The House That Death Built

by Michaelbrent Collings

  And that held true even when he called in the middle of a game of Texas hold 'em that was actually going her way. She cashed out and hurried over to the records office, got what she needed, and then headed back to the street.

  As always, she walked down the stairs, turned left, and headed toward the parking garage entrance. Concrete planter boxes followed the steps in a series of mini terraces that effectively blocked the view into the garage, as though the building architects had believed the garage was too ugly a sight to inflict on the people in the city building.

  Or, more likely, they thought the city building was an eyesore that might well send emerging drivers into a series of puke-fits.

  Either way, Tommy was waiting where he always did: leaning on the planter wall that formed the inside boundary of the parking garage entrance. It was close to the building, but she had noted on their second meeting that it was also a dead spot. No cameras nearby that could pick them up, but still out in the open so no casual observers would think there was anything untoward occurring.

  "You get it?" he asked. He was dressed all in dark tones – Nikki had never seen a stitch of bright clothing on him. She doubted it was just for their rendezvous; he didn't seem like a happy colors guy.

  She nodded and handed over the tube she had tucked under her arm. He opened it and unrolled the architectural plans inside just enough to verify they were what he had ordered. Then he handed over a thin sheaf of bills, folded in half.

  She counted them. "This is it?"

  "It's what we agreed on."

  "That was the old cost. I need a raise."

  "Inflation? Cost of living increase?"

  The words were joking, but there was no mistaking the darkening of his expression. Nikki almost backed down. Then she remembered that she'd gotten one of her middle-of-the-night visits yesterday, and a balloon payment was coming due.

  "Sure. Call it that. And another bump for me coming in the middle of the night and practically having to show my boobs to the security guard to get him to turn a blind eye."

  Tommy didn't move. Didn't speak. For a moment Nikki wondered if he was going to kill her right there.

  At least then I wouldn't have to make that payment to Saul.

  Tommy reached into a pocket. Pulled out a few more bills and handed them over.

  She pocketed them without counting – without even looking. That, she sensed, would be one step too far.

  For once, she quit gambling while she was ahead.

  Tommy turned away from her. He walked down the sidewalk and disappeared into the parking structure. She didn't know if that was because he had a car in there or if he just didn't want her to see where he went next.

  Truth told, she didn't care.

  She turned away as well. Back to the street and from there to where she was parked: an outside lot three blocks away where the cheap-ass city made midlevel employees park.

  The money burned hot in her pocket. She should use it to pay Saul his installment.

  But maybe if she hurried she could deal back into the card game first.

  11

  Rob slammed into his apartment at midnight. The clock was ticking, and he felt the passage of every second like a pinprick. Tiny wounds that were nothing in and of themselves. But too many would prove fatal.

  Too many would be the end of the job.

  Donna was waiting for him. She always was – not much more for her to do. She hadn't had a job in all the time Rob knew her, and she didn't seem much inclined to change that fact. It pissed him off sometimes, that she wasn't interested in contributing, but then what did he expect? It wasn't like she'd entered his life as a pillar of ambition when he met her three years ago. At least she kept the place clean. Not that that helped much.

  Six years ago he'd had a nice place. A loft overlooking Sunset, neighbors who were third-year attorneys at one of the huge law firms that covered the city like highly educated tumors. They were always surprised when they found out he was "nothing but a waiter," and he could practically hear them calculating how to use this fact as leverage for a raise: "My heavens, Mr. Managing Partner, even the waiters at Rudolfo's make more than I do!"

  It never failed to amuse.

  He'd also had a BMW. And a bank account with enough money that the interest meant an actual payout at year's end.

  And then the one job. That damn job where the family – what was their name? – screwed the whole thing up.

  He'd lost the loft a year later. Moved to a series of apartments, each a step down – sometimes a large step down – from the previous one.

