Serenity Stalked

by Craig A. Hart

  The hood was unceremoniously removed and Jimmy blinked. He stood in his own living room. The blinds were drawn and a single lamp cast shadows on the walls. Behind him stood his captor, Malone. In front of him stood Darkmore, smiling and larger than life.

  “How are you, Jimmy?” Darkmore said. He walked around the room, fingering the knick-knacks and examining the paintings on the walls.

  “I’m…fine, I guess.”

  “I apologize for the rude awakening. As you know, Malone isn’t known for the soft touch. He gets carried away in the moment.”

  Jimmy knew all too well. He’d seen Malone in action, but had never expected it to be turned on him. Although, so far, the treatment had been mild—Malone was capable of doing much worse.

  Darkmore picked up a small ceramic rabbit and turned it over in his hands. “An interesting place, Jimmy. Not the sort of décor I would have expected from you.”

  “It was my grandma’s place, sir. I never redecorated.”

  “Sir, yet.” Darkmore looked at Malone. “Isn’t it interesting how deferential people get when they think they’re in trouble?”

  “Yeah, deferential.” Malone guffawed, then grew thoughtful.

  “I’m speaking of your job, Jimmy.”

  “My job?”

  “Yes. Your job. You’re falling down on it.”

  “I don’t know what you—”

  In one motion, Darkmore dropped the ceramic rabbit on the floor and ground it under his heel. “I’m not here to play games with you, Jimmy. Tell me: how much money have you gotten from that bitch so far?”

  Jimmy took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Maybe five grand?”

  “And how much does she owe?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Twenty grand…on top of the five she already paid.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And when was next payment due?”

  “Last week.”

  “And did you bring me the next payment?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And why not?”

  “She didn’t have it.”

  Darkmore cupped his ear and looked at Jimmy expectantly. “Pardon?”

  “She didn’t have it, sir.”

  “She didn’t…have it.” Darkmore began pacing. “Do you know what happens to people who don’t fulfill their obligations to me, Jimmy? They don’t usually survive. You see, I have a reputation to maintain. I must be fair, yet just, and can’t afford to broadcast weakness. The moment I do that, I’m finished. Do you know what that means, Jimmy?”

  Jimmy shook his head.

  “It means that not only do people have to pay what they owe or pay the consequences, but my men have to do the jobs I give them or pay the consequences. Now…have you done the job I gave to you?”

  “I’m doing it! I’m a little behind, is all.”

  “Right, see, that’s it, Jimmy. I can’t have that. If one guy starts falling behind and getting away with it, then the next guy thinks he can get away with it too. Before long, I have a crew of worthless rebels who do nothing but lie around all day and drink my liquor. Now what kind of business model is that?”

  Jimmy stood motionless. There were no good answers to any of the questions Darkmore was asking. He was frightened, yes—but he didn’t think Darkmore was planning to kill him. Not yet, anyway. Darkmore was not likely to travel to someone else’s home turf to kill. No, he preferred his victims brought to him, so the execution could be performed in a controlled environment. Jimmy had never seen Darkmore’s killing room…but he’d heard enough stories to know he wanted nothing to do with it.

  “It would be unsustainable,” Darkmore said. “I would be overrun and killed within a week. And it isn’t only about me; I have responsibilities. People—families!—are dependent on me to keep things afloat. But I can’t do that without good men, now can I?”

  Jimmy sensed he should answer this question. “No, sir.”

  Darkmore walked forward until he stood mere inches away. He looked Jimmy in the eye and gripped him by the shoulders, almost as a father might.

  “When I brought you in, I saw great potential in you, Jimmy. You’re quick on your feet. You have natural charm. The kind money can’t buy and training can’t teach. I liked you. Still do. But you’re letting me down, Jimmy.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I won’t let it happen again.”

  “The bitch has to pay—the full amount—on time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can you handle it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Because if you can’t, now would be the time to tell me.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “You won’t keep going soft because it’s a woman?”

