by Pamela Crane
The front door shook as Dan slammed it closed behind his heavy steps, leaving Derek to wrestle with warring inner voices. The voices often rattled him with their incessant blabbering, rarely coming to an agreement.
Why’s Dan always gotta rescue you, you coward? You can’t even take care of things yourself.
But it’s not my fault. I had things under control, until Dan screwed it up.
Always gotta have big brother bail you out. You’re nothing but a failure.
But what alternative was there? Derek didn’t have the money. Even if he sold every possession he owned, it wouldn’t come close to bringing in the ten grand he owed. He was in it deep this time, with no life jacket to keep him afloat. But the worst part was that Fivehead’s threat against his family wasn’t empty. Fivehead would just as soon kill a child as squash a bug underfoot. And Derek knew Alexis—his twelve-year-old niece—would be Fivehead’s first target, because she was the weakest of them all.
Chapter 7
1992
Ten minutes after Dan’s hurried departure, Derek’s phone rang. It took a couple loud peals for him to locate the baby blue rotary phone beneath a Chinese food takeout carton where two flies tag-teamed around General Tso’s chicken leftovers.
“What?” he spat into the receiver, prepared to hang up on a telemarketer—the only people who seemed to have his number.
“Uncle Derek?” a shy voice asked.
A beat later he recognized it as Alexis. “Yeah, kid, what’s up?”
“Can you take me to school today? Mom’s out of it.” He wondered if his Ford Escort had enough gas. Perhaps a quick detour to pick up Grizzle, then a stop at the gas station on Grizzle’s dollar would be worth the trip. He had business to discuss before his big brother took the last tablespoon of dignity from him.
Forty-five minutes later Derek honked outside of 721 Willoughby Way, and Alexis trotted up to the shabby compact car, glancing doubtfully at the nearly bald donut spare on the right front. In the passenger seat sat Grizzle, his wiry beard resting contentedly on his bulging sternum, forcing Alexis to slide into the backseat.
Derek had finished updating Grizzle on the morning’s conversation with Dan—excluding the trivial detail of Dan jumping ship—when Alexis shut the door. But despite Derek’s confidence that it wasn’t something they couldn’t handle, Grizzle began voicing his doubts about the whole operation.
“Hey, dude, shut your pie hole,” Derek said, nodding over his shoulder at Alexis. “My niece be in the car. We don’t talk business with her overhearin’, got it?”
“She’s just a kid. She don’t know nothin’.”
Derek spoke in a whisper. “Yeah, well, we don’t need her spoutin’ on about it, y’know? Besides, I already got everything figured out, and Dan’s already got all the details planned.”
A small lie … for now. But Derek figured he’d have time to convince Dan to join them before Grizzle discovered the truth.
The two men fell silent as the car bumped along the asphalt toward the school. For the rest of the ride Derek agonized over how he could convince Grizzle to jump back on board, but with guns involved, maybe it was just best to let Dan take care of things his own way.
As long as this was the last time.
No more messes after this, he vowed. It was time to straighten himself out. Be a man. No more big brother to clean up his messes.
If only it was a promise he could actually keep.
**
Alexis may have only been twelve in years, but she was an old soul.
Perhaps it was a childhood of fending for herself at the hands of neglectful parents that matured her beyond her age. Or the isolation that came with a life of hiding her reality that propelled her to grow up. Some may even argue that a genetic predisposition nurtured her brisk development. Whatever the cause, Alexis was no ordinary twelve-year-old. No, she thought like, felt like, and dreamed like one who had lived a hundred lifetimes imprisoned in misery, yet she still clung to the trust that one day life would be beautiful.
With nomadic wandering, Alexis trudged a lonely path at school. The few friends she clung to throughout elementary school and middle school had transferred out of the ghetto to better school districts, leaving her clique-less and ultimately unseen. Most days felt like a living hell as she watched groups of classmates laughing and bantering and planning after-school fun while she stood on the sidelines. Being shy by nature, Alexis retreated to the vacant shadows, anxiously waiting for the dismissal bell to set her free each afternoon. But once in a while ambling the halls as a transparent ghost of a girl had its perks.