  This one was the lowest of the low. One bedroom, a kitchenette you had to pay attention when walking in or you'd trip over the cheap vinyl flooring, walls so thin you could hear the roaches screwing inside them.

  Donna actually kind of fit the place, now that he thought about it: not a good situation, but all he could really expect given his circumstances. At least she was leggy, and he'd never seen her wearing anything other than a miniskirt so short it was only a skirt in the most technical sense.

  She was in her mid-thirties, though, so even with a great set of legs she still looked a bit off in her barely-there outfits. Rob could tell she had once been young and fresh-faced and beautiful, but she dressed like she still was.

  No, that was wrong. She dressed like she still wished she was young and fresh-faced, and that was sadder. Because she knew the best parts of her life were over and all she had was the fading memory of once-happiness. Hoping that a mini-skirt and a spaghetti-strap crop top would somehow anchor her to better days.

  She was sitting on the ratty couch, turning pages on a two-month-old issue of People. She didn't move when he came in, which meant she'd probably been drinking before he came home.

  He cleared his throat. She jerked and jumped to her feet.

  "Sorry, Robby!" she said, and ran to plant an over-wet kiss on his cheek. "Didn't hear you coming in."

  She almost ran to the fridge, opening it (sure enough, only one six-pack inside instead of the two that had been in there when he left for work) and removing two Pabsts.

  Rob sat down at the small wood table that straddled the thin line between the "dining" area – a six by six space beside the kitchenette – and the rest of the front room. Donna put both beers in front of him, then unscrewed both tops.

  Rob took a swig from one. Donna didn't sit down with him, which meant she'd finally gotten it through her skull that he liked some downtime after work. Of the "alone" variety.

  She stood at attention, though, hovering nearby in case he needed something. Another thing she was finally getting right. He looked at the newest set of bruises on her arms, both of the groupings traveling from forearm to upper arm and then wrapping up to shoulders.

  She rubbed at her arms self-consciously, as though worried he'd find the mars unattractive. On the contrary, though – besides her legs, those bruises were just about the sexiest things she had going.

  "The group's coming over," he said after a second swig.

  For a moment Donna looked like she might object. Rob almost hoped she would. It'd be a nice way to warm up for the night.

  She didn't, though. Just went to the fridge and began putting out more beers.

  There was a knock at the door. The cheap wood rattled in the equally cheap frame. Rob figured that one of these days the thing would just fall to atoms and that would be the end of the front door.

  Donna looked at him, unsure whether to keep putting out beers or get the door.

  Rob shook his head, disgusted.

  Well, you're not keeping her around for her brains.

  He moved to the door. As he did, Donna put out the last beer and then fled to the bedroom.

  Rob opened the door to see Aaron.

  Aaron was someone Rob tolerated. But only barely. The guy had certain skills that came in useful from time to time, but he was an utter buzzkill. There was something about him that drove Rob halfway to Crazytown. It wasn't just that he'd cost t
hem that job –

  (that job where everything started downhill, where it slid down this hole with no end)

  – it was something else. Something at once both deeper and more obvious. Occasionally Rob thought about it, about why he hated the kid, and all he could come up with was an image of the guy's face.

  In this moment, with Aaron standing there in front of him, he suddenly knew.

  It was that Aaron could still change.

  It wasn't that Rob hated the life he'd chosen – not that, never that – but….

  But wouldn't it be nice to change? To at least have the option?

  Rob was a man stuck in a prison, as surely as most of his friends. Not a prison of steel and concrete, but one of habit, of predilection, of need. He was who he was because there was no way for him to be anything else.

  Aaron, though… the younger man still seemed like he had a choice in him. Like he could walk away from this life if he wanted.

  And that was a large part of why he kept Aaron on the team. Part of it was his usefulness. But part of it was that he simply couldn't bear to see someone unchained to this life, when he was so thoroughly a prisoner of it.

  He smiled at Aaron, and the smile stretched as wide as his hatred.

  "Aaron," he said.

