Forever 51

by Pamela Skjolsvik

  “Sure. I’m going to drive straight through to Detroit, though. I don’t know how that Seamus guy can track us, but he can.”

  “I bet he’s totally pissed that you blew him off, too.” Jenny pulled over to the side of the road.

  “Thanks for reminding me.” Veronica hopped out of the car and stretched in the sun. She felt lighter, even though that was impossible. The weight of a few souls didn’t amount to much, if anything. 28 grams times five? Math was not her forte. A semi cab without its trailer slowed down and pulled to the side of the road in front of them. Veronica panicked.

  “Get in!” She shouted and dove into the driver’s seat.

  Jenny scrambled for the passenger seat and slammed the door. “Who is it?”

  “I don’t fucking know, but I don’t want to find out.” Checking the side mirror, she gunned the car onto the interstate. “Where’s the gun?”

  “Glove box.” Jenny patted the door like an old trusty friend.

  Veronica checked the rearview mirror as the truck faded in the distance. “They’re not following us, whoever they were.”

  “I think you’re just being paranoid.” Jenny picked up Veronica’s phone. “The internet on these things sucks.”

  “What do you need to see on the internet?”

  “I don’t know. I could check my Facebook, look at Instagram, watch a few YouTube videos.” The phone vibrated in her hand. Mary’s name and face illuminated the screen. “How did Mary get your number?”

  “I texted it to her. Put it on speakerphone.”

  Jenny swiped at the screen and placed the phone on the middle console.

  “Hey, Mary,” Veronica said. “Are you making a killing yet?”

  “She’s making a killing, alright.” Seamus sounded as if he were at the bottom of a well. “Aren’t you dear?” Mary’s muffled voice echoed in the background. “Since you wouldn’t play nice, we’re using one of your former recruits. She reflects. We like that about her. It’s more trackable.”

  “Let her go, Seamus!” Veronica roared at the tiny phone.

  “You’re on the naughty list, Ms. Bouchard. I don’t appreciate being stood up. We’re on our way to see Beatrice Prendergast. Does that name ring any bells?”

  Veronica remained silent, hands on the wheel, running her tongue along the sharpness of her teeth.

  “You have three days. Two recruits for your daughter. It will be a nice, tidy, even exchange. Don’t worry about finding us. We’ll find you.”

  The line went dead.

  Jenny picked up the phone before Veronica could hurl it out the window. “Dude, he’s psycho. You need to take his tiny ass out.”

  Veronica sped past the blue “Welcome to Michigan” sign as if being dared. It wasn’t the police or the CIA she was worried about inside its state lines.

  “I need to find Kevin Black first.”

  46

  Detroit – 1978

  Veronica pretended to sip a rum and Coke while staring at the random album covers that plastered the nicotine-stained walls of Chuck’s Wagon. Behind the horseshoe-shaped bar, Kevin ignored her familiar presence, playing a game of dice with Henry, an old timer with a fresh check from the state burning a hole in his pocket. The opening notes of “Night Fever” boomed from the jukebox.

  Kevin twitched. “Which one of you dicks played that fucking song?” He scanned the sparse crowd with a menacing glare.

  “Hey, I paid for that song. I don’t know what you’re complaining about. You’re the asshole that put it on there in the first place.” Henry slammed his cup on the wooden counter. He peeked at his roll, then set his cup to the side, revealing three sixes. “It’s a good song. Something you can dance to. Not that you would know anything about dancing.”

  Kevin took a long swig from his beer. “Who are you planning on dancing with, Henry?” He waved his arm at the bedraggled regulars, shook his cup and pounded it on the bar. Lifting the cup with dramatic flourish, he glared down at his unfortunate roll.

  “Your woman looks like she could cut a rug.” Henry laughed and gulped the remnants of his gin and tonic. “If I had a gal like that, I wouldn’t let her sit around in this dump.” Henry held out his arthritic hand, waving his swollen fingers.

  Veronica stared steadfastly down at the last feebly popping soda bubbles in her black glass. She had long since learned to keep her mouth shut.

