by Layla Wolfe
“Qué cabrón!” shouted Slayer. “Fast forward, fast forward, you gilipollas!”
I was even laughing when Slayer dipped his head to mouth the boobs, first attending to one, then the other. She clutched at his wavy salt and pepper hair. No wonder she gave him the tape! I probably would, too. Men didn’t usually attend to women that way.
“Way to work it, Slayer!” said Gollywow with admiration.
“You’re really selling it!” yelled Knoxie.
“All right, come on,” said Tanner, to my surprise. “Just fucking fast forward. Give the man his privacy.”
“Thank you,” said Slayer, easing back into his chair. His eyes really did look moist with offense. I guessed as “The Kindly Sicario,” he had his scruples.
The chuckling died down as Ford played a video of a parking lot.
“This is Grandview Trailhead,” said Slayer. “You will see the Ferrari pull up momentarily.”
Sure enough, in a few seconds the Ferrari pulled up. The air in the room became very heavy, and men stopped breathing when Lavinia Dock, in profile, got out of the passenger side door.
“Is that her?” Ford whispered to me.
I nodded, jaw slack.
“That’s her all right,” said Tanner, who had studied all my photos of her.
One could only view them from behind as Tutti put his hand in the small of Lavinia’s back. She seemed to be falling for his ruse, dipping her head to roll on his stupid shoulder. I couldn’t believe she could be so stupid. She was probably grasping for straws, as would any woman who was handed crumbs night and day. You’ll take anything. I mean, I didn’t stay at Gary’s house solely for Lyric. In between the beatings and rapes, he’d give me little gifts and act like a romantic husband. I didn’t even know what Stockholm Syndrome was until after I moved out and began to confide in my friends about the situation at “home.” I’m pretty sure it was Bellamy who informed me about the condition.
Then Tutti went back to the car to get a backpack, which he shouldered. There could be anything in there, really. There could really be a gun, rope, duct tape. Tutti could’ve thrown a champagne bottle in there for good measure. He could even have cheese and crackers.
We’d never know, because the couple disappeared down the trailhead. We all stared blankly at the laptop screen as tourists milled in the parking lot, going to the rail to view the enormity of the colorful gorge. No one followed Tutti and Lavinia down the path.
Finally, Tanner asked, “Did you see them come back up?”
Slayer nodded, poker-faced. “Go to fifty-one-oh-four.”
There it was, plain as porridge. Tutti emerged from behind the lip of the canyon. It was getting so dark you could just make out his asshole silhouette. He still carried the bag. You knew it was him, though, because he made a beeline for the Ferrari, chucking the backpack into the passenger seat, since no one would sit there.
So, Corey didn’t murder her. The poor guy was just Tutti’s boots on the ground, a fall guy, a stooge. A craptastic drug addict who mailed lethal chemicals to naive schoolkids all over the country. I was never too sure how to feel about drug addicts. Addiction overpowered love, I knew that. In Cottonwood, I’d seen too many people willingly fuck up their marriages, ignore their kids, and abuse their animals because drugs took priority. It seems incredible to those of us who’d never known the lure of a substance. Did they not really love their spouse, kids, dog? Weirdly, I think they can feel a strong love and still follow the path of the drug. That was the only explanation.
Slayer said, “In order to find the body, you’d better hurry. Vera told me that soon snow will obliterate everything on the South Rim. There was already a fine, powdery dusting when I was there.”
Tanner said, “I’ll have my partner fly out my best tracking dog.”
Wolf piped up. “Beetle can do it!”
Tanner said, “He’s a herding dog, not a nose dog.”
Slayer said, “Dogs and drones can help you. You know, Fox, Vera pointed out a bald eagle, soaring soundlessly as though floating in space.”
Fox perked up. “A bald eagle? We have a couple of those at our ranch.”
While the men discussed raptors, Knoxie, next to me, said, “We haven’t really talked about Lyric yet, you and me. She told us you’re a hundred percent on board about us adopting her.”
“Of course!” I cried. “It never occurred to me you could do that, but of course it’s fine! No one has heard from our mother since the day we confronted Gary. I got a subpoena to testify at the trial in February.”
