A Hard Death

by Jonathan Hayes

  He paused, then glanced up and down the highway.

  Bentas knew what the driver was doing: math. The kid was figuring out if he could get away with it.

  The boy began to back away, looking shakily in the direction of his car, where the girl was still screaming. She’d undone her seat belt, and her screaming was punctuated by the rhythmic chime of a door alarm.

  From where he crouched, Tarver now squatting close behind him, Bentas could see Weiss was in bad shape. One of the arms was impossibly twisted, and the right leg bent out at an unnatural angle. The kid’s head lolled to the left in a gleaming puddle of dark blood.

  The boy was hesitating, standing there with his cell phone out, looking down at Adam’s body, looking back at the car at his screaming girlfriend. Bentas thought, Leave, you little fuck. Just leave! No one will find out, no one will ever know…

  And then Adam moaned.

  Bentas stiffened.

  It seemed impossible—enough methamphetamine to drop a circus elephant, washed down by an insecticide chaser and then smashed by that tank of a car, and Weiss was still alive? No way…

  The sound galvanized the driver, who punched numbers into his cell.

  Tarver touched Bentas’s shoulder, then held up his pistol, tapped it, then pointed first at the driver on his phone, then at the screaming girlfriend.

  Bentas shook his head quickly and jabbed his finger in the direction of the field. The two men crept down the slope, moved quietly across the drainage ditch and out onto the strawberry field.

  Bentas muttered to Tarver to put the gun away. “No need: kid was already ninety-nine percent dead. This way is perfect—they ran him over while he was alive, lying on the road, fucked up on crystal meth. Just one more dead stupid fucking tweaker.”

  Tarver moaned as his nose began to bleed again. “Shit!”

  Bentas snickered at him. “Yeah, one more dead stupid fucking tweaker.” He paused. “Hey, Tarver—you thirsty? I got some wine…”

  By the time they reached their pickup truck, they could hear the distant sirens.

  CHAPTER 44

  The maître d’ escorted Chip Craine through the lobby and out onto the drive. They waited together for the Bentley.

  “Dean!” Craine fumbled in the pocket of his blazer and pulled out a thick wad of cash. He peeled off hundred-dollar bills like a game show host. “Dean, okay, I want you to give this to the black waiter, this to the blonde…The two guys who were clearing the plates can share a hundred. Here’s two hundred for the sommelier, and a hundred for the bartender.”

  The host nodded, looking expectantly at the pile of cash on his flat palm. Craine continued, “And for you…one, two, three hundred.” He paused. “Will that cover it?”

  “Well, Mr. Craine, you’re very generous, as always. But there’s the small problem of complaints. I told the Walters, who were sitting behind your table, that we’d take care of their dinner check…”

  “You did?” Craine thought for a second. “Good thinking. Put it on my tab. And here’s another hundred.”

  He tucked the rest of the money back into his blazer. “We’re good now?”

  The host folded the thick stack into his pocket and nodded. “Yes, sir. We’re very good.”

  The lights of the Bentley flooded the steps. The valet stopped at the porte cochère, but the host waved him on, past the main entrance to the club: kickbacks or not, Mr. Craine had caused enough trouble for one night.

  He walked Craine to the car and said, “Sir, Mr. Canning has instructed us that the car keys are to be delivered to your daughter. He’s asked me to make sure you’re comfortable in the car until she returns.”

  Craine grunted. He stood impassive as the valet swung the heavy door open for him, then asked him to move the passenger seat forward: he would sit in the backseat.

  Once he was installed, the valet closed the door, hovering by the vehicle until Craine groggily pulled a fifty out of his pocket and handed it to him. Then the host and the valet left him to his own devices.

  Craine sprawled back in the middle of the seat, arms outstretched wide, idly caressing the tan leather of the broad seat back.

  Overhead, the sky was deep indigo, loaded with bright, distant stars.

  He wondered how long his daughter would take to get over her little tantrum. He snorted: it was absurd how easily she worked herself into a mood.

