hey, spare me the lies. This is Brad you’re talking to, not some schmuck. I got another call from Dick George. The cops came back. It seems that, after the firemen pulled out Todd Weathersby from the carnage, the surviving guard, Jim Jordan, did a little chirping. Jim had an interesting chat with Todd shortly before his demise. Todd happened to mention to him that Ed Anderson paid a little visit to the Callaway home that day, though his work was completed months ago.”

  “He couldn’t have seen me.”

  “So you were there.”

  “Yeah, I had some adjustments to make. I got them done while Todd was on break.”

  “Hey, didn’t I say no lies?” Brad’s voice rose. “Kevin, I’m one disappointed guy. I trusted you and you let me down big time.”

  Kevin had to make him understand. “Hey, buddy, I’m sorry. I had to, can’t you see? A chance like that happens once in a lifetime. Don’t worry…you’re in the clear. No one can pin anything on you.”

  Brad’s cold eyes bore into Kevin’s. “Cut the crap. You know better. Hey, jerk, you screwed me and I won’t forget it. And I’m not the only one. When word hits the street, lots of unhappy campers will be ready to tear you a new ass. We had a good gig going and you blew it. My advice is watch your back. You’re not the only one who enjoys getting even.”

  Without a backward glance, Brad stormed out.

  “Shit,” Kevin said, aiming a kick at the door. “Ouch.” His ankle bone connected. He ignored the shooting waves of pain. It was the least of his problems.

  He was in a jam. If only Todd hadn’t opened his fucking diarrhea mouth. The guy was trouble even from the grave. Man, he better think this out. If only he’d had more sleep. He’d barely gotten through the day in one piece.

  Knowing Brad, this was not an idle threat. Ex-cons could hold massive grudges, especially when faced with the possibility of being sent back to prison. He was lucky Brad had warned him. For whatever reason, Brad still considered himself a friend.

  Kevin knew when to take a hint. His friend was saying, “Get the hell out. Disappear before it’s too late.”

  Glancing anxiously around the apartment, he wondered what he could bring with him. This would hurt. He’d enjoyed two successful years in this pad. He’d bought a suede couch and recliner, a fifty-two inch television set, a kick-ass stereo, and all kinds of good stuff.

  He could buy more. It was no time to get soppy. He better move, and move fast. Someone might already be watching from outside, ready to strike. Kevin fought the urge to glance out the window.

  Damn, he had to get some shuteye first. He stretched out on his bed and tried not to think. There must be some time left or his friend wouldn’t have come over to warn him.

  His mind whirled. Lying awake, he went through a mental checklist of what he needed to do. Tomorrow he’d search for a cheap furnished apartment. He’d use the spare ID he’d bought from Max Gonzalez. He’d make sure he didn’t get tailed, then inconspicuously drop off his favorite clothes and a few items at the new place. Then he’d lay low. He’d get a job when the heat died down. If he were fortunate, no one would find him. Maybe, in time, they’d even forget.

  Some things never changed. He’d always been a loser. He hadn’t even had time to celebrate before he’d been dumped on. This was too much.

  Well, to hell with everybody. He searched for a comfortable position and concentrated on drifting off.

  Someone pounded on the door. It had to be the police. Crooks didn’t knock. How had they discovered him so fast? In slow motion, Kevin swung the door open. He found himself face-to-face with Officer Dugan, who was holding up Kevin’s old gym shoe.

  “Do you see that blood?” Dugan asked, jamming the dirty sole under Kevin’s nose. “How dare you kill an innocent woman? What kind of animal are you?”

  Dugan threw the shoe across the room, then produced a pinch collar and clamped it around Kevin’s throat. It was attached to a leash which Dugan jerked. “Bad dog. You must be punished. I’m locking you up.”

  The collar was too tight. Kevin was choking. He had to get it off. He reached to grab it. It didn’t feel like a collar, just the sheet all wound up. With shaking fingers, he pushed it away.

  Man, that was spooky.

  He’d been so happy. Why couldn’t it have lasted? That visit from Brad had set him off, transporting his subconscious mind to a place he didn’t want to go. He’d purposely ignored the victims. They were pawns in his game of revenge, not real people.

  He pictured Cathy propped up in the giant four-poster bed with sunlight sparkling off her fiery ringlets. He remembered how she sweetly she’d smiled at him, so genuinely grateful he’d delivered the pretty package.

  His stomach contracted. Had he made a mistake? Should he have offed Callaway instead? Why had he taken the coward’s way out?

  It was too late. The deed was done.

  He stumbled into the kitchen. With unsteady hands he reached into the cupboard, pushing aside cans of spaghetti and beef stew, withdrawing a fifth of Jim Beam. He gulped the fiery liquid straight from the bottle. It burned his gut going down.

  He tasted acid and recognized it for what it was: raw fear. He’d struck down his enemy the coward’s way. Now he must face the enemy within.