Defender

by Graham McNamee

  It catches my eye, and my heart skips a beat. No, that can’t be!

  “What’s that?” I say. “On your hand there.”

  Vicki turns off the water and towels her hands dry. She glances at her left hand.

  “Oh, you mean this?” She rubs the mark with her thumb.

  “Can I see?”

  She holds her hand out to me. I lean in close. That’s it! The dead girl’s brand.

  “Where did you get that?” I ask.

  “Back when I was young and stupid. Jake gave me that, did it himself. He even made the little iron he used.”

  “The brand?”

  “Yes. Jake made it for me. He said, ‘You can take off a ring, but this is forever, means you belong to me.’ He was something of an artist back then, could make such beautiful things. And such ugly ones. Hurt like hell, like you wouldn’t believe.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing and seeing. But I catch a glimpse of the lettering on the other side of her finger.

  “Don’t know how he talked me into it. But he has a way…Said it was like a permanent valentine. That’s what the design means.”

  “ ‘Mine in life and death,’ ” I say.

  “That’s right. How did you know?”

  I shake my head. “Must have seen it before.”

  It’s Jake’s work! And the murder—his work too?

  I get a dizzying double vision of that message, on both living flesh and dead.

  Vicki slips her wedding ring back on.

  I feel like I’m going to puke up all that pie.

  “Need some air,” I say, heading out the patio doors.

  Stepping into the sun, I try to catch my breath.

  Jake. He was the one Lucy was going to run away with, who she was in love with. He marked her, so she belonged to him.

  She was his. In life and death.

  IT’S DARK BY the time I get back to the Zoo from Jake’s house.

  Mom’s heading out to work the late shift. Busy night at the bar with both Raptors and Leafs games going on.

  “Left you meatball subs in the fridge,” she says, looking hot in a tight black blouse and black mini. Short skirts mean big tips, she always tells me. “Eat, girl, you need the protein. Get you back in game shape.”

  I nod, still stunned from my discovery earlier.

  Dad’s in the living room, watching TV with Squirrel.

  “Goodnight, Squirrelly,” Mom calls out. “Bye, honey.”

  Then she’s out the door.

  I stare around the kitchen, lost, as if I don’t know where I am or what I’m doing anymore.

  I text Stick: big bad news. meet me up top?

  He shoots back: be there in 10.

  I splash some cold water on my face, take the subs and some Coke, then go up top.

  Leaving the door to the roof unlocked, I set everything down on the lawn chairs and take in the city. This place might be a dump, but it has a million-dollar view. The skyscrapers are all lit up and dazzling—like Christmas trees, I said when Dad took me up here at night for the first time. A forest of them, he told me. Seemed like magic then, and it still has its spell.

  The cold wind brushes my hair back and fills my lungs. As the holiday break comes to an end, our break from winter weather is ending too. A deep freeze is on the way.

  I hear Stick coming up.

  “Hey, what’s this? A picnic?”

  “I’ve got food and news.”

  “I’m starving for both.”

  So we eat, and I talk. About what I found out, and what has to happen next. I leave out the stuff about how Mad Dog died. Like Gran said, Never tell. Because the only thing that matters is Lucy.

  And Jake.

  “So it’s crazy Uncle Jake?” Stick says when I’m done. “Richie Rich with the monster house and the muscle car. The life of the party.”

  “I’ve heard how psychopaths can be real charming. They’re good at faking the human thing.”

  He had me fooled. But I guess he learned from his father. We already knew about Jake’s wild temper and drunken abusive ways, but this is so far beyond it’s scary.

  “How sure are we?” Stick asks.

  “Ninety-nine point nine nine nine sure. And remember how he lied when I asked if he ever knew a girl from the Weeds named Lucy?”

  Stick stops in the middle of licking tomato sauce off his fingers. “Damn, you better watch out! He’s gotta know something’s up now, with you asking about her after all these years. Watch your back.”

  “Why? What’s he going to do?”

  “Look what he’s already done.”