Like overhearing the latest gossip about a playground romance or a classmate’s traumatically embarrassing moment. Or watching petty fights over a girl or a “yo’ mama” joke. Or today… the revelation of a nasty secret that would put a teacher behind bars.
Mr. Jeremy Mason—the nightmare science teacher with a stick-up-his-ass reputation. Apparently getting an A in his class was like earning a Nobel Prize. Voted least popular teacher among the kids for two years running, Mr. Mason was on a roll to keep this dubious honor as his grading scale grew stricter each year. Perhaps it was because of his youth that he felt the compulsion to prove his worth, but to the students he only proved one thing: He deserved a target on his back.
Alexis had been in the girl’s bathroom applying forbidden shades of makeup that her mom warned her would be “advertising stuff to boys that’s not on the menu,” as she colorfully put it, especially her Madonna-red lipstick. As she was puckering up the finishing touches, a herd of girls noisily bustled in, bumping Alexis aside. The leader of the pack—Renee Clark—was bragging about her latest act of vengeance against her ex-boyfriend.
“Oh my God, I totally kissed Ben, and it made Josh crazy jealous.” That was her thing: sending exes into a spiral of envy over her. Somehow the blond beauty knew what made boys tick and tock, which was a puzzle Alexis doubted she’d ever figure out.
The other girls giggled at the admission, which energized the conversation.
“And you know how Mr. Mason gave me a D on my test?” Several mmmhmms later Renee continued, “So, I asked him if he could give me extra credit to bring up my grade and he actually said no, the jerk.”
An “oh no he didn’t” and “what a jerk” bubbled up from her attentive audience.
“Well, he won’t be flunking anyone from now on. I took care of him.”
“What’d you do?” a brunette with wire-rimmed glasses and a teased perm asked excitedly. Her pegged acid-washed jeans hung a little too loosely to be fashionable, and her button-up blouse with spaceships was barely cool two years ago. Noting the girl’s natural awkwardness, Alexis sensed the poor girl was desperate to fit in with Renee’s posse and would do anything for even a slim chance at popularity… even if it meant joining the clique-that-must-not-be-named.
“I told my parents and the principal that he touched me… down there.” Renee’s gaze drifted down to her crotch, then rose back up to watch her adoring fans’ reaction. “He’ll never teach again, thanks to me.”
“And they believed you?” another girl in preppy Gap khakis asked.
“They have to. It’s my word against his, and I’m an innocent kid. Besides, he had it coming. I asked him to let me do extra credit and he said no. I did what I had to.”
“Won’t he go to jail?” someone whispered.
“I hope so,” Renee said with finality. “He deserves whatever he gets. He should’ve just given me the extra credit.”
As Alexis listened to the bathroom confessions continue, she knew this was too important to keep to herself. What she knew about Mr. Mason came mainly from student gossip, but he always waved to her when he drove past her house and was friendly with her mom and their other neighbors. No matter how hard a teacher he was, he didn’t deserve prison for something he didn’t do. Alexis hoped that by telling her mom she could spare at least one person from Renee Clark’s twisted sense of entitlement. There would be
many more, Alexis was certain, but to save just one… just one was worth fighting for.
Leaving the cackling hens behind, Alexis headed to her locker wondering when the world had become so dark, and if it was even worth saving.
Chapter 8
2014
Gene Sanders was a formidable son of a gun. The kind of man who makes you lose your faculties with a glare. If I had known what I was up against, I would have never knocked on his door.
After scouring the Internet’s public records to find a current address for the nomad, I finally pinpointed a possible residence—an apartment complex on the city’s outskirts. Jutting out from the all-brick building were second-story porches where moms sat, keeping a watchful eye on a group of kids jumping rope and shooting hoops in their makeshift playground, the parking lot, below. A few potted plants lined random porches, most of which were withered from the ravages of a recent heat wave that plagued North Carolina. Drought season was in full swing, as the thirsty strip of brown grass that separated the complex from the road testified as it pleaded for rain.
