Heaven's a Lie

by Wallace Stroby

  “Do you want the letters?”

  “Nah. The guy that wrote those, he’s been gone for a long time. You keep them, or burn them, toss them, whatever you want.”

  “I would never do that.”

  “Funny thing is, looking at you brings all that back.” He sighs. “Lotta years gone. Blink of an eye.”

  He looks back at the water. “Let me think about this, make a couple calls. Whether they’ll do any good, I don’t know. Maybe we can chase this guy off. Let him know he’s out of his depth, who he’s dealing with.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll do what I can. No promises.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m not so good with those anyway,” he says. “Your mother probably told you that, too.”

  * * *

  Back at the hotel, she calls Brianna from her cell.

  “Jo, where are you? I was worried.”

  “Nothing to worry about. I just had to go away for a little while. I wanted to get you this number, in case you need to reach me.”

  “Thank you for the check. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

  “Is everything okay there?”

  Remembering Travis Clay in her rearview, standing with a gun by the side of the road. Where is he now?

  “Yes. We’re at my mom’s. We can stay as long as we need.”

  “Good.”

  “Cara was asking about you, where you were.”

  “Give her a hug for me.”

  “I will. You sure everything’s all right?”

  “Maybe it will be,” she says. “Soon.”

  After she ends the call, she opens the room safe, takes out a pack of hundreds, puts it in a hotel envelope.

  Dusk brings more snow. She turns out the lights, stands at the window, watching it swirl in the streetlights below. The letters are on the dresser.

  Mom, if you only knew where I am, who I saw.

  The room phone trills.

  “Our friend wants to meet,” Sean says. “He’s been thinking about your situation, has some ideas.”

  “When? Where?”

  “Tonight. Your hotel. Nine o’ clock. We’ll come up.”

  “What does he think?”

  “I’ll let him tell you that,” he says.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I can solve your problem,” Danny says.

  They’re sitting in her room, Sean in a chair near the door, watching them.

  “I talked to some people,” Danny says. “I’m confident I can get this guy off your back.”

  “That was quick,” she says.

  “I still have a friend or two owes me a favor. But something like this, it costs.”

  “I expected that.” She goes to the desk, opens a drawer and takes out the envelope, hands it to him.

  “What’s this?” he says.

  “Ten thousand.”

  He looks at Sean, then back at her. “That’s very generous.” He tosses it on the bed.

  “Not enough?” she says.

  “Kid, I don’t think you understand.”

  “What are you doing here?” Sean says. “Who sent you?”

  “No one sent me.”

  “You wearing a wire?” He gets up.

  “Don’t touch me.” Heat in her face, a swell of fear.

  “Sean, let me handle this,” Danny says. “Jo, this mess you got yourself into, you think your life’s in danger, or you wouldn’t be here. So we’re not talking about any ten thousand, are we? Where it came from, what it was for, I’m guessing there was at least a hundred to start with.”

  She cuts a glance toward the door, Sean standing there, blocking it.

  “I can deal with this for you,” Danny says. “Take care of it like it never happened.”

  “And in return?”

  “You’re in way over your head here. You need to understand I’m doing you a favor. That money will only bring you more grief. Maybe we can make a deal, let you keep a little.”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Who?”

  “The man I took it from.”

  He frowns. “I’d hate to see you get hurt. On your own, this only ends one way. You keep running, hope he doesn’t find you. But from what you told me about this guy, he will.”

  “So you’re going to help me?”

  “Jo, I’m your best way out. I can settle this thing.”

  “In exchange for the money.”

  “Did you think you were going to be able to keep it?”

  Sean gets up, slides open the closet door, flicks on the interior light. “There’s a safe in here.”

  “That where you put it?” Danny says.

  She doesn’t answer. She’s frozen.

  “This is a good deal,” Danny says. “You hand over the money—whatever you’ve got here—and your worries are over.”

  “A good deal,” she says.