  Hadn’t thought of that. Jake must be wondering where I got Lucy’s name. But he doesn’t know that I found her body, and that I’m onto him.

  “This explains why Lucy’s foster sister got spooked when she heard your name was Greer. She was scared of Jake. Her old classmate said that Lucy was in love and going to run off with her mystery man. Jake was supposed to save her. So what went wrong?”

  I take a deep breath. “There’s only one way to find out. I have to confront my dad. Gotta make him talk. He can’t deny it anymore, I’ve got too much proof.”

  Stick’s shaking his head.

  “What?” I say

  “It’s just…I’m getting a real bad feeling. This isn’t going to end good for anybody.”

  “Well, there’s no way out now. Never was. Not from the second I found her.” I stare out over the forest of concrete Christmas trees. “Tomorrow I’ll get my dad alone, somewhere private, outside the apartment. He’s the key to all this.”

  The night wind gusts between us with a touch of frost. We wrap our arms around each other, sharing a shiver.

  MY DAY STARTS with the good hurt, bending, deep-stretching and massaging my knee.

  Then I head to the pool to exercise. I text Stick to meet me for lunch first but get no reply. His response time is usually under ten seconds and he never passes on a chance to eat. Maybe Miss Diaz has him running chores.

  Going for a long swim, I mentally zone out as I do my laps. But I can’t stop thinking about my upcoming showdown with Dad. It’ll hurt—and not the healing kind—but at least I’ll finally know. Is he covering up for his brother or hiding his own role?

  I shower off and walk home, texting Stick to touch base and help psych me up. He’s still not answering. Maybe his phone is out of juice or out of whack, but it’s not like him to be disconnected like this. When I call him it goes to voice mail.

  Where are you? I keep trying.

  Last I heard from him was his wake-up pic, showing him with a huge lion roar-yawn, captioned Dawn yawn of the dead.

  Since that, silence. Maybe his cell had a seizure or something.

  Back at the Zoo I check Dad’s “daily disaster” list to see where to find him, away from Mom and Squirrel. Looks like he’s fixing a radiator leak on the tenth floor.

  Mom’s cleared some space in the living room where she’s doing Pilates along with the show on TV. She looks at me upside down from between her legs. She keeps bugging me to try this stuff to improve my flexibility.

  “Hey, Mom. Has Stick called or dropped by?”

  “No. Haven’t heard from him.”

  I leave her to her contortions.

  In the hallway I have to step over the construction zone Squirrel has set up with bulldozers, dump trucks and Legos.

  “Stick went for a ride,” he says as I pass by.

  Huh? He must have heard me asking Mom. “What was that?”

  He makes a crashing sound, knocking over some blocks.

  “What do you mean, Stick went for a ride?”

  “In Uncle Jake’s Mustang.”

  I look down at him. You always have to puzzle out what Squirrel says.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “ ’Cause I saw it. They were busting up the road with jackhammers and filling the dump truck with rocks. Jake’s Mustang was parked on the corner for a long time. It’s fire-engine red. I like driv
ing with Jake, he lets me sit up front.”

  “Were you watching the road crew working from the window today?” The view from up here is like TV for him. “And you saw Stick? You sure?”

  “Stick left the Zoo and went in the street, and Jake was there. He got out of his car. Did you know a Mustang is the name of a horse? Remember I did the pony ride on Centre Island last year?”

  “Squirrel, tell me what happened when Jake got out of his car.”

  “Jake got out and stopped Stick. They talked. Then he hugged him.”

  That doesn’t sound right. “Jake hugged Stick?”

  “Big hug. Then they got in the Mustang. He even let Stick drive. I want to drive.”

  “Stick was driving? You sure?”

  “Sure. Jake hugged him into the car. Stick got behind the wheel and then they drove away.”

  I get a sick feeling as I try to picture that. Jake would never let anybody drive that car. Unless he forced Stick in. Maybe even had a gun on him. But that’s crazy.

  “You making this up? Or is it for real?”

  “For real.”

  “When was this?”

