Leigh was visibly reluctant, but Callie could tell she was also relieved. “I need you to taper yourself off the dope. You don’t have to quit altogether, but if someone comes around asking questions, you need to be straight enough to give them the right answers.”
Callie felt cornered, even though she was already doing exactly what her sister had asked. It was different when she had a choice. Leigh’s request made Callie want to dump her backpack on the floor and tie off right then and there.
“Cal?” Leigh looked so damn disappointed. “It’s not forever. I wouldn’t ask if—”
“Okay.” Callie swallowed all of the saliva that had flooded into her mouth. “How long?”
“I don’t know,” Leigh admitted. “I need to figure out what Andrew is going to do.”
Callie choked back her panicked questions—A few days? A week? A month? She bit her lip so that she didn’t start crying.
Leigh seemed to read her thoughts. “We’ll take it a couple of days at a time. But if you need to leave town, or—”
“I’ll be okay,” Callie said, because they both needed it to be true. “But come on, Harleigh, you already know what Andrew is doing.”
Leigh shook her head, still lost.
“He’s in more trouble than you are.” If Callie was going to ride this out, she needed her sister’s lizard brain to kick in, the fight instinct to take over flight, so that it didn’t drag out too long. “He fired his attorney. He hired you a week before he goes to trial. The rest of his life is literally on the line and he’s throwing around these hints about cameras and getting away with murder. People don’t make threats unless they want something. What does Andrew want?”
Realization flashed in Leigh’s eyes. “He wants me to do something illegal for him.”
“Right.”
“Shit.” Leigh ran through a list. “Suborn a witness. Commit perjury. Aid in the committal of a crime. Obstruct justice.”
She had done that and more for Callie.
“You know how to get away with every single one of those things.”
Leigh shook her head. “It’s different with Andrew. He wants to hurt me.”
“So what?” Callie snapped her fingers like she could wake her up. “Where’s my bad-ass big sister? You just pointed a Glock at two meth freaks with a bunch of cops one street over. Stop spinning around like a playground bitch who just got her first broken bone.”
Slowly, Leigh started nodding, psyching herself up. “You’re right.”
“Damn straight I’m right. You’ve got a fancy law degree and a fancy job and a clean record and what does Andrew have?” Callie didn’t let her answer. “He’s accused of raping that woman. There are more women who can point their fingers at him. If this fucktard rapist starts whining about how you murdered his daddy twenty years ago, who do you think people are going to believe?”
Leigh kept nodding, but Callie knew what was really bothering her sister. Leigh hated a lot of things, but feeling vulnerable could terrify her to the point of paralysis.
Callie said, “He’s got no power over you, Harleigh. He didn’t even know how to find you until that douchebag private eye showed him your picture.”
“What about you?” Leigh asked. “You stopped using Mom’s last name years ago. Are there other ways he can find you?”
Callie mentally ran through all the disreputable avenues of locating a person who did not want to be found. Trap could be bought off, but, as was her habit, she’d checked into the motel under an alias. Swim Shady was an internet ghost. She had never paid taxes. She had never had an active lease or a cell phone account or a driver’s license or health insurance. Obviously, she had a social security number, but Callie had no idea what it was and her mother had probably burned it out long ago. Her juvenile record was sealed. Her first adult arrest listed her as Calliope DeWinter because the cop who’d asked for her last name had never read Daphne du Maurier and Callie, stoned out of her mind, had found this so hilarious that she’d pissed herself in the back of his squad car, thus halting all further interrogation. Add to that the weird pronunciation of her first name and the aliases piled onto aliases. Even when Callie was in the Grady ICU wasting away from Covid, her patient chart had listed her as Cal E. O. P. DeWinter.
She told Leigh, “He can’t find me.”
Leigh nodded, visibly relieved. “Okay, so keep laying low. Try to stay sharp.”
Callie thought about something Trap had said before he’d tried to rob her.
White dude. Nice car.
Reggie Paltz. Mercedes Benz.
