Trust Me

by Richard Z. Santos

  Addie put her hands over her face. “Charlie, what have you done?”

  “I’m trying to help all of us,” he said. “It’s not an airport, it’s . . .”

  “Please,” Thompson interrupted. “Right now, I go back to not knowing what’s happening. If I’m lucky, and I’m obviously not, maybe my clients believe me. Maybe I don’t have to see that brick of a man again.” Thompson dropped a five-dollar bill on the bar and slid off his stool. He glanced at Charles and Addie but kept breaking eye contact. “If you’re lucky, and you’re obviously not, you go home and get a quiet job. And then you thank the Lord that, despite your best efforts to prove otherwise, you are not Jim Hawley.”

  Thompson put his hand on Charles’ shoulder and gave Addie a weak smile. He left them in the drugstore next to a sticky milkshake glass.

  FORTY-FOUR

  GABE WAS IN TROUBLE. He and Micah were not even making small talk. The kid had one ear bud in and was staring straight ahead. Gabe made the quiet even more painful by occasionally reading out the text on highway billboards.

  They passed a man walking on the side of the highway with his thumb out. Any other day, especially driving someone else’s truck, Gabe would have slowed down and told him to hop in the back. The man wore a big backpack with a metal frame. Hanging from it was cookware, a sleeping bag and a canteen. Gabe had forgotten all about Micah’s trip.

  “So you’re going camping,” Gabe said. “I’ve got some old blankets you can take. Some pots and pans I can dig up.”

  Micah shook his head: “Well, it’s not like how you do camping. There’s a dining hall, barracks, you know.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. It’s still fun, right?”

  “Should be.”

  Gabe itched for a cigarette. “And it’s a church thing, too. Didn’t you say that? Like, priests and whatever?”

  Micah sunk lower in his seat and looked out the window. “It’s a youth group. Service-oriented. You never did that?”

  “Stuff like that didn’t happen back in my day. If you were out in the woods with a priest, it’d be because he didn’t want anyone to hear you scream.” Gabe started laughing at his own joke before catching a glimpse of Micah’s disgusted expression. He coughed, reached for a cigarette, put the pack back in his shirt and regripped the wheel.

  “Things aren’t like that anymore,” Micah said.

  “I know, I know.” Gabe shrugged his shoulders. “Bad joke.”

  “It’s a service camp. We learn how to help people. Half the time we spend with kids who have developmental problems. We drive into town to visit retirement homes, feed the homeless.”

  “That’s camping?”

  “Sure, yeah, why not?”

  Gabe bit his lower lip and looked straight ahead. “Okay,” Micah said, “most people think it’s cool.”

  Gabe opened his eyes wide and agreed. “Right, yes, it is. I’m impressed. I’m just confused. When I was your age, I was getting drunk and riding dirt bikes through wheat fields. Where’d all this come from?”

  Micah turned red and looked out the window. “It’s what I like to do.”

  Gabe knew the kid was used to being congratulated for stuff like this, but the shock was too much for Gabe. What if he had stuck around? Worked things out with Helen all those years ago? He would have messed the kid up. Micah was better without him.

  They drove the rest of the way in silence.

  Micah did not seem impressed by the house. Most people looked curious, at least. The kid only seemed unsettled, like it was a roller coaster he could not admit was scary.

  “Been a while since you’ve been here,” Gabe said. “Remember it much?”

  Micah nodded. “Yeah, for sure. It’s the house. I remember it with a nicer lawn.”

  “Well, smartass, your mom was the gardener. Let’s get your bags inside. I hope you know how to hook up that video game thing.”

  Gabe hopped out of the cab, but his ankle filled with hot nails. He sat down on the edge of the truck’s doorframe, one foot in the dust and the other hanging beside it like an injured paw. He wanted to reach down and rub his ankle, but his back would not cooperate.

  Micah was waiting by the front door with his bags. “You okay?”

  Gabe blew out a deep breath. “Yeah. Ankle started to hurt fierce. Let me toss you the keys.”

  “No, the door’s open.”

