A Dead Issue

by John Evans

  As these thoughts passed through my mind, I kept glancing over at Liza. She looked out at the farmland and glanced down at the gun every so often. Evidently, thoughts swirled around in her head as well. I wanted to confess to her. I wanted to clear the air and be honest. I was sure she would understand. After all, I was a good person. But I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She could forgive that. She would not forgive my lack of honesty, and the longer I waited, the worse it was going to get. I took a deep breath.

  “Liza,” I paused and she glanced over at me. “Liza, the night your grandfather died.” I paused. She stared straight ahead as if preparing for what I was about to say. “I was there.”

  “Fuck—I knew it.” Her hands became a flurry of activity as she slammed the magazine into the butt of the handgrip and racked open the slide. And then my side window exploded.

  A blast of shattered glass pelted my face like sleet and my eyes pinched shut against stabbing pain. Blinded, I steered through the quickly fading image of the road ahead—an image in grayscale dissolving from my mind’s eye into blackness. Tires screeched, then rumbled and slid across the shoulder of the road. Liza screamed. My fists crushed the wheel, both feet on the brake, leg muscles tearing with the strain. We hit something and the car’s rear end lifted and spun, sending us into a roll and into silence.

  Then Liza moaned and a hissing sound brought itself to notice—the radiator, perhaps a tire. Liza moaned again. I tried to open my eyes and felt the burning scrape of grit against my eyelids. Liza moaned once more and I called her name.

  “Get out! Get out! Now!” a voice commanded—a voice, high pitched with urgency, angry and impatient. “Out! Now! Get out!”

  A seatbelt clicked and released. Liza growled in pain and I sensed that she was being dragged from the car. I thought of fire and felt along my shoulder strap down to the buckle, fumbling with the release button, an act so simple and automatic in a shopping mall parking lot, yet so confusing and impossible in a car about to burst into flame. Once again, Liza cried out. My seatbelt popped free. The door latch—someone moved the fucking door latch. My hand banged and groped for it. Liza called my name, her voice distant yet urgent. My finger looped under the latch and pulled. There was no click, no release of pressure to signal an open door. It was jammed, locked, frozenhopeless.

  CHAPTER 45

  I scrambled blindly to the passenger’s side of the car, eyes tearing and blinking painfully, and I fell out into soft weeds. The hissing was louder outside the car and the smell of gasoline filled my head. In the distance, a siren howled and I groped my way to safety. A hand grabbed me above the elbow. “This way,” a man’s voice directed as he spun me to my left.

  My vision cleared to a watery blur as tears washed away the grit. I looked up the gentle slope. Liza, sweater in hand, was being led away by a man, her arm straining against his powerful grip, and I knew that her sleazebag husband had found us.

  “Liza!”

  She started to turn and Tony jerked at her arm. They quickened their pace.

  I cried out again. “Liza!”

  My foot slipped and I went down on one knee. The man helping me held on firmly as I struggled to shake him off.

  “Take it easy,” he said. “You’re hurt.”

  “Back off,” I said, wrenching my arm from his grasp.

  I scrambled to road level where a small knot of people had gathered. More sirens approached as I struggled, neck craning, to see above or around them. A green Mustang pulled away from the cluster of cars parked along the road.

  A paramedic, a long, bony guy in a blue jumpsuit placed a hand on my shoulder. I pushed it away.

  “Let me go!”

  The man who led me up the hill joined us. “Watch it. He’s nuts.”

  “He took Liza!” I said as if that explained everythng.

  The two men exchanged glances.

  “Not him. Her husband!”

  More people gathered and the siren stopped. Someone approached. “Let me through. Stand back.” Raspy voice. All business, no nonsense—Lenny DiNuccio.

  “Is he hurt?”

  “Shaken up—a little confused.” The EMT dipped his head and raised his eyebrows for emphasis.

  Lenny said nothing. I could feel his smirk.

  “Anyone else in the car?”

  “Liza,” I explained. “Her husband took her.

  “Was she hurt?”

