by Julie Hyzy
Brody knew better than to pay me any attention until things settled down again. But I had no doubt that the time would come and he’d be back. I needed Mal. I needed her to tell me what to do.
The doorbell rang, pulling me out of my thoughts. I shut off the stove and found a lady at my front door. She was about thirty years old, holding a box. The box wasn’t pretty like a present, more like the kind that people use when they move. “Carrie Mooreland?” she asked. I’d met court-appointed advocates before. She looked like she might be one.
“Yeah?”
“May I come in?” she asked.
“What do you want?”
“I have some bad news for you,” she said. And before the words came out, I knew what she was going to say.
“Your friend Mallory Jenkins.”
No. No. No. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“She’s dead.”
Pain screamed in my brain, hot and angry. I grabbed the door jamb. Pressed my head against it.
“I came from the prison,” she said. “I work with some of the women there.” She hesitated, inching closer. “It’s been a long ride. If I could just¾“
“How?” I asked. “How did she die?”
The woman hoisted the box to her hip and used the fingers of her free hand to wipe at her brow. “Suicide,” she said. “In her cell.”
“Not Mal,” I said. “Mal wouldn’t do that.”
“I’m afraid she did.” She shrugged like it was no big deal. Then catching herself, she added, “I’m sorry.”
Brody once told me cops had friends everywhere. He wasn’t kidding.
I stared at the blue sky. I blinked into the sun. I missed Mal. I missed her so bad my heart hurt.
“For you,” the woman was saying. “Ms. Jenkins told me that if anything happened to her, she wanted me to get this to you.” She practically shoved the big box into my hands. “She gave me very specific instructions about how she wanted things handled.”
“She knew she was gonna die,” I said.
The woman shrugged again. “Suicidal people do.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Right.”
Inside the house, I lifted the lid of the cardboard box. There was another box inside it, a letter taped to its top.
Dear Carrie,
If you’re reading this, then things haven’t gone so well for me. But I wouldn’t change how I got here. You understand? None of this was your fault. You understand that? Now listen to me. Three things I want from you. You got to do all of them. All.
First, you sell that house of mine. Take the money and start somewhere new. Find a place that makes you feel good.
Second: Get an education. You’re smart and it’s about time you get recognized for it.
Third: Everything in the house is yours now. Everything. Including what I showed you, remember?
I swallowed. The semi-automatic. The cops had made a big deal out of finding a revolver when they’d searched her house. But they’d never mentioned the other gun. I nodded, almost as though I was talking to Mal right here, right now.
Listen, honey, always remember that I needed you as much as you needed me.
I wrinkled my nose to fight the heat in my throat.
Last thing: You’re a strong woman, Carrie. Don’t ever forget that. Don’t be afraid. You got strength in you, I’ve seen it. You just need to tug it out of hiding. Give it some sunlight. It’ll grow.
Now, honey, open the box. You’ll understand.
I peeled back the lid, but I knew what I’d find.
The red boots.
I sucked in a burning breath, blinking hard. As I lifted them out and placed them on the floor, I caught a whiff of Mal. Her scent engulfed me like a warm embrace.
“Oh, Mal,” I said. I ran my fingers along the carved leather designs. I pulled the boots on, slowly, reverently. I stood up and walked around some. They were a little big. I looked in the tall mirror in my mom’s bedroom. “I’m strong,” I said to my reflection. “Mal says so.” With a lump in my throat, I crouched and hugged them close to my knees. In this way, at least, Mal would always be with me now.
I sold her house, left no forwarding, and found a new, bigger town where nobody paid me any attention. I got a job waiting tables at night and took college classes during the day.
One hot, sunny afternoon, I sat down to get some studying done in the local coffee shop. Somebody had left yesterday’s newspaper on the seat. I’d seen it already, but there are stories worth reading more than once. Like the tragedy back in Carnich, Texas. Seems the little town’s sheriff was found shot and killed at a fleabag motel just outside of town.
