No Fury Like That

by Lisa de Nikolits

  I look at him and I am, insanely, about to consider it, when I see something. His lying twitch. His bottom lip does that little thing, that little sideways jig it does when he is lying. I watch him and I see it do it again.

  I laugh. “Well done, Junior. You nearly had me.”

  “What do you mean?” he sounds panicked and so he should.

  “Remember I told you how your voice changes when you lie? There’s another thing you do too. Your bottom lip does this little twitchy thing and you did it now.”

  “What the fuck? You don’t believe me now because of some facial muscle spasm? You’ve got a gun on me, I’m surprised my entire face isn’t going crazy.”

  I sigh. “Nope. Not buying it. But hey, at least you went out with a bang.”

  “You’re seriously going to kill me? Come on Julia, we’re soul mates.”

  And there it is again, that twitch and this time even he is aware of it, and he bites his lower lip, catching it between his teeth as if he can save himself that way.

  “Interesting,” I say, sounding quite disinterested. “Where was I before you tried to sell me a bill of goods? Right, I was going to kill you. Time to get back on track.”

  “You fucking bitch. You cunt. Fuck you, Julia Redner, and the horse you rode in on. You’re right, you crazy fucking bitch, if you think for a moment that I was in love with you, you’re dreaming. You’re the craziest fucking bitch I’ve ever met.”

  “Eloquent,” I say and I get to my feet.

  “And I lied,” he shouts. “I could have got in touch with you but I didn’t want to. I was glad to get rid of you. You were like a fucking anchor around my neck. I never met a woman as clingy or needy as you. You were like fucking seaweed, strangling me. And it wasn’t the Board of Directors or human resources or the money men who axed you, it was me! Me! I had the power and I’d enough of you and I wanted you gone. We were nothing, you and me, nothing! And I was sick and tired of you. You know the worst thing about you, Julia? You are so fucking boring. Boring! I hated being with you by the end, I hated it. Boring, vain Julia, thinking she’s Anna Wintour. You’re a legend in your own lunch box, Julia.”

  “I’ve never owned a lunch box in my life,” I tell him.

  I go around to the back of the car, letting him rant his heart out, and I throw the blanket into the back. I walk back to Junior and he looks up at me. “I know about your pretty little niece,” he says. “Kill me and she’s dead too.”

  The shock of what he says brings me to my knees and I crash onto the hard desert earth, skinning the palm of my hand. I nearly lose my grip on my gun but I grab it tightly.

  “What?” I say. “What did you say?”

  “If I disappear, my buddy, the big guy who helped me out with you, he’ll take care of your niece.”

  I am about to throw up. It hadn’t occurred to me that Junior might know about Emma. I don’t know what to do.

  “You’re lying,” I say and I watch him carefully for tics but there is nothing and I can hardly think straight.

  Emma. I have put Emma at risk. How could I not have thought of that? And then it happens. The facial tic. Junior’s bottom lip twitches.

  “You’re lying again,” I say, so relieved I want to throw up. “You know about Emma but you haven’t said anything to anyone about using her as insurance. Why would you have? You had no idea I was going to get you. You felt safe and secure. You underestimated me. But how did you find out about her?”

  “Evan followed you. You, and that cop, Joe.”

  “Evan who?” I ask, but he grins and shakes his head.

  “Evan who?” I repeat and he looks at me with pity.

  “Hard to say,” he says, “when I’m trussed up like a turkey and freezing to death.”

  I look at my gun for a moment and then I take aim and shoot him in the thigh. The scream he makes is ungodly and earth-shatteringly loud. I rip off a piece of duct tape and slap it against his mouth, which is tricky to do, since he’s writhing around like a lizard that’s just lost its tail.

  I wait for him to stop thrashing around and he finally slows down. Tears are streaming down his face and I can see he’s struggling to breathe through the snot and mucous.

