Sin And Vengeance

by West, CJ

  Charlie pushed his way around the table. A solid forearm locked around Randy’s cocked right arm jerking him backward. Another man stepped up and twisted Randy’s left, freeing the big guy, who collapsed to his knees, stunned and wheezing at Charlie’s feet.

  “Ok guys. That’s enough.” Charlie pushed his way into the circle forming around Randy.

  “Dream on, you fuckin’ cheater!” came a scream from his left.

  Charlie turned toward the voice and saw knuckles bearing down on him. Instinctively, he swatted them away and landed two solid jabs to the ribs, folding his assailant. A hard right dropped him to the floor. Charlie wheeled to the sound of a deep penetrating blow and a rush of escaping air from Randy. Two guys were in front of him pounding away while another two held him up.

  Charlie dropped his shoulder and slammed into the guys in front as if cracking down on a defensive end. They dropped, but it wasn’t enough to free Randy. A black-shirt stepped up and took over where his fallen comrades left off. Charlie landed on top of the first guy he toppled and started punching away. He landed two nasty rights before a muscled forearm clenched around his neck and yanked him to his feet. He stood helpless, fighting the pain and clawing for air. The first punch felt as if it crushed his ribs together, squeezing his organs somewhere out of the way. The second punch brought a flash of white and then the hazy black fog of unconsciousness. What happened after that, he would never know.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Charlie’s shallow breaths left him starved for oxygen, but that was preferable to the pain his expanding lungs caused when he inhaled normally. If he stayed motionless long enough and limited his breathing to tiny puffs of air, the pain subsided. But any movement, even a twitch, sent an electric streak of agony through his torso. The emergency room doctor had counseled him to rest four or five days while his ribcage healed. By that time, the swelling in his face would subside and he would look normal again. The doctor had taken pride in the stitches beneath Charlie’s cheek. He said they’d dissolve in two weeks and that the gash was unlikely to scar.

  After years of coping with game-day injuries, Charlie had honed a recuperation routine. He’d sit still as much as possible for the next two days then the ribs would be bearable with a healthy dose of ibuprofen. The pain he could handle. The thing that troubled him was that Randy dragged him into a fight they couldn’t win.

  Charlie watched the silhouettes of the trees blowing in the breeze most of the night. He relived the card game and the first seconds of the fight. The next thing he remembered was Randy standing outside the x-ray room insisting he didn’t cheat. Charlie knew better. Randy fiddled with the cards too long and there was no denying he knew about the aces when he slapped his hand over the muck. He set the big guy up for a shock then forced Charlie to deliver it.

  The move made no sense. The big guy was out of chips, so there was no reason to taunt him anymore. Randy had no chance of winning that fight; the guy had to weigh in at two seventy-five. Randy wobbled him, but his friends were everywhere. If Charlie hadn’t jumped in, they might have killed him.

  What a stupid way to blow easy money!

  For a moment, Charlie admired Randy’s card-stacking prowess. He dealt four kings against four aces so smoothly that no one noticed. If not for his showboating, he would have gotten away with it, but Randy couldn’t pull off a stunt like that without an audience. He needed recognition more desperately than money. They were both poised to finish in the money, but after Randy’s shenanigans all they collected was an ambulance ride.

  Charlie spent a dreadfully long night sitting up and wondering why.

  In the morning, he attributed the fight to another instance of reckless self-gratification. Charlie’s entire relationship with Randy was one long series of stupid chances and he wondered why it hadn’t alarmed him sooner. He remembered trees zipping past his window the night they sped through the park. He remembered the break-in at the huge house in Dartmouth and the crazy things Randy had done there. At least Randy’s vandalism was understandable. It was overblown and illegal, not something a sane person would do, but on some level it made sense.

