by Beck Jones
For an instant she considered running. If she could make to the rental before him, she could lock to doors and be on the highway in minutes. But in that instant, Gabe covered too much ground.
“Did you need something from the car?” he asked.
“I just wanted to look for something in my carryon,” she said. “But I can do it when we get to the house.”
Dammit, he had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t understand she had a mission. She needed to extricate Russ, to bring him home as discreetly as possible, and God knows it was going to be a tough job. She shouldn’t have to worry about that particular ugly scene playing out in front of little Gabe.
RUSS
It was dark by the time he drove into town, which seemed smaller somehow, shabbier than he remembered it. Synthetic. Ersatz. Not real.
He could have gone to Eleanor’s house, but if it was closed up for termites there was no point.
Termites. Funny, because so much in his life seemed to be eaten away. But then maybe some things needed to be eaten away, the unnecessary things, so that what counted was all that was left.
He retrieved the Glock and loaded it, and tucked it into the back of his pants. He put on his suit coat. His suit that he had worn yesterday when he was still the sap in the forties noir.
Crab Shack in half an hour? he texted. Can you take a break to talk?
A few minutes later, the reply: Can’t wait.
A half hour later he drove into the parking lot, so busy scanning for Paul he didn’t see the gaping pothole until the car bounced into it. God, the place was still a dump, maybe even more run down than before. He shouldn’t judge Larson for giving in to whatever Paul had offered her for the nude photo. And maybe Paul had stolen it somehow. Maybe she didn’t even work here anymore, he thought, as he headed toward the door, the wooden planks thudding under his feet.
Inside, the noise and the warmth and the aromas surrounded him. He felt all his senses heightened. He glanced over the shellacked wooden tables first, and there was Paul looking back at him. A sneer on his face. He had seen Paul, and felt Paul, sneering at him so many times over the last few weeks it hardly registered as a surprise to see him in the flesh.
But when he looked away from the dining room and through the open door to the kitchen, he drew a breath at the sight of her. Seeing Larson made flesh again thrilled him to his core. Unlike her tatty little town, she was every bit as beautiful as he remembered. She was luminous. Surely nothing else mattered in the world.
She was talking to the cook, but then she looked out directly at him. Still there was no change in her expression.
Good God. Didn’t she recognize him?
“Table for one?” He hadn’t even noticed the young hostess with the menu.
“I’m meeting someone,” he said, waving over to Paul. “There.” He looked back at Larson still looking at him. It was a relief. She wouldn’t still be looking at him if she didn’t recognize him. “But first I need to speak to the manager,” he added.
“Hey, wait,” the hostess said, but he was already bounding toward the kitchen, and then he was just inches from her.
“Can we talk somewhere?” he said. Seeing her so close, close enough to touch, made him practically weak in the knees.
Her voice was emotionless. “I’m busy.”
The stare and the monotone hurt, but he tried to put himself in her shoes. After two passionate days, he’d simply taken off. It had been callous. He just needed to tell her how sorry he was. He needed to speak to her alone.
“I won’t take much of your time.”
For a moment nothing changed, not even her expression. But finally she relented, as he knew she would; the force of his feeling was just too strong. She nodded toward the back, and he followed her through the hot, clanging kitchen, through the door to the outside, where at least the air was clear, and it was quieter.
He wanted to kiss her. He didn’t care that she had betrayed him. She had to have known what Paul was up to. Unless Paul had somehow stolen the selfie.
“Was it you texting me these last few weeks?”
“Yes,” she said simply.
“Why? Why would you do this?”
Larson shrugged. “Why would I not? McGann offered me money.”
“And money is so important to you?”
She snorted. “Yeah you’d be surprised how many people need money. In my case I need money to pay for a lawyer. I’m trying to get my daughter back.”
“I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
“Well, you wouldn’t would you? That would require you knowing something about me.”
“But I do know things about you. Important things. You can’t deny what we had here. It was a short amount of time, I admit. And I know I shouldn’t have just—I should have stayed in touch. But you can’t deny what happened between us meant something to you.”
She gazed at him with obvious contempt. “Yeah, it meant I was absolutely nothing.”
“How can you say that? I didn’t treat you like nothing. Yes, I left. I had to leave. I had obligations. But when we were together I worshipped you.”
She shrugged. “Well, if rape is your idea of worship, then I was a real goddess to you.”
He stared at her.
Her words simply didn’t make sense.
Surely he had heard her wrong. “Rape?” he said at last, the word so ugly he could hardly believe he was saying it. “What the hell do you mean?”
“It’s pretty simple, Russell. I said no, but you said yes.”
“No, you were angry at first, but you weren’t—no, you were—you weren’t—”
That look on her face.
God it was awful.
“But I came back to see you the next day, and we made love again.”
“I lay there while you pumped me.”
“But we talked.”
“You talked.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense. Not if you say I—I never did any such thing. Why are you saying these things to me?”
“Because you asked me, and because what I am saying is true.”
“I’m not that kind of man. I would never do that to a woman.”