Knoxie sighed. “Right. I know that’ll be difficult for you, but it’s got to be done.”
“Right. I just won’t think about it until it’s upon me. The dreading of something is worse than the event.”
“I went through all that with Bellamy, her PTSD about the suffering she went through at the hands of that psycho guru. I guess you’re working through it, being able to spend so much time with Tanner.”
I frowned. “Why shouldn’t I spend so much time with Tanner?”
Knoxie shrugged. “Oh, I just meant, you know.” No. I didn’t know. “After he spent so much time in the big house for rape and all. Something something something . . . “
I seriously didn’t hear a word Knoxie said after “rape.” It was like an aneurysm suddenly flooded my peripheral vision and all I could see was a horrible, red-tinged circle of doom and despair. I looked away from Knoxie and at his hand that held a pen. It was a circle of livid, angry red as though the flames of hell licked at his hand.
Without thinking, I swiveled to look at Tanner. He must’ve been engaged in conversation with someone, I don’t know. He was grinning and laughing, but my hell-tinged vision gave him a demon’s cast, and he may as well have grown horns.
When it felt like blood was seeping from my eye sockets, I stood. The fucking fluorescent light above my head seemed to spin like a carousel. I felt drunk, but minus the blissful lack of awareness that booze can bring.
No. I was hyper-aware. At my side sat a devil almost as bad as Gary Gregario.
“I have to . . . “ I remember saying. I wasn’t sure what I had to do, but the first thing was to get out of that conference room.
The same front desk clerk who had played the part of the Prime Minister of Montenegro tried to “help” me in the lobby, but I was nearly as rude and self-absorbed as Slayer. I shoved on past the poor woman, the parking lot a swirling blur of red cars.
“So much time in the big house for rape.”
Yes. That’s what Knoxie had said.
Somewhere in there was the nugget of a story Tanner had told me about taking the rap for something his brother had done. Buddy, was that the brother’s name? It doesn’t fucking matter. Blaming it all on your sibling was a tale as old as flip phones. Knoxie was praising me for being mature enough to handle Tanner’s filthy criminal past, and I wasn’t! I wasn’t mature enough! There was no fucking excuse for even being in the vicinity of anyone who would do that!
I jammed my lid onto my head without buckling it and straddled my saddle. Someone was yelling at me from the front door of the inn. I turned to see “The Kindly Sicario” waving at me with an exaggerated, crushed face of concern. Santiago Slayer was concerned about me, but Tanner wasn’t! Someone popped out of the door behind Slayer, but it was only Knoxie.
Fuck this! I’d been hanging out with a fucking rapist!
Buddha allegedly said, “It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.” Fuck that. I knew what I knew. A couple other guys buzzed from the inn like bees, but I didn’t stop to see who they were. I just barely managed to resist flipping all of them off before fishtailing it out of the gravel lot.
Now we knew where to look for Lavinia. But I didn’t want to be partners with Tanner Principato anymore.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tanner
I watched lamely, hands at my sides, as Unity rode off down the mountain.
At first I thought she
’d suddenly remembered something and had to rush off. But when I saw Slayer, then Knoxie, follow her, I knew something was up, so I went, too.
“Where’d she go?” Knoxie was asking.
“What did you say to her?” Slayer accused.
“How’d you know I said anything?”
Slayer patiently closed his eyes. “Because. You were talking to her, then she suddenly ran out the door like she heard the ice cream truck.”
I trusted Slayer’s instinct. I, too, turned to Knoxie. “What were you talking about?”
He must’ve known what he’d done wrong but beat around the bush getting to it. “Uh, I was thanking her for sending her sister my way, you know, stuff like that. We discussed her stepfather’s trial. Some of us are going to show up as emotional support for Lyric, you know, put the fear of turning fifty into Gregario.”
I moved my hand like a crank. “And . . . ?”
Knoxie looked away. “And we talked about prison.” He exhaled deeply. “I said something like she’s really made big strides, you know, being who she is and all, having to testify in front of Gregario, and then getting over the fact that you did ten years for rape.”
I just fucking saw red. Now I know what they mean by that. I immediately lost whatever religion I’d managed to salvage throughout my dirty, gritty life.
