by R. A. Meenan
me, but they actually set me up and. . . and they went after all of you as revenge. It’s my fault you’re sitting here. . . dying.”
Mom sat there, patiently and silently, to her credit. She never loosened her grip on me. She took a deep breath.
“You dragged Trecheon into this?”
I nodded. “Yes. I’m not proud of it.”
“That’s. . . that’s why he came to help.”
“Yes.”
“Neil,” she said. “Just. . . get out of that life. Get Trecheon out. Please. Get out and protect your brother. You’re his only family now. I’m begging you.”
I stared at the floor. She was right. I had to. But could I? Could I actually escape after everything that had happened? I didn’t know. I still had too much to work out in my head. But I could protect Philip. “I’ll take care of Philip, Mom. I promise.”
“Good,” she said. Her eyes fluttered and started losing their light. She tried to speak, but she could only mouth the words before her grip loosened and her arms fell at her sides.
I fought the tears threatening to rip my eyes out. “I love you too, Mom.” I carefully leaned her lifeless body against the wall and pressed her eyes closed. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t know how long I sat there staring at Mom, but when I finally got up and headed back out, Trecheon had gotten himself free and was in the kitchen, messing with wires on the phone, muttering about the Triple Danger’s destruction. Philip sat at the kitchen table, ears pinned back, frowning, eyes dry from crying. I splayed my ears.
“Philip, I told you to wait until I came back to get you!”
“Uncle Trecheon is here,” Philip said. “I’m fine. Where’s Mom?” Trecheon lifted his head and glanced at me.
I sat hard on one of the kitchen chairs. I couldn’t even speak.
Philip just looked at me, wide eyed. “Oh no.”
“I. . . I’m sorry, buddy,” I said. “I did all I could.”
Philip blinked and stared at the carpet. Somehow, that was worse than if he had just cried.
Trecheon’s hands paused at the wires, splaying an ear. He glanced at the phone a moment, then turned to me and handed me a piece of paper. “They gave me this before they left.”
I unfolded the thing and glanced at it. Just a few simple words, but they threatened to unhinge me.
Your parents are the cost. Your brother is the bargaining chip.
What the hell had I gotten my family into?
Eight
“So you can’t think of anyone who would want to kill your parents?” A policeman, a mongoose specifically, sat on the other side of the table, calmly taking my statement with all the indifference of a law enforcer that had seen too much.
I stared at the table, holding my hands in my lap, trying to fight down the lump that still hadn’t completely worked its way out of my throat.
After I had had a moment to let the shock calm down, Trecheon managed to get the phones working and called 911. The police were there instantly, but of course, both my parents were pronounced dead at the scene. Trecheon had the sense to tell Philip not to tell anyone about what he had witnessed. He also kept him as isolated as possible from everything while I reluctantly assisted the police.
That was hours ago. Now dawn was approaching and I sat in a small room in a local station with a dispassionate policeman, still wearing my dress blues.
I shook my head. “No. I have no idea.”
“Did they have any gambling debts or gang connections?”
I raised an eyebrow. “My parents? Are you kidding?”
“You never know.”
“No way,” I said. “My parents were too straight laced.”
“What about you?”
I shook my head, letting the grief show as much as possible. If I was lucky, it’d hide my guilt. “No. Nothing.”
“Hmmm.” The policeman dragged out the word, then wrote something down.
I looked at him. What was that?
“I suppose that’s all the questions for now, Mr. Black,” the policeman said, an obvious edge in his voice. He flipped his notebook closed. “We’ll be in touch, certainly.”
“Thank you,” I said. I stood up. “I’ll be taking my brother and going home now.” I would not let Philip be some bargaining chip. I had to get him and get out of town, lay low for a while. If I was lucky, I could start anew somewhere and drop some anonymous tip about my parent’s true murderers. I wouldn’t let them get away with this.
The policeman didn’t stand. “Sorry, Mr. Black, but Philip won’t be going with you.”
I paused, splaying my ears. My stomach churned. “What?”
“I said Philip won’t be going with you,” he repeated. “As of right now, until further notice, he is a ward of the state.”