She looked at him with contempt. “Maybe not to the women you work with, socialize with. But a woman like me—when you’re drunk—of course you would. What’s to stop you?”
“Paul is making you say these things.” Yes, that was it. This was part of Paul’s revenge.
“McGann gave me some money to send the texts. But that’s it.”
“But you know he faked his death. It’s a crime—“
“So is rape.” He couldn’t tell if her voice was sarcastic or incredulous.
“I did not—” he shouted, but then he couldn’t even finish the sentence. So he said, instead, more quietly, “Okay, so why didn’t you call the cops? Why, why, why did you let me come back the next day?”
She shrugged. “I thought I deserved it. That’s why you got away with it. I had just lost custody of my daughter. The day after you left I joined A.A. I haven’t had a drink since then. So I guess I have to thank you for being my rock bottom. Now go see your nasty partner.”
She tapped him in the chest with two fingers. Just two fingers, but the power of it sent him stumbling backward, fumbling for the door. And then he fled through the kitchen and into the restaurant, where Paul sat smirking.
Surely he made her say that thing.
That lie.
Or maybe he hadn’t.
Had Larson told Paul that lie? That despicable lie. Because it was a lie. It wasn’t true. She was spirited. She wasn’t saying no. Not really.
He had so much to drink that night.
Still, she was just spirited. It was a game. She wasn’t really saying no.
Not really. Not. No.
No.
No.
No.
Paul Fucking McGann. It was all his fault. All of this was his fault. God, how satisfying it would be to grab the basta
rd’s shirt collar and punch out his lights.
Instead Russ sat down across the table.
“Did you think you would get away with this?” he asked, but the words get away with it hit him with an almost physical force. He wasn’t the kind of man to do that to any woman.
Paul grinned. “Wow. Not exactly a warm reunion for us. Or for you and your lady love, judging from the look on your face.”
“Why would I want a reunion with you? I always knew you were a dick, but a murderer? I really didn’t think you were that low.”
As the server approached, Paul waved him away with an order for two beers.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“No, I’m trying to be helpful to you. I’m trying to give you the story you want on a platter. Call it my going away gift.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What the fuck do you think I’m talking about? I’m talking about Argofel. Without my help, I knew you’d fuck it up.” He lazed in his chair like they were having some normal dinner conversation. “It’s crazy. I should be long gone by now. And I wanted to leave, but I’d already gotten my teeth into the story. Old habits die hard.”
“And you’re telling me you know nothing about the deaths of Vanessa West and Phoebe Shapiro?”
Paul grinned. “You’ve got a problem there. And that’s the reason I wanted to get you down here pronto. You need this story to air before you land in the same shit pile I’m in.”
“And you killed those poor girls for that?”
Paul’s ugly face split into a grin. “You think I did that? Are you that stupid?” He shook his head. “Of course, you’re that stupid. You’ve worked with the woman all these years, and you have no idea what Eleanor King would do for you. You’re an idiot, Russ. An idiot.”
The server returned with the beers, and Paul actually began to chugging his down like a kid. Punching was too good for that bum. Russ wanted to reach across the table and throttle him.
Instead, he said through his teeth, “Eleanor did not kill those girls.” He added, “And what about Anna Beth?”
Paul stifled a belch. “What about her?”
“You don’t know? She’s dead. Pushed off your apartment roof this morning.”
Paul was silent for a moment. “Are you sure she was pushed?” he said finally, with no more than a clinical seeming curiosity. “I am a shit husband. I’ll agree to that. I left her without a penny. But I knew I was going to need the money, and if it was ruled a suicide, the case would be closed. Those fucking insurance investigators, they never would have given up if they had to pay up. I was just in a tight spot.”
“You could have stayed and faced the music.”
Paul laughed. “Like you’re going to do? Russell, my boy, your time is coming. Eleanor may have given you a little breathing room, but I’m sure there’s somebody out there, some little chickadee waiting to chirp, that’s going to bring that music right to your door. And we’ll see how happy you are to face the music then.” He straightened. “In the meantime, we need to get going on the Argofel story. You need to get it on the air before the cops catch up with Eleanor or a ghost catches up to you.” He stood up and threw some cash on the table. He nodded toward the kitchen. “Who knows, when it’s all over, you can always catch up on old times with Larson. I realize it was a low blow, but I had to get your attention. Just honestly, I thought you’d figure it out before I had to drag you down here. That’s the irony of it. I never let my dick get in the way of a story, and I’m the one who paid.”
Russ stood up. “You’re a bastard.”
“Yes, I’m a bastard. But I’m a bastard that knows some pretty deep shit about Argofel’s deep shit. You need to get on the air with this, saving the world from a nasty corporate polluter, because you’re going to have a hard time convincing the cops that you didn’t put Eleanor up to this. We don’t really have time to argue.”
Russ wanted to go back to the kitchen. Tell Larson she was wrong. Make her see she was wrong. He wasn’t that kind of man.
And Eleanor. She wasn’t. She wouldn’t.