  "Hey, Rob," said Aaron. The other man was boyish, shy. A face that told the world everything it had to tell.

  Rob widened his grin, knowing that for every centimeter it grew, Aaron would be that much more uncomfortable. And knowing that was a good thing.

  They waited there like that for a moment – long enough that Aaron started to fidget, then looked down at his shoes.

  Rob finally let the kid off the hook. He kept the wolf grin on his face, but moved to the side to indicate the other man should come in.

  "You get it?" he said as Aaron slid past him.

  Aaron stopped mid-step. He nodded.

  "And…?"

  Another hesitation, then Aaron said, "He's got a safe. Master bedroom closet."

  Just like the bad one. The one where it all fell apart.

  Rob shoved that thought aside.

  This isn't that job. This is a new one, the beginning of a life worth living. A life without paper walls or neighbors who deal meth out of their apartment or a woman who's barely worth the effort I put in.

  Rob's grin somehow contrived to grow a bit more. He was actually rubbing his hands together.

  "I knew it," he said. "Some guys, you can just tell." He gestured at the "kitchen" table. "Pull up a chair."

  Aaron shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "That's okay. I… I doubt I'll be staying long."

  Rob's grin disappeared, swallowed in a thundercloud that darkened his expression. "Take a goddam seat," he said.

  Aaron nodded. Cowed. It was almost as nice to see as the sight of Donna just after one of their many "hands-on" lessons in home management.

  Aaron sat down at the table. It squeaked, betraying the plastic that lay under its thin veneer. He didn't take a beer. Rob almost took him to task for that, too –

  (What, my beer not good enough for Your Highness?)

  – but another knock at the door derailed the moment.

  Rob opened the door. This time it was Tommy and Kayla – faces he was actually glad to see. More or less.

  As always, it was Tommy he noticed first. Tommy, with his huge frame and dark hair and eyes that made the slick whiteness of his triple scars –

  (that job it's always that damn job)

  – stand out all the more.

  And, as always, it was Kayla that eventually drew his attention, commanded his eyes to stay on her.

  She was a looker, no doubt. The resemblance to her brother was clear, but where his strong features spoke of strength and mayhem barely held in check, on her they softened to create any man's vision of beauty. Even the piercings in ears, nose, and lip didn't change that – nor did the many tattoos that wrapped her neck and completely sleeved her right arm. When they first met he thought for a moment what a good lay she'd be.

  A moment.

  Then he noticed what was behind her eyes. Something darker and somehow more frightening than the promise of violence her brother's gaze held. She wasn't a murderer at heart. Nothing so focused. She was a tornado. A force of nature that could destroy or save at a whim. To whom one corpse meant exactly the same as one life granted.

  A tornado exists only to exist. It feeds itself to maintain its life, draws winds to become more than it has been. But nothing other than that life matters. Nothing more than a continuance of self.

  That was Kayla. And that was why he always watched her, even with a threat like Tommy beside her. She would always act for herself, but the moment his needs didn't align with hers….

  Tommy was holding a long cardboard documents tube. He gave it a twirl in his big hands, then handed it over to Rob.

  "Merry Christmas," said the big man.

  Kayla eyed the apartment with a discerning – and clearly disapproving – eye. "I like what you've done with the place."

  Anyone else said that, Rob would see them dead and buried before the end of the night. From Kayla –

  (I'm not scared of her. Not. Scared.)

  – he just… overlooked it.

  Yeah. Overlooked. Not ignored. Not scared.

  Rob motioned the siblings to the table. Tommy sat gingerly on one of the cheap chairs, clearly concerned that it would break under his weight. Kayla took the one beside him, grabbing one of the beers then leaning back on the chair's rear legs and kicking her feet up onto the table.

  Neither of them acknowledged Aaron. They held him as much responsible for recent bad luck as Rob did.

