by Alan Lee
“I’m like Emmitt Smith. I can make a lot out of nothing,” I said, pink with optimism.
Twenty minutes later I begrudgingly admitted the sheriff was correct. There wasn’t much.
Grady Huff was gonna swing.
11
That evening Kix sat in his pen working out the grand mysteries of life by cracking plastic blocks together. In an hour, the Nationals would begin game five of a playoff series they were destined to lose. I had chili simmering on the stove and a cocktail chilling over ice in my Yeti. No one else had come home yet.
My phone buzzed. A text from Ronnie.
>> Hello handsome stranger.
>> My pseudo-fiancé, Darren Robbins, is in town.
>> I’m going out with him this evening.
I replied, I hear he’s attractive. Also I hate him.
>> I’m wearing minimal makeup and a turtleneck.
>> We’re going to a public place. A restaurant.
>> And I’m dumping him.
>> To-Night. I will not wait one minute more.
I was texting near the foot of the stairs and I felt the earth shift under my feet. Chili forgotten on the stove, I sat down on the bottom step and watched my phone suspiciously. Was it playing a joke on me?
I texted, Want a getaway driver?
>> No. Thank you.
>> I’ll be fine.
>> Wish me luck.
I’ll do even better.
I’ll beseech the Almighty on your behalf.
>> Does that work if I’m not a believer?
Maybe that’s part of His master plan.
Answering prayers to win us over.
>> No one’s THAT nice.
>> Maybe I can come over afterwards?
>> We could…talk? And hold hands?
>> And pretend none of my past happened?
>> And pretend we’re a happy couple?
>> And do some things that couples do?
If you insist.
>> Yes Mackenzie. I insist.
I replaced my phone and stood. Paced the kitchen twice. Took a sip of my drink, a Dark and Stormy. Paced the kitchen again. Drained the cocktail. Drummed my fingers on the counter. Eyeballed the pot of chili and went to the fridge for more peppers and ground beef.
Kix looked at me inquiringly.
“When in doubt,” I told him. “Make extra. Just in case.”
He rolled his eyes.
Timothy August and I ate chili together on the couch and watched baseball until he went upstairs to read around 8:30. Kix nearly brought the house down at bedtime, shaking the walls for twenty minutes. Manny texted he wouldn’t be home.
I cleaned dishes and watched the final innings. The Nationals, obviously, lost. The season ended as it always did—too soon and with promise unfulfilled.
I got a third Dark and Stormy and watched the late game. And didn’t look at the clock. And didn’t worry about Ronnie. And didn’t get up and pace every five minutes.
By eleven I could no longer stand it.
I messaged her, Text me.
Let me know you’re alive.
And that you’re not trapped under something heavy.
She didn’t reply immediately.
I sat on the couch and rooted against the Dodgers and tried to breathe normally.
Finally, after a century had passed…
>> I’m alive.
>> Thank you for checking.
>> Will text you tomorrow.
>> Goodnight.
I stared long and good at the phone, willing another message to appear.
None did.
Good thing I wasn’t attached to her. Good thing I was giving her space to solve her own problems. Good thing I was in total control of myself and my emotions and never got jealous and never succumbed to irrationality. Good thing I wouldn’t worry about her all night.
Mackenzie August and Grady Huff, two guys not delusional at all.
12
Sheriff Stackhouse called the following morning as Kix and I glared at each other over a spoonful of apple sauce.
“Hey babe. Got a second?” she said through the speakerphone.
“I’ve got so many seconds. I’ve got the greatest seconds.”
Kix scoffed.
Stackhouse said, “I promised not to tell but you’re going to catch wind sooner or later. Just don’t blab you heard it from me. Kay?”
“Tell me.”
“A guy named Darren Robbins beat the hell out of Ronnie last night.”
I stood, knocking over my chair. “Details?”
“According to witnesses, he dragged her out of Martin’s by her hair around ten. He had two goons with him. Police were called but no one saw what happened. She won’t press charges. Her story is she got mugged. But her face is a mess and she’s got broken ribs. She went to urgent care instead of the ER so we couldn’t find her. Took me a couple hours but I found her anyway.”
“How is she?”
“Mad. Brave. Scared. Still beautiful, somehow.”
I said, “Where the hell was Fat Susie?”
“You know someone named Fat Susie? Is he the heavy man who was at your house recently?”
“Never mind. Thanks for the tip.” I hung up.
I dropped Kix off at Roxanne’s a few minutes early and then swung by Ronnie’s apartment building. Her car wasn’t there.
She was at her office, her red Mercedes in the usual spot.
Her receptionist hadn’t arrived yet, or perhaps had been given the day off. Ronnie sat at her desk, a bag of ice pressed against her face. Both eyes had purpled and her lip was busted. Every inch of surface area looked swollen.
I blinked away tears.
Ronnie watched me as I stood in the doorway.
She said, “Come in and sit, Mackenzie. Before you go kill someone.”
I obeyed.
