In the Red

by Lisa Libby

  “Ava, I have lived my life, I am okay to end it on my own terms.”

  Ava leans in and whispers, “They will torture you and everyone you know, they will want to know why, and they won’t believe you because your motive is nonsense. So … this is goodbye?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so, kid.”

  The mood changes, and when our food arrives, we eat in silence. There’s nothing more to say.

  “When?” Ava asks.

  “You know I can’t tell you.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “Don’t take offense, I trust no one.”

  “Me either.” We both chuckle.

  “Don’t you have a flight to catch?”

  “Yes. But are you sure you don’t want a different ending to your life story? I mean, I can help hide you, and even get you out after, but you need to give me more information.”

  “Ava, please, my mind is made up. Don’t waste your energy. I believe people enter your life for a reason, and they also exit for a reason. This all feels right. It’s my time to stop running, hiding and being scared.”

  A single tear rolls down her cheek. She looks down without making eye contact.

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you.”

  She stands, holding out her hand. We shake, and just like that she’s gone.

  I sit finishing my coffee and thinking about what I would do if I did survive. I’m making a mistake. I quickly push those thoughts out of my mind. Suddenly, my wrist stings. I look at my wrist but there is nothing there.

  1 month later

  Today is the day… I’ve been following Claire for a few weeks. The only day that she has a routine is Sunday. She goes to church at the same time, same location, same car and the same guys are with her. I won’t kill her in the church because, after all, I’m Jewish, and I refuse to ruin a sacred place for the worshippers even if it’s not my religious choice. I will catch her at her favorite restaurant where she goes after church. I’ve been going to the church and the restaurant for the last couple of weeks. She sits in the same booth, and I have been sitting in the same booth further down, but when you need to go to the bathroom, you walk right by her booth. I will get up to go to the bathroom, pull out the gun and shoot her in the side of her head. I have two shots, one for her head and one for mine. I have four seconds to reach into my pocket and shoot her in the head and two seconds to pull the gun and shoot myself before I am surrounded.

  I don’t go to church today because I want to get to the restaurant just before she arrives. The restaurant is unusually crowded today; there are a few new faces, but nothing out of the ordinary. I order my food as her vehicle pulls up. I try not to look in her direction. I have my newspaper in front of me, pretending to read the news. She sits down, and I take note of the clock. The waitress will be at her table in five minutes to take the drink order, then return three minutes later with coffee. She will place an order, which takes about two minutes, and the waitress will walk off.

  It’s time. I get up and begin my twenty-three second walk to her table. My hand is to my side, ready to reach in my pocket. I have practiced this over and over in my bathroom mirror. I know the level my arm needs to be and where on her head I need to shoot to kill her. I am ten seconds away when I see someone walk out of the bathroom; he is walking on the side I need to be to kill Claire. He looks dead in my eyes. He is a Native American man, and I’ve never seen him before in my life. He needs to move to another aisle, or he will bump into me. I’m not budging; I am here to kill this bitch. I don’t break eye contact with the Native American. We both arrive at Claire’s booth at the same time, but before I can even reach into my pocket, he dives in front of me, pulls Claire’s head back by her hair and slices her neck from ear to ear. I dive into the booth next to her and take cover. The bullets are flying in all directions. I look over and Claire is staring at me with her dead eyes, thick blood spreading across the table and dripping on the floor. I am angry, angry that I didn’t kill her and angry that I am once again hiding under the table.

  The room fills with smoke. I cover my mouth, trying not to inhale the substance. It smells all-too familiar. Perhaps I remember the smell from a homicide case in the past. Gangs have been using a substance like this to get rid of DNA left at the scene. Although this substance is stronger. My eyes are burning, I need to get out or this chemical is going to kill me. I crawl over what seem to be dead bodies. I hesitate to open the front door for fear of being captured and tortured. I didn’t kill Claire, someone else killed Claire, but I will stick to my original plan. I pull out my gun, because suicide was always the plan.