“I promise it won’t be long,” Leigh said. “Andrew’s trial should last two or three days. Whatever he’s planning, he’ll have to move fast.”
Callie took a shallow breath as she studied Leigh’s face. Her sister had not really considered what kind of havoc Andrew could cause in Callie’s life, mostly because Leigh knew very little about how Callie lived. She had probably tracked down Callie through a lawyer friend. She had no idea Dr. Jerry was still working, let alone that Callie was helping him out.
Setting aside that Reggie Paltz was already asking questions, he clearly had his contacts inside of the police force. He could put Callie’s name on their radar. She was already trafficking drugs. If the right cop asked the wrong questions, Dr. Jerry could be looking at the DEA banging down his front door and Callie could be going through a hard detox at the downtown City Detention Center.
Callie watched Binx flop down onto his side, taking advantage of the sunlight hitting the dashboard. She did not know if she was more worried about Dr. Jerry or herself. They didn’t offer medically assisted detox in jail. They locked you in a cell by yourself and, three days later, you either walked out on your own power or you were rolled out in a body bag.
She told Leigh, “Maybe it would be better if we made it easy for Andrew to find me.”
Leigh looked incredulous. “How the fuck would that be a good thing, Callie? Andrew’s a sadistic rapist. He kept asking about you today. His own best friend says he’s going to start looking for you eventually.”
Callie ignored those facts because they would only scare her into backing down. “Andrew’s on bail, right? So he has an ankle monitor with an alarm that will go off if he—”
“Do you know how long it takes for a probation officer to respond to an alarm? The city can barely make payroll. Half of the old-timers took early retirement when Covid hit and the rest are covering fifty percent more cases.” Leigh’s incredulous look had turned into open bewilderment. “Which means after Andrew murders you, the cops can look up the GPS records and find out what time he did it.”
Callie felt her mouth go dry. “Andrew wouldn’t look for me himself. He would send his investigator, right?”
“I’m going to get rid of Reggie Paltz.”
“Then he gets another Reggie Paltz.” Callie needed Leigh to stop reeling around and think this through. “Look, if Andrew’s investigator locates me, then that’s something Andrew thinks he has on us, right? The guy will ask me some questions. I’ll feed him what we want him to know, which is nothing. Then he’ll report all of that back to Andrew. And then when Andrew springs it on you, you’ll already know.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Leigh said. “You’re basically offering yourself up as bait.”
Callie fought off a shudder. So much for trickling the truth. Leigh couldn’t know that Callie was already dangling from a hook or she would never let her stay in the city. “I’ll put myself in an obvious place so that the investigator can find me, all right? It’s easier to deal with someone when you know they’re coming.”
“Hell no.” Leigh was already shaking her head. She knew what the obvious place was. “That’s insanity. He’ll find you in a heartbeat. If you could see the photos of what Andrew did to—”
“Stop.” Callie did not have to be told what Buddy Waleski’s son was capable of. “I want to do this. I am going to do this. It’s not a matter of asking for your permission.”
Leigh pressed together her lips again. “I’ve got cash. I can get more. I’ll set you up wherever you like.”
Callie was not, could not, leave the only place she had known as her home. But she knew about another option, one that would make sense to anybody who had ever met her. She could leave Binx in the care of Dr. Jerry. She could take all the drugs in the locked cabinet and Kurt Cobain would be giving her a solo performance of “Come As You Are” before the sun went down.
“Cal?” Leigh said.
Her brain was too caught up in the Cobain loop to answer.
“I need—” Leigh grabbed her hand again, pulling her out of the fantasy. “I need you, Calliope. I can’t fight off Andrew unless I know you’re okay.”
Callie looked down at their intertwined hands. Leigh was the only connection she had left to anything that resembled a normal life. They only saw each other in desperate times, but the knowledge that her sister would always be there had gotten Callie out of countless dark, seemingly hopeless situations.