She alternated the cold pack between her lip and her left eye. With her free hand she took a small sip from a glass—ice and gin, probably. An open bottle of ibuprofen sat near her keyboard. She said, “You’re trembling.”
“I’m processing emotion. A lot of them.”
“Is one of them anger?”
“Yes.”
“At me?” she asked.
“Of course not.”
She released a breath of air. Like she’d been holding it. “I’m relieved.”
“You could take the day off, you know.”
“In theory. But what would I do? Sit alone, bored and afraid? Instead I’ll do half-assed work and sip gin,” she said. “And pretend my face doesn’t hurt.”
“Somehow,” I said. “You’re even prettier.”
“I was hoping to avoid you a few days.”
“Why.”
She pointed at her face with her free hand.
“You told me a year ago that you liked me just because. I’ve thought about it ever since. But no one could love this face. And my face is all I have,” she said.
“That’s not true. Your gluteus is also divine.”
“I did it. I broke up with Darren. I told him we’re through. I told him I would no longer visit him or his clients. He wouldn’t take no for an answer but I said it anyway.”
“Your spirit,” I said. “And your bravery. Are also divine.”
“Mackenzie.”
“Yes Ronnie.”
“You cannot go kill him.”
“The hell I can’t,” I said.
“I don’t need your help. Nor do I want it. You can’t undo the violence.”
“I can prevent it from happening again.”
“You’re smarter than this, Mackenzie,” she said. “Only neanderthals think that they can prevent future violence by answering past violence with more violence.”
“I cannot and will not do nothing.”
She pointed at her face again and leaned forward. “I earned this. One of the reasons I fell for you, you never talk down to me. You never belittle women. You never imply you’re smarter or stronger, even when yo
u are. I earned this. Don’t try and take it from me.”
“You earned it,” I repeated.
“Yes.”
“You’re proud of the damage.”
“Of course. You taught me to be.”
We sat in silence, listening to cars on Salem Avenue coming off Gainsboro and Williamson. I struggled through her logic. She patiently gave me time for it.
A woman’s heart is a deep ocean…
She pressed her hand against her ribs and shifted, trying to get comfortable. My ribs had been broken several times and it was no use. No comfort could be found.
I said, “You’re proud. Because you were scared but you stood up to him, you survived his rage, you took his punishment, and you didn’t give in. And afterwards you got the injuries treated without notifying the police. And you did it independently.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted to stand up to him for months or years and you finally did it. And it took every ounce of courage you had. And if I go beat him up I will be sending the message to Darren that you needed help. And I will be sending the message to you that I don’t think you’re strong enough to handle it.”
She nodded, switching the ice bag to her other hand and wiping the moisture from her palm onto her pant leg. “You’re giving words to emotions I haven’t fully thought through, but yes. Also I threatened to expose him, so if you interfere he’ll think I was bluffing.”
“Expose him how?”
“By producing evidence of our illegal business arrangement.”
“Are you bluffing?” I asked.
“I’m not. I have proof. It would ruin me too but the threat is one of the few cards I’m holding.”
“What if he had killed you?”
“Then I would have died being brave. I would have finally paid for my sins. And you would have my permission to kill him.”
“Where was Fat Susie?”
“I lied to Reginald. I told him I was staying in. Please do not be mad at him, Mackenzie. Besides there were three of them, what could Reginald do?” she asked.
I nearly pulled the armrest off her client chair at the thought of three of them.
“This is requiring a lot from me,” I said.
“I know.”
“I’m fighting every impulse I have.”
“I know that too. But I’m worth it.” She smiled. The tug at her busted lip made her wince. “Darren can’t kill me. Not yet. I’m too important to his plans.”
“I cannot and will not do nothing. But for you, I will wait. Until I find an excuse. A reason to kill him that has nothing to do with you,” I said.
“I know you’re a violent man. No, perhaps that’s not the correct terminology. I know that you’re capable of violence and destruction. More so than anyone I know. But could you really kill him? And not think twice?”
“Like stepping on a roach.”
“That’s a little…spooky,” she said.
“And arousing?”
“Everything about you is arousing. Except maybe that.”
“So,” I said. “Does this mean you’re single?”
She started to smile but it hurt. So she pressed her lips together and instead let the chroma of her blue eyes intensify. “I am single.”
My heart, the feeble coward, did a somersault.
“Want to go out? On a date? With me?”
“Yes, more than anything. But not until my face heals,” she said.
“I can cook you dinner at my place or yours. Wounds look good on you.”
“Ask me again in a week. I need this to heal for more reasons than mere vanity. I need fully functional mouth muscles during our first date,” she said.
My heart, the unforgivably weak milksop, nearly stopped. I felt a little lightheaded.
“I do not kiss on the first date,” I said.
“Yes you will. For hours, you will.”
Her law firm’s front door opened. A moment later, Fat Susie came into her inner office with two coffees and some doughnuts.
He froze. Looked at her face. Looked at me.
“Oh shit,” said Fat Susie.
