Come Join The Murder

by Holly Rae Garcia

  “James, we should go. There’s too much heat on us right now anyway.” Tommy glanced towards the driver’s seat, avoiding eye contact.

  “Calm down, I told you I just needed one more good hit. It’s for my mama, you want to see her get kicked out on the street?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then shut up and – wait, look.” James pointed to an exit door at the side of the building. A man was stumbling out of the bar, hands on his belt. He wore dark blue uniform pants and an untucked, stained wife-beater that was probably white once upon a time. A thick patch of curly black chest hair peeked out over the top of the shirt. He turned his back to the parking lot and leaned on the building with one hand while attempting to unzip his fly with the other, keeping his head down to avoid getting rain in his eyes.

  “Jackpot.”

  Tommy mumbled under his breath.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, let’s just get this over with.”

  They pulled their hoods up to cover their heads and jumped out of the van. Another benefit to the rain, it gave you an excuse to cover yourself. In less than ten strides, they were on the drunk man, one standing on each side of him. James waited for the man to finish urinating, shake himself off, and zip back up before he slapped him on the back of his wet shirt.

  “Hey man, how’s it going?”

  “Heeeeyyyyy,” the drunk said as he turned around, his grin showing off a couple of holes where teeth should have been. Heavy eyelids covered most of his dark brown eyes, and his skin was weather-worn and rough. “Howsitgoinn?”

  “Aw, we’re all right, ain’t we?” James nodded in Tommy’s direction.

  “Yep,” mumbled Tommy.

  “We’re just gonna help you get to your car is all, looks like you could use a hand.” James put one arm around the drunk’s waist and started to walk to the back of the bar, towards the beach.

  “That’s nice...” the man said, his eyes half closed. When he realized where they were going, he pulled away from James and Tommy. “Eeeehhhh, my car’s the other way!”

  “Yeah, we’re going for a swim first, you like to swim?” James pulled him back onto the foot path that led through the dunes.

  The man mumbled to himself as the three of them shuffled down towards the water. Several times he had to lean on James or Tommy as his unsteady feet navigated the sandy path. James stopped them all once they were at the edge of the surf. “Now,” he said with a flourish, waving his arm, “is the main event.”

  He shoved the man in the back with a grunt, sending the drunk face down into the sand. A second after he was down, his arms reached out in an alcohol-delayed reaction.

  “Okay, Tommy, can you not be a total waste of flesh and give me a hand this time?”

  Tommy glanced behind them, making sure they weren’t followed, before he leaned down to sit on the man’s back. It didn’t take an extraordinary amount of strength to keep the man down on the sand, as he was already three beer-soaked sheets to the wind. James squatted next to them and wriggled a frayed wallet out of the man’s back pocket.

  “Let’s see what we got here,” he peeked into the folds of the wallet and whistled while he pulled out a wad of twenties.

  “Nice, man I love payday, don’t you?”

  Tommy, still leaning on the man’s back, looked up at James and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s great. Love it. Done?

  “Yeah, well, almost.” James pulled the rich fisherman’s knife out of his pocket, its ivory handle glinting in the rain.

  “Hey, you don’t have to… he’s not gonna remember us, look at him!” Tommy gestured towards the man who had stopped wriggling and remained laying on the sand with his eyes closed, snoring. He was in that deep sleep only drunks can attend to.

  “I know I don’t have to.” James balanced on his heels, careful not get sand on his jeans.

  “You know, we could just leave him here. Let the tide come in and take care of everything for us,” Tommy pleaded.

  “But that’s no fun.” James touched the tip of the knife to the man’s ear and traced a path down his jaw, the skin dented in but stopped just short of tearing.

  “Well I don’t have to watch, screw this.” Tommy pulled his hood further over his face and walked back towards the dunes.

  James pressed the knife in harder as he traced the shape of the drunk’s jawline back up to his ear. Tiny beads of blood popped up in the blade’s wake. Towards the bar, a cat screeched, and a bottle broke on the hard ground. He could barely see Tommy’s outline in the parking lot lights as he headed towards their van.

