Scare Crow

by Julie Hockley

  That’s why I wish that you never see this letter. Because it means that you know. About me. About what your dumb brother has done, has become. And this, above all the other shit, makes me feel sick. I never wanted you anywhere near this life that I’ve created for myself.

  Too little, too late, I guess.

  I suppose there is one silver lining: Cameron. He was the only one who could have led you here. He’s a good kid. Trust him. I left an envelope for him. Please make sure he gets it.

  You have likely come here looking for money. There is lots. I hope you can find something good to do with it. I never could. Unfortunately, the money is not here, as you likely expected it to be. Bad people will be looking for this money, and I will get to that in a minute, but I have placed one more obstacle for you. The reason I have done this is obviously to keep your money as safe as possible, and because I want you to find someone who has grown to take the other piece of my heart. Her name is Carlita Fernandes … but don’t ever call her that to her face, and please don’t tell her I told you her real name or she’ll hunt me down and kill me again. Her name is Carly. I know it’s a dumb thing to say, but I really hope the two of you will like each other. Carly has so much to teach you, and she has so much love to give even though she has a strange way of showing it. If you think she hates you, then she probably loves you more than you know.

  Now, about the money. You probably already opened the bigger of the two envelopes (you obviously haven’t changed) and were probably disappointed to find scraps of paper. Do not throw these away! They are worth a lot of money. Take them to Carly. She will know what to do with them.

  You will have a lot of questions as to my death. I won’t be able to answer all of them because I simply don’t know how I am going to die. I don’t even know if they will leave a body behind for fear of discovery, of retaliation.

  But there are things I need you to know so that you can keep yourself safe now that you have been exposed to my world.

  You have likely heard from our dear parents of the trouble I have been in (since birth apparently), and you know that I was sent to live with my police-officer uncle, Victor. What you don’t know is that Uncle Victor is no honorable soldier. He is deceitful and a sadistic criminal. He has dual personalities—the one he wants everyone to see and calls Victor, and the real one, named Shield. He had big plans about becoming lord of the underworld while keeping a grasp on the rest of the world. When I went to live with him, he immediately put me to work as his drug lackey and talked to me as though I were some dimwitted kid who had no idea how the underworld worked. Little did he know, I knew more about it than he did. He did have some good ideas, though, so I stood back and listened.

  In the meantime, I was still going to high school, and I met this girl. Frances. She was hot. I won’t gross you out with any further description. I’ll just tell you that we dated for a while. It was nothing serious. I took her around with me. She met Uncle Victor, and his eyes practically popped out of his head when he saw her.

  And then came Carly. There was no one else, I knew, after that. Unfortunately, she was tied to this guy named Spider. I tolerated him as long as she loved me. I immediately broke it off with Frances, and she disappeared. It wasn’t like we were in love, but I was fond of her. She was a nice girl, and I wished her well.

  When the time came and with my best friends at my side, I reinvented the underworld. I had the worst of enemies sit at the same table with me at the helm and for one common goal: money. By getting the underworld to work together as one, we were making more money than ever. Sure, it was initially Victor’s idea; I was the only one smart enough to make it happen, though.

  However, Victor was not prepared to let me take over the spot he claimed as his. He went to the captains. He used his police authority to try to blackmail the lords of the underworld to have me dethroned. This backfired, and he was lucky they didn’t sever his head from his shoulders.

  I thought that was the end of Victor, until Frances came knocking at my door. Her face was beaten to a pulp. She was covered with bruises. And she was pregnant, with Victor’s baby. While I had been busy taking over the underworld, Victor had used this time to woo Frances, blinding her with presents and money.

  If I hadn’t introduced them, if I hadn’t been in Frances’s life, none of this would have happened to her.

  No one in my world knows that I am related to Victor, and I have kept it this way because I don’t ever want to be associated with that bastard. We may look similar and have some of the same rotten blood in our veins, but as far as I’m concerned, we are not related. You, Carly, and Cameron are my only family. (Don’t worry. Cameron will ensure that Victor never goes anywhere near you. I have asked him to watch over you; though, given that you know about our world, he didn’t do a very good job. I may have to roll over in my grave and haunt his ass.)

  At first, I thought I could hide Frances. I got her an apartment; I bought her groceries. I gave her money. But that wasn’t what Frances wanted. She wanted what every mother-to-be wanted: for the father to love his child. I had had my suspicions. Frances wasn’t a very good actress, and bruises kept appearing on her skin. When I saw the bruises on her belly, I knew this was going to end badly for her. I confronted her about Victor. She didn’t deny that she’d been seeing him.

  I never told anyone about Frances. I never told Carly about her, because I was ashamed of what I had done to Frances and because I wanted to keep my family ties with Victor a secret. Keeping such huge secrets from the people you admire the most is like jumping out of an airplane without a parachute. You free-fall until you hit the ground. I was getting skittish and making decisions without really thinking. Everyone was suspicious; Spider, the idiot, even accused me of cheating on Carly in front of her.

  Now I am on my way to meet Frances. She called me this morning, frantic, crying. She said that Victor had dragged her to a seedy motel in Callister and wanted her to work in his escort business. Apparently some of Victor’s slum-of-the-earth clients like pregnant women.