  “Not yet. You can still catch them—green Mustang, Florida plates.”

  Lenny peered into my face. “How much have you had to drink?”

  He stepped back. “Stand on one leg. Keep your foot about six inches off the . . .”

  “Lenny, please,” I said. “I’ll do anything, but you have to stop them.”

  “Anything?” There was a pause. “Let’s see you turn around and place your hands on your head.”

  I closed my eyes and turned, resisting an urge to run as he snapped the cuffs on me.

  Once I was securely locked in the back seat of the squad car, Lenny walked back to the scene of the accident. The crowd had grown, some concerned, others curious, and they stood at a distance and watched. DiNuccio went to the guard rail and shouted at someone down near my car, warning them to move back—that it might explode.

  I took a few deep breaths to settle myself down. I needed to find Liza before her husband did something crazy, and then it hit me—he had already done something crazy. He took a shot at us. Liza had seen it coming and was trying to reload when the window blew in. The bullet must have just missed both of us. I had a mental picture of Liza, sweater hanging down, struggling against Tony’s grip, and a surge of adrenalin flashed through me on the heels of another terrible thought. The gun was still in the car.

  I felt hopeless. Liza was in trouble, Jonah’s gun was just a few yards away, and I had somehow talked myself into a pair of handcuffs. At the whim of Lenny, I could spend the night in the drunk tank. But I wasn’t drunk. Something must have set him off. Fuck. Lenny, Please. I’ll do anything. The bastard had taken it as a bribe.

  I twisted in my seat to see what he was doing. If I could only talk to him, explain that Liza was in danger, that we had been shot at. He was at the guardrail herding people back, arms outstretched, making room for a tow truck creeping up to the scene.

  “Everyone move back! Give the truck room to work,” he rasped.

  My mind raced with thoughts that collided and exploded into new ones. I could not tell Lenny we were shot at. My car was the scene of an accident. One word about a gunshot and it would become the scene of a crime, complete with a thorough search for evidence—evidence that would link me to Jonah’s death. I had to keep quiet and hope that my car would be towed to the junkyard and crushed into a little cube with Jonah’s gun at its core. I thought about Liza. Tony wouldn’t kill her. He couldn’t kill her. Not until he got his hands on the money from Jonah’s estate.

  Another squad car pulled up and an officer climbed out to aid at the scene. Lenny exchanged some words and flicked a thumb in my direction. The officer nodded, and Lenny headed my way. I watched until he was near and then turned away, feining indifference. He surprised me by joining me in the backseat contoured with deep pockets in the backrest for shackled wrists.

  “You said there was a woman . . .”

  “Liza,” I explained. “Her husband took her.”

  “And he was pissed because you’ve been banging her.”

  “Let’s just say he was pissed. I think he’s going to hurt her.”

  “And you want me to stop him.”

  I nodded.

  He paused and looked back toward my car for a long count.

  “What was it you said? ‘Lenny, Please. I’ll do anything.’”

  There was another long pause while I braced myself for the charges.

  “You know you’re in deep shit? Reckless driving, resisting arrest, attempting to flee the scene of an accident.” He emphasized the gravity of my situation with a short whistle, and then he
surprised me again. “How would you like all that to go away?’

  I stared at him, waiting for the catch—the bait and switch ballbuster that would land me in jail.

  “Were you serious?” he asked and held my gaze until I saw that he was not kidding.

  “What do you mean?” Not sure where this was heading.

  “I mean I can put out a call looking for that Mustang with the Florida plates—make the guys aware that there was a domestic dispute—offer the wife a chance to bail, get away from him.”

  I nodded. That would work just fine.

  “But I need a favor.” An uncomfortable silence surrounded us. I think we both knew that whatever followed was a dangerous step into new territory. I said nothing, forcing him to take that step.

  “Remember the night I stopped you? The night you didn’t have your wallet?

  “Yes,” I said, nodding my head.

  “And remember later—I came up to the drive-thru?”