  James grabbed the man’s thick brown hair and pulled back, lifting his chin towards the moonlight. He laid the serrated edge of the knife against his throat and leaned the tip into the soft flesh. In one motion, he shoved the point deep into the man’s neck and pulled hard to the right. The drunk gasped, fully awake as blood pooled around his neck, making tiny rivers in the sand around him. James looked into his frightened eyes as the life slowly faded from them. It was a little different from the fisherman, but his heart still raced and there was a tightness in his jeans that hadn’t been there before.

  James took off at a brisk walk back through the dunes and into the parking lot of Hurricane’s where Tommy was waiting.

  “What did you do?” He shook his head, “Nevermind, I don’t wanna know.”

  They slipped around the side of the building, taking a moment to verify the parking lot was clear, before stepping out. James whistled as they walked back to the van, ignoring Tommy’s scowl.

  Once they were inside and safely back on the road, Tommy turned to James. “James, look. I can’t do this with you anymore. It just ain’t right.”

  James glanced sideways at Tommy while he drove, one eyebrow raised.

  Tommy continued, “This is serious shit! This ain’t just robbin’ people.”

  “You want out?”

  “Well, yeah. I guess. I mean...” Tommy trailed off and looked down at his knees. He kept his eyes down as he brushed sand off his jeans.

  James let the silence simmer as he pulled up to the traffic light and slowed to a stop. He took a deep breath and leaned towards Tommy, his mouth set in a hard line. “Look you little chicken shit. You need to unfuck yourself, and you need to do it quick. We got a good thing here and you’re not gonna ruin it. Okay?”

  Tommy grimaced and turned to look out the window. “Okay.”

  The light turned green and James pulled away, not believing for a minute that Tommy was going to be able to keep his cool.

  22

  “We really gotta get a new TV, I can’t see shit around this crack.” James settled further down into the white wicker chair, wincing as a loose piece of it scratched his leg. “And new chairs. This fucker’s uncomfortable.”

  Sitting in the only other chair in the living room, another wicker masterpiece, Tommy’s eyes were glued to his cell phone.

  James leaned forward, “Hello, am I talking to myself?”

  “What, you want new shit?” Tommy paused the video he was watching and glared at James. “With what money?”

  “We’ll make it happen, I’m tired of this trash.”

  “Whatever.” Tommy went back to his phone.

  James watched him, wondering when exactly he decided to start being a little bitch. Tommy used to be on board with whatever James wanted to do, no questions asked. But not lately. Ever since they killed that first guy and his kid ended up dying, Tommy hadn’t been the same. He never had a problem being James’ wing man before. When James broke into cars to grab purses or CD’s or whatever, Tommy was his best lookout. When he slipped a few items in his pockets at the Grab ‘n’ Go, Tommy covered him. Hell, even when he cleaned out the register at the garage, Tommy was his alibi. Trey still had his suspicions and fired James anyway, but Tommy had his back. Always. But maybe that was his line in the sand, killing people.

  It’s not like they were innocent or anything. That drunk at the bar shouldn’t have been so
fucking plastered, James probably saved someone’s life. If he had gotten in his car and driven home, he could have caused a wreck or some shit. The rich fisherman douche was a joke, trying to be like a good ‘ole boy and fish for the day. He was using the wrong lures and couldn’t cast for shit. Guy was an idiot. And Martin, well Martin was just an asshole. He was doing everyone a favor, taking care of those guys.

  Tommy needed to get on board, and quick. James couldn’t have him thinking about what was right or what was wrong, or who to tell his secrets to. As far as he knew, he was Tommy’s only friend, so he didn’t have to worry about him spilling his guts over a beer when he was the only one Tommy ever drank with. He was more worried about that detective.

  “Hey Tommy.”

  “What?” he mumbled, still focused on his phone.

  “You know that detective that came over the other day? Burns or Barnes or some shit?”

  Tommy’s mouth tightened, but his eyes stayed on his phone. “Yeah.”

  “Has he tried to talk to you, like, has he called you or anything? I mean, you’d tell me, right?” James leaned towards Tommy, putting his elbow on the arm rest and his chin in his hand.