  “No.”

  Darkmore stood, eyes locked on Jimmy’s, hands gripping the younger man’s shoulders, for a full minute. Then he dropped his hands and stepped away. He walked back across the room and sat down on the old sofa. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar. He took his time toasting the foot, before lighting and taking his first draw. He puffed a few times, then looked up at Malone and gave a slight nod.

  And Jimmy knew that, while he wasn’t going to die tonight, he might wish he had.

  Chapter Two

  A red flashing light flooded the interior of Shelby’s car. He glanced at the speedometer: 85 mph, fifteen over the limit. Damn it, he was only an hour out of Grand Rapids.

  He slowed down and eased onto the shoulder. The patrol car followed, right on his tail. Shelby stopped, put the car in park, and watched in his side view mirror as the cop fiddled around in his vehicle before getting out and sidling up to Shelby’s window. The cop had unsnapped the leather strap that looped over the top of the sidearm. Shelby found that annoying but understood the cop didn’t know what to expect. Shelby could be a crazy person with a gun of his own. He wasn’t crazy, but he did have a gun—and a permit—resting in the glovebox. He reached into the compartment and pulled out the car registration and insurance so the cop wouldn't see the weapon. The sight of guns in civilian cars made law enforcement jumpy these days; Shelby couldn’t blame them. He wasn’t an avid follower of the news but heard enough to thank God or whatever was up there he wasn’t a cop on the streets. His friend Jerry McIntyre, a retired cop, was always talking about it. Then again, an ex-cop always took the side of the law in these cases, even if the law was in the wrong. Cop culture.

  Shelby rolled down his window.

  The cop halted behind the open window, his hand resting on the sidearm. “Evening, sir. Do you know why I pulled you over?”

  Shelby yearned to make a sarcastic remark, but experience told him no good would come of it. “I’m afraid I was speeding.”

  “Any reason you were going fifteen over?”

  “It’s my daughter. She’s in the hospital.”

  Skepticism flashed across the cop’s face. “Hospital, huh? Where at?”

  “Grand Rapids.”

  “Which hospital?”

  “Spectrum. Labor and delivery.”

  “A baby, huh? Congratulations.”

  “It’s a little early. The baby’s not to term.”

  The cop paused as if digesting this information. He nodded. “License and registration, please.”

  Shelby handed them over and the cop returned to his vehicle.

  Within a surprisingly short time, the cop returned and handed back the documents.

  “All right, Mr. Alexander. I'm not sure if you’re telling me the truth or feeding me a line, but I’m going to let you off with a warning.”

  “Thank you, officer.”

  “Promise you’ll slow it down. I know you want to get to your daughter, but you won’t help anything by wrapping your car around a tree or the front of a semi.”

  “Understood.”

  “Have a good night.”

  Shelby waited until the officer returned to the patrol car before putting the car into gear, checking traffic, and pulling back onto the interstate. He accelerate
d slowly until he reached 75 mph, then engaged the cruise control. He wasn’t worried about cracking up, but he didn’t want to kill any more time getting pulled over.

  Shelby had never been the worrying type. He’d kept his nerves under control during most of the trip, except for the lead foot, but as he came around the 196 curve and saw the city skyline, anxiety settled like a bowling ball in the pit of his stomach. He wondered how Leslie was doing—and the baby. He’d kept his cell within easy reach and checked it every few minutes to make sure he hadn’t missed a call or text. But the device had been quiet throughout the trip. No news was good news, as far as Shelby was concerned.

  He found the hospital with only a couple of wrong turns—he was surprised by how overwhelming the city seemed. Grand Rapids wasn’t huge, but after Serenity, it felt like a swarming metropolis. It seemed the ability to navigate cities was a skill that rusted over time.