I found it interesting that the newspaper account left out the part about him being sprawled on the bed, wearing nothing but an unused condom. But then again, the good folks running the paper in Carnich wouldn’t want Brody’s reputation sullied, would they?
Smiling, I looked up.
Two tables away, a teenage girl stared out the dusty windows. Seeing nothing, I could tell. She had red eyes, a bruised lip, and wore fear like a tattoo on her forehead.
One of the shop clerks rapped his knuckles on her tabletop. “These spots are for paying customers.”
The girl blinked up at him, nodded, and made ready to leave.
“I’ve got it,” I said, standing. To the girl, I asked, “What do you want?”
She said, “Oh, no, I couldn’t¾“ but her eyes went wide with hope.
I ordered her a sandwich and grabbed two bottles of water. Sat down across from her.
“What’s your name?”
She stopped chewing her thumbnail long enough to answer. “Sandy.”
I crossed my legs. “I’m Carrie.”
“Nice boots,” she said.
“Thanks.” I ran my hand along the cool leather. Maybe someday I’d tell her how they saved my life.
Strictly Business
Donny first caught sight of her over the rim of his shot glass. He drained the scotch and smacked his lips, holding the empty glass eye-height while he watched her saunter toward the bar. It had to be her. Tall and sleek, like a championship racehorse. Gorgeous little filly, he thought, half-expecting her to shake back that mane of sorrel-brown hair as she sashayed in. Yeah, she was a stunner, all right. Perfect.
Tight in low-slung blue jeans, her hips swayed from side to side—in precise time to Sinatra crooning about witchcraft—as she wound her way through the smoke and mood-lit tables that cluttered the main floor. She shifted the weighty backpack on her shoulder, then sidled up to the bar, leaning her back against it, surveying the establishment like she owned the place.
Donny did own the place. And pretty soon, he’d own a whole lot more, too.
He banged the shot glass down on the booth’s tabletop with a crack that made Bobby and Mark sit up. “There she is,” Donny said.
All three men leaned forward, looking down over the balcony from their perch a half-level up from the rest of the bar. Donny couldn’t drag his eyes away.
Bobby gave a low whistle. “You sure?”
Al, the bartender had obviously seen her, too. Dragging the red terry towel from its perch on his shoulder, the old guy gave her a long appreciative look as he lumbered to the far end where she stood. He said something. She responded. They spoke, briefly, until Al nodded, then pointed toward Donny’s table with a tilt of his head.
She took her sweet time before directing her gaze upward, but when those blue eyes finally met Donny’s, he sucked in a white-hot breath. “Oh, yeah,” he said, still staring. Nodding a greeting, his right hand swept sideways in a casual gesture of invitation. She smiled and started for the steps.
“Beat it,” he said.
Bobby gave Mark a look that ordered him to follow, before squeezing his big gut out from the far side of the booth. He stood next to the table as Mark scrambled out behind him. Mutt and Jeff. Fred and Barney. What a mismatch. Bobby big and solid, Mark puny and blond. These two didn’t talk much between themselves, and Mar
k almost never addressed Donny personally, but both could be counted on when it mattered. And it had never mattered more than it did now.
“Keep an eye on who comes in,” he started to say, then stopped talking as the woman cleared the top of the risers and began to make her way across the wood floor of the long balcony.
“Got it,” Bobby said.
She turned sideways to get past the departing men. “Excuse me,” she said, in a husky bedroom voice, just loud enough to be heard over the bar’s muted conversations and Sinatra’s final notes. Donny sat up a little straighter, fighting the jolt that had just zinged its way from his eyes to his crotch; as she neared the table, he stood.
She stopped when she was still about an arm’s reach away. Tilting her head, she ran her fingers up through the shining brown tresses, looking like a model who’d just stepped off a magazine cover and into his life. Dark brows lifted expressively over amused blue eyes, and she touched her top lip with her tongue before smiling at him. Those were some fine lips.