  Squirrel shrugs, no good with keeping time. I try another way.

  “What did you have for lunch?”

  Immediately he says, “Peanut butter and banana sandwich.”

  “And did you see Jake before or after your peanut butter and banana?”

  “Before.”

  So it happened this morning, around the time Stick went silent.

  What the hell is going on? I look out the window where Squirrel usually perches and watches, and focus on the corner where this would have gone down. Jake was waiting for Stick. But why? What’s he want with him? Me asking about Lucy might have made him suspicious, even enough for him to come looking for me. But Stick? He had told me to watch my back, when he should have been watching his own.

  I dial Stick again. It goes straight to voice mail. I text him: 911. Then: Call me NOW. I send both messages half a dozen times. This is bad—he’s never, ever out of touch with me like this.

  No reply. Dead quiet.

  I call Miss Diaz. No luck. She says he’s been gone all day.

  Why would Jake take Stick? Does Jake somehow know that the body got uncovered after all these years? Did Dad tell him, when he moved and buried her? And then I came asking about Lucy? Could he have found out how me and Stick have been nosing around?

  Shaking, I go to my room, redialing Stick every ten seconds, hanging up when it goes to voice mail.

  It’s four in the afternoon. Uncle Jake has had Stick for a long time. What do I do? How about if I call Jake? Let him know I know what’s going on, so he better not try anything stupid.

  Mom will have his numbers on her cell. As I’m leaving my room to go get hers, my phone rings. The screen says it’s Stick. Finally!

  “Stick, where are you? What the hell?”

  “Hey, Tiny.”

  It’s Jake. My heart seizes up.

  “What are you doing with his phone?”

  “What am I doing? I’m sending you a picture.”

  A message appears on my screen: This photo will auto-delete in 10 seconds. Then the image comes through.

  I gasp. No. No. No.

  It’s Stick, but I can barely tell. His face is bloodied and bruised, the eyes so hideously swollen that they’re squeezed to slits. Trails of blood run from his nostrils and he’s got a fat lip, split and bleeding.

  My heart pounds in my ears. Can’t breathe. Can’t—

  Then the screen goes blank.

  “Got that?” Jake asks.

  “Stop! Just—just stop it! Don’t hurt him!”

  “Too late for that. Don’t worry, he’s still breathing.”

  “What—what do you want?”

  “Heard what you’ve been up to. Digging into things better left buried. Bad idea, Tiny.”

  “You can let him go. He doesn’t know anything.”

  “He knows too damn much.”

  “We’ll keep quiet. Won’t tell anybody.”

  Silence.

  “I swear. Just let him go.”

  “I hear you’ve got something that belongs to me.”

  “What?”

  “Use your brain, Tiny. I’m sure you can put your finger on it.”

  I glance at the desk drawer where I’ve got Lucy’s finger.

  “So,” he says. “Let’s do a trade. I get my property back, and you get your boy.”

  “Okay. Whatever you want.”

  “Bring it to me.”

  “Where?”

  “You remember how to get to my salvage yard, out in Pickering?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Be here in an hour.”

  “Okay. Okay. But let me talk to him.”

  “He’s not up to chatting right now. Taking a nap. Here, listen.”

  Pressing my ear to the phone, I hear a low groan and ragged breathing.

  “That’s it, Tiny. Your proof. Now get moving, the hour’s counting down. And don’t try anything dumb. I’ll be waiting.”

  Then he’s gone. I stare at the empty screen. Stick looked half-dead, but he’s still breathing.

  Get moving! I dig the pill bottle with the gray finger out of my drawer. Glancing around the room, I think whether I should bring something more with me, some kind of weapon. But no—don’t be dumb.

  Just go! Gotta get there fast, need the keys to the truck.

  Rushing down the hall, I run into Dad. He’s digging in the supply closet in his stained overalls, his toolbox open on the floor. He looks up from sorting through his wrenches and sees my face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Stick. Jake took Stick and beat him up. He—he’s crazy. I can’t talk. Gotta go.”