A sudden anger boiled inside me, melting away the lump in my throat. “What do you mean he’s a ward of the state? He’s my brother! I’m taking him home.”
The policeman leaned over the table, glaring at me. “Tell me, Mr. Black. What were you doing at Matron Fawn’s funeral earlier today?”
I froze. Oh. Shit. He knew. He even used the term Matron. He knew something was up. “I, ah, was invited.”
“Why?” the policeman asked. “From what we can gather, you have absolutely no important connections with Ms. Fawn. And trust me, Mr. Black, we can gather a lot about their connections.” He lowered his gaze. “Yet you received a personal invitation from her three siblings and you went. The CCTV cameras didn’t catch you leaving until long after the funeral.”
Were the police watching me too? “I fell asleep in the prayer room.”
“Then you groggily wandered out of the cathedral and stole a bike?”
How does one answer that? I sat back down in the seat.
“The bike was registered to Fawn Inc.,” the policeman said. “When asked about it, they said no harm done and they won’t press charges. Though CCTV footage revealed that the bike had its key. Can you tell me why they would leave a bike there for you? When you took a cab to get to the funeral and you have no connection with them?”
I pressed my hands into my lap. “This has nothing to do with my parents’ murders.”
“Depending on how you answer, it could have everything to do with your parents’ murders,” the policemen said. “I’ll ask again, Mr. Black. Why were you at Matron Fawn’s funeral?”
“Would you believe that her sisters threatened me?” I said quietly.
“Absolutely,” the policeman said. “But then I would ask why.”
I said nothing.
“The Fawn Family threaten a lot of people,” the policeman said. “But they have reasons. They threaten business rivals. But they’re a major corporation dealing in foreign imports. You,” he looked over a paper. “Are the owner of a small HVAC company. You don’t even hire additional employees, according to our research.”
I frowned, but still said nothing.
“They also threaten their various ‘protection’ clients,” he continued. “But they would be fools to invite them to the Matron’s funeral. The FBI have been involved with the Matron’s activities for years. They knew we’d be watching them and checking up on all the guests. Surely one of the protection clients would break and confess under pressure, so why take that risk?”
Again, I said nothing.
“They will also threaten those who hurt them.” The policeman paused, supposedly for effect, as he leaned over the table. He eyed my uniform, tracing his gaze over my campaign ribbons and various metals and honors. “A Marine from the War of Eons, yes?”
I pressed my lips together. “Yes, sir.”
“A special task force, yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And your role,” he looked over the paper in front of him. “Was designated marksman.”
I stared at the table. “Yes, sir.”
“Your exploits in war are rather famous, Mr. Black,” the policeman said. “A sniper of considera
ble skill. And as the papers said, The Matron was killed by a .338 Lapua Magnum round. Likely from a gun very similar to the one you used in war.” He eyed me. “Do you still practice sniping?”
“No, sir.”
The policeman slapped an open palm on the table, causing me to jump. “Bullshit, Mr. Black.” He leaned back in his chair. “If it were up to me, we’d be searching your apartment right now. And I bet we’d find the murder weapon and evidences of your connections with the Fawn Family. We would find every reason for them to target your family, even if they left no evidence at the crime scene.”
I lifted my gaze, hardening my features. “Why do you even care? She was the boss of a mob. She ruined businesses and used her corporation to smuggle drugs and weapons into this country. She killed left and right without discretion.”
“She was a living, breathing, sentient creature. Just like your parents,” the policeman said. “And murder is still against the law.”
I pasted my ears back. His message was clear. By killing her, I was no better than she was. I was responsible for my parents’ deaths.
“I’m not sure what your connection is in all this yet, Mr. Black,” the policeman continued. “But take comfort in the fact that I’m not going to let it go. So until we know more about what happened, and we will learn more about what happened, you can be sure of that, Philip is a ward of the state. Talk with his social worker to arrange meetings. I’ll make sure you have her information before you leave today.” The policeman stood up and walked out of the room.
I don’t know how long I sat at that table, stewing in guilt. I took a life. I essentially killed my parents. I lost my brother.
I lost everything. I