  “Yeah, I had to ask you if you wanted fries.”

  Lenny chuckled uncomfortably and continued. “And, funny thing, I didn’t have my wallet either?”

  “I remember.”

  “There’s a security camera covering the drive-thru.”

  I nodded that there was.

  “Well, here’s the thing,” he started, “The other day I heard Detective Devereaux tell the chief that he’d like to get his hands on the security tape for that night, and I know why. There’s a department crackdown on accepting gratuities. There was a memo. ‘Gratuities are the gateway to corruption,’ it said. You know I wasn’t fishing for freebies that night. I just forgot my wallet—like you. But it looks bad, you know?”

  I stared at him in disbelief—this moron, thinking that Devereaux was doing an internal affairs probe on free donuts and fries.

  “I think you’re safe,” I told him. “Those tapes get recycled. It’s been several days. They’re probably taped over it by now.” I was voicing my own hope.

  “Can you check? Can you make sure it’s gone?”

  “Lenny, I don’t work there any more. I quit.”

  “How about your brother—Stanley. Can he check?”

  “I’ll ask him.”

  Lenny nodded, “OK,” he said, “then I can write this up as an accident.”

  “What about Liza?”

  Lenny climbed out of the backseat and got behind the wheel. He grabbed the radio mike and keyed it. “Unit seventeen. I need an APB on a green Mustang. Florida plates. Man with woman passenger. Lisa . . .” Lenny turned toward me. “What’s her name?”

  “Lovel, Leeza Lovell.”

  “Lisa Lovell. She was taken from the accident by her husband. Sounds like a domestic dispute. She may be in danger.”

  The radio crackled. “You got numbers on that plate?”

  “Negative. And see if she’s a willing passenger. Tell her she’s needed as a witness. Offer her a ride.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Lenny turned to me. “Satisfied?”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He removed the handcuffs and walked me back toward my car. We stared down at the Saturn sitting in long grass and weeds. With the crumpled metal and scraped paint, it looked like it had been dragged to this site from the scrap yard. Mike Granger was there trying to figure a way to get it back up the slope to the road.

  “So tell me what happened.”

  “I was driving along, talking to Liza and all of a sudden, my window shattered. I got glass in my eye. I tried to steer blind and ended up down there.”

  “Who’s this Lisa?”

  “A friend,” was all I offered him.

  Officer DiNuccio gave me that look and flipped open a notebook and plucked a pen from his shirt pocket.

  “So your window just shattered?” he asked, getting his pen and notebook ready for my story.

  “Yeah. Just like that—poof!”

  “Approximately how fast were you going?”

  DiNuccio caught me glancing at the 45 mph sign ten feet beyond the tow truck.

  “Forty-two point three,” I said. “Approximately.”

  His face clouded into a deep red, and I backed off a little.

  “Look, I was just driving along and something smashed my window. Maybe a bird.”

  “Some bird!” he said incredulously and glanced over his shoulder at my car. And I knew in that instant that he was going to search for whatever had smashed the window.

  “Did you see anything coming at you—catch anything out of the corner of your eye?”

  “Just some glass.” I said, and he scribbled something in his notebook.

  He tucked his pen and pad into his shirt pocket and stepped over the guardrail. I watched as he scampered down the hill and exchanged a quick word with Mike. DiNuccio poked his head in the passenger side and looked around. He hesitated, apparently deciding whether or not to get his uniform dirty by crawling into the car for a more thorough search—a search that might end with the discovery of Jonah’s Colt. Finally, he stood erect and threw a glance up at me, giving me a shake of the head—he hadn’t found anything.

  I joined him at my car, digging my heels into the soft earth and scanning the grass for Jonah’s gun on the way down.

  “You need my registration?”

  “Might as well do this right. I’ll need your insurance, too.”

  I crawled into the car. The floor was littered with McDonald’s papers, napkins, a few water bottles—the folded receipt from Granger’s. I picked it up, hoping that the pistol would be under it. A single bullet fell out and rolled under the seat, but there was no gun. I reached under the seat and swept my hand amid the debris, feeling for Jonah’s gun, sweeping again when I didn’t find it, and a third time until my fingers closed on the bullet.

