by ML Gardner
“Did you tell him you would?”
“Yes, but I never planned on it.” I sat straighter in my seat. Mickey would never respect someone who was slouching and scared. “I was just trying to get to my next dose.”
“I see.” He picked up a pen, twirling it in his fingers. “I know Deek. I know him from a long time ago. The details aren’t important,” he said, waving his hand as if I had been begging for the information. “What is important is what I’m going to do about it.”
I made to stand. “I’ll just go now.”
“No, stay. You have to help me take care of this.”
“I can’t really help. I just figured you’d want to know. And I’m grateful you took me in and all. I was in a bad way and needed to recover. And now that I have…” I put my hands on the arms of the chair to push myself up.
“Now that you have, you work for me. Did you forget our arrangement when Gina first brought you here?”
I nodded with hesitation.
“Good. Then your first job is going to be taking care of Deek. Starting out with an act of loyalty is a good thing, John. Thank you. I’m proud of you. I know you won’t let me down, will you?” He smiled but his eyes stayed cold. It exaggerated the scar on his cheek.
My hands were sweating. “What do you want me to do?”
“I’ll let you off easy on your first job. Rough him up. Make him realize that he’d better not try to send anyone else in here. Make sure you get that message across loud and clear, understand?”
I just stared at him.
“Normally, I’d say kill him. But since me and Deek go way back and I’m not too threatened by him, I’ll let him off with this one warning. Make sure you tell him that, too. Next time he won’t be so lucky. Tell him—” Mickey leaned forward with emphasis. “Tell him next time, I’ll send you to kill him. And he’ll never see it coming.”
A plan started forming quickly in my mind. I was going to run the first chance I got. All the way to Scotland Yard, wherever the hell that was. Or into a church. Sanctuary.
I nodded to Mickey.
“When?” I asked, trying to be casual.
“Later tonight. It’s best not to let these things drag out.”
“I don’t know my way around London.”
Mickey laughed. “You don’t think I’d let you run around alone just yet, do you? Gina!” he bellowed.
She must have been right at the door because it opened the second he called.
“Yes?”
“Take John Doe here back to the bridge where you found him.” He scrutinized the panicked look on her face. “He has some business to take care of with Deek.”
“What business?”
Mickey looked back at me. “You do your best to impress Gina here. She loves to watch a man in action. If she comes back impressed, it’s good enough for me.”
Gina walked me back to my room. Once inside she looked around for the bottle.
“Where is it?” she demanded.
“I took it all.”
“Bullshit. If you took any of it this evening, you’d be flat on your face. You’re a terrible liar.” She held her hand out. “Give it to me.”
“Why?”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
I crossed my arms and stared at her in defiance. Her struggle for power was getting annoying.
“Give it to me or I’ll tell Mickey.”
I sighed, yanked it out of my pocket and tossed it across the room. She caught it.
“I’ll be back for you later,” she said, sailing by me without a glance.
I paced the room for a moment before noticing the sandwich, still at the foot of my bed. I swiped it up and took a large bite. Slightly stale from sitting out, or maybe it had been stale when she brought it to me, I ate it anyway, and waited.
***
We sat down in a corner booth in the same café she’d taken me for coffee the first night we’d met. “What are we doing here?” I asked.
“I thought I’d take you for dinner before you do your job.” She studied me and then smiled pitifully. “You don’t want to do it, do you?”
“Of course I don’t!” I growled, partially from the pain creeping up around the edges and partially from my anger at her for getting me into this. Everything was complicated with this woman. In the short time I had known her I rarely had one single emotion with her. They were always conflicting, swirling around a confusing tornado.
“Look, you’ll just rough him up and give the warning and then you can have your medicine.”
So that’s why you took it, I thought.
“Is this part of the game you wanted to play?” I asked.
“No. Not officially. But I know you and I know that there is no way you’d do this otherwise.”
“You don’t know me. Hell!” I threw my hands up in the air. “I don’t even know me.”
“Let’s just get this over with and go home.”
“That’s not my home,” I said with venom that surprised me. For a moment she looked startled.
Then she asked with a smirk, “Did you remember where home is?”
“No, but I know that it’s not there.”
“Don’t be ungrateful.” Her face hardened and as I reached for my coffee, she grabbed my wrist. “It’s home for now. Don’t you forget that.”
I yanked my wrist back and frowned at the table.
“So you like to watch men fight?” I asked, stirring cream into my coffee.
At first confused, she smiled. “Oh. What Mickey said?” Looking down, she blushed like a schoolgirl.
“Well, do you?”
“There’s something primal about it. It’s not that I like to see people get hurt. But when a man is fighting for something he loves or believes in or is passionate about, yeah. It’s intriguing to watch.” She smiled again. “Of course, the muscles and raw brute strength add a special something to the experience.”
I shook my head, unable to comprehend.
“I know it doesn’t seem like it, John, but I’m trying to help you. Doing this is the only way Mickey will really trust you.”
“What does it matter? What happened to helping me find out who I am? Helping me get home. It’s been almost three weeks.”