To my credit, I didn’t throat-punch Knoxie. I kept my fists to myself, walking in ever-tightening circles while beseeching the sky for assistance in this worldly hell.
“Why did you say that?” Slayer asked. “Tanner was exonerated. His brother was the rapist. Slushy helped clear his name. Everyone knows that, even the Air Force.”
How the fuck did Slayer know all that? Well, it was his job. As I punched the air, I listened closely to Knoxie’s explanation.
“I was going to say that. I misworded my sentence, man. I figured she knew what I meant. I just left out the word falsely.”
Slayer slapped himself on the forehead. “Ai, yi, yi. Well, listen, you gabacho. You’re going to find that woman and set her straight. If this poor tonto del culo loses a great woman like that, a woman of such stature and shape, all due to a miswording of yours, you will be the one getting fucked by a fish, do you hear me?”
The tall, buff Knoxie was actually cringing back under the weight of the sicario’s anger. I stopped moving to admire him. He was saying pretty much what I wanted to say but was afraid to. I was afraid of my anger. In prison we didn’t stop to measure our words. We didn’t much, either, in the Air Force. I was just lucky I hadn’t gotten too pissed off lately.
Knoxie held up his hands. “Of course, of course, Santiago! Damn, I’m sorry, Tanner. You’re like a member of this club, all the help you’ve been, taking time out from your valuable schedule. I just, spoke like a dotard, a true and utter dotard. Let me make it right. Don’t you go calling her because she’ll just bite your head off. Who knows what space she’s in right now. I’ve dealt with abused women before. And if they start flashing back to an unsafe space, well, all bets are off. Best that I go talk to her first.”
That did make sense. Much as I wanted to take Unity by the shoulders and look her directly in the eyes, risking yet another form of shock and rejection, it was best if I, the culprit, didn’t confront her right now. Knoxie could explain it to her. Unity knew I was wrongfully convicted—I’d told her about Sonny, how I’d taken the rap for him. I just hadn’t explained what exactly the rap was.
“Go, go!” exhorted Slayer. “Ask Bellamy where Unity is likely to go. It is easy to see that Sporty a mile away, but she might go somewhere unusual, off the beaten track. I would, if I were her. Go, man, go! Tell her you blew it, big time!”
As Knoxie jogged off to his own Harley, Wolf and Beetle emerged from the building.
“Slayer,” he said, “you’d better get back in there. They’re starting to review your, ah, your job interview tape."
A look of horror flashed over Slayer’s handsome visage. “The tape!” He raced in a humorous manner back in the door, moving more side to side as though dodging land mines. It must’ve been the pointy-toed white shoes.
Wolf yelled at his departing figure. “They’re to the part where Ranger Vera puts on a Smoky the Bear hat and pretends to look for honey!”
I swear, I couldn’t even laugh at that in my current condition. Some rage had to come out of me—like I had to break Knoxie’s neck—in order to begin to process this mess. Unity was off and running like a terrified possum just at a moment when we’d had a big breakthrough in Lavinia’s case, when we were up against a ticking clock due to impending snow.
“Why’d Unity go tear-assing out?” Wolf asked.
I quickly googled the weather. Looked like snow was expected in three days up on the South Rim. “She found out I spent ten years in the big house for rape. Hey, listen, I know it’d be wisest to blaze up to Grand Canyon, but I’ve got a couple things to do.”
“Like iron things out with Unity over the bogus rape charge,” Wolf said, chipper, as though discussing his favorite brand of coffee.
“Right, like that. Can we start out first thing tomorrow? I’d like to get my assistant to fly in my favorite tracking dog, too. Let’s see if she can do that by tonight.”
“Smooth move. I was thinking about bringing my drone. We could scan the entire trail with that baby. Vera said it looked from the black and white tape Lavinia might be wearing a red jacket, so that’ll help.”
All good ideas. I strode off to my rental car. We couldn’t finish this job without Unity. It was just wrong to take all the glory and revel in work she’d done. But I had no idea how much longer she would think of me as some twisted freak who got his rocks off—or didn’t, in the case of my brother Sonny—by forcing himself upon unwilling women. Unity’s wounds ran deep, and she could easily never want to speak to me again.