  Gabe nodded and waved Micah in. He took another breath and, bracing himself on the truck door, stood up. The pain went white, then started to fade. He needed to get inside, wanted to leave the pain outside.

  Gabe took a few deep breaths then stood and grabbed the last bag in the bed of the truck.

  By the time he got into the front living room, his ankle pain was gone. Frederick was there. He sat on the couch, smiling and nodding along to music coming out of Micah’s earbuds. Micah was standing in front of him. Frederick was holding the ear bud just outside of his own ear.

  “This is not a good song,” Frederick said. “The bass distorts everything. You think that’s good?”

  “They’re called Bass Demons. That’s their sound.”

  “What are you doing here?” Gabe asked.

  This was not Frederick’s style. It was too early in the day and he never waited for anyone.

  Frederick shook his head. “No, sorry, the producer messed this up. They pushed the bass up and forward in the speakers and buried everything else. There could be chainsaws back there for all you know.”

  “Okay, okay,” Micah said. “Here, this one is a lot more mellow.”

  Gabe came up behind Micah and pulled him away from Frederick. Micah almost stumbled in surprise.

  “Whoa, hey, what’s up?” Micah asked.

  “Now’s not a very good time for me,” Gabe said to Frederick. “My son is here.”

  Gabe caught a strong scent of weed in the air. A trash bag sat on the coffee table. He had hidden the marijuana upstairs in his bedroom—near his guns. Frederick had found it and packed it up. Gabe wondered when Micah would catch the smell.

  “Oh, but we’ve got things to talk about.” Frederick sounded hurt. “I’d like it if the boy was here for this conversation.”

  “Micah,” Gabe pointed upstairs. “Why don’t you go get settled?”

  “For real? I just walked in and you’re sending me to my room?”

  “He’s going to make me a playlist,” Frederick said. “Aren’t you, son?”

  Micah shrugged. “If you want, but I’m putting Bass Demons on it.”

  “I’ll give almost anything a second chance.”

  Gabe knew Frederick would find out eventually, but he hoped it would be after Gabe grew visibly ill. Who would hurt a sick man or a sick man’s son? Gabe caught a glimpse of the trio in the round mirror above the TV. He did not look sick. He looked like the kind of loser who would scam his friends.

  Frederick motioned towards the seat next to him. Gabe sat down, eyes on Micah. Frederick tracked his gaze, and they both stared at the kid.

  “I was going to call you,” Gabe said, “explain a few things.”

  Micah’s eyes flicked their way, then back to his phone. He sat cross-legged against the wall. It made him look about ten years old.

  “I got a call yesterday,” Gabe said. “We’re starting construction again. So, I’ll have some extra money soon.”

  “Pay off some bills?”

  “Yeah, I know I’ve got a few.”

  “A few,” Frederick repeated. “I don’t have a lot of friends, Gabe. Just a few. I don’t think anyone has a lot of friends. Not when it matters. Some people may be more popular, more well known. You, for example, are very well known.” Frederick leaned forward and got Micah’s attention. “Son, do you know how well known your father is right now?”

  “Ugh, that video,” Micah said without looking up from his phone. “No one knows that’s my dad, thank God.”

  Frederick laughed. Gabe’s throat closed up. “Well, it is a bit embarrassing,” Frederick said.
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  Gabe felt like the man could hear his thoughts and sniff out his fear. His chest constricted and he could barely catch his breath.

  “It’s not an embarrassing video because of what you say,” Frederick said, “but because you can’t do anything now and not be recognized. Oh, in a week there’ll be some other internet idiot and you’ll be forgotten. But, right now, I bet you didn’t have any idea how famous you are.”

  Gabe could only exhale and nod.

  Frederick turned back to Micah. “Son, your dad ever say this one to you? ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed.’”

  Micah laughed. “Ha, no, not him. My mom loves that one. Teachers too. It doesn’t even mean anything. We laugh when they say it.”

  “It means something when I say it.”

  Micah caught the rising tension in the room. He looked to Frederick and then to Gabe before standing. “I’ll go unpack.”

  Frederick waved Micah over. “Before you go, help me up.”