  “What? Wait. Slow down and tell me what’s going on.”

  There’s no time. But he’s blocking me. So I just blurt it out.

  “We found out about the dead girl. That body you took away. I know everything now. Me and Stick tracked her down and discovered who she was—Lucy Ramirez. Jake killed her! But he found out we were looking into it, and now he’s taken Stick and beat him half to death. Jake’s got him. And I’m gonna get him back.”

  I push past, hardly seeing Dad’s stunned expression. I must have been shouting all that, because Mom’s at the end of the hallway watching.

  “What’s with the yelling? And what’s that about Stick?”

  I shake my head. “Can’t talk now.”

  “Hold on.”

  “No. I’m leaving.”

  She grabs my arm as I reach the kitchen. “Tell me.”

  I could shove her out of my way, but she’s not going to let me go. So I give it to her quick, so fast I’m not even sure if I’m making sense. But I race through what’s happened these past few days. Breathless, I get it all out in maybe a minute. Feels like forever.

  She’s looking at me like I’m nuts. Dad’s behind me now. She snaps a few questions at him that I don’t catch. My heartbeat is in my ears, deafening, screaming at me to run out of here. Go!

  I make out scraps of what he’s telling her: “Jake hid the body…I never knew she was there…panicked…”

  I don’t hear the rest, just see the confusion on Mom’s face, the disbelief. But then she gets a strange look of recognition. And I realize what that expression must mean.

  “Wait.” I break in on them. “Mom, you knew?”

  She shakes her head. “I just knew from long ago that your dad…cleaned up after Jake one time when he was a kid. I knew a girl died, but I never had any idea her body was…down there.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “What? You knew Jake killed a girl?”

  “No. That’s not what happened. It wasn’t like that. Tell her,” she says to Dad.

  “No!” I yell. “There’s no time. Gotta go, or Stick’s dead.”

  Dad reaches out to me, but I pull away.

  “What does Jake want with Stick?” he asks. “Why is he holding h
im?”

  “Because he wants to trade him to me.”

  “Trade him for what?”

  “For this.” I pull the bottle out of my pocket.

  Mom squints at it. “What is that?”

  “A finger. Her finger. It fell off in the chute when you moved the body.”

  Dad goes white.

  “Oh my God.” Mom’s horrified.

  Then another voice breaks in. Squirrel. “Hey, when’s dinner? Can I have a cookie?”

  We all turn to see him standing in the doorway holding a toy tank. If he heard anything we’ve been saying, it’s not showing.

  Mom rushes over and hustles him out. “We’ll eat soon, honey. I’ll bring you a snack, but let’s go see what’s on Animal Planet.”

  “Can I have Oreos?”

  “Where is Stick now?” Dad says. “Where did Jake say to go?”

  “The salvage yard.”

  Dad nods. “Give that finger to me. I’ll do it and get Stick back.”

  “No. Jake said for me to bring it. Gave me an hour to get there.”

  He rubs his stubbled jaw, scowling. “Can’t believe he’s gone so far.”

  Mom comes back. The TV in the living room is turned up loud to cover our voices.

  “Jake sent me a photo of what he’s done to Stick. He’s hurt bad. Jake needs this thing, wants to get rid of it, I guess. Evidence of what he did.”

  “He’s at the salvage yard,” Dad tells Mom.

  She takes the bottle from me and looks at the gray thing inside. “Okay, here’s what has to happen. Tyne, you’re not going anywhere. Your dad will go meet him.”

  I grab the bottle back. “No. It has to be me. I’m not risking Stick’s life.”

  Mom tries to stare me down, but I’m not backing off.

  “You both go, then,” she says. “But he deals with Jake.”

  I give in. “Right, whatever. But let’s go!”

  She nods. We all rush to the elevator, where I pound the button and wait for it to come.

  “Get this done,” she tells Dad. “Get Stick back, and get the hell out of there. Then come home! Anything happens to her…” She doesn’t have to say any more.

  “Nothing’s going to happen. I can handle Jake.”