No one ever talked about how lonely addiction could be. You were vulnerable when you needed a fix. You were completely unguarded when you were high. You always, no matter what, woke up alone. Then there was the absence of other people. You were isolated from your family because they didn’t trust you. Old friends fell away in horror. New friends stole your shit or were afraid you would steal theirs. The only people you could talk to about your loneliness were other junkies, and the nature of addiction was such that no matter how sweet or generous or kind you were in your heart, you were always going to choose your next fix over any friendship.
Callie couldn’t be strong for herself, but she could be strong for her sister. “You know I can take care of myself. Give me some cash so I can get this over with.”
“Cal, I—”
“The three Fs,” Callie said, because they both knew the obvious place had an entrance fee. “Hurry up before I lose my nerve.”
Leigh reached into her purse. She retrieved a thick envelope. She had always been good with money—scrimping, saving, hustling, only investing in the things that would bring back more money. To Callie’s expert eye, she was looking at five grand.
Instead of handing it all over, Leigh peeled away ten twenty-dollar bills. “We’ll start with this?”
Callie nodded, because they both knew if she had all the money at once it would end up in her veins. Callie turned in the seat, facing forward again. She slipped off her sneaker. She counted out $60, then asked Leigh, “Give me a hand?”
Leigh reached down and tucked three twenties inside Callie’s shoe, then helped her slide it back on. “Are you sure about this?”
“No.” Callie waited for Leigh to wrangle Binx back into the carrier before she got out of the car. She unzipped her pants. She tucked the rest of the cash like a pad into the crotch of her underwear. “I’ll call you so you have my phone number.”
Leigh unpacked the car. She put the carrier down on the ground. She hugged the lumpy pillowcase to her chest. Guilt flooded her face, permeated her breath, overwhelmed her emotions. This was why they only saw each other when shit got bad. The guilt was too much for either of them to bear.
“Hold on,” Leigh said. “This is a bad idea. Let me take you—”
“Harleigh.” Callie reached for the pillowcase. The muscles in her neck screamed in protest, but she worked to keep it off her face. “I’ll check in with you, okay?”
“Please,” Leigh said. “I can’t let you do this, Cal. It’s too hard.”
“‘Everything’s hard for everybody.’”
Leigh clearly didn’t like having her own words quoted back to her. “Callie, I’m serious. Let’s get you out of here. Buy me some time to think about …”
Callie listened to her voice trail off. Leigh had thought about it. The thinking was what had brought them both here. Andrew was letting Leigh believe that he’d bought her Iowa dairy farm story. If Trap was telling the truth, Andrew had already sent out his investigator to locate Callie. When that happened, Callie would be ready for him. And when Andrew sprung it on Leigh, she wouldn’t spin off into a paranoid freakshow.
There was something to be said for being even one tiny step ahead of a psychopath.
Still, Callie felt her resolve start to falter. Like any junkie, she always thought of herself as water finding the easiest path down. She had to fight that instinct for her sister’s sake. Leigh was somebody’s mother. She was somebody’s wife. She was somebody’s friend. She was everything that Callie would never be because life was oftentimes cruel but it was usually fair.
“Harleigh,” Callie said. “Let me do this. It’s the only way we can take away some of his leverage.”
Her sister was so easy to read. The guilt washed back and forth across her face as Leigh spun through all the scenarios that she had likely spun through before showing up at the motel with a Glock in her hand. Eventually, thankfully, her lizard brain kicked in. She finally reconciled herself to the inevitable. Her back pressed against the car. Her arms folded across her chest. She waited for what needed to come next.
Callie picked up Binx. The cat squawked in dismay. Pain blazed through Callie’s neck and arm, but she gritted her teeth and started walking down the familiar street. As she put distance between herself and her sister, Callie was glad that she couldn’t look over her shoulder. She knew Leigh was watching her. She knew that Leigh would stay by her car, guilt-ridden, hurting, terrified, until Callie turned the corner at the end of the road.
Even then, a few more minutes passed before Callie heard a car door close, the Audi’s engine start up.