  Micah came to the couch and took Frederick’s hand then, in a spin move, Micah was sitting on the couch and Frederick was standing next to him, with his hand on the back of Micah’s neck.

  Actions flipped through Gabe’s head. A quick shove to Frederick’s shoulder. Yank Micah forward and away. Back door.

  He knew none of that would happen. Frederick always carried a knife in his sleeve and a gun in his belt. Gabe could only watch Micah’s eyes go wide as he realized a stranger was gripping his neck.

  “What’s on the table is mine,” Frederick said. “I’ll be taking it back. Also,” he pulled a slip of paper and a pen from his shirt pocket, “you’ll need to endorse this check over to me. I prefer cash, but I’m making an exception for you. You’re welcome.”

  Frederick tossed Rose’s check and the pen towards Gabe. They both landed at his feet. Gabe kept his eyes locked on Micah as he reached down to grab them. Micah’s eyes started to tear up as the initial shock of Frederick’s grip started to pass.

  Gabe signed the back of Rose’s check and dropped it onto the trash bag. “That’s enough,” Gabe said.

  “Not quite. There was a bowl in the kitchen that was very conveniently holding some of my money as well. I helped myself. That’s almost enough. We’ll discuss the rest at a later date.”

  Frederick looked down at Micah as if seeing him for the first time. “Son, do you know what your dad does for a living?” Micah managed a small head shake. Frederick continued, “Why don’t you tell him, Gabe?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “The truth.”

  “I don’t do much. I sit around. I drive a truck on the construction site. I worked in a call center for about a year but I lost that. Lose most of them. Is that what you want?”

  “That’s part of it.”

  Gabe’s jaw tightened as if he could bite back the words. He looked at Micah, only at Micah. He said, “I wanted to see you. I knew you needed help with this camp, which I’m so proud of you for going to. So, I borrowed money. And I tried to do some work . . .”

  “Gabe.”

  “I sold some drugs. I sold weed. Not very much. Practically legal now, anyways. I wish I didn’t have to, you understand?”

  Micah’s nod was so faint that Gabe worried he had imagined it.

  Frederick took a deep breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth. “That feels good, doesn’t it? Clearing the air.”

  Frederick sighed with satisfaction and released Micah’s neck. Gabe saw the color return to Micah’s face, but the boy was still too shocked to move.

  “Give me your phone,” Frederick said.

  Gabe reached for his cell, but Frederick waved him off. “Not you. Micah, you were going to send me a playlist and you need my contact info.”

  Micah reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Frederick took it from his hand. “I’ll call my number from your phone. That way we can stay in touch. Make sense?”

  Micah nodded but still kept his eyes locked on Gabe’s.

  “That way,” Frederick said, “if I need anything from you, or you from me, it’ll be a breeze.”

  Gabe watched Micah’s eyes brim right to the top with tears. No way the kid understood what was happening, but the violence hung in the air, a stranger was touching him, and it was his father’s fault. Frederick slipped the phone into Micah’s pocket. He ran upstairs, the sound brought back Gabe’s memories of the kid clambering up the stairs on all fours. Gabe expected a slammed door, but Micah must have caught himself and slipped it shut.

  Frederick looked out the back door at the new housing development and then back to Gabe. “You could have really cashed in on this place, you know.”

  “My dad built it.”

  Frederick snorted a laugh that sounded like a sneer. Gabe noticed Frederick was holding Micah’s earbuds, and the sight of his fingers rubbing the cords made him queasy. Frederick tore each earbud away from the cord and tossed the mutilated wires at Gabe’s chest. Then he let himself out of the house, locking the door behind him.

  FORTY-FIVE

  MALLON FOLLOWED O’CONNELL from the office to the plaza. From there, he saw Thompson give O’Connell the brush off. He was a block behind O’Connell and his wife. They were fighting, but the not-so-happy couple was about to fly away. They should be thanking him.

  Branch wanted O’Connell dragged to the office. From there, Branch would order violence until O’Connell spilled his guts about the conversations Mallon had fabricated. It was nearly two years since Mr. Branch had asked him to inflict pain. Moving away from the heavy approach was part of the reforms, but Mr. Branch was willing to make an exception. Mallon would have loved to oblige him, but there were no recorded conversations, and Charles would have crumbled right away.