  Tommy looked up from his phone, staring into James’ eyes without blinking. “Of course. And no, I haven’t talked to him. Why?”

  “Well…”

  A bright flash of light caught James’ eye, drawing his attention back to the TV. The screen was filled with an orange and red blaze. As the cameraman zoomed out, you could see the Lucky S store off to the left. On the right, something was definitely on fire. Looked like a van. A ratty one from the looks of it, but it was hard to tell since it was on fire. And wet. Water poured out in steady streams from the fire engines, filling the parking lot and overflowing onto the street in front of it. The evening’s rains had stopped, unfortunately, leaving a thick blanket of warm moisture hanging just above everything. Lights from the police cruisers, the fire engines, and the reporters’ cameras competed on every glistening surface, casting reflections of red, yellow, and blue into the night.

  “Damn, check that out.”

  The video cut off abruptly, and Amy Andrews came back into view standing in front of a charred van. She was a tight piece of ass, but she looked like the kind of bitch who knew she was hot. All the hot ones did. They’d prance around in their little dresses or tight shirts, rubbing up on you in the club but getting all pissy if you touched their ass. Bitch or not, James was getting a semi just watching her. They knew what they were doing, putting her on TV in that tight ass blue dress. They knew all the hot-blooded young men would be tuned in, tongues wagging, not really listening to what she had to say but tuned in anyway.

  “The victim was forty-four-year old Arthur Washington, a resident of League City...” Amy purred to the viewers.

  “Hey look Tommy, it’s that detective.” James pointed at the TV.

  Barnes was front and center, chest puffed out like Amy had chosen him specifically.

  “Detective Barnes, is this connected to the Intracoastal Canal Killings?”

  “The what?” His chest fell and his smile faded as he looked at her, confused.

  “The Intracoastal Canal Killings, I believe the victims are Jon and Oliver Crow, and Leon Phillips?”

  “Wait now, this probably has nothing to do with that. Oliver Crow’s death hasn’t been ruled a homicide yet, and Jon Crow is still missing. I can’t comment anymore on that, you know this is an ongoing investigation.”

  “But what about Leon Phillips? Does his murder have anything to do with the Crow incident? His body was found on the other side of the Canal, close to where the Crows’ car was pulled out of the water.”

  All previous excitement at standing next to Amy faded. Apparently Amy’s long legs were only going to get her so far in that interview. Detective Barnes was done. “We have no further comment at this time,” he said with a frown before he walked off camera.

  James chuckled to himself. “Exit blue-balled detective.”

  Amy turned to face the viewers, not missing a beat. “Leon Phillips was shot to death, not far from where Oliver Crow drowned. Now another body has shown up, also driving an older model van. Is this a coincidence? Or are we looking at the beginnings of a serial killer? Stay tuned to WBJ 39 for an exclusive interview with Arthur Washington’s widow, tonight at five.”

  Tommy’s gaze was frozen on the cracked television. His eyes wide, he slowly turned to look at James. “What the hell? Did you do that?”

  “What? Hell no! I don’t know anything about the van guys. I swear.”

  Tommy’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted in his chair, James could tell he didn’t believe him, but he also didn’t give a shit what Tommy thought. Instead, another idea was beginning to form. “Hey Tommy, both of those guys drove old vans. I drive an old van. Think there’s something to that?”

  He hesitated before answering, still not convinced that James was innocent. “I don’t know, but it is weird.”

  “Yeah.”

  Tommy jumped up and grabbed his keys off the hook by the front door. “I’m gonna be late for work, Mikel’s later?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there. I’m gonna stop by Uncle Bennie’s first, see if he needs any help.” Uncle Bennie owned a plumbing company and every now and then let James tag along for a few extra bucks.

  After Tommy left, James sat in the uncomfortable chair still thinking about the vans. It was probably nothing, but he had learned that coincidences were few and to pay attention to the little things. Still, it was a stretch. He shrugged it off and went into the kitchen. He was probably being paranoid; he’d been around Tommy too damn much lately.