  “I see you have your wallet,” Lenny said.

  “Checking out my ass, Lenny?” My fingers uncurled slowly and the bullet rolled out of my hand.

  “I’m checking out an ass who can’t keep his paperwork in order.”

  I raked wrappers and empty water bottles over the bullet and grabbed a handful of papers from the glove compartment before backing out of the car. My insurance card was on top. “That’s one,” I said handing it to him. A quick look through the other papers turned up my registration. “And that’s two.”

  “And your license makes three,” Lenny added making a little “give me” gesture with his fingertips.

  As I pulled out my wallet, Lenny motioned with his head that we move back up the hill to the road. Mike Granger had hooked a cable to the undercarriage and the tow truck was in position. He was at the guardrail waiting for us to get clear. I stared absently as the car scraped its way up the bank, tearing at the weeds and furrowing the ground with ruts.

  “Thinking about that woman, Lisa?”

  “Lee-za,” I corrected him again. “With a Z.” Just the way she corrected me when we first met.

  “I don’t know what you have going, but you may have to face the fact that she could be on her way back to Florida.”

  “It wouldn’t be her choice,” I said.

  Once my car was on the rollback, DiNuccio turned me over to Mike, who offered to drive me home. I grunted my way through Mike’s conversation about how lucky I was, but I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was Liza being dragged away from me—dragged back into a family she hated, a family that could neither accept her nor let her go. I thought about the family she held in her heart—one man, a grandfather, she had met only once. And I felt a sudden tenderness for Liza, admiring her tough exterior, and wondering what Tony had in store for her.

  On the way home, Mike stopped at the garage to unload my car. He slid my Saturn from his rollback and I quietly slipped around to the passenger side and tucked the bullet into my pocket. I made a more detailed search for others and held onto a slim hope that I would find Jonah’s Colt somewhere amid the debris. It wasn't there. It was in the grass back at the scene of the accident, and it was going to stay there unti
l I got another car.

  I had no doubt that Dusty had driven the Lexus right to McDonald’s where he could impress everyone in the parking lot, and since I didn’t particularly care to bump into Cash Williams, I asked Mike to drop me off at the police station to pick up the Beamer. I tried to concentrate on Liza and where her asshole husband was taking her. Florida kept flashing on and off as an answer—Jacksonville, where his car was registered. He wouldn't go there, not yet—not until he figured out a way to get his hands on Liza's inheritance.

  Devereaux would know what to do, but I had already sold my soul to Lenny DiNuccio just to get out of handcuffs. I had to wait until Dusty returned from McDonald’s with the tape to see how this played out. It could blow up in several ways, but the worst scenario was DiNuccio revealing to Devereaux that I agreed to do something about the tape. Meanwhile, I would have to rely on Lenny’s APB to stop Tony.

  Once at home, I popped a few pills to quiet the pain growing in my ribs where the seatbelt cut into whatever damage Cash had done. Then I poked around the Internet looking for Tony's address, knowing that someday I might have to hunt him down. My search didn't last long. The pills kicked in and I craved sleep—sleep that would cover me and protect me while my pain melted and I would be free from Cash Williams, Stomp Jessup, and Detective Frank Devereaux.

  CHAPTER 46

  I awoke to a fist pounding on my door.

  It was past midnight. The whole day had disappeared, and when I found Dusty standing on the porch, I knew that my troubles had not disappeared.

  “I got the tapes,” he beamed, holding out a blue Boscov’s bag by the cord handles. “I didn’t know which one to take so I took them all. You should have seen it,” he rambled, his devilish grin flashing with enthusiasm. “I booby trapped a container of oil so Dex would knock it over. Right at the end of my shift. I couldn’t have planned it better. While everyone was running around yelling and screaming at Dex, I grabbed the tapes. I left before anyone knew I was . . .” he stopped and his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”