I had parked my car along the street to avoid a basketball denting my hood and proceeded to look for Gene’s apartment number emblazoned in bronze on his door: 4A. It was easy enough to find on the first floor, four doors in. A long minute after I knocked, the burgundy door creaked open, and I stumbled back when a burly mammoth of a man answered.
“Who are you, and what d’ya want?” he grumbled through a crack just big enough to show his six-foot-four frame. His white beard rested on his barrel chest, and his left hand disappeared behind his back. I wondered if a gun was in that hand and I considered running.
But instead I mustered my courage and stood my ground.
“Are you Gene Sanders?” I asked meekly, hoping it wasn’t. This was not a man I wanted to interrogate.
“Who’s askin’?”
“I’m Derek Worthington’s nephew, Landon. I wanted to talk to you.”
He humphed, then opened the door wider and waved me in. I took a hesitant step inside. Before closing the door, he peered out into the hallway. “You bring company?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
As he shut the door, sure enough, he was holding a gun—a revolver. One that took a .38 Special cartridge.
“So you Danny’s boy, eh?” he said, gesturing me toward a worn leather sectional in the living room. For a bachelor pad, it was immaculate. Not at all what I would expect from this Paul Bunyan lookalike.
The hardwood floors in the entry were polished to a shine, and I could see vacuum lines on the beige living room carpet. A cherry wood and glass coffee table sat in the center of the room, and a 50-inch TV hung from the far wall as SportsCenter highlights played in the background. The cream walls were bare but clean. And was that the smell of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies coming from the kitchen?
Gene plopped onto the sofa and set the gun on a matching end table. “How’s my man Derek? Ain’t heard from ’im in a while.”
“He’s doing good,” I lied. I had no idea how he was. I avoided him like the flu. “Though he’s not what I’m here about.”
“That so? Spit it out, boy.”
As this gun-toting criminal with a face like forty miles of bad road eyed me skeptically, I almost decided to forget the whole thing. Almost. But Mia’s challenge to step up for justice nudged at me, and damn the consequences. Besides, his home was too clean for him to spatter my blood all over the spotless carpet, so I figured I’d be safe from getting shot for nosing around his turf.
“Do you know why my dad’s in jail?” I began, tossing my baited line into the water.
“Uh, yeaaaah,” he said, stretching the word out. “Cuz of that there mansion robbery, right?”
I nodded. “I was wondering if you knew anything about it. I believe my dad’s innocent, but I need to prove it. I hoped you could help me.” I figured honesty from the get-go was the best tactic with someone who could pummel me with his pinkie.
“I don’t know nothing ’bout it.”
I had anticipated this reply. “My dad says you do. You, him, and Uncle Derek had planned the robbery together.”
Clearly that was the wrong thing to say.
“You accusin’ me of lyin’?” he seethed, resting his hand on his gun grip.
“No, sir. I’m just asking for the truth. I want to help my dad.” I hoped my voice didn’t sound as shaky as I felt.
“Look, I respect you lookin’ out for family, so I’ll be honest with ya. Originally the plan was that we’d do it together. But at the last minute your dad called it off, and I ain’t had nothin’ to do with it after that. Maybe he went back, maybe he didn’t. I dunno. Alls I know is I wasn’t involved after that, and I been clean ever since.”
And yet the man’s wariness and weapon screamed anything but the honest life. There had to be some kind of clue I could dig up to uncover the truth.
“Thank you for your time,” I said, rising to my feet feeling hopeless. I wasn’t cut out for this, no matter how much Mia encouraged me.
“Hope you find your guy,” Gene said, walking me to the door.
Then a thought raced through my mind…almost too quickly to catch. I remembered an obscure detail in the police report. It was worth the risk of getting caught in a lie. “Oh, before I forget. Uncle Derek asked if I could get your number for him. He lost his cell phone and all his contacts.”