  23

  Rebecca leaned against the edge of the sink in the kitchen and listened to the coffee maker putter as it dripped water through the grounds and into the pot below. Above the dirty dishes was a window to the back yard, framing a large oak tree that oversaw the small fenced in space. Gray moss fluttered as it floated from the branches. Underneath the hanging moss was a well-used swing set. The chains creaked as the swing slowly rocked; an invisible wind pushing an invisible child. Attached was a slide with water pooled at the bottom from last night’s storm, and a few branches from the tree had fallen around it. Rebecca grabbed a dishtowel and was halfway to the back door before realizing she didn’t need to wipe down the slide. There was no longer a soggy-bottomed boy to worry about.

  The shrill ringing of her cell phone filled the quiet kitchen.

  It was her dad, and Rebecca ended the call more exhausted than when she had begun. She didn’t understand why he actually wanted to be a dad just then. But, they were both alone. Wife number three had left him and was in the process of trying to take half of his retirement, all of his furniture, and most of his pride with her. Assets not-withstanding, it was for the best, but it still hurt. No matter what the reasons, divorce still hurt. It was a pain in the ass to divide things, and to bury a future you didn’t even know was sick.

  Wife number three had been sleeping with their realtor, Jeff Keys. Her dad said he was pretty sure that wasn’t in the contract, but then muttered that he never read those things anyway. Rebecca wasn’t surprised; it was only a matter of time before that marriage imploded. The woman was practically Rebecca’s age, and had nothing in common with her dad. Well, that wasn’t true, they both loved his money. Not that he had a lot of it, they weren’t rich by any means. But, from what Rebecca had seen, the woman had taken a pretty significant step up on the social ladder when she married her dad. She got stability and a shopping allowance, and he got a beautiful woman by his side. Rebecca supposed they both knew exactly what their marriage was from the beginning, but the way her dad was mourning its demise, maybe not. He seemed to be genuinely heartbroken. He thought they were planning a future, buying a new home together. He had even talked about having more kids. But while he was dreaming, she was hiding money away in another bank account and screwing the realtor in every house he showed her.

  He said he
wanted to come visit, to make sure she was doing okay. Rebecca supposed that was normal, for a dad to show concern for a daughter, but it wasn’t in their relationship to care beyond the surface. She had never lamented that fact; it was just how they were. How they had always been, even before her mom died.

  Rebecca was still in high school when her mother’s doctors found lung cancer. Her death a year later was a relief for everyone, she was in so much pain towards the end. The amount of medicine and pain killers she needed to survive left her in a near catatonic state. She stopped being Rebecca’s mother long before she actually gave in to the cancer that had ravaged her body. Rebecca graduated high school three months after they put her mom in the ground, left for University, and hadn’t looked back. Sometimes she regretted that move and thought she should have stayed for her dad. She had lost a mother but he had lost his wife, his life partner. But those three months she was there, he only went through the motions, a shadow of the man he used to be. He went to work and came home, ate dinner and watched TV. When Rebecca would come down for school in the morning, he’d have already left for work. When she got home late after her shift at the movie theater, he would be asleep in his chair in the living room.

  She didn’t send out graduation invitations, or take senior pictures. She did splurge on a class ring. It was a small dainty thing, though, not the big bulky traditional kind, and she’d paid for it with her own money. She tried hard not to ask him for anything; she knew he had been through enough already and she didn’t want to add to his stress. When she saw him at graduation, sitting alone in the stands surrounded by grinning families, Rebecca was reminded of what could have been. Happy moms and dads, some with other kids, some with other adults, all proud to see their kid graduate. Her dad didn’t look proud, sitting there alone. He looked sad.

  But still, now he sounded like he wanted to come see her. He said he thought she was lonely and could use some company. She was lonely, but he couldn’t take Oliver’s place, or Jon’s. She was able to put him off, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to forever. He would come see her, and at least it would finally stop him from calling, checking off some obligatory box in his head of how he should behave after his daughter lost her family. He would then go back to his home in San Antonio and they would call each other on Christmas, birthdays, Father’s Day, and that would be it. Back to their status quo.