  Tommy glanced at the youngest member of the team a moment later. Just a quick look, but enough to show Rob that the big man was considering taking the kid to task.

  People probably didn't survive Tommy doing that.

  And – like it or not – they'd need Aaron tonight.

  "I found a good one," he said, trying to nip burgeoning violence in the bud. "Easy mark."

  He opened the tube that Tommy had brought. Inside were architectural plans – a sheaf of papers that each showed a different aspect of a building. The top sheet was a key, showing symbols used throughout the plans. Below that, a series of pages that showed topographical and landscaping details. Rob flipped past both, his fingers quickly finding the architectural and structural drawings.

  Looking at plans was something anyone could do. Understanding them took practice. But Rob had had plenty of that, and he zeroed in instantly – not just on general details, but on small specifics. And not just what the specifics said outright, but what they implied.

  And, doing so, he had one overwhelming thought.

  It's even better than I hoped it would be.

  He actually giggled.

  "Nice. Very nice." He turned to a page, then squinted. "Indoor gym with a shower room and sauna attached." He turned to a different page. "Custom-built library." Another. "Master bedroom's the size of this building's entire basement."

  He looked up for a moment. Kayla was grinning, and even Tommy looked less generally threatening than usual. They knew what he was saying. This house has money in it.

  Rob looked back down at the plans. Something drew his eye. He frowned for the first time, then looked back at Tommy. "This the most up-to-date version of the prints?" he asked. He'd never asked how Tommy got plans like this. Not only was it just generally bad form, it was part of what made Tommy a valuable part of the group. And people tended to look poorly on others' moves to render them unnecessary.

  Tommy'd never gotten bad plans. They'd always been current, they'd always provided the details necessary to keep the group from going in blind.

  But what Rob had just seen – it didn't make sense.

  Tommy didn't even glance at the documents. He shrugged. "Should be. Why?"

  "The dates on some of the drawings don't match the engineer's approval stamp."

  Tomm
y shrugged again. "This is what my girl got me."

  The term "my girl" was more than Rob had ever heard Tommy say about his method of acquiring the documents. Rob filed it away, just in case he might need it.

  That's what you did if you wanted to be successful – you noticed things. For that reason, Rob kept looking at the dates for a moment. Most of them lined up fine, looked legit.

  He finally sighed. People made mistakes. This looked like it was probably one of them. It just made him nervous because everything made him nervous. Especially now – when the job was probably the last one this team would follow him for.

  Except Aaron. The kid'll follow me until I stop telling him to follow me.

  Tommy actually pretended to examine the plans for a moment. Then leaned back and said, "Yeah, it's fine. Trust me."

  Rob snorted. "I don't trust my own mother, Tommy." He shook his head.

  No choice. Gotta move on this one.

  He looked at the team, settling his gaze on Tommy, then Kayla. He couldn't meet eyes with Aaron – the kid was looking down, staring hard at the untouched beer in front of him.

  Finally, he said, "I want to hit this place. Tonight."

  That got a reaction. Kayla whistled. "Why the hurry?"

  Rob's grin came back full force. The stamps were forgotten, the crappy apartment disappeared from his mind. Even the fear of bad luck fled before his next words. "Because he said tomorrow was his Tefra payout."

  Aaron actually looked up. Not in surprise. Confusion. He frowned. "Tefra? What's –"

  He was interrupted by Kayla. She jerked forward, her feet flying off the table and landing on the floor with a thud. "You sure that's what he said?" she asked.

  Rob nodded.

  Tommy looked from his sister to Rob, then back again. Just as in the dark as Aaron was. "What's Tefra?"

  "Tefra," said Kayla. "Tax Equity and Fiscal Responsibility Act of 1982." She smiled at her brother and added, "Is it hard being the stupid one?"

  He shrugged. "No harder than it is for you to be the ugly one."

  "So's your face," said Kayla.

  "Guys," said Aaron, "I still don't get it. What's Tefra, exactly?"