  His fingers drummed the seat back. He was bored.

  He pulled out his phone to check for messages. Nothing.

  A peaceful look settled across his face as he began to dial.

  She answered on the second ring, her voice sweetly excited and expectant. She always answered on the second ring—he’d learned they always do, at that age.

  CHAPTER 45

  Jenner walked out beyond the barrier of the box privet and onto the dark realm of the course. He couldn’t see her. The hedges funneled walkers down the golf-cart path, and Maggie was wearing heels, so she’d probably followed the paved surface.

  The road was lit by black ornamental lampposts, glowing like fireflies on either side; Jenner wondered if, in a previous era, they’d have been lawn jockey statues. Seen from the bright haloes of the path, the greens were gloomy and dark, the color of poison yew.

  Jenner had walked about five minutes when he spotted Maggie. She was on a bench by the first water trap, her dress floating around her like a luminous cloud, pale blue in the moonlight.

  She glanced up, then back out over the still black water.

  “Hey.” He sat on the bench right next to her.

  She ignored him.

  “You okay?”

  She turned to face him and snapped, “Really? That’s really what you’re going to ask me?”

  She snorted. “What do you think, Jenner? How do you think I am?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You know, you’re as bad as he is. You did nothing, Jenner! Nothing!” She looked down at her hands, her fingers working some invisible knot. “My father has…problems. He was drunk, he couldn’t help himself. But you…?” She paused before continuing.

  “What, couldn’t think of anything to say?” Maggie shook her head angrily. “How could you just sit there and listen to him say those things, and not say a word?”

  Jenner stayed silent.

  “You have no idea how hard all of this is—dealing with him, trying to raise Lucy, keeping the shelter going…I have no one! No one supporting me, no one to see the things I have to do, no one to help me.”

  She was crying now, and he lifted a hand to touch her shoulder.

  “Don’t!” She brushed it off. “And don’t say, ‘The nanny’—she doesn’t count, she’s a paid attendant. I need someone to be a part of this, to really help me.”

  Maggie sat back, face turned away.

  Jenner said softly, “I’m sorry. It must be very hard for you.”

  “Wrong answer!” She stared at the water. “I don’t want your pity.”

  He took her hand gently, but she pulled it back. He said, “I’m sorry. I had…I didn’t know he’d behave like that. I’m so sorry…”

  She breathed out, then turned to him. “Pass me my purse. I need a cigarette.”

  Jenner picked the black patent-leather purse up off the grass and handed it to her; it was heavy, and when she snapped it open, he saw a small pistol. It didn’t surprise him—in Miami, he’d known several women whose clutch purses hid a shiny little gun.

  Maggie stuck a cigarette between her lips and opened the match-book. As the match lit up in her hand, he saw her eyes were clear, her cheeks dry again. She took a deep drag, shook the match out, then slowly exhaled the smoke, eyes shut.

  She looked at Jenner, weary and expectant. “So. I know you’re just dying to share your impressions about how messed up we are, the Craine family.”

  “Actually, I’m not really excited about saying anything right now.”

  “I know, I know! Poor Jenner!”

  Another quick drag; sh
e blew the smoke out harshly.

  “I know how it must seem. I could tell you my father was a decent man, that he and my uncle were the best guys on earth, just really misunderstood, but that’d be a lie. Daddy’s a son of a bitch—he keeps me utterly dependent on him, gives me just enough to cover my expenses, and Lucy’s, but not a penny more. And, if anything, my uncle is worse.”

  “Your uncle?”

  “Oh, Gabriel Craine, another handsome branch of the magnificent Craine family tree, Jenner. He runs Craine Brothers Medical now—he took control in the early 1980s; each month, he shits out a measly little allowance for Daddy. He’s a ruthless bastard—he doesn’t approve of my father or me, not one bit.”

  “Well,” Jenner said, “it can’t be all that measly…”

  Maggie waved her cigarette dismissively. “Daddy’s clever with money. But it’s a pittance, considering how huge Craine Brothers is—y’know, when People profiled us in 2004, they said we make one in four of the items in your medicine cabinet. Do you have any idea how rich my uncle is?