  There were times when Randy acted so bizarre as to be certifiable; like the time he stopped to see the farmhouse while it was still smoldering. He had the balls to ignore the firemen and walk right up on the lawn. The night he crashed into the garage in Piolenc was an obvious stunt to get back at Charles; ill-timed considering he had a trunk full of cash. And why on earth had he flirted with Charlie’s fifty-year-old mother? There was only one thing that tied his stunts together: Randy craved trouble. Charlie’s parents were right: Randy was going to get himself killed. If Charlie wasn’t careful, he’d end up in the morgue beside him.

  Charlie touched his swollen face. The icepack had thawed hours earlier and the skin was warm again, but not throbbing. The slightest touch still hurt as did moving his jaw. He lifted himself out of the chair and walked stiffly to the kitchen where he passed over a bagel in favor of three ibuprofen and a tall glass of orange juice. He drained it slowly, trying unsuccessfully to swallow without moving his mouth.

  A dozen stiff steps took him from the kitchen sink to the bathroom where he teetered between the toilet and sink, trying not to fall into either as he gingerly stripped off his clothes. The shower occupied half the tiny room, leaving no space for anything but the sink and the toilet. Last season, twelve people shared this one small bathroom with no bathtub. Now that the house was his, it was time for major remodeling. He planned to double the first floor living space to make room for a master suite and a garage. He’d add a generous living room off the back and knock down the interior walls upstairs to make two large rooms. Having his parents next door could be a drawback, but they spent most of their time elsewhere.

  As he pulled back the dingy shower curtain, he remembered the girl from the bar and what she was doing to survive. The way she dressed was more humiliation than he’d ever be forced to bear. She’d live in this rundown place, make wine, and never complain. Charlie held back a shudder, imagining the things she did for complete strangers. The cramped shower and the twelve-by-twelve bedroom would be a haven in her eyes. Charlie was blessed with two parents who’d built a business that would last for generations. He realized he’d been less than appreciative.

  The hot water washed over him, relaxing sore muscles that had held him rigid overnight. If he were still playing ball, he’d feel like this from July to January. Escaping this sort of pain was the one bright spot of leaving football. His future lay in the fields all around. He was a winemaker now and he was determined to show the commitment his parents expected of him. He had some major adjustments to make. The first was getting rid of Randy.

  Two hours later, Charlie sat arrow-straight in the small office area that had been added to the barn. Half the space was filled by three fabric cubicles so cluttered with old magazines and obsolete notes, it was apparent that little of the winery’s work was accomplished at desks. The other half of the space was ringed by a wide kitchen counter with two sinks. A mini-winery was assembled here with everything necessary to ferment, blend, and age small batches of experimental wines. With his degree in chemistry, Charlie excelled in all aspects of his winemaking coursework and this was the part of the business he yearned for.

  Unfortunately, today was not a day for concocting new blends. Today he was reading an article on marketing strategy and preparing to tackle the biggest problem he faced in Westport: unsold wine. The warehouse overflowed with recent vintages. Sebastian was starting to delay disgorging some of the sparkling because there wasn’t enough demand. Charlie was determined to get those cases out of the warehouse and into thousands of wine cellars.

  Approaching voices drew Charlie’s eyes to the fermentation room door. Sebastian came inside and stopped abruptly at the sight of the black stitches and purple bruises on Charlie’s face.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Randy and I had a misunderstanding with several men who f
ight much better than they play cards.”

  “More than I can say for you.”

  Charlie wanted to blame it on the knee, but it was more than that. He wasn’t a violent guy. He blew through guys playing ball and he liked it, but that was part of the game. Off the field, Charlie’s killer-instinct waned. Poker and hard-drinking with Randy were his only outlets for aggression. He gave a one-shouldered shrug.

  Rather than step further into the office, Sebastian turned back toward the door. “I brought an old friend to see you.”

  Charlie’s jaw dropped. The pain in his face was like a spike driven through his upper teeth into his cheekbone. A gasp brought a pang to his side. Unable to move, he felt beaten before she even spoke.

  Deirdre walked into the office and stopped halfway to the desk. “You looked much better last time I saw you.”