  Kevin grabbed a wad of cash from his tip jar, counted out ten ones and placed them in Henry’s palm. “You’re a lucky bastard.” He swept the dice back into the cup and placed it on the back bar. Henry ambled out the door with a smile on his heavily lined face.

  Kevin surveyed the remaining stragglers, while quieting “Lay Down Sally” on the jukebox. “Okay, assholes. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” He began herding the slowpokes to the exit. With a drunken moan, they reluctantly peeled themselves from their chairs as he flipped the lights off over the pool table. A Miller High Life neon illuminated the darkened bar with a soft glow.

  Veronica grabbed a wet bar towel from the drip rail. When you get busy, you get better. “What’s your hurry? You got a date or something?” The hurry made her worry.

  “I figured we might do a little dancing, but I gotta shut this place down first. Wouldn’t want to attract any pigs to our party.” Three teenage pool players wobbled to the exit with key chains jangling from their limp fingers. Kevin opened the door and followed them outside into the frigid night.

  “I’m Not in Love” played low on the jukebox. Veronica hummed along as she wiped down the sticky tables and dumped the overflowing ashtrays into the trash bin. Kevin returned from the parking lot, rubbing his arms. Hoping his promise of a dance wasn’t just an empty threat, she dropped the towel and shimmied in his direction.

  “Just going to check the restrooms.” He passed without meeting her hopeful gaze, disappearing into the back rooms of the bar.

  The bell over the door jingled. Veronica resumed her cleaning duties. “We’re closed.”

  Randy Rogers, a squat, muscular kid with a buzz cut and a swastika tattoo on the inside of his wrist, pushed through the front door as if he owned the place. “Kevin here?”

  “He’s in back,” Veronica said, averting her eyes to the beer covered table. She didn’t dare look up. Last time she saw Randy, she’d walked in on him with a scale and a pound of heroin in the storage room.

  He strode towards her with a swagger in his step, radiating coked-up confidence. “You don’t drink, you don’t smoke and you sure as shit don’t shoot up. So, what exactly are you doing here at three in the morning? Are you the new janitor or something?”

  Intimidated, she backed up slowly into the wall as sweat streamed down the inside of her shirt. She zipped her lips shut, causing her nostrils to flare. She needed to slow her breath and appear unthreatened, but drugs made her jumpy.

  “Cat got your tongue? I asked you a question, bitch.” With one meaty hand, he grabbed her face, squeezing her mouth open. “Answer me!” Spittle spewed her pale face. With his free hand, he lifted her shirt, exposing her fleshy stomach. Leaning into her, he reached around to molest the fiery skin of her back. “The narc’s not wearing a wire,” he shouted towards the back of the bar. “Unfortunate decision, I’m afraid.” He reached behind his back and lifted his revolver to her temple.

  Her teeth strained through her gums. “I’m not a narc, Randy. I’m a nurse,” she whimpered. “Please don’t do this.”

  “Not my decision.” Without hesitation, he fired. The blast echoed through the empty bar.

  The impact forced her exploding head backwards into the wall as her body slid slowly to the floor, leaving a trail of crimson-tinged brain matter in her wake. She closed her eyes for dramatic effect. She figured he’d expect that. Prone and panicked from the betrayal, she couldn’t stop her eyes from twitching.

  “Cunt’s dead,” he shouted.

  Jingling his keyring, Kevin stomped from the back of the bar, stopping between Vero
nica’s sprawled legs. “Jesus. I told you to do it out back. Now you’re gonna have to patch that wall.” He peered out the front window. “Where’s Eddie? I need this cleaned up by morning and I sure as hell ain’t gonna be the one to do it.”

  He knew.

  “Busy, I guess.” Randy kicked Veronica’s foot. “I hate rats.”

  Kevin knew.

  “Take the van and get her out of here.” He tossed Randy his keys. “Usual place. Got it?”

  Knew, hell. Kevin was the one who ordered Randy to kill her.

  Shocked to her core, Veronica remained motionless, silently regenerating in a pool of her own coagulating blood.

  “I don’t know if she’s a rat or not, but she never did anything, even when I offered. Hell, she didn’t even drink. Crazy bitch pretended. What kind of person does that?”