  “I am going to ask you again,” I say. “I will take your tape off and you will tell me Evan’s full name. I don’t believe you said anything to him about using Emma in the event of your disappearance but I need to know who he is. And if you don’t answer me, there goes your other leg. And after that, I’ll work my way through the various parts of your anatomy until you do tell me.”

  He nods mutely and I take the tape off and he can’t get the words out fast enough. “Evan Anders. He’s the security guy at my golf club. After you sent the pic to the whole world, I got drunk at the club and he drove me home that night, and he said he could help me.” He babbles like a kid.

  “Evan Anders,” I say. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to reach out to him. And now it’s time for you to shuffle off this mortal coil, you evil piece of shit.”

  But then I remember there’s something else I needed to ask him. “Who tipped you off about me changing my name? And who gave you my unlisted number?”

  “A cop in the department. She likes to party and I got pictures of her with her face in a fishbowl of blow. And before you shoot me again, her name is Theresa May and good luck to her with you on her tail. So listen Julia, let’s be reasonable, even if I’m not the greatest guy on the planet—”

  He starts begging again and I slap the tape back on. I go around behind him, so I am leaning across the hood of the car, and I aim the gun at the back of his head, wanting to shoot away from the car so as not to get any blood on it.

  “Sayonara, baby,” I say. “Just so you know, I am going to kill you now.” I pull the trigger and the bullet passes through the back of his head and explodes out of his forehead.

  “Now you’ve lost your face, just like I did,” I tell him conversationally as he slumps forward.

  I have worn gloves the whole time in the car, even when I first picked it up from the airport. But I dig in the trunk and put on a new pair, not wanting to transfer any gunshot residue to the steering wheel from the pair I was wearing when I shot Junior. I drop the old pair into a plastic bag.

  I grab a bottle of bleach, a rag, and a garbage bag from the trunk and I walk back to Junior. I make sure to stay out of the path of any blood spatter.

  I cut the tape holding him to the bumper and roll him away from the car. I remove all the tape from him and crumple it up and put it into the garbage bag. I remove his clothes, cutting them off with a knife, and I stuff them into the bag too.

  “There’s a little matter of DNA to get rid of,” I tell his dead body and I uncap the bottle of bleach and I pour a load onto his privates. I lean down and scrub a bit, making sure that I clean him off properly and then I rinse what’s left of his face with a generous shower. For good measure, I get a second industrial-sized bottle of bleach from the trunk and I make sure he is soaked from head to toe, back and front.

  I step away from him. There isn’t much left of the man formerly known as Junior. He lies crumpled on the desert ground, pathetic and no longer a danger to anyone. I roll his body into a small gully that I know is behind where I was sitting.

  I take a deep breath and I look at the clear, starry skies above and I hear a coyote call out and it sounds like a victory cry. My life is finally my life again and I am going to make the most of it.

  But first I need to cover my tracks and get the heck out of here. I get into the car, put it into reverse, and drive it a few metres away. I examine the front of the car with my flashlight but there is no blood to be seen. I drive off, glancing at my watch. I am running later than I had planned, but I hadn’t factored in a make-out session with Junior.

  Dawn is a fiery glow on the horizon of the eastern sky and the Joshua trees are hun
ched silhouettes. I think about Junior, lying alone and naked in that desert ditch. I had chosen my location carefully, and I had scouted it out a few days earlier. It was not a place for hikers or tourists or even local traffic. It was just an old, unused road that led out into the desert and the odds on them ever finding Junior were slim to none. And even if they did, he was clean as whistle as far as evidence went.

  I drive for an hour and I pull in at a gas station with a car wash. I get the vehicle detailed, paying extra for super gloss and a double wash inside and out. There is another car being buffed and polished and I’m glad I am not the only conspicuous customer. While I am waiting, I throw the garbage bag into the trash, making sure no one is watching me.

  I get back on the road and look for a place to get rid of the suitcase. After a while, I pull into a run-down strip mall and drive around to the back parking lot. Just as I expect, there are dumpsters lining the shabby place and I make good use of them, triple-checking that I leave no evidence of myself behind.