  My gut tells me that it’s a trap and Victor will be waiting for me when I get there. He has been wooing some of the captains and must actually believe that if he takes me down, the captains will choose him as their leader.

  They won’t.

  Cameron is and has always been my successor, even if he doesn’t want it. He is brilliant.

  My beautiful, smart little sister. As I’m writing this letter, I’m incredibly sad. Not because I know what’s about to happen to me, but because I won’t be there to watch you grow up to be the strong (stubborn) woman I know you will be. The fact that you’re reading this letter means that, once again, you didn’t listen to me, that you went looking for trouble and found it. I wish you would be more cautious, but that was never you. I love you so much, kid. Not a day goes by when I don’t think about you or talk about you.

  By the time this letter reaches the bank’s coffers, I will have likely left this earth. If there is one thing I can impart to you before I am gone, it is to believe in yourself. You, more than anyone else I have ever known, can achieve anything you put your mind to. If only you could see yourself through my eyes, through the eyes of everyone who has ever encountered you, you would understand the effect you have on people.

  I love you. Be safe. B.

  P.S. I really wish I would have locked you in a tower before I died. Please make sure Cameron gets his envelope.

  ****

  The two old women flanking me on the plane were actually sisters, named Georgia and Beatrice. They were bachelorettes who had lived together their whole lives but couldn’t stand sitting next to each other on a plane. They were off to visit their younger sister—who had been married (twice) and had a flock of kids and now grandkids. All ungrateful, all impolite, all of whom were coming to pick them up at the airport.

  “I would love to meet them,” I found myself saying.

  They grinned.

  I spent the next hour complimenting Georgi
a on her knitting. It looked like a blanket, but it was a shawl. The sisters enjoyed bonbons—these they did not share.

  By the time the plane disembarked, I had a green scarf blanket on my red head and Georgia and Beatrice’s arms scooped into each of mine. As they had promised, their sister’s entire family immediately jumped for them, with flowers and banners. As all ungrateful, impolite family do.

  We were surrounded as soon as we came into sight and led to the carousel in a tornado of hugs and chatter.

  While I was introduced, I kept an eye out for Victor’s men. There were a lot of people in the airport, many of whom wandered around looking for someone. Any of them or all of them could have worked for Victor. But no one seemed to have eyes on me. As far as the world was concerned, I was just another one of the fat old ladies. The third bachelorette.

  I snuck away from the sisters’ circle as we got to the parking lot, when I was sure we weren’t being followed. Then I went to get my car, remembering that I had left it in the staff parking lot and that I had no way of getting out of there without a pass.

  Once I got to the car, I sat behind the wheel for a second or two. Then I turned the ignition on, reversed and sped up to the parking arm without stopping. I watched the bits of wood and car fly in the air from my rearview mirror.

  Despite being low on gas, I drove as fast as the Roadmaster would let me, but as I neared the corner of our street, something told me to slow down. A sixth sense that had been growing on me from the day I had met Cameron.

  I immediately saw a police car parked in front of our house. I turned on the opposite side and parked close enough to see the house but far enough to keep out of sight.

  There was a Callister City police officer at our door, talking to one of my roommates. It looked like it was Hunter. The officer looked agitated, swinging his arms, gesturing in time with his words. Hunter kept shaking his head in response, with a look mixed of fear and concern.

  I was glad that Griff wasn’t the one at the door. He probably wasn’t home from his interviews yet. God only knows what he would have done if he had been confronted by these defectors.

  Once upon a time, I swore that when given the opportunity to fight for love, I would. I swore that I would not disappear just to keep someone I loved, someone who loved me, safe. I swore I would never hurt someone the way Cameron had hurt me.

  As I watched the officer leave the front porch, thwarted because he hadn’t found me, and go back to his car to wait for me to come home, I did exactly what I swore I would never do.

  I put the car in drive, and I left.

  For Griff. For Meatball. Because they would be safe as long as they didn’t try to fight Victor for me. Victor would leave them alone as long as I stayed away.

  Penniless, running low on gas, I headed for the freeway.

  I didn’t have any time to waste. I had to keep driving.

  I took one deep breath, then another. But each breath became shallower, getting pushed out by a devastation so deep I couldn’t swim out of it. I pulled over to the side of the road and let my head fall against the steering wheel. I wanted to cry, so badly that my insides were hurting from my defiance. Every part of me was contorting.

  In my peripheral vision, I caught sight of an envelope sitting peacefully on the passenger seat. It was clearly labeled “Cameron” in my brother’s clumsy handwriting. I grabbed it and ripped the seal. (It wasn’t like Cameron was ever going to read it.)

  Hey, Buddy,

  Stay the fuck away from my sister.

  Sincerely, B.

  P.S. Thanks for watching over her. Thanks for everything. But seriously, don’t even think about it.

  I stared at the ink on the page. A snort escaped my throat. I smiled, and then I grinned. Then I was laughing so hard, cool gushers came strolling down my cheeks.

  I put the car in drive and rolled away.