“Mr. LaRocco?”
Donny grinned. If she was half as good as she looked, she’d be worth twice what he was paying her. “Call me Don,” he said. He always liked the sound of that. Don LaRocco. Like he was the don already. He grinned again, and waited for her to slide into the booth before taking the seat across from her. “And I take it you’re Susan. Susan… what?”
Easing the backpack off her shoulder, she set it next to her, then perched her right foot on the seat, draping her right arm over her upturned knee. She fixed him with a blue-eyed stare. “Just Susan.”
Donny sat back, assessing her for a long moment. His cousin Leo in New York had promised she was good, but had warned her that she wouldn’t take the job if she didn’t like the employer. “She’s the best,” he’d warned. “But don’t push her.”
Smiling, he leaned forward. The booth, tucked into the far corner of this upper level, was lit by a sole high-beam lamp that hung over the table’s center. He noticed she kept her back against the booth, her face away from the circle of light. “Something to drink?” he asked.
She nodded.
With a hand motion, Donny summoned his waitress. “Ladies first,” he said with a gallant smile Susan’s direction.
“Bottled water,” she said.
Donny raised his eyebrows her direction before ordering another shot with a beer chaser. “You ought to take it easy on the hard stuff.”
She didn’t respond to his attempt at humor, leaning her left arm on the table now, but still keeping her face in the low light until the waitress left. “Tell me more about this job.”
Man, this broad really cut to the chase.
Dragging his eyes from the very impressive tanned cleavage staring up at him from beneath her lacy white top, Donny adjusted himself in his seat. “So is that from the sun or do you use one of those tanning beds?” he asked, imagining that bronzed body sprawled out on silky satin sheets.
She licked her lips in an impatient gesture. “Mr. LaRocco…” she began. “Let’s get one thing straight. You’re not paying me to sit here and chat with you.” Her face took on a look that Donny might almost describe as amused. “This is strictly business.”
They were interrupted by the waitress, back with their drinks. Susan pushed aside the glass and took a moment to inspect the seal on her bottle before opening it. She wasn’t obvious about it, but Donny noticed the measure of caution just the same. This chick didn’t trust anybody. Good.
Susan took a long drink from the blue-labeled bottle. Holding it in both hands, she sat like a prim school girl till Donny downed his shot. “The job?” she asked.
With a sudden burst of giddy power, he shoved the beer toward the wall with the back of his hand. Time to set it all in motion. He’d gone over the plan in his head for months, and he’d just waited for the right vehicle to implement it.
And what a vehicle she was. Donny wondered what a spin round the block would cost him once the business end of the deal was done. Didn’t matter. He’d have the money. He’d have the power. When she finished the assignment, he’d have the girl, too.
Donny chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering for a moment how he looked to her. Though in his late-thirties, he took pride in the fact that he could still best the twenty-somethings on the racquetball court. Women always told him he was handsome. Tall, dark, and handsome. He considered taking off his sport coat to give her a glimpse of his black t-shirt, tight over his muscular chest, but thought better of it. He’d wait. Later, maybe. For now, he ran a hand through his hair, thanking Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that he’d taken after his mother’s side and still had it all, nice and full. “You recognize my family name?” he asked, finally.
An abbreviated nod. “I’ve heard it around,” she said.
“My uncle,” he said. “Is Frederico LaRocco.”
She nodded, giving a husky rumble that Donny couldn’t interpret. “What?” he asked.
“Your Uncle Fred,” she said. “I’ve met him.”
As though the vengeful old bastard had suddenly appeared at the table, fixing those murderous eyes on him, Donny sat back with a start. He shook his head to clear the image. He sat back and formed both hands into fists. He pounded them on the table. Leo should have done a better job of checking. Plans were beginning to unravel.
“Take it easy,” she said. “I said I met him. I didn’t say he’d remember me.”