“That was my big sister,” she told Binx, who was stiff and angry in his confinement. “She’s got a nice car, right?”
Binx chortled. He preferred an SUV.
“I know you liked the motel, but there are really fat birds here, too.” Callie tilted up her head so she could see the sparse trees. Most cats had to be slowly acclimated to new surroundings. Because of their many unplanned relocations, Binx was adept at scoping out new territory and finding his way back home. Still, everyone needed inducements. She assured him, “There’s chipmunks. Squirrels. Rats the size of bunnies. Bunnies the size of rats.”
The cat offered no response. He did not want to jeopardize his tax situation.
“Woodpeckers. Pigeons. Blue birds. Cardinals. You love cardinals. I’ve seen your recipes.”
Music echoed into her ears as she turned left, going deeper into the neighborhood. Two men were sitting in a carport drinking beer. An open cooler was between them. The next house had another man washing his car in the driveway. The music was coming from his jacked-up audio system. His kids were giggling as they kicked a basketball around the yard.
Callie couldn’t ever remember feeling that kind of child-like freedom. She had loved gymnastics, but her mother had seen the potential to make money, so what had been fun had been turned into a job. Then Callie had been cut from the team and she’d taken up cheerleading. Another opportunity for money. Then Buddy had taken an interest in her and there was even more money.
She had loved him.
That was the real tragedy of Callie’s life. That was the gorilla she couldn’t get off her back. The only person she had ever truly loved was a heinous pedophile.
A long-ago shrink during a long-failed rehab stint had told her that it wasn’t really love. Buddy had inserted himself as a substitute father so that Callie would let her guard down. He had given her a feeling of security in exchange for doing something that she had hated.
Only, Callie hadn’t hated all of it. In the beginning, when he was gentle, some of it had felt good. What did that say about Callie? What kind of sickness festered inside of her that she could actually end up liking that?
She exhaled slowly as she turned onto the next street. Her breathing was becoming labored from the walk. She shifted the carrier to her other hand, stuck the lumpy pillowcase under her arm. The pull in her neck was like a red-hot glob o
f molten steel but she wanted to feel the pain.
She stopped in front of a one-story red cottage with a sway-backed roof. Patchy wood siding striped the front of the house. Burglar bars brought a prison-like feel to the open windows and doors. A scruffy mutt with a bit too much Scottish terrier for her liking stood sentry at the screen door.
Callie’s knee gristled as she climbed the three wonky stairs. She set Binx down on the front porch. She dropped the pillowcase. She knocked hard on the frame of the metal door. The dog started barking.
“Roger!” a smoke-stained voice bellowed from the back of the house. “Shut your damn snout!”
Callie rubbed her arms as she looked back into the street. Lights were on inside the bungalow across the way, but the house next door was boarded up, the grass in the yard so tall it looked like a desiccated corn field. A pile of shit was on the sidewalk. Callie lifted up on her toes for a better angle. Human.
She heard footsteps behind her. She thought about what she’d told Leigh—I’ll put myself in an obvious place.
If Andrew Tenant sent someone to look for Callie, there was one obvious place to find her.
“Well fuck me in the face.”
Callie turned back around.
Phil stood on the other side of the screen door. She hadn’t changed since Callie was in diapers. Thin and rangy like an alley cat. Eyes rimmed dark like a startled raccoon’s. Teeth sharp and fanged like a porcupine. Nose as red and distended as a menstruating baboon’s ass. A baseball bat was propped against her shoulder. A cigarette dangled from her mouth. Her rheumy eyes went from Callie down to the carrier. “What’s the cat called?”
“Stupid Cunt.” Callie forced a smile. “Stunt for short.”
Phil leveled her with a look. “You know the rule, smart ass. You can’t stay at my house unless you’re funding me, feeding me, or fucking me.”
The three Fs. They had been raised on the rule. Callie kicked off her sneaker. The folded twenties waved like an invitation.
The bat was returned to its spot. The screen door opened. Phil grabbed the sixty bucks. She asked, “You got more in your cooch?”
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