“Yeah,” I said.
“What happened? Oh shit, man.”
“Nothing happened which you could have stopped, Reginald,” said Ronnie.
He kept his eyes on me. “You gonna kill me, man?”
“No he’s not. Mackenzie was just leaving.”
“I am?” I asked.
“Please.”
I stood. Gave her a final look. Then glared at Fat Susie.
“Reginald,” I said.
“Yessir.”
“Where she goes, you go.”
“Yessir.”
“She goes to the bathroom, you go too,” I said.
Ronnie balled up scrap paper and threw it at me. “Out,” she said.
13
Franklin County’s sheriff didn’t care much about Grady Huff’s victim, Juanita Yates. The sheriff wasn’t being crass or heartless—he was being efficient. He’d made an attempt to find her next of kin, but they were hiding so he didn’t pursue it further. Probably they were here illegally, which would put him in a tough spot.
Ergo the sheriff didn’t know her identity.
And Grady Huff didn’t want me to discover it.
Which meant that’s what I was gonna do.
I spent the day bothering Grady Huff’s neighbors and learning nothing. Everyone agreed it was sad and horrible what happened to the cleaning lady but no one knew a thing about her, not even a name until they saw it on the news. She didn’t clean their houses. In fact, I found no evidence that she cleaned any house other than Grady’s.
Ah hah. A clue!
And yet I still knew nothing.
Her cleaning supplies were purchased from Walmart, which was a dead end. According to the Franklin County sheriff, Grady told the homicide guys that Juanita had answered a Craigslist ad he posted, looking for a house cleaner. He’d fired the last two services, which weren’t good enough for royalty like him.
I got lucky leaving the lake. I stopped by the Spirit station for gas, the one near Homestead Creamery. Went inside for health food like chips and a candy bar. The store was empty, other than me and the guy working the register.
He was Hispanic. On a whim, I showed him Juanita’s photo from Facebook.
“Do you know this girl?” I said.
“Sorry mister,” replied the guy. A young kid, early twenties. “Juanita is dead.”
Eureka. I might splurge and get TWO candy bars.
“How’d you know her name?”
“Always she come here for gas,” he said.
“What do you know about Juanita?”
“Nothing. She spoke Spanish but we did not talk much,” he said.
“How often was she in here?”
“Two days a week, always.”
“Always?”
“Yes sir.”
“That’s a lot of gas.”
“Yes sir,” he said and nodded politely.
“How much did she get?”
“I do not understand.”
“Did she fill up her tank?”
“Yes sir,” he said. “Over ten gallons. Always two days a week.”
“Was Juanita nice? Kind? Mean? Aloof?”
“She was…normal. One time we told our names, but I don’t know any thing.”
“What time of day?” I asked.
“I do not remember.”
“Which direction was she heading?”
“I do not remember. That way, I think.” He pointed towards the lake, towards Grady Huff’s house.
“Did she ever have friends with her?”
“No sir. She was alone.”
“What kind of car?”
“I do not remember. Blue, maybe. Or white.”
“Does anyone else know her?”
“I don’t think.”
“Twice a week,” I said.
“Yes sir.”
“Which days?”
“I do not remember. Maybe the beginning and the end. Monday and Friday. Maybe,” he said.
I slid him my card and three candy bars and a fifty.
“You remember anything, you call me. And this delicious Snickers is for you. And keep the change.”
He nodded again, clearly overcome by my magnanimity.
I met Candice Hamilton for drinks at Stellina, a quiet bar in downtown Roanoke. She rubbed her eyes, fatigued from staring at documents the past ten hours, and quickly drank an amaretto sour. Then ordered another to nurse.
Stellina was small and darkish, most of the light tinged red from colored lamp shades. We sat at the bar and talked and pondered the splendor of liquor bottles across the polished wooden counter.
Candice Hamilton was attractive. Enough so that most of the guys checked her out. The day had been warm and she wore a skirt, and her legs got second glances. She was fit and thin and her hair was shiny and soft, a girl-next-door appeal.
She said, “You seem to think her frequent stops for gas are indicative of something.”
“Juanita didn’t clean the other houses nearby, so she was coming here just for Grady. And based on gas consumption, coming from a ways off. I bet she didn’t live in Franklin County.”
“So we might never find her,” said Candice and she checked her phone.
“Do not be faint of heart. I’m more intelligent than I appear.”
“I wish I had your confidence. I’m filing motions as fast as I can and getting no where.”
“Would it help if Darren Robbins was dead?” I asked.
She smiled and it brought out her laugh lines. I was charmed. She said, “Probably not, though be my guest.”
“I’ve been told I can’t, not without good reason.”
“Who told you?”
“Someone wiser than I,” I said.
“Sounds that way. Is this someone a lady friend?”
“She is. One of my favorites. Though we remain platonic.”
She swirled her drink and checked her phone. “Her choice?”
“Mine. But…perhaps not for much longer.”
“Sounds complicated. Isn’t it always the case,” said Candice, watching me.