Donny dragged his attention back to her. “He hired you for something?”
She shook her head.
“How did you meet him? Does he know what you do for a living?”
She licked those lips again, unscrewed the bottle and took a long drink before taking her time meeting his eyes.
He wanted her to answer now. Right now. Maybe there was still a chance things could work. He hit the table again. “Will he recognize you?”
With her elbow still positioned on her knee, she curled a finger in front of her lips, her other hand holding the water. She rolled her eyes. “Way back then I was bleached-blonde, scrawny, and flat-chested.” Donny saw the angry set of her lips around the water bottle’s top as she tilted it back for another drink. “The good old days,” she said with a stiff smile.
Donny knew his uncle had a good memory for faces, but the geezer’s eyesight wasn’t so hot anymore. Glaucoma. If this Susan really changed as much as she said she had…
He wiped sweaty hands on the sides of his pant legs before bringing them up to the table again. This was it. This was the moment. Leaning forward, he ran a blunt fingernail over a small crack in the table’s center. “Listen,” he said, “my uncle is…going senile,” he said. His eyes flicked up—a quick glance at Susan before he stared at the crack again. “He’s been making bad decisions for the family.”
“And you want him taken out? Is that it?” she asked.
Over the smoky ambiance her words were smooth, like the warm path of whiskey down his throat. It sent another shiver up his spine.
He nodded the affirmative. “But I can’t take any chances. If he finds out… if he somehow knows you… I’m dead.” She didn’t flinch at that. She didn’t so much as blink. “And you’re dead, too,” he said.
The woman’s icy demeanor under such circumstances made Donny want to slap her. Wake her up. This was a big-time hit. Didn’t she get that?
“I didn’t say he’d know me,” she said, leaning low enough that the light topped her forehead, sending her features into shadowed relief. “Nobody knows me if I don’t want them to.” Susan’s eyes held Donny’s for a piercing moment. “I can do this job,” she said, then looked away, nodding, as though remembering some long-ago hurt. Her face set in a mask of anger.
“I have to have a guarantee…” he started to say.
“Guarantee?” she asked, leaning back in her seat again, this time dropping her foot to the floor. “How long you been in this business, bud? There are no guarantees.”
“What I mean is…” Donny hated the way she intimidat
ed him. “Are you positive he won’t recognize you?”
She pursed her lips. “I met him about four years ago,” she said. “Out in Vegas. Late. I’d seen him on TV and knew who he was.”
Vegas. Uncle Fred spent every vacation out in Vegas. He would’ve run into a million girls out there. Had his pick. But this chick sounded like she had some ax to grind. Donny prompted, “I get the impression you’re not too fond of him.”
Susan shrugged. Took another drink.
“How come?” he asked.
She fixed him with another one of those stares of hers. This one carried the unmistakable message of “back off.” After a long moment, Susan slid her gaze far off to the right, then lowered her eyes momentarily, before she turned back to face Donny. Staring at him now, her eyes hardened. Blue steel, he thought, as she continued. “I have a score to settle, okay? This hit can help me accomplish that.” She smiled now, with frightening calm. “I want this job.”
Donny slid his butt farther forward on the seat, till his body touched the table. Time to take control again. He lowered his face and spoke softly, but clearly. “Have it your way,” he said. “I don’t care what your beef is with the old man, but I want this thing done my way, and I want you to listen to how it’s going to go down.”
Her face impassive, she nodded.
“Okay,” Donny said, encouraged. “Saturday next week, there’s going to be this big seventieth birthday bash at the house. Everybody’s going to be there, but I know my uncle and he’s going to think that this party is boring. He’s going to be looking for some reason to escape all the little half-pints screaming and running around.” Donny rolled his eyes heavenward. Too many kids at these things lately. When he took over, he’d start enforcing some of the old rules, like no women and no kids allowed. Well, he amended, looking at Susan, he might make an occasional exception.