  The images of the red dress and her hands belted to the bedposts came to mind. Charlie wasn’t sure whether to return her warm smile or get up and run. She looked thinner and harried. “You look, good,” he said.

  Sebastian stepped up beside her. “She signed on with us this morning. She doesn’t have her own place yet, so I suggested she bunk with you.”

  “I won’t give you any trouble. I promise.” Her face glowed mischievously.

  He couldn’t imagine she’d already flown back to the States, gotten a job, and was asking to live in his house. Her husband had only been dead three weeks. He wondered if the murder and the lies were too much for her psyche to handle. Maybe the only way she could deal with her guilt was to punish Henri’s killers. Charlie feared that was what she had come to do.

  Deirdre stepped closer and angled her face directly in front of Charlie’s, forcing him to look up and respond.

  “The house is really small.” Charlie imagined her shadow standing over him while he slept. She’d approach in a negligee or carrying a hatchet, maybe both.

  “I don’t mind a bit. And don’t worry I’ll stay out of your way,” she said.

  Sebastian somehow misread Charlie’s pained expression as consent to the new living arrangements. “Great. I’ll see you in the barn tomorrow at seven. You two catch up. I’ll bring her bags to the house.” Sebastian shot to the door with a sudden rush of energy and he was gone before Charlie could argue.

  When the outer door closed, Charlie asked, “You found me. Now what?”

  “You’re not scared of me are you?”

  Charlie didn’t buy the innocent tone for a second. “Scared? No. Surprised? Yes. What are you doing here?”

  “Putting my life back together.”

  “You can’t be serious. Not here.”

  “Your mother said you needed workers. I needed a job.”

  “You talked to my mother?”

  “You didn’t think I’d find Chateau Piolenc?”

  He’d hoped she wouldn’t look.

  She came closer and put a hand on Charlie’s arm. “I appreciate what you tried to do for Henri that night, and for me. The talk in the car helped me pull myself together. My life disappeared that night. I haven’t had anyone to talk to since and I guess I really need the company. I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

  She looked calm, even alluring, but Charlie didn’t want any part in her reconstructed life. She smiled down as if she’d lean over and kiss him. He was too stiff to move, so he let her survey him from just inches away. Her face betrayed nothing of her motive or the rage that must have been boiling inside her.

  She kept talking. She was either oblivious to his panic or reveling in it.

  “The vineyard will be a lovely place to work. It’s like the farm, but the ocean is so close. And winemaking is much more romantic than farming. Don’t you think?”

  “You don’t need to work. We gave you over a million in cash.”

  “I can’t just sit home and cry. I need to get back into the world. This is the perfect place. Besides, I like you.”

  “This is absolutely the wrong place. If Randy finds you here…” Charlie wondered whether Randy would sleep with her before or after he killed her. The twinge of jealousy that flared under his battered ribcage surprised him.

  “It’s not safe for you here,” he finished.

  “I’m a big girl, Charlie.” It was the first time she’d used his name. Unfamiliar as they were, she used it like an old friend or someone who’d repeated it to herself a hundred times.

  “Randy’s crazy. There’s no telling what he’ll do when he sees you.”

  “He’s been with a hundred women. He won’t remember me.”

  Charlie could never forget the images from the farmhouse that night.

  “He’ll remember,” Charlie said.

  She gave an enigmatic smile as if she could read his mind.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Deidre had a craving for seafood and offered to buy and cook if Charlie loaned her the car for a trip to the market. It was his first new car, the first big thing he’d earned on his own. No one else had ever driven it, especially not a woman he barely knew, but these were delicate circumstances. The curvy, little time bomb could throw his life into turmoil. Maintaining her serene disposition far outweighed the risk to his precious Volvo. He gave her the keys and watched her go, hoping this wouldn’t be the first in a string of appeasements for his new house guest.