  “A narc.”

  “You know what? You’re probably right. I caught her dumping her drinks in the trash.” Kevin sighed as he kneeled at her side. “She’s still breathing.” He felt her neck. “I told you one shot through the head, Randy. I swear, if you want something done right, you’ve got to do the goddamn thing yourself.”

  As the gun’s barrel entered her mouth, she opened her grey eyes. With rage and adrenaline fueling her, she wrestled him on top of her body and latched onto his neck with a ferocity she’d never expressed before. The gun slid from his reach.

  “What the fuck?” Randy aimed in their direction.

  “Shoot her!” Kevin screamed, struggling with her rabid body.

  As they tangled on the blood-streaked floor, Randy pulled the trigger without aim or purpose. The first shot exploded in her shoulder. With Kevin’s blood fortifying her, she shielded herself with his weakening frame. Randy emptied the chamber. Two bullets tore through Kevin’s abdomen and into hers. The other two ricocheted off the yellowed wall. As Randy leapt forward, she released herself from Kevin’s neck and pushed his broken body off hers.

  “You can’t kill me, so don’t even think about it.” She spat. “He’s dead and I swear to god, if you shoot me again, you’re next.” She wiped Kevin’s blood from her chin.

  “I’ll get you for this, bitch!” With a pained expression, he bolted from the bar.

  “Yeah, you and what army,” she mumbled as the low rumble of his chopper grew fainter by the second.

  Through tears of pain and anger, she assessed what was left of Kevin. Palpating his bloodied neck, she found a faint pulse. She pushed herself up from the floor and surveyed the horrific scene. “I did not deserve this,” she muttered to the silent bar.

  She gazed down at Kevin’s body, a body she once relished and enjoyed. Her voice rose. “I did not deserve any of this. Death is easy, motherfucker. But this? The shit that I’ve had to endure isn’t for weak men like you.”

  Veronica stared down at the pulpy mess. “But now you’re going to know what it feels like.”

  47

  Present

  In the morning sun, the city of Detroit looked as used and casually discarded as a twenty-dollar hooker. People, places and things often looked considerably different in the light of day, but this was beyond that. The city she once loved was now a fallen empire with decay on display in every boarded window. Every corner she turned appeared worse than the last. Abandoned buildings, crumbling pavement and an impending sense of doom seemed to pervade the streets. In the not-so-distant past, this city had flourished, but now it looked like the players had spitefully taken their ball and gone home.

  Jenny was fast asleep in the reclined passenger seat as Veronica cruised past one of Kevin’s old haunts, the Stonehouse. A solid line of Harleys sat sentry-like in front of the old farmhouse bar. As she had decades ago, Veronica quickly skimmed over each bike’s detail work, hoping to find a black tank with a blue-eyed devil painted on the side. Nothing. She gunned her car’s middle-aged engine and sputtered down the block.

  Inside the safety of their chain hotel Veronica locked herself in the bathroom, dialing Frank’s number with paranoid precision. He’d be at work, but he usually picked up calls from strange numbers. He was a more than willing sponsor to any man who requested his help. Some of these relationships lasted years, while others only days or weeks. Sobriety was a lot easier to imagine than practice day in and day out.

  “Frank, it’s me,” she whispered into the phone.

  “This isn’t a good idea.” His voice sounded as distant as the miles between them.

  She was painfully aware that calling him wasn’t a smart move, but somehow it didn’t matter anymore. She was at her bottom, ready to accept the consequences of her actions, whatever that might be—prison, death, or running scared towards a future that would only echo her past.

  Numb from the cold reception, she sat on the edge of the tub and planted both feet firmly on the floor. “Listen, I know it’s stupid to call you, but you deserve a goodbye. You’ve probably realized it by now, but I can never come back home. Hell, I don’t even know if I’m going to make it out of here alive.” She was trying to come across as tough, but her voice was shaking. She swallowed hard and licked her parched lips. “But if I do, Frank, I give you my word that you’ll be the first person I’ll call. I love you.”

  His voice was gruff and firm in her ear. “Don’t call this number again.”