Why had I withheld that tiny shred of intel from her, that Sonny had been busted for sexual assault and battery? The obvious reason was that I didn’t want her running scared. Since Sonny had done the crime and not me, it didn’t really affect anything in the real world.
But for Unity, it would. Of course it would. Because Sonny had choked and beaten that girl, resulting in additional assault charges, I’d been housed in a special unit along with pedos. Nobody distinguished much between the vagaries of different sex crimes in prison, and we were marked men, dying from inmate violence at twice the regular rate. I retreated into the landscape of my mind to avoid the horrendous environment. Books saved my life, and by extension so did my dad, but when he vanished off on the scent of another woman, I turned to self-harm too. That’s how I knew so much about it. I vowed I’d tell Unity one day if I was ever given the chance. She hadn’t seen the grotesque mass of scars on my hip that had originally, in my mind at least, been a rose.
Tacky, angst-filled symbolism. I guess it was easier to carve a rose than an inscribed tombstone. Or a pentagram.
It hadn’t seemed to matter much when I was seventeen, taking the rap for my brother. Fuck, we lived in a garbage dump. What future did I have? It was a joke to think I could ever attend college. How would I support myself while going to school? I listened to heavy metal, and the lawyers in court interpreted it as my friends and me carrying staves, chanting, drawing pentagrams. The jury gobbled it up. High drama for Tennessee. It only confirmed what they already suspected about teens wearing eyeliner who smoked weed.
I became “penitentiary old” by the time I was twenty-five. Raymond Nonnatus was my patron saint, the saint of those falsely accused. I began correspondence with a Zen monk who taught me zazen meditation, sitting it two, three hours a day just to block out the yelling voices, the echoing clanging of doors. With Slushy’s help, working with Puppies Behind Bars, I pulled myself out of the muck. The air force allowed me to join, determining I was suited for flying fighters, first Jayhawks, then Strike Eagles.
I figured such a radical turnaround qualified me for some kind of sainthood, only to come full circle, to hit a
wall. I was in love with a woman who was grossly disturbed by me.
And I couldn’t say I blamed her.
I was tossed in the hole several times because of some radio interviews I’d given protesting my innocence. By that time, I was like every other inmate—blamed for a crime I didn’t commit. Guards starved me, spat on me, threatened me with horrific death, but I didn’t stop talking to the press. I’d never despised such a category of lowlife men as those guards. And that was how I met Slushy, the Bare Bones’ attorney, when someone at the Innocence Project heard me on the radio.
I called Josie in St. Louis to see if she could fly out Paddington. I’d been a giant burden on my ranch the past couple of weeks with my absence. She said there was no way she could take the time to come to Arizona. She was training an Australian shepherd for a paraplegic boy who needed the dog to travel to Chicago and receive a scholastic award. I had to balance what was more important in the greater scheme of things.
“We decided to go on It’s A Small World next,” said Bellamy. We sat on deck chairs on her expansive back deck overlooking Mescal Mesa. There were so many colorful pastry-colored mesas and ridges in this furrowed land, you couldn’t see a speck of Pure and Easy proper from here, although it was only a twenty-minute ride to downtown. Bellamy, Lyric and I were just relaxing, Bellamy and I with crushed ice margaritas, Lyric with a lemonade. I was certain she drank alcohol in general, just not around me, and that was all I could control.
I was jealous of Bellamy, and fully aware of it. She had an amazing job doing what she loved best—the art of motorcycle maintenance at the Illuminati Construction airplane hangar, the Citadel, just ten minutes away. As a “wrench,” she repaired all the men’s rides, belonged to the union, and thrived in the lowdown, gritty construction atmosphere. Bellamy actually looked hotter in black leathers and her tight-fitting “Property Of” cut, or vest, which Knoxie had given her. Some might think it old-fangled or insulting to boast such a patch indicating you were a man’s property. Bellamy wore it with pride. In addition, she wore a wooden bead necklace with a mandala, a photo of Knoxie. This was no Bare Bones thing, thank God. It had something to do with her growing up in Bihari, the cult that had been shut down by the Attorney General.