She sat back looking every bit of pissed off. “I’ve been trying. I’ve asked around. Trust me, if anyone in this town could get ahold of the information you need, it’s me. I’m sorry, John, but no one is looking for you.”
I looked out the café window into the darkness.
“Someone has to be looking for me.”
***
I stood over Deek’s sleeping body. I was racked with withdrawals and every drop of water echoing under the bridge slammed into my brain like a fist. She stood by waiting with bottle in hand. I looked back and she held it up, reminding me of what I was earning.
She’d waited, keeping me in the café until nearly sunrise. Until she was sure I was ravenous. A fine sweat broke out across my forehead and I began to be short with her. When she heard me call her a bitch under my breath, she must have figured I was ready. She paid the check and we walked to the bridge.
Geddy was snuggled in next to Deek, not for cold, but for safety and I wished she wasn’t there to see this.
I knelt down and put my hand over Deek’s mouth. His eyes flew open, terrified, but he quickly relaxed when he saw who it was. His lips were moving under my hand in an attempt to speak and I thought he might have been smiling. Sad sap thought he was finally getting his payday.
“I have a message from Mickey,” I said. I leaned down and whispered in Deek’s ear for a long moment. Rising quickly, I said, “I’m sorry,” and before Deek knew what was happening, my fist came down on his face. Again and again while Geddy screamed. Gina watched with giddy excitement and deep within me, I felt a monster being born.
***
She made me wait until after we got back. I had to see Mickey, she insisted, and tell him the job was done. He needed to see me. To s
ee proof. It would be hard to hold it together, harder than what I had just done. I had to stand straight and not shake. I couldn’t sweat or twitch. I had to appear relaxed and through the hardest cravings I had experienced yet, I had to appear clean before Mickey. Then I could have my reward.
Taking a deep breath when Mickey called me, I walked in. I sat down, however, before being invited.
I looked Mickey in the eye. “It’s done.”
“You think he got the message? He understands…fully?”
I held out my hand. The knuckles were bloodied and scraped raw. “He got the message.”
Mickey sat back, lacing his fingers and smiled. “You did good, John.” Then he frowned. “John doesn’t suit you. You look too fun loving to have a serious name like John. It’s that mischievous air about you. How about Johnny boy? Yeah, I like that. You’ve got a lot to learn, Johnny boy, but you’re off to a good start. I think you’re gonna work out just fine.”
He tossed a cigarette across the table and poured us each a drink.
“I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
“Wait. First, drink.”
I didn’t argue with his insistence. I sat back, steeled my eyes and drank brandy as the sun rose.
Sloan waited patiently while Aryl sat with a tight jaw and darting eyes.
“I didn’t want to have to do that to Deek. It wasn’t right.”
“Sounds like you were doing what you had to in order to survive. And it doesn’t sound like those people had any intention of helping you find your way home.”
He shook his head tightly and cleared his throat. “They used me. That’s all. And when I had done all I could do for them, Mickey sent me and Gina off to die.”
“How did he do that?”
Aryl shook his head. “I need a break.” He took a deep breath having won the war against tears.
“Why don’t I go get something to help you sleep? We can keep talking in the morning.”
“I have something that helps me sleep, thank you.” Aryl pulled the strap of his bag over his head, straightening it over his chest. “It’s late. I think I’ll go for a walk on the deck. Get some fresh air.”
He looked back at Sloan before he closed the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll come back.”
***
Aryl stopped at the top of the stairs, taking a deep breath of fresh ocean air. It was chilly but he didn’t mind. The moon stayed hidden behind dark clouds and the only water to be seen was illuminated by the round windows of the state rooms around the ship. Beyond that lay endless dark.
He took a moment to lean over the rail, watching as the rolling white capped water rushed past. They were steaming pretty strongly by the looks of it.
The wooden deck creaked as he walked. It was deserted and he was glad. He found a lounge chair and pulled it into the shadows.
Easing the chair back to a comfortable angle, he pulled his bag around to rest on his stomach with his finger hooked on the front flap. Assuring himself that he could open it at any minute and find relief. He concentrated on that, instead of what scared him. Going home.
He could hear the water as he looked into the night sky and tried not to think of the accident, either. Not just yet. But when he and Sloan continued their conversation in the morning, he wanted to tell him about that day. What he could remember of it, anyway.
The churning storm, the explosions, hitting the water stomach first—so hard he lost his breath and nearly blacked out. He remembered Caleb screaming for him. That was the last thing his old self remembered. Caleb’s voice weaving through the solitary thought of Claire before something hit him from behind and everything went black. He wanted to tell him about that day because the last thing he remembered is exactly where it all started.
He stared up into the night sky and wondered about Claire. She’d been a constant in his mind since the moment he remembered her. Remembered they were going to have a baby. And though he didn’t know the day it was born, he had a pretty good idea now.
There was a day in February when he woke earlier than usual. He was nervous but not for the usual reasons and couldn’t shake the feeling. He got dressed and slipped out of the warehouse without anyone seeing him. He desperately wanted to be alone. He walked to the King George dock, taking the long route to avoid the bridge where Deek and Geddy lived.