  He found a ramp near the hospital, parked, and made his way inside. He stopped at the first information desk, where the attendant delivered vague, rapid-fire directions Shelby knew he’d never remember. But he followed the attendant’s pointing finger, hoping to find another kiosk along the way.

  After navigating aimlessly through labyrinthine corridors, and through some combination of luck and providence, Shelby saw a sign for Labor and Delivery. There was a nurses’ station outside a set of main doors. Shelby stopped to check in.

  “May I help you?” the nurse said, barely glancing up.

  “Leslie Alexander. She came in with early labor symptoms.”

  The nurse checked her computer. “Oh, yes. And you are…?”

  “The father.”

  The nurse looked up again, taking her time to look Shelby over. Her eyebrows raised and Shelby realized what she was thinking.

  “Leslie’s father.”

  The nurse nodded, as if she’d never doubted it. “Room 217. I’ll buzz you in.” She indicated the large double doors. “Be aware you’ll have to be buzzed out as well.”

  Shelby walked toward the doors and, as he approached, heard a whirr and a click, and the doors swung open. He entered, feeling as if he had gained entry to an ancient vault of secrets.

  His cell chirped and he glanced at it. A text from Helen.

  WHAT IS YOUR ETA?

  He paused to reply.

  ABOUT FIVE SECONDS.

  A moment later, Helen walked out of a room down the hall. Shelby inclined his head in recognition and quickened his pace. Outwardly, he remained calm and, he hoped, inscrutable. But the sight of Helen, combined with his anxiety for Leslie, was having an effect. He hadn’t considered what it would be like to see Helen again and her sudden appearance struck him hard. She looked older. Of course she did; it had been almost ten years, during which he hadn’t even seen pictures. As he approached, Shelby saw lines around her eyes and mouth, lines that hadn’t been there a decade ago. Helen had always looked younger than her age—still did. But Shelby could see life on her face in a way he never had before, and he found the idea of Helen aging to be uncomfortable. He was also uncomfortable with the realization that she looked good to him. She’d always had that look of classic beauty. In some ways, the years had sharpened her features. Yes, Shelby admitted. Helen was still quite a looker.

  They exchanged a quick hug.

  “How is she?” Shelby said.

  Helen bobbed her head to indicate a moderate condition. “Things have calmed a little. They ran some tests and we’re waiting on the doctor.”

  They entered the room. Leslie looked up and saw Shelby. Her face brightened. Shelby warmed with relief.

  “Hi, Leslie. How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit.”

  “I imagine so. The little fella’s trying to break out early, huh?”

  “We don’t know it’s a boy,” Helen said. “I’m still pulling for a girl.”

  Shelby huffed but said nothing.

  Leslie nodded. “Yeah, it looks that way. They did an exam. My cervix is thin, but holding so far.”

  “Good news, right?”

  “I’ll take it.”

  Helen moved around the bed to sit next to Leslie. “I’m impressed, Shelby. There was a time when talk of any female anatomy other than breasts would send you running from the room.”

  Shelby considered being offended but remembered why he was there. And the smile on Helen’s face seemed genuine and without malice. “Maybe I’m capable of change after all.”

  Helen laughed. “There must be a God, because I’ve witnessed a miracle.”

  “It’ll be a miracle if I get out of here without having this baby,” Leslie said. Her voice was a little too loud and Shelby suspected her of intentionally changing the subject. “I thought for sure it was going drop out onto my apartment floor.”

  “It’s good the ambulance got there in time,” Shelby said.

  “I didn’t take an ambulance. I drove.”

  “You what?”

  “She’s her father’s daughter,” Helen said.

  Shelby shot her a look. Helen noticed and clamped her mouth closed. Shelby still didn’t see the familiar look in her eyes that signaled she was trying to start a fight. But maybe she’d gotten better at hiding it.

  Leslie coughed. “Anyway, it turned out okay. They met me at the front of the ER with a wheelchair and got me up to L&D in record time.”

  “Sounds like they have a good team here.”

  “They’ve been great.”