  “Anyway.” She inhaled, more slowly now, and let the smoke settle deep into her lungs. “So, what else can I tell you about the Craine Curse? Well, you’re a doctor—I’m sure you can tell Lucy’s anorexic.”

  When Jenner didn’t answer, she glanced at him, and saw he knew. “Yeah, thought as much—can’t hide anything from you.” Another drag.

  Maggie looked him in the eye. “So, well, sorry, Jenner. Sorry I’m a disaster. Nothing I can do about it…”

  She let the smoke out slowly, then stood and flicked the cigarette into the water.

  She smoothed her hair, then turned to him, studied his face. “You see how I am now, right? So now what do you think—still…interested?”

  “Maggie, wait. Just…slow down.”

  “This is how it always works—it’s because of you, you know?” She smiled sadly. “I find someone I like, my father fucks it up. He’s not like that when it’s just him and me at dinner, or with his friends.”

  “He clearly has problems.”

  “Problems? Christ, Jenner, you don’t know the half of it!” She laughed, the sound sharp and thin. She was quiet for a second, then said softly, “But who am I to judge? I’m no better. Besides, he’s my dad.”

  Maggie glanced at him, looking up at her uncertainly, and smiled. “It’s okay, Jenner. I’m okay now.”

  When he didn’t answer, her smile widened. “Really, no, I’m okay. I’m sorry I kind of lost it there—I ruined our date more than he did.”

  “You didn’t ruin it.” He smiled. “But…it was a date, then?”

  She laughed. “Of course it was—I’m damaged, not dead! You’re the most interesting thing to wash up in Port Fontaine since Ambrose fucking Burmeister!”

  Jenner raised an eyebrow.

  She took his hand, and pulled him to his feet. She looked at him critically. “After all, you’re okay-looking. You’re tall. You have a job. You’re straight.”

  Maggie paused. “You are straight, right?”

  She turned to him as he grinned, and caught his arm. “Because, you know, if you tried to kiss me, I doubt I’d fight it…”

  Jenner leaned into her, and her lips met his; pressing against her skin was like going under, soft and hot, a feeling of continued motion when both of them were still, as warm and disorienting as ether.

  Her lips lingered, and when she gently pushed him back, her hand over his heart, he breathed out, as surprised as if he’d witnessed a miracle.

  Maggie smiled. “We should get back there before Daddy molests the coat-check girl or something.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Jenner drove the Bentley back to Stella Maris, taking it slow more to make the drive last than for fear of damaging the quarter-million-dollar car. Maggie sat next to him, while Craine, subdued and quiet, rode in the back.

  She asked Jenner to wait while she took her father inside. He watched her support Craine as they walked up the path to the side door. He waited by the fountain, sitting at the wheel of the beautiful car in front of the beautiful house, looking at the beautiful grounds.

  After a quarter-hour, he walked down to the house parking lot; he’d just opened his car door when Maggie appeared again at the gap in the hedge. She’d let her hair down, and had a pale blue wrap around her shoulders.

  “Thanks again, Jenner.” She shook her head. “I’m really sorry you had to see us like that. He’s better than that—we both are.”

  She walked down the steps, and this time didn’t stop at the Craine halfway point. She stepped quickly up to Jenner, and he held her head and kissed her mouth as she pulled him close. He wrapped her in his arms, stroking her back through the thin cashmere.

  Jenner pulled back and kissed her lips, then her cheek, then her forehead. Her eyes were soft and dreamy, green and infinite.

  “You must think I’m crazy—I was upset. You do understand, don’t you, Jenner?”

  He shook his head. “You’re not crazy. You’re just in a tough spot.”

  “Oh, I’m crazy alright.” Maggie gave a wan smile. “Jenner? Promise me we won’t fall in love? It’ll hurt too much when it ends.”

  He hushed her, but she pushed him back, eyes dark and serious. “I mean it.”