  Less than an hour later, she was back; no dings, no dents, no near-misses. She carried two large bags into the kitchen and set to work as if she were at home with her husband and not one of the men responsible for his death. She set the lobsters free in one side of the sink and began shucking corn over the other. Charlie offered to help, but she refused to let him get out of his chair. She did accept his advice on boiling the lobsters, smiling and humming as she worked, never complaining about the flimsy, dime-store cookware or the lack of sharp cutlery. Charlie apologized for the furnishings and explained the house’s history, but if Deidre was inconvenienced, she didn’t show it.

  Charlie watched closely for signs of violent emotions thrashing about, but she breezed through her preparations even-temperedly. She peeled a handful of carrots and set to chopping with crisp precision that only comes with practice. When the various pots were on the stove boiling, she set the table with supple hands and upturned lips. Twenty minutes later, she returned to the dining room with orangy-red lobsters and steaming ears of corn.

  They sat down together and Charlie showed her how to crack into a boiled lobster. She applied just enough pressure to crack the claw, but not enough to send the juices flying.

  “Are you going to be ok?” he asked.

  “What choice do I have?”

  Charlie paused to watch her dunk a pinkish chunk of claw meat in the melted butter then pop it in her mouth.

  “None. None at all. But it’s ok to be sad.”

  “I’m not going to mope, so don’t expect me to.”

  “It’s a big shock. However you deal with it is up to you.”

  “But?”

  “But nothing. I’d like to help.”

  “You tried.” Her lips tightened and her eyes closed, holding back her memory. Charlie’s recollection was as vivid as if Henri were lying on the table.

  “I appreciate what you tried to do,” she managed.

  Her gratitude seemed as genuine as her sadness. She buttered then salted her corn, staring down at her plate without moving to pick it up.

  The casual mood was suddenly replaced with the terse formality of a wake. Charlie regretted his lack of finesse as dinner continued in silence. He finished his claws and cracked into the tail. He’d avoided chewing for most of the day and hadn’t realized how incredibly hungry he was. The first lobster went down easily and he cracked into another.

  The silence was even more awkward when the lobsters were finished.

  Deirdre asked about the vineyard and Charlie gladly related the history of Marston Vineyards. As she listened, the mask of happiness she’d worn most of the day slowly reemerged, but he knew the change was only temporary. Bei
ng here with him could only intensify her emotions. His gaze drifted outside, wondering what form her anger would take when it surfaced.

  Four round lights rushed up the drive at nearly fifty miles per hour.

  He flashed to Deirdre. “Get upstairs. Stay out of sight.”

  “What?”

  “Go now! Randy’s here.” The vibrations made his jaw ache.

  She stood up as if to go, then stopped defiantly. “Why should I?”

  “Look at me. I can’t protect you.”

  Charlie could barely move.

  She considered a moment then broke toward the front door at a dead run, swiveled around the railing, and bolted upstairs.

  “Stay quiet up there,” he called weakly.

  Charlie clicked on the TV and pushed up the volume. He hobbled to the fridge as Randy arrived at the front door and began pounding. Still hearing creaky footsteps upstairs, even over the television, Charlie paused to let Deirdre settle in.

  The commotion at the door intensified. It seemed Randy had come through the brawl unscathed. His ramming fist shook the flimsy door so mercilessly Charlie expected the wooden panels to give way. He walked gingerly to the door and inched it open. “It’s Raging Randy Black,” Charlie announced.

  Randy’s sunglasses hid the worst of his black eye and his right arm hung motionless at his side. “What, you lock this rat trap?”

  “Look at me. I’m in no shape to fight off prowlers.”

  Randy gestured at the furniture with his left. “Like there’s anything worth stealing in here.”

  “I said prowlers, not thieves.”

  Randy waved dismissively.

  “I didn’t expect to see you so soon after your last bout.”

  Randy ignored Charlie and followed his nose through the kitchen and into the dining area. He browsed the dirty dishes on the table. Charlie stayed in the living room, silently praying Randy wouldn’t notice the scraps were still warm. It would be just like Randy to reach down and take a bite off someone else’s plate.