The date was February 21st and that meant nothing to him. There had been no event recently to cause him to feel any overwhelming emotion. In fact, he found it was safer to stay away from emotion as much as possible and made a regular habit of it. He still didn’t know who he was, really. Who he used to be was still a mystery. Who he was becoming was terrifying and he still didn’t know where he belonged. And he couldn’t understand the overwhelming sadness he felt that morning. Didn’t know why he wanted to cry, sitting on the end of the dock as he watched the sun rise behind the billows of bleak clouds.
Maybe after things were settled in Boston he’d ask Sloan to find out if he was right. If the day he couldn’t smile was the day his child was born.
***
Sloan’s head came over the edge of the stair railing. He looked panicked as he scanned the deck.
“Over here.”
Sloan looked toward the voice but couldn’t see him under the eave of the balcony in the dark.
“Can’t sleep?” Aryl asked.
“No. Can I join you?”
“If you can find me.”
“I found you once,” Sloan said, grinning. He stepped closer and as his eyes adjusted he could see Aryl’s form stretched out on the wooden lounge chair.
“There’s more across the deck. I guess they put them all away at night.”
He got up and helped Sloan pull one out of a neat stack.
“Does it make you nervous to be on the water after the accident?”
Aryl was quiet for a moment, arranging Sloan’s chair by his. “No. I suppose it should. But it doesn’t.”
“So what are you doing sitting here in the dark on the side of the boat by yourself?”
“Starboard,” Aryl corrected with a smile. “And it’s not so dark once your eyes get used to it. I was just thinking about what I wanted to tell you next. What I wanted to ask you next.”
Sloan held out a cigarette in offering. “Well?”
“And I thought I smoked a lot.” Aryl took it with a nod of thanks and accepted a light.
“Do you smoke a lot?”
“Not really. When the mood strikes. I don’t have to.”
“You’re one of those lucky souls that can put them down anytime, eh?”
Aryl’s light mood became somber. “I wouldn’t say I’m a lucky soul.”
Sloan watched the conflicting emotions on his face; consoling himself that it was only the shadows making him look so dark.
“What do you want to ask me, Aryl?”
“When that old guy brought you my wallet, what on earth made you follow a…what’d you call it, a dead lead?” Sloan nodded. “What made you follow up on it when it had to have been in the papers that I died? It doesn’t make sense.”
“It didn’t to me, either. And just so you know it wasn’t in the papers that you died. It was in the papers that your friend, Jonathan Garrett died.”
Aryl’s head whipped over. “What?”
“A clerical error. I looked it up myself to be sure. It wasn’t big news in Boston, you understand. So many small boats go down all over the coast, accidents like yours are lucky to get a small blurb on the last page. But I found the one reporting yours in the archive. They made a mistake. It wasn’t until early October that a correction was made in newspapers outside Rockport.”
“So you were under the impression Jon died when my wallet showed up. I still don’t understand.”
“I didn’t know a thing about you or Jonathan Garrett when that wallet showed up. I wasn’t reading newspaper articles about small town boating accidents. I had other things on my mind at the time.”
Chapter Seven
&nbs
p; Dark Days
I sat at my desk staring at the front page of the Boston Herald.
Cop killer strikes again
Officer Raymond Ashley was found dead in his home late yesterday evening of an apparent gunshot wound to the head. Officer Ashley is the latest in a string of officer slayings. The police believe the suspect asks for the help of the officers and then follows them home. Mrs. Ashley, who is expecting their first child, was not harmed, but as in all other related officer slayings, she was found tied up in a closet. The victim’s wives were unable to give any description or helpful leads. All Boston police remain on edge as they mourn the loss of a third officer in as many months.
I tossed the paper on my desk and rubbed my face. I knew Raymond. Or, I had known him. Not well, just enough to give him a razzing for his girlish last name. He was, or had been, a big guy.
Rumor had it that his shirts had to be made to fit. He had arms like tree trunks. This is why they put him down on the south side. No one wanted to mess with him. He had actually begun to clean up that trashy neighborhood. Or, at the very least encouraged trouble to go elsewhere.
It was a huge loss for the department and I wasn’t looking forward to the forlorn faces all over the precinct and even worse, the funeral.
There was nothing worse than a cop’s funeral.
Stepping aside from the loss of one of our own, the fact remained that there was a serial cop killer on the loose. It wasn’t enough to hide in an alley and take a pop shot, or get an officer in the back while he wrote out a citation in broad daylight. This guy put a bullet right into the forehead of officers while they slept in their own beds and then placed their badge over their left eye. He stalked and planned. He was looking at them when he did it. This was personal for him and he enjoyed it.
The psychology of psychopaths depended upon to crack homicide cases isn’t that dissimilar to that of a missing persons detective. That’s me. I hunt down people who vanish without a trace. Once in a while, I get lucky. More times than not, I end up handing over my file to homicide.