  She snapped the cheap device in two as a tsunami of tears and snot ran down her face. Desperate to muffle the hurt animal sounds of her sadness, she grabbed a bleach-scented towel from above the toilet and buried her face in its stiffness. There was no way to stuff her feelings back down, so she wallowed in them.

  Compared to what she would soon be facing, this was nothing, but it hurt more than bullet wounds or the boring monotony of her endless days. At this exact moment, she couldn’t face knowing whether he was protecting or rejecting her with his curt and callous response. She didn’t have the will to find out. At least not yet.

  As Jenny studied the giant room service menu, Veronica flipped through the pages of the phone book. Her face hurt from crying. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed help beyond Jenny’s bravado. She wasn’t accustomed to asking for it, especially in a matter as delicate and dangerous as Kevin Black. There was no way she would be able to find the man on her own and she sure as hell wasn’t going to crawl back to Seamus with her tail between her legs. There was only one option… one she hoped still had connections with lawless men and where to find them.

  “Eddie? It’s Veronica. I need your help.”

  Within the hour, Eddie was at their door. His loud knock startled Veronica. She peered through the peephole to make sure it was him. He was alone, dressed in the same workman’s outfit he’d worn at the museum. She swung open the door and invited him in, quickly bolting the lock and securing the chain.

  “Eddie, did you ever run into a guy named Kevin Black when you were, you know, working? He used to ride with the Devil Hogs. Long black hair, light blue eyes.” Her brow furrowed at the thought of him.

  Eddie rumpled Jenny’s hair and tugged at her ear phones. “Hi Jenny.” He waved his enormous hand in front of her face. She flashed a quick smile, revealing her broken front tooth. Moving to the edge of the bed to join the conversation, her bare feet barely reached the floor. She raked her chipped toe-nails through the patterned industrial carpet.

  “Kevin Black,” he laughed. “Yeah, I know him.” Eddie sat down at the desk and rubbed his hands together. “I think the more important question is, how do you know him?”

  “We dated briefly, very briefly, back in the late 70s.” She paced the room. “And I’m the one who turned him.”

  “You turned Kevin Black?” Eddie bolted from his chair. “That’s huge.”

  “Yes, I turned him. Just like I turned you. Why does that surprise you?”

  He sat back down with a smile on his face. “We ran in the same circles back in the day. My connections were a bit more discreet about their business dealings. His weren’t. How in the world did someone like you hook up w
ith him?”

  “Contrary to what you may think, Eddie, I’m not a saint. Far from it.” She plopped down on the edge of the other bed and kicked her shoes off. “Okay. Long story short. Good looking bad boy likes old chick and old chick likes feeling young and alive again. She ignores all signs that being with him is a very bad idea.”

  Eddie raised his brows in disbelief. “Did he know what you were?”

  “No. It only lasted a year and he was either drunk or high half the time. We weren’t doing a lot of daytime activities if you catch my drift.” She glanced over at Jenny. “One night after closing, we were at his bar and in walks one of his lieutenants or whatever they’re called. I forget. Anyway, I think his name was Randy Rogers.”

  “Randy’s still around.” Eddie’s voice deepened.

  “Great. That’s wonderful. He’s such a charming fellow. So, Randy pulls out his gun and shoots me point blank in the head. I, of course, recovered. Scared the shit out of both of them. Randy keeps firing, a little less steady this time, and accidentally shoots Kevin. Randy takes off and leaves me with the mess.”

  “Sounds like something Randy would do.” Eddie took a deep breath. “I’ve cleaned up a lot of Randy’s messes.”

  “I turned Kevin to punish him. As crazy as it sounds, I had feelings for the man. I wanted him to suffer as much as I had.”

  “So where is the douchebag? Let’s go get him.” Jenny interrupted.

  “I need to make amends to him, not kill him.”

  “He’s here in Detroit, but you won’t get near him,” Eddie said. “He’s still the same cocky asshole he always was, but now he’s untouchable, thanks to you and your magical kissing powers.”

  “Is he still riding with the Devil Hogs?”

  “No, not the Devil Hogs. Now they call themselves the Dark Lords. He really let that vampire shit go to his head.”