“Sure. It figures—that knucklehead was always careless.” He grabbed a pen and paper and jotted the number down before sending me on my way.
As I ambled to my car, my heart sank. Gene Sanders—aka Grizzle—was innocent…of the robbery, at least. But whatever other secrets he hid—secrets I had no intention of unearthing—were bad enough to compel him to answer the door holding a gun.
Chapter 9
2014
I just don’t want to do it anymore,” I whined like a four-year-old to Mia over lunch at one of our favorite Greek/Italian restaurants, Meelos. The atmosphere was simple comfort, the long-suffering staff tolerated my unusual order requests, and the food was authentically delicious—everything I preferred in a place to dine.
It had been a mentally exhausting day facing Gene, and I was ready to throw in the towel, especially after watching him write down his number with his left hand. Our robber was right-handed, according to the police report, so I had nothing. But Mia—never one to give up—perpetually pushed me onward with her gentle, sweet spirit:
“Landon, grow a pair.”
My “lack of a pair” had been up for debate throughout the entire meal of fresh bread and homemade stuffed ravioli as I tried explaining to her that overturning a twenty-two-year-old conviction against my father was easier said than done. Indisputable proof—that’s what I needed and didn’t have. And considering my father had long ago been sentenced without an appeal, the cops weren’t going to waste their resources helping me. Not while a killer—my sister’s killer—was still on the loose, with new victims appearing every time I read the paper, so it seemed.
“If you believe your dad,” Mia continued, “you need to keep looking for answers until you find them. I know it’s not easy. Nice things come easy, but great things… those require sacrifice.”
I groaned my accord, reluctant to cave, but I didn’t feel like listening to more of Mia’s pep talk. “Fine, you’re right. I’ll keep digging. I just don’t know where to continue.”
Mia pursed her lips in contemplation, mentally reviewing all I’d told her. “So your dad says only him, your Uncle Derek, and that Grizzle guy were involved. But obviously there was someone else—the person who told your Uncle Derek about the house in the first place. Who was that?”
“No clue. My dad doesn’t know, and Uncle Derek wouldn’t tell him.”
“How about the old lady victim—Ruby Parker? Can you talk to her? And the witness listed on the police report—what about him? Those could be two leads. Maybe they know something that didn’t come out in the original investigation.
”
She could be onto something. Ruby may have recalled details that didn’t make it into the report—something unnoticed but important. It was worth a shot. Evan had printed a copy of the report for me, which included the key figures’ full names and addresses. Typing the address into my cell phone, I mapped the drive. Only fifteen minutes from here.
“I’m gonna take a drive to visit Ruby, see if she still lives at the same address. Wanna tag along?”
Mia checked the time. “I wish I could, but I have to catch up on work tonight. Call me if you need inspiration... or a kick in the pants.” Her playful grin evoked one of my own, and we hugged before she left.
Little did I know that it would be our last hug good-bye.
**
Twenty minutes later I stood at the front door of the address listed for Ruby Parker—the same home that was robbed twenty-two years ago, bringing my father’s life to a grinding halt. It was a gorgeous stone and stucco house, two stories supported by impressive pillars… clearly worth more than I’d earn in a lifetime. Judging from the mini mansions lining the street, it had clearly remained an affluent neighborhood over the past two decades.
I rang the doorbell, which chimed to Beethoven’s “Symphony No. 5” in a kaleidoscope of sound. Even the doorbell was pretentious.
An attractive thirty-something woman answered by the end of the first ring—which was a solid minute long.
“Can I help you?” she said brusquely, sweeping blond curls behind her shoulder.
“I’m looking for Ruby Parker.”
“She’s… no longer with us. Passed away a few years ago. I’m her niece. And who are you?”
I hadn’t prepared to answer questions, so I went with what came naturally… and honestly. No point trying to be cloak-and-dagger about my intent.