  “Best you’re gonna get. In your heart, you know I’m right.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “Neither of us wants that.”

  She nods. “I was just wondering.”

  “About what?”

  “What my mother would say if she was here.”

  His face hardens. “Let’s not mix things up here. We had our talk about the old days. What’s past is past. You brought those letters because you wanted something from me. Now I’m telling you what it’ll cost.”

  “I need some time to think.”

  “What’s there to think about?” Sean says. “Listen to the man. You don’t have a choice.”

  “Or you’ll kill me?”

  “Don’t talk foolish,” Danny says. “But wanting time to think, that doesn’t work either, and you know why. First chance you get, you’re out of town, and we’re left holding the bag. No. The way it has to go, when we walk out that door, it’s settled.”

  “Open the safe,” Sean says.

  “Look at it as a weight off your shoulders,” Danny says. “Maybe all I have to do is have a conversation with this guy, discourage him. He gets the message, and you’re in the clear.”

  “He won’t give up. He hasn’t so far.”

  “Then we do what has to be done. Either way, you’re free. Now, I’m guessing Sean’s right, the money’s in the safe. You told me you brought it here, and you haven’t had time to do anything with it. So let’s have a look at what’s in there, come to an agreement.”

  “And you’ll settle for that?”

  “We’ll talk about it. Jo, you don’t know what you’re into here. You ever want to go back to a normal life, this is what you have to do.”

  “Normal,” she says.

  “That’s right.”

  She turns to Sean. His right hand’s in his coat pocket.

  “You have a gun in there?” she says. “Make a lot of noise, wouldn’t it? Shoot me in a hotel room?”

  “I don’t need a gun.” His hand comes out of the pocket.

  “Everybody settle down, all right?” Danny says. “I think Jo knows what the situation is.”

  “I do,” she says, and suddenly the fear is gone. It all feels inevitable now, like she’s watching it, what’s going to happen.

  “If you have a gun, go ahead and shoot me,” she says. “Best ending to this for me anyway, isn’t it?”

  “Nobody’s shooting anybody,” Danny says. “Jo, be reasonable.”

  Sean takes a step closer.

  “Come on, Jo,” Danny says. “Don’t make us the bad guys.”

  “It’s not all there. I left some in banks back home.”

  “Let’s take a look,” Danny says. “We can work this out.”

  She’s surprised how calm she feels. She slides the closet door wider, kneels in front of the safe. Sean’s shadow falls across her.

  “You’re in my light,” she says. He steps to the side.

  She taps in the combination, and the green light blinks. She pulls open the door. He can see the packs of banded money.

  “There we go,” he sa
ys.

  She reaches past the money, feels the .25 on the shelf there, draws it out, and aims it at his groin. “Leave.”

  He takes a step back. “Get the fuck out of here with that.”

  “Put that down, Jo,” Danny says. “Are you crazy?”

  She stands, her legs tingling, numb. She thumbs off the safety, backs up, bumps against the desk.

  “We don’t want a scene here,” Danny says. “Don’t make this worse.”

  “What is that, a twenty-five?” Sean says. “You ever fire that thing? You shoot me with that, I might not even feel it.”

  “You’ll feel it. Don’t come any closer.”

  Danny puts out his hand. “Give me that before somebody gets hurt.”

  Sean lunges. She throws herself back, hits the desk, and then she’s falling, taking the chair down with her. She squeezes the trigger, and the gun goes off with a crack.

  Sean leaps back. She’s missed. Then he reaches down, grips his right leg. There’s a hole in his jeans, halfway down the inside of his calf.

  “Bitch, you shot me.”

  She gets up, using the desk for support, the gun still pointed at him.

  “Now look what you did,” Danny says. “Enough of this.”

  She swings the gun toward him. He raises his hands, backs away. Sean sits down in the chair. He slides up his jeans leg, exposes a small hole in the fleshy part of his calf, blood streaming slowly out.