  Mallon pushed aside all thoughts of morality or duty. O’Connell and his wife were walking down a crowded street that was about to lose half of its pedestrians, exposing Mallon too much. She must be staying in a hotel outside the plaza, he thought. The words they were shouting at each other started to come clear. Trouble. Too far. Home.

  O’Connell needed to get on a plane. He needed to be any place where Mr. Branch could not talk to him.

  Tourists stepped around the bickering couple and turned around to gawk. They stopped in front of a hotel, a cheap joint trying to pass itself off as a ski lodge. O’Connell’s hands were up, pleading. She was crying.

  Mallon hopped into the hotel parking lot, jogged around to the patio restaurant and took a seat near the sidewalk. He wanted to make sure Charles was smart enough to take his only way out.

  “Listen to you,” Addie said. “You sound like a criminal. You sound like everything you spent a year denying.”

  “There’s so much money out here. I’m not going to ask for . . .”

  “If you want to stay here and go to jail, then feel free. I am tired of bailing you out.”

  Mallon’s fists turned to stone before he even realized it. O’Connell should not be talking about staying.

  “You want me to go back with nothing?” Charles asked. “Go back to nothing?”

  “You were supposed to come to me. Now, all I want you to do is beg your mom for a spare bedroom.”

  “These people will pay to keep me silent. I know too much. Trust me . . . each side is paranoid enough to give me . . .”

  Mallon did not hear the rest of O’Connell’s words. All he heard was the word no echoing. No no no no no until the echo was not just in his head, it was bouncing off the passing cars and the plate glass of the hotel lobby. The word no bounced off O’Connell’s face as Mallon stood up, stepped between the couple and connected his knuckles to O’Connell’s chin.

  Charles dropped like a stone. Then, Addie was at his side, repeating that same word. No, no, no. Charles blinked, not yet seeing but realizing something terrible had happened.

  “No,” Mallon screamed. “No, I gave you a chance.” Mallon brought his fist down into Charles’ nose. “Leave. Leave. Leave.”

  Add
ie flung herself out of Mallon’s way and almost rolled into the street. Cars honked, and Mallon registered an increase in noise and maybe some lights. People were looking at him, watching him do harm, and it was all O’Connell’s fault.

  “This was your chance.” Mallon’s fist connected again. “I tried to help you.”

  Mallon pulled back again, then a clamp was applied to his right bicep and someone’s foot went into the back of his knee.

  “No,” Mallon said. He tried to push himself up. “I am a state trooper, and this man was attempting to extort money from . . .” Then, a knee was on his neck and another was on his arm, and then red and blue lights showed O’Connell being tended to. Mallon went quiet and shut the world out. He would not let the world come back until he was home with Claudia.

  FORTY-SIX

  CODY’S SAFE HELD STACKS of bound hundreds, but Olivia was not satisfied. Janice had been right. The son of a bitch still used her birthday as his combination. Well, Olivia thought, the once and future Mr. and Mrs. Branch deserved every second of the torture they would inflict on each other.

  The safe was small, holding only the stack of cash and a few documents, including the title to her car. She counted out the money. $160,000. Not what she expected, but enough for her, Andrea and the kids to get a good head start. Taos? Boulder? They could go anywhere. She slammed the safe shut.

  She called Cody. This moment—the moment when she called her husband and told him she was leaving, that she was taking what she deserved—had played in her head for months. In the past, she assumed she would be nervous, apologetic, on the verge of tears. Instead, she was grinning ear to ear.

  Cody did not answer until the third time she called. “Let me guess,” he said, “trouble at the ATM?”

  His tone tripped Olivia up. He sounded pleased with himself.

  “I was calling with something you’ll need to hear.”

  “Oh, lucky me,” he sneered. “Thank you for your concern. You’re not calling on behalf of your broke boyfriend? Your broke self?”

  “You’re the one running off with an ex,” she said. “When did all that start?”