  The car practically coasted to Cameron’s cottage, as though it was hooked to a fishing line, getting reeled in. But halfway down the driveway, the Roadmaster officially ran out of gas. I got out and abandoned my car. I had forgotten how the blackness of night could consume everything out here. There was no moon and no stars to light my way, so I kicked at the pebbles to ensure that I was sticking to the driveway.

  Eventually the trees cleared and my eyes adjusted enough to the darkness so that I could make it to the door.

  I had gotten so used to the feeling of bleeding that I had stopped noticing the wetness. The problem was that when I turned the light to the kitchen on, I saw that this blood had already soaked my underwear and my pants. I was exhausted, but I was in no pain. I changed into some of Cameron’s old clothes that he had left in a corner cabinet and went to lie down.

  The agony did come. It was still dark when I was awoken by the excruciating pain in my back and pressure at the bottom of my abdomen. It felt as though my body were building up to explode. Or implode. I forced myself up and brought my hands to my stomach. I didn’t need to have the light on to know that my blood had soaked the mattress.

  As dynamite detonated inside me, I let out a scream, one that came from deep beneath, before falling back into the pillow.

  Into the darkness.

  ****

  I woke up again. My arms and legs were numb. I rolled over onto the floor and stretched one arm in front of me and then another, dragging myself to the stairs in an army crawl. I lifted my arm, trying to grab the rail.

  Before rolling back into the darkness.

  CHAPTER 18: CAMERON

  LIFELESS

  “A toast.” Julièn raised his champagne glass, and the rest of the table followed his command. Mine was already empty. Manny refilled it, and I chugged it down while Julièn spoke.

  “The great Winston Churchill once said that ‘War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all.’” Julièn nodded at all of us, so that we could fully absorb the power of his words. The idiot had actually just quoted a passage from Tolkien’s Two Towers novel. I poured myself another glass of champagne.

  “Ladies. Gentlemen,” he started again once the moment had passed. “Tonight, we have freed Mexico from the tyrants who have killed and stolen from us, filling their pockets with the people’s money. Today is a day that will be marked in history as the day Mexico was returned to its people. May God have mercy upon our enemies, because I won’t.” He chuckled at his clever comment, which was actually a quote he had stolen from General Patton.

  “Cheers!” I said, raising my empty glass, and glasses clinked around the table.

  From the pout on Julièn’s face, he wasn’t done with his speech. He took a sip and thankfully sat back down so that we could eat our damn meal.

  My end had come after I had seen Emily with Griff, after I had gone to Manny’s room and told her that I’d had a change of heart, in many respects. We were back on track—suicide mission. At exactly 4:00 a.m., tactical teams would be marching into bedrooms and assassinating the leadership for all three cartel families.

  Julièn, Manny, and I would soon have control over all of Mexico’s drug trade. But as far as “the people” were concerned, we had just cleaned house and ridded an entire country of its drug problem.

  I could already feel the storm surging, like clouds darkening, billowing, merging above. As news of the change in command spread, the remaining cartel members would plan revenge, and a hundred others would see the fall of the leaders as their opportunity to appoint themselves as drug kingpins, each trying to out-shock the other. Murder, torture, theft … this was nothing compared to the violence that was to come.

  We had unleashed a torrent of power struggles. But we would never live long enough to see it happen.

  While we were celebrating ourselves in San Luis Potosi, I wondered who would be first to come for us. The remaining cartel members—the ones who were loyal, who believed in the old tradition of an eye for an eye—or the wannabe kingpins?

  It didn’t matter. The end would come all the same.<
br />
  The plates for the main course had finally started circulating around. Mine came in the form of a cell phone. I looked up cockeyed. There was a waitress. Young. Hot. Then there were three of her.

  “You have a phone call,” she yelled, as though she had told me this already. She came back to being only one of herself.

  “You’re like an accordion.”

  “The person on the line said it was urgent. Very urgent.”

  “What’s your name?” was what I tried to ask her, though the words sounded more like “wazunayme.”

  The waitress gave me the phone and left.

  Amused, I put the phone to my ear while I watched her tight ass leave the room.

  “It’s Carly,” Carly announced on the line. “I’ve been calling your cell phone for hours. You haven’t been picking up.”

  “There was champagne—”

  “It’s about Emily.”

  Like a punch in the face, I immediately sobered up.

  ****

  “I think she was with Frances,” Carly murmured, as though she were the one who was sitting in a bathroom, hoping no one was trying to listen in. I had quickly stepped away without an explanation and knew that Manny was probably standing with a glass between her ear and the door. I had called Carly back on my cell phone because I couldn’t trust Julièn at the best of times, and certainly not with this.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, she got into a car. I can’t be sure. They left so quickly.”

  “Was it Frances, Carly?” I insisted. “If you had to bet your life and mine and hers, was it Frances?”

  “Yes, it was Frances,” she replied firmly.

  I took a breath. This didn’t mean Emmy was in trouble. We had our doubts about Frances, but maybe, just maybe—

  “Cameron, there’s something else.” I could hear Carly breathing quick, stressed breaths over the line. “She’s pregnant. She’s very pregnant.”