  AVA

  CHAPTER 39

  In The Red

  All I can see is bright blue-sky peeking through the blowing palm leaves. My lounge chair is in a fully horizontal position. The sand fleas bite at my ankles every so often, reminding me I am disturbing their home. My upper body is shaded from the brutal sun, but as the sun shifts more of my legs are exposed to the sun. I throw a towel over my legs. All I can hear is the waves crashing and the resort getting ready for the day ahead. I know it has just turned 10:30 a.m. because the music at the beach bar is blasting reggae; Three Little Birds is playing in the background. I’m too familiar with the music rotation. Island life is just as repetitive as the days in the city; there’s just a different scenery with a slower hustle. I’m craving my first drink of the day, a mimosa. It’s my first drink every morning. All I need to do is wave in the bar’s direction and the drink will be in my hands in minutes. Tipping well and for every service gets you special attention. I can’t imagine the amount I tip in the evenings when I’m drunk. It’s a routine habit for me now. The heat keeps you drinking all day and will dehydrate you while you get drunk. Paul suggests I drink a glass of water for every alcoholic beverage I have. I know I shouldn’t be drinking while pregnant, but I’m guessing my subconscious knows I won’t end up keeping the baby. I’m uncertain if Mac’s the father or Johnny. I’m having difficulty going through with the abortion, but if I keep putting it off, I’ll be too far along for doctors to even consider doing the procedure. I can’t tell if it’s my hormones or just depression I feel. This time the weather is not to blame. It’s a mixture of homesickness and being upset with myself for putting Johnny in prison. I have cycled back to that old dirt road of deep depression before I lost my job.

  I didn’t foresee Johnny pleading guilty to keep Susan out of jail. I was certain they would charge Susan with all the proof provided. The DEA was just happy to charge someone and connect the crime. I wish Johnny would have trusted me enough to tell me his plan because I would have done all I could to push Susan in front of the prison bus. He doesn’t deserve to be in jail, with his son’s birth approaching. Fuck Casey, but his son is a different story. I love Johnny and will always care for him no matter how much he hates me, even if he never speaks to me again.

  I’ve paid everyone I can at the prison in return for Johnny’s safety. He hasn’t made many friends. I know the Mob claims to protect him, but I don’t trust their promises. I’ve written to him every week since he’s been locked up. I’m living in hope for a collect call or a letter returned. He has not tried to reach me. I have tried to call the jail to check if I am on the visitors list. Paul is working on setting up a meeting with Johnny, bypassing the visiting regulations.

  I’ve begged Lewis to make sure he is not harmed in prison. I expressed my love for Johnny, so he will take my request seriously. He hates Johnny and his family. He won’t tell me the reasons, but I imagine there is a laundry list of issues. Johnny isn’t a likeable person. He appears an arrogant, ungrateful prick. He isn’t nice to many people; I have firsthand experience of him treating me like I’m less than him. Still, he has this way of making everything better.

  Paul and I are running low on cash. We have credit in the dark world of hacking but favors in the form of credit can only get you
so far. I spent all I had from the Atlantic job on buying back Koda’s mountain. I knew only Koda would be able to successfully carry out Claire’s murder. I never had faith Mr. Alterman could kill her, instead I used him as bait. If Alterman was stalking Claire, the Indian would stalk Mr. Alterman. The deal I made with Connor McClean was to follow Mr. Alterman and make sure he didn’t do anything stupid – and protect him from being hurt. I knew Connor would discover what Mr. Alterman was up to and possibly warn the Mob. When I shook Mr. Alterman’s hand that day at the diner, I transferred the tracking device Paul sent me. I gave this information to both Connor and The Indian. The Indian wouldn’t get blamed for Claire’s murder; instead Mr. Alterman would be blamed. I just hope he’s dead before the Mob discovers Claire’s lifeless body, or I fear he will suffer a torturous death.