Finally, it seemed easier, a relief almost, to follow Paul out the restaurant door. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the briefest glimpse of the gleaming copper mane in the kitchen before he was plunged into the outer darkness.
LIZ
It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. So much better to have ditched him at the burger place. She pulled into the driveway.
“Well, this is it,” she said. “Doesn’t look like he’s here. Why don’t you go up to the door? There’s a key under the mat. I hate to be sneaky, but go in and check around. See if he’s left a bag or something. If not, we’ll start searching around town.”
She watched the trusting little soul march up the sidewalk. She’d never killed the engine, so it was easy enough. As she peeled out, her headlight illuminated his shocked face. But he was four blocks from Eleanor’s house. It wouldn’t take him long to find it. He could cool his heels while she retrieved Russ. They could pick him up on the way home.
RUSS
“The island dump was a fakeout,” Paul said as they barreled down the highway. “Yeah, it was nasty, but the real soup is actually in a compound not a mile away. They’re boiling it down and bringing it in by truck.”
Russ swallowed against the nausea rising in his gut. It was as bad as he had when he first got the #YouToo emails. It couldn’t be Eleanor. She wasn’t a killer. Yes, she loved him, and she would probably do anything for him. But surely she knew him well enough to know he’d never hurt or harass any woman. That’s why none of those interns had come forward.
He would never hurt a woman. Never.
He pleased women. He did not hurt them.
When management finds out you’ve been screwing the interns, they won’t be asking if it was consensual. They won’t care.
He had to change the subject, at least in his own mind. “How did you find this out? About the waste?”
Paul didn’t even sound smug, just tired. “I’m the one who always did the investigating. You were the one who liked to get on the air with your ugly mug and play the hero.”
“Fuck you.”
“You’re not my type. My standards are low, but not that low.”
They passed the Argofel plant, a bright white facility, sprawling across the property, with multiple roof lines, and lots of sleek corporate signage, all of it lit up. A mile later, Paul turned onto a deserted stretch of road and eased the vehicle on to the shoulder. He retrieved a pair of bolt cutters from the back seat and pointed them toward the gravel road ahead, barely visible in the darkness.
“We’ll have to walk from here.”
“We need a flashlight.”
“Don’t be a pussy. We don’t want the security guard to see us.”
Nearby—or maybe not so near, he couldn’t see well enough to judge—the compound rose up in a low ragged profile. No signage, no flood lights. Just a few low-slung buildings barely visible in the moonlight behind a chain link fence that stretched so far it disappeared into the darkness. Russ sniffed the air; an acrid smell curled in his nostrils.
“That’s the lagoon,” Paul whispered. “Can you believe these arrogant bastards? A stench like this advertising the place, and nothing but a chain link fence to keep people out. They count on people not giving a shit. But hey,” he added in a sneering tone, “that’s where you the wonder boy journalist come in.”
They followed the fence line, stumbling in the dark, and then Paul stopped and used the bolt cutters.
Russ came behind, and they started through to the compound. Paul hunched low, and Russ did the same, although for all he knew this place didn’t have a damn thing to do with Argofel. Still, the Glock nestled reassuringly against his back. And he couldn’t think of a good reason at this point to resist.
“A drone,” Paul whispered. “That’s how I scoped it out. There’s an overhan
g in the center of the pond with a crappy little aerator. Like that’s gonna do shit.”
From the increasing strength of the smell, Russ knew they must be nearing the lagoon, and then they were standing at the edge of it, the smooth surface gleaming under the moonlight stretching out as far as he could see. It was almost beautiful. He could make out the overhang in the distance.
“Oh, my God, look out!” Paul hissed, pointing behind Russ.
Russ turned reflexively, then turned back in an instant. But in the instant the world had already gone dark. In his waning consciousness he wondered an inchoate thought about the bolt cutters.
When he came to, he was lying on a concrete pad at the edge of the lagoon, his hands and feet bound. Paul was crouched next to him.
“God, Russ. The oldest fucking trick in the book, and you fell for it. Look at it this way, old buddy. Without me your career was finished anyway. You just don’t have the brains for it. And at least now you’ll go out doing good.”
In the darkness he thought he could see the dark outlines of the Glock lying a few feet away.
“Why the hell didn’t you just kill me, Paul? Shoot me? What the hell do you want from me?”
“Just what I told you. I want you to finish the story I started while you were busy boning some bimbo waitress. I was lying about the security guard. But it was funny to watch you tiptoeing in here. I bribed the security guard to take the night off. Just so you know, and you’re thinking about shouting. So after I push you in, I’m going to call the police, anonymously of course, to report a murder at the lagoon. When they autopsy your body, they’ll find all kinds of good stuff in your lungs, on your skin. The evidence that we’ve needed. Thus, you will finally be worth something besides standing like a stiff in front of the camera. As a true stiff, you’ll be much more valuable.”
Russ blinked. Maybe it was the stench from the lagoon.
“Yeah, I know,” Paul said. “It won’t be a pretty way to go, drowning in that shit. But isn’t it inspiring to know that you’ll be a martyr for a good story?”