  I remove the ammunition from my gun and I put the bullets and pistol into the airport regulations box and tuck it among my clothes.

  Then I drive to the airport and return my vehicle. I check in and wait for the flight that will take me home. I’d love to have a drink at the bar but I need to stay out of sight as much as possible. The time for celebrating will come later.

  50. SKEPTICAL JOE

  BY THE TIME I ARRIVE HOME at Beatrice’s place, it is late in the afternoon. I thought I would feel tired and want to sleep but I am too wired. I keep thinking about how things went, still wondering if I missed anything.

  I change out of ‘Sharon’s’ clothes and stuff them into a brown paper bag. I have a poor man’s shower at the kitchen sink, and I scrub my face and body. The water is ice cold and I am shivering by the time I am done. I check the time. The mall will still be open. I drive to the hairdresser.

  “I hate this look,” I tell her. “You were right, it’s too old-fashioned. Can you change it? Do anything you like, I don’t care.”

  “You’re lucky I got a cancellation,” the woman says. “Charlene will shampoo you. I’ve got an idea for a style I think you’ll love. Think Audrey Hepburn.”

  And I do love it. I leave my frumpy suburban look behind and I walk out, styling a modern shorn feathered look. I stop and have a burger at the local diner, and by the time night falls, I am beginning to feel tired.

  I drive home and as soon as I am tucked up in my sleeping bag, I fall fast asleep. There are no men chasing me, no forests, no machetes, and I enjoy the sound dreamless sleep of the vindicated.

  When I wake up, I make a small fire in the backyard in a steel bin I get from Walmart. I burn Sharon’s license, the receipt for parking the car at the airport, all the clothes, the black wig, the spangly earrings, the sunhat, and even the shoes. I take the ashes and the bucket and dump them in a field where no one will find them.

  Next, I take my gun to the firing range and do some practicing and I get the pistol cleaned.

  I make myself wait for three long, boring days before I rejoin the real world. I want to make sure that the timing isn’t suspicious, Junior vanishes and then, voilà, out I trot.

  Finally, I run through a mental checklist a few times and I make the call. “Joe?” My voice is tremulous.

  “Lula? Where are you? We’ve been going out of our minds with worry. You never picked up your phone. It kept going to voice mail. We realized we never got the name of the clinic you were going to. Ella and I have been going crazy.”

  “I can explain,” I say. “Can you meet me at the Starbucks at the Westside mall?”

  “Yeah, sure, I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  I rehearse my story a few times while I wait for Joe. This is going to be a real test. Joe is no dummy and I have to be absolutely convincing. The palms of my hands are wet with sweat and I am shaking. He looks so concerned and happy to see me that I feel bad for all the lies I am going to have to tell him.

  He orders a coffee. “You changed your hair,” he says. “Looks good. How is your knee? Why didn’t you pick up your phone? Where was the clinic? Lula, we’ve been out of our minds.”

  “There is no clinic,” I tell him and his brow narrows and he sits back in his chair. “And you were right. It was Junior who tried to kill me the second time. I didn’t tell you because there was no way you could prove it, and I thought he was done with me and that he’d leave me alone. I thought that if I accused him of anything that it would just stir things up. So I lied. I am sorry Joe, I couldn’t go there.”

  He is silent. He sits there listening, his coffee untouched, looking at me.

  “But he didn’t leave me alone,” I say, and my eyes fill with tears. “He called me, on my new cell, and he called me Lula. He knew. He said he was coming to get me and this time he would make sure I died.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Joe asks. “I would have protected you.”

  “I panicked. I needed time to think. I was worried that I would put Emma in danger. All kinds of things were going through my head.” I look at him. “I didn’t even know if I could trust you, Joe. How did Junior know about Lula? No one knew about that except for you, and Emma and Bev.”

  “And you thought I told Junior?” He looks angrier than I have ever seen him.