  The non-profit Paul set up has proved successful for cleaning dirty money, but between the profits and funding the non-profit, money trickles in like a leaky faucet. We are spending more than we are taking in, leaving our balance negative, in other words, no profit. The accounting books have more percentages in red than I would like to see. We cannot afford to go back to the States. It’s cheaper to stay living in the Dominican for now, until we figure out our next plan. Not to mention, I have spent a good amount of cash trying to win back Johnny, while Paul spends all his resources on computers, and faster internet connection. Also, he has established quite a habit with prostitutes. I have never spent so much time with Paul, and just assumed he didn’t have sex. To see him with men is something I will need to get used to. He’s been taking hormones to make himself look and sound more feminine. I think it’s amazing he’s being himself, but a little part of me feels he’s changing his identity to get out from under HSAC, since they have frozen a lot of his online bank accounts. We are, in accounting terms, ‘in the red’, meaning we are hemorrhaging money. I have a small circle of people I can borrow from, especially since Ruben hasn’t returned my calls.

  I feel a shadow crosses the sun. No rain or clouds are forecast today. It must be the bar boy checking to see if I want a drink. I open one eye and see a familiar bearded face. My heart almost jumps out of my chest. Does he know Claire is dead and does he think I had something to do with it?

  “Ava. Looks like yah having a nice vacation; I think I’ll join ya,” my father says. He’s wearing a ridiculous pair of floral swim trunks and matching shirt, left open, his stomach bulging over his shorts. His chest has fuzzy red hair all over. He drags an empty lounge chair between Paul and me. My father doesn’t realize Paul is with me, or at least he pretends he doesn’t notice.

  “So, Ms. Ava, what are ya doin’ in the Caribbean?” He pauses, but not long enough for me to respond. “Think, before you lie to me again. I wouldn’t ask you the question if I didn’t already know the answer.”

  I can’t tell what he wants me to admit to.

  “I had to get away…”

  “Bullshit, fuckin’ bullshit. You’re a lying bitch, just like ya goddamn mothah.” I have never heard my father raise his voice or talk in that tone before. I bite my bottom lip, fighting back the tears before I respond.

  “Who, Claire? Or my foster mother, Mary. Which mother, Daddy. Please tell me, what bitch are you referring to?”

  He sits there in shock, staring out at the ocean. I swing my legs around sitting sideways in the lounge chair and lean in to whisper in my father’s ear.

  “Your silence confirms Claire is my mother. Now, you are wondering how I know? It was my fake mother’s graduation gift. She must have known the Irish were coming for her because she was killed afterwards.”

  It still stuns him but now he’s sitting up facing in my direction.

  “Ava—” he tries to explain.

  I stop him because I don’t want an apology; it won’t help, and I don’t need an explanation because it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. The past only matters if it helps me move forward.

  “Jimmy, you’re not my biological father. I had a DNA test done.”

  I let him absorb the truth before continuing.

  “I don’t care that we are not related by blood, I still look to you as my father. Our relationship will not change as father and daughter. What will change is that I’m next up after Claire dies. I want you to get your ass back on the first plane to Boston, and you tell my dearest mother Claire that I’m coming for her position with the Mob.”

  With that, I get up from my chair, grab my hat and sandals and, without looking back, I begin my routine walk down the beach without a worry in the world.

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for reading my first novel, In the Red. This is not the last you will hear from Ava and her criminal entourage. I’ve left you wondering what will become of Ava, but not to worry. I’ve already started writing the sequel, In the Black. The story will continue at the beach where Ava was last seen. For updates on the release date, please visit my website lisalibby.com, follow me on Instagram @lisalibbyauthor.

  As a new writer I appreciate you purchasing my book and supporting a new writer such as myself. When you have the opportunity please consider leaving a review on Amazon and recommending my book to your family and friends.

  Thank you,

  Lisa Libby