  “I’m bleeding.”

  She backs up to keep both of them in front of her.

  “Use your belt,” Danny says.

  Sean looks at him.

  “On your leg.”

  He unbuckles the belt. It’s thin, black leather with a silver buckle. He pulls it free of the loops, wraps it around his leg just above the hole and threads the belt through the buckle.

  “On the outside,” Danny says. “You gonna walk down the hall like that?”

  He undoes the belt, eases the jeans leg down, then tightens it again, grimaces.

  “There you go,” Danny says.

  Danny looks at her, lowers his hands, something like a smile on his face. “You made your point.”

  He reaches for the envelope.

  “No,” she says. “It’s too late.” Surprised to hear herself saying the words. “Leave it.”

  “Now, that’s not right.”

  “It was all a lie, wasn’t it? About making phone calls, talking to people?”

  “No. I can still make that happen.”

  “Get out.”

  “Lady, you fucked up,” Sean says. His face is shiny with sweat.

  She points the gun at him. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Out.”

  “Seems I misjudged you,” Danny says.

  “You did.” Her arm is tired now. The gun wavers.

  To Sean, he says, “Can you walk?”

  “I think so.”

  “I know a doctor we can call, get you fixed up. I’ll drive. Try not to bleed in the car.”

  “What about her?”

  “Just leave,” she says.

  At the door, Danny turns back to her.

  “You got heart, kid,” he says. “Keep the money. You earned it.”

  * * *

  When they’re gone, she packs quickly. The envelope and the money from the safe go back into her suitcase.

  She takes the gun, slides out the clip. It’s empty. The bullet in the chamber is the only one left.

  Outside the hotel, the snow’s coming down harder. No sign of the Lincoln. A taxi pulls up to the entrance, its wipers thumping. She gets in back, drags the suitcase in with her. “South Station.”

  “You want to put that in the trunk?” the driver says.

  “No. I’ll keep it with me.”

  As they pull away, she looks back at the hotel. No one’s following them.

  Her left hand begins to shake. She opens and closes her fist until it stops.

  He was right. You can keep running, but to where? Sooner or later, you’ll have to go back.

  An hour later, she’s on a train heading south. The car’s dim. She looks out at the driving snow, listens to the wheels.

  They pass a row of homes, windows full of light. She imagines the people inside, children, families, warm and safe. Then it’s dark again, and all she can see is her own reflection. She touches the coolness of the glass.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Two a.m. and Travis is parked in the lot of the strip club, alone in the Lexus. He left the Silverado in the garage at Cosmo’s town house in Manalapan, locked and tarped. He’ll need new wheels before long. The Lexus is too noticeable, easy to remember. No good for what he has planned.

  The bar is a squat concrete building with blacked-out windows, a sign that reads HI-STEPPERS GENTLEMAN’S CLUB. It’s closing time, only a few cars left in the lot. As he watches, burly men in STAFF T-shirts walk girls to their cars.

  His shoulder itches, burns. Infection setting in. He’ll have to change the dressing again soon.

  A Denali with darkened windows pulls up to the entrance. He remembers it from the motel. The club door opens, and Brianna comes out carrying a shoulder bag, gets in the passenger side. She told him about the club when he met her, and he took the chance coming here.

  He follows the Denali out of the lot. Traffic is sparse, so it’s easy to keep it in sight. Fifteen minutes later, it turns into the entrance of a condo complex. He follows but stays back, switches off his headlights. The Denali’s brake lights flare as it pulls into a driveway, noses up to a garage door. There’s a light in the house’s front window.

  He drives on. The street dead-ends two blocks later in a circular cul-de-sac. He turns around, pulls to the curb, watches them get out of the Denali. The driver is young and skinny, wearing a sideways baseball cap. Brianna unlocks the front door, and they go in. A few minutes later, the man comes out alone, gets in the Denali and drives away. The house light goes off.