  I shrug. “What would you have thought?” I’m dying to tell Joe about Theresa May but I can’t. That’s a secret I’ll have to carry to my grave. “I got paranoid Joe. I lost trust in everybody. I don’t know, I even thought maybe Bev told Junior to get me out of the picture, so she could keep Emma. And I thought maybe you had made a mistake and let something slip about me, or maybe someone overheard you talking about my new identity. Or I thought maybe your partner Dan had been bought off by Junior. I had all kinds of ideas on how everybody on the planet could have betrayed me. I see now that I was just filled with panic, but wouldn’t you have been? Put yourself in my shoes.”

  He thinks about that for a moment. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll get to the bottom of how Junior found out,” he says. “It could have been a cop in the department. Or someone at the district attorney’s office. I’m going to find out. But where have you been?”

  “Off the grid. I’ll show you. A woman in the hospital told me about a place her aunt had near Ecum Secum Lake and how the place was tied up in inheritance battles and it’s been standing empty forever. I rented a car, drove myself there, and that’s where I’ve been, the whole time.”

  Joe picks up his coffee and takes a swallow. “All this time? You’ve been hiding out in an abandoned house all this time?”

  “Yes. I know I should have called but I needed to time to think.”

  “And you’re coming to me now.”

  “Because I realize I can’t stay in hiding forever and I don’t know what to do. He’s going to kill me, Joe. Please, help me. I need your help.”

  “Have you heard from him recently?” Joe asks and I don’t like where this is going.

  “Not since he sent me a text message. He called me and then he sent me a text to say he is going to kill me. I can show you.”

  “Junior’s not going to kill you,” Joe says. “As a matter of fact, he’s gone missing.”

  “What do you mean, missing? What happened?”

  “You sure you’ve been here in town all this time?”

  I start to get angry. “Of course I have. Where else would I be? I’ve been driving around in my rental car, going out into the country, hanging out here at the mall. Gets tired fast, I’ll tell you that. Then, I did some shooting at the range and that’s the extent of my exciting life since you saw me. What’s the story with Junior?” I ask.

  “We don’t know for sure. He went to play poker with some buddies in Vegas, an annual thing, and someone comped him a stripper and next thing, he’s gone.”

  I think about mentioning the fact tha
t Junior lied about the annual poker tournament, using it as an alibi for not being around when someone tried to kill me, but I figure the less I say about the whole thing, the better.

  “Knowing Junior, he’s on a sex binge with her somewhere,” I suggest, but Joe shakes his head.

  “They found her. She said they did the dirty, but when she left he was still alive. We’ve got footage of her going down in the elevator, and Junior wasn’t with her.

  I’m taken aback that they found the woman. I had banked on the glamour shots confusing things. But it didn’t matter, she had kept her mouth shut, thank god. Thank you, I tell the woman silently. You didn’t give me up.

  “Funny thing,” Joe says. “All the evidence is pointing to Sharon.”

  “Sharon? His wife?” I am shocked. “Well, he did humiliate her repeatedly, so I guess it makes sense that she would finally snap.”

  “She’s a soccer mom,” Joe says. “Her little dress shop and her family mean everything to her. I can’t see her having killed her husband. He was a shit but she loved him. Anyway, she’s got about a hundred alibis for the time he went missing.”

  “But then why do they think she was involved?”

  “Because someone who looked like her was scampering around Vegas, flashing her driver’s license.”

  “And you think it was me? You’re saying it in as many words, Joe. If that’s what you think, say it.”

  “It’s just odd how you disappeared the same time he left town, and then he comes up missing and you show up asking for my help.”

  “I disappeared after he sent me this!” I show him my phone with the message Think you’re clever, JuLula? You bitch. This time I will kill you dead no doubt.

  “Trace it, you’ll see it came from his phone. I disappeared after he phoned me and after he sent me this.” I had, of course, deleted the text that I had sent Junior with silly bunny was here on it.