  “A bit slow with test results,” Helen said, “but I suppose that’s the case with all hospitals.”

  “Every one I’ve been to,” Shelby said. “To the patient, their problem is all-important. To the hospital, you’re only another patient. Unless you’re bleeding out all over their tile floor, you’re in for a lot of waiting.”

  Leslie tried to stifle a yawn.

  “Tired?” Shelby said.

  Leslie nodded. “A little.”

  “Why not go to sleep? You must be exhausted.”

  “But you just got here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Take a nap while you can. The doctors and nurses will be in here bothering you soon enough.”

  “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Shelby leaned over and hugged Leslie, who returned it without reservation. The warmness filled Shelby again and he felt a stab of emotion in his throat. He coughed to cover it up.

  Helen got up from the chair and fluffed the pillow. “Sleep tight, dear. You want me to turn off the overhead light?”

  Leslie nodded weakly, already half asleep.

  Helen flipped the switch, throwing the room into sickly shadow.

  Shelby’s stomach rumbled.

  “Have you eaten?” Helen asked, on cue.

  “No. I was in too big of a hurry to get here.”

  “I think the hospital has a café.”

  “Sounds good. You want something?”

  “I could stand a bite.”

  “Lead the way.”

  Helen proved herself more capable of navigating hospitals than Shelby. At least, she was much more confident about it. They found the café with no trouble but were disappointed to find it was closed.

  Shelby read the sign. “They closed at four. Now what?”

  “I suppose we could venture out, although I don’t really want to leave the hospital while Leslie’s here.”

  Shelby looked around and saw a row of vending machines. “Care for a candy bar and a soda?”

  “That’s a horrible dinner.”

  “Show me a better option and I’ll take you up on it.”

  “Milky Way?”

  “You got it.”

  They purchased a variety of snacks and then settled at a small table to eat. Helen watched, smiling, as Shelby divvied up the loot.

  “You remembered what I like in junk food.”

  “I ought to. Remember when we first married and we would walk to that little convenience store at night?”

&
nbsp; “We’d stock up and then stay up late watching horror movies.”

  Shelby grinned. “Fun days. If I ate that way these days, my heart would explode.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t still eat that way.”

  “My diet wouldn’t win any awards, but it’s better than that.”

  “You were never any good at taking care of yourself.”

  “I’ve survived.”

  “Yes,” Helen said. “Yes, you have.” She munched solemnly on a chip and took a drink of soda. A shadow passed over her face. “I’m sorry, Shelby.”

  “Sorry? For what?”

  “Everything. How it all turned out. How we turned out.”

  “The end of a relationship takes two. We both had something to do with it ending.”

  “And I’m sorry for my part in it.”

  Shelby shifted in his seat, acutely uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. He should have expected it. After all, this was their first meeting in years. Perhaps Helen was right to clear the air, if it needed clearing. But Shelby couldn’t forget what Mack had told him on the phone the other day when his friend had called to share the news of his own break-up with his wife Gloria. Much like Mack and Shelby, Gloria and Helen were long-time friends and stayed in touch after Shelby and Helen divorced. According to Mack, Gloria had recently gotten tipsy on wine and during a major blow-up with Mack had claimed Helen saw Shelby as a meal ticket, and was even planning to use Leslie’s baby as a bargaining chip to get back into his good graces. Shelby knew Helen’s second marriage had ended badly and also knew—from Mack—that she was struggling financially. Shelby wasn’t wealthy, but he’d made decent money and lived simply. As a result, he was comfortable. Of course, Helen couldn’t know the exact state of his bank account, but he couldn’t help wondering how much of what Mack had told him was true. His friend wasn’t one to spread rumors, but the information had originated from an angry, soon-to-be ex-wife, a notably unreliable source. Even with all this in mind, it colored Shelby’s perception of Helen’s apology. Was she trying to clear the air or laying the groundwork for some larger plan?

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