  He gives it another half hour, then gets out of the Lexus, walks to the house, staying in the shadows between the light poles.

  The house is quiet. He slips into the side yard, takes out his penlight, shines it through the garage window. There’s a compact minivan inside. He tracks the narrow beam across the floor. Leaning against the rear wall is what he was looking for. The pink bicycle.

  He douses the light and walks back to the Lexus.

  * * *

  When he gets back to Cosmo’s, there’s an empty pint bottle of vodka in the kitchen trash bin. The smell of pot smoke lingers in the air.

  Cosmo is snoring loudly. His bedroom door is ajar, the overhead light still on. He’s lying atop the covers facedown, fully dressed.

  There’s a prescription pill bottle on the nightstand. Travis picks it up, reads the label. Xanax. Cosmo self-medicating his stress.

  He sets the bottle back down, turns off the light, closes the door behind him.

  In the bathroom, he pulls off his T-shirt, gingerly peels away the gauze from his shoulder. It’s black with dried blood, patches of yellow pus that weren’t there before. The skin around the wound is red and warm. He dabs at it with a wet washcloth, then tapes on more gauze.

  He feels dizzy then, has to sit on the rim of the tub until it passes. He takes two Tylenol from the medicine cabinet, washes them down with tap water. He’ll need something stronger soon.

  Awake in the guest bedroom, he looks up at the ceiling, working it out in his head, what he’ll do tomorrow, how to turn all this around. The pain in his shoulder is a rhythmic pulse, fading as he drifts into sleep.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Cosmo drives him to the Middletown commuter lot. Cosmo is sallow and sick. Before they left the town house, Travis could hear him throwing up behind the bathroom door.

  “You keeping it together?” Travis says as they pull into the lot. “You don’t look too good.”

  “I’ll be all right. Just a bad night.”

  “You need to take it easy with the drinking. I need you sharp.”<
br />
  “I just got to thinking about all that’s going on. Maybe it’s time we cut our losses.”

  “How’s that?”

  “We still have the fifty in the safe. We can split that, lay low, let some of this shit blow over.”

  “Twenty-five each? How long will that last? Besides, there’s a principle involved.”

  “What principle?”

  Travis doesn’t answer.

  “Is it worth it,” Cosmo says, “keep chasing that money?”

  “It’ll be over soon.”

  “Will it? Everything you told me, doesn’t seem like that woman’s going to give it up.”

  “She will this time,” Travis says. “I have a plan.”

  He gets out of the Lexus, waits for Cosmo to drive away, then walks the rows of cars until he finds one he knows he can hot-wire easily, a four-door Saturn. The rear passenger door is unlocked. A good sign, his luck coming back around.

  He uses the tactical knife to pry off part of the steering column, then strips and braids wires until the engine starts.

  He gets on the Parkway and heads south, then east toward the ocean, following the coast roads. Past the Manasquan Inlet are the abandoned beach houses he remembered, four of them in a row, flooded out by the last hurricane, waiting to be torn down.

  The southernmost house is farther away from the others, more battered. The windows and doors are covered with plywood. The gray paint’s been stripped off the walls by years of wind-blown sand.

  He parks across the road near a shuttered pavilion and bandshell. No one around. He crosses the sandy street, walks through the dune grass to the beach. The wind is coming hard off the ocean. Waves slam into the stone jetties, spray geysering high.

  There’s a deck in back of the last house, the redwood long faded, gaps in the rotted boards. Two sheets of plywood are nailed over a frame that once held a sliding glass door. One of them is loose. He pulls on it, nails squeaking, until it comes away. He leans it against the other sheet, shines the penlight inside. It’s a small kitchen, stripped bare, sand on the floor.

  Beyond the kitchen is a dark hall with two facing doors. The right one opens on a bedroom with a boarded window, a stained mattress on the floor. On the left, a bathroom with a narrow plastic shower stall and a sink bleeding rust.