  So he promised, smiling. She kissed him again, and he felt the press of her lower lip between his teeth as she ground her hips against him.

  There was the quiet clearing of a throat, and over her shoulder Jenner saw a uniformed member of the Craine house staff standing on the walkway, hands folded in front of him. “Excuse me, Miss Craine? Your father asked if you would stop by his study for a quick word.”

  Maggie nodded; the attendant disappeared. She pulled away from Jenner, kissed the palm of her hand and brushed her kiss onto his cheek.

  He climbed into his car; as he reversed, he looked for her on the steps, but she was already gone.

  CHAPTER 47

  The sound of movement.

  Jenner listened, suddenly awake.

  The battered clock radio on the bedside table read 2:05 a.m.

  The cabin was quiet.

  Then the tapping came again. The front door.

  He pulled on a T-shirt and sweats, and opened the door to find Maggie, her eyes rimmed with blurred mascara, shivering despite the wrap clutched tightly around her. Over her shoulder he saw the Bentley, straddling two parking spaces.

  “I came, Jenner.”

  “You okay?”

  She shook her head as he opened the door, and she slipped into his arms and she kissed him over and over.

  “What is it?”

  Maggie shook her head again, and the wrap slipped off her shoulders, and she guided his hand back, helping him pop the catch at the top of her zip. His hand slipped the zipper down her back, and her dress fell away, and she was naked and smooth against him, tearing off his T-shirt.

  Jenner pulled her down onto the bed; she kissed his face and his hair and then moved up to straddle him, leaning back so he could admire the swell of her breasts.

  He lifted up to kiss her and she pushed him down, hand flat on his chest. She said, “Am I pretty, Jenner?”

  He smiled and reached up for her, but she slapped his hand away. “Tell me.”

  He lay back and said, “You’re beautiful,” and it was true.

  Maggie reached down, traced the width of his shoulders, touched along the scar on his arm. She leaned up over him so he could kiss her stomach, and as his lips kissed her skin, she stroked his hair and he rolled her so he was on top.

  She slid her wrists above her head, and he understood she wanted him to pin them down, and when he did, her hips lifted to him. He pressed her down, and her breath was hot on his neck as she whispered he should do whatever he wanted to her, that anything he wanted to do, she’d do it…Anything, anything, anything…She would be his slut, be his little bitch, be anything he wanted, if he would just…if he would just…

  Afterward, when they’d both finished, Maggie let
him sleep; she lay there and watched him for a long while. She pressed closer to him, kissed his shoulder, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Jenner,” because she already knew how things would go between them.

  A little later, she went to the sink, filled a glass of water, and put it on his bedside table; it was hot in the room, and Jenner might get thirsty.

  CHAPTER 48

  Jenner woke at seven a.m. Maggie was wearing her white dress from the night before, now wrinkled. Face scrubbed, she was putting her hair up in the dresser mirror.

  She seemed slightly put out that he was awake. “I have to go see Lucy off to school—don’t get up.”

  He walked her to the front door. He held her hand, but her mood had cooled; she was already thinking about the day, and the previous night was now history.

  On the porch, she gave him a peck on the cheek, then walked to the Bentley without the slightest trace of self-consciousness or shame. Her indifference was particularly striking, since Mrs. Foley was gawking two feet from the car in a Marshmallow Peep-yellow housecoat and matching slippers, her curler-knotted hair secured under a fuchsia kerchief.

  They watched the Bentley pull out of the lot. Mrs. Foley looked at Jenner, shook her head slowly, then steamed off toward the laundry room.

  Jenner sat at the table with his bowl of Weetabix, trying to figure out Maggie’s life, her father in particular.

  Lying in bed talking in the small hours, she’d told him Craine had bought her and Lucy their own house ten minutes’ drive from Stella Maris. Maggie had made a point about how important it was to her to be independent, but Jenner figured her independence had a fairly clear dollar value, shaped largely by the luxury in which she’d grown up. More critically, there were her daughter’s needs to consider: without a job, Maggie had no medical coverage other than what her father provided.