A Hopeless Game

by Daniel Carson

  “How many nights?”

  “One for sure, but he said it might be more.”

  “What room?”

  Irwin looked around uncomfortably. “I’m not really supposed to.”

  I grabbed Irwin by the collar and pulled him closer. And now I knew why he had blown a little breath into his hand and sniffed it.

  “I thought we had an understanding, Irwin.”

  “You’re just going to keep making me nervous until I tell you what you want to know, aren’t you?”

  “You get me, Irwin. You really get me.”

  “Room 214.”

  I released Irwin, and he backed up, his face practically purple.

  “But you can’t tell anyone I told you,” he said. “I’d get fired.”

  I did the lock-the-lips-and-throw-away-the-key gesture. “It’ll be our little secret.”

  I looked toward the back hallway as several large men in dark suits exited an elevator and walked through the motel’s back door. They didn’t strike me as businessmen.

  “Who are those guys?” I asked.

  Irwin shrugged. “I don’t know. But they’re scary.”

  “Scary how?”

  “Did you see how big they are? They look like bodyguards.”

  Out the back door, I saw them piling into the same two black SUVs that I’d seen earlier on Main Street. That would fit my earlier theory that someone important was in town. Someone who needed bodyguards.

  “Any idea who they’re guarding?”

  Irwin looked around. “Well, there was this younger guy. Skinny guy. Came by a couple hours ago to rent a room. He was no bodyguard. He wasn’t much bigger than me.”

  “And let me guess—he didn’t pay with a credit card.”

  Irwin had a sheepish look on his face. “He gave me an extra ten bucks to let him pay cash. And then an hour ago, these black SUVs pull up and these big guys come in through the back door and go to the elevator. I asked them what they were doing, and the skinny guy told me to ignore them.”

  “And did he hand you more cash at that point?”

  Irwin shrugged. “Subway sandwiches don’t pay for themselves.”

  “Did you get his name? Or any of their names?”

  “No. I assume that’s why he wanted to pay cash. But I heard the guys talking about a Mister…” He scratched his head. “Mister… someone.”

  Mister Someone. That really narrowed it down.

  I tried to hide my disappointment. “That’s very useful, Irwin.” I grabbed a Clap Back Inn business card and wrote my cell on it. “Do me a favor. If you see the man with the goatee leave with a woman, shoot me a text, okay?”

  “I think I can do that.”

  I winked. “You’re the best. I feel like I don’t tell you that enough.”

  “You haven’t come into the motel in over a month.”

  “Like I said, not enough.”

  As I turned to leave, Irwin slapped the counter behind me. “Medola!”

  I whipped back around. “What did you just say?”

  “The name of the guy, the one those big guys were talking about. I think they called him Mr. Medola.”

  My heart started thumping in my chest. “Irwin, are you sure about that?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  I sprinted out the front doors just in time to see the second of the black SUVs fade into the distance. I ran to my car and took off. The murder of Randall Mossback would have to wait. I had a mobster to catch.

  Chapter 17

  As I hustled through town to catch up with the little mob motorcade, a whirlwind of thoughts swirled through my mind. I already suspected there was some connection between the mayor’s company, Yellow Palms, and a business owned by Tommy Medola’s wife—and now two black SUVs were rolling through town full of bodyguards for the head of the most powerful crime syndicate in the northwest.

  Tommy Medola.

  People do occasionally end up in Hopeless by accident. Drifters. People who’ve had car trouble. But it doesn’t happen often. And Tommy Medola was no drifter. If he had come here all the way from Portland, it was on purpose.

  Nor did I suspect he was here as a tourist. This was no weekend away from the city to enjoy hiking through the Sawtooth Forest. No lazy Saturday shopping day in tourist town after rafting down the Moose River. That wasn’t Tommy Medola’s style.

  He had a reason to be here. A professional reason. And I wanted to know what that reason was.

  The SUVs stopped in front of A Hopeless Cup. One bodyguard got out, went inside, and came out a minute later with a cup of coffee. Then the SUVs moved on again.

  I followed them just as I had followed Coach Duncan’s pickup—from a distance. An old red pickup truck cut between us, but it wasn’t as slow as the dump truck, and I was easily able to keep tabs on the SUVs.

  About half a mile past the spot along the Moose River where Jimmy and I had our accident so many years ago, the lead SUV turned left onto the road up to Mr. Clowder’s place. But the second SUV, along with the red pickup, continued on Highway 15.

  I slowed and hesitated, then took the turn toward Mr. Clowder’s.

  The road zigzagged up the mountain, and I lost sight of the SUV, but there weren’t many places it could go. I just had to keep an eye out for it.

  I passed Mr. Clowder’s cabin and continued on past the Rutledges. No sign of the SUV. I continued past a half dozen other cabins until I’d snaked my way almost to the top of Moose Mountain, where Mrs. Greeley’s place was. And that’s when I saw the SUV—stopped in the middle of the road.

  I stopped my car at once. But I was in plain sight. Surely they could see me. Had they known I was following all along? Was that why they were stopped?

  Then I saw movement in my rearview mirror.

  It was the other SUV—the one that had continued down Highway 15.

  It had doubled back.

  My heart started to race a million miles an hour.

  The SUV behind me came up and gave my rear bumper a little tap.

  And the SUV ahead of me backed up practically to my front bumper.

  Crap.

  I was trapped.

  Several mountain-sized men stepped out of the SUV in front. All wore dark sunglasses. And I had no doubt that all were armed.

  I grabbed my cell phone and dialed Alex just before one of the men wrenched open my door. The man ripped my phone out of my hand and threw it off into the woods, then grabbed me roughly by my wrist and hauled me out of the car.

  I tried to shake him off, but his grip was like a vise. So I did the next best thing: I kicked him in the shin.

  He hopped away on one foot and let go of me. His eyes filled with rage. “Why, you little…”

  “Andre!” yelled a man from behind me.

  Andre stopped immediately.

  I turned to see who had shouted. The man climbing out of the rear SUV wore a gray Italian suit and a crisp white shirt with no tie. His hair was darker than it was the last time I’d seen him—six months ago through a zoom lens.

  He walked up to me and held out his hand.

  I didn’t take it.

  “Tommy Medola. But you already knew that.”

  I said nothing.

  “And that makes you Hope Walker, the famous fiction writer.”

  “Fiction writer?”

  “On account of all those lies you like to spread about me and my family.”

  “I’m a reporter. I report the facts.”

  He laughed.

  “You don’t seem surprised to see me,” I said.

  “Andre noticed your car tailing us back in town. My men are very good at what they do, Miss Walker. So he called in the license plate, and it came back with your name. I’ll admit, I was a little surprised.”

  “But not that surprised, I’m guessing. You knew I lived here in Hopeless. I’m sure you talk with your business partner all the time.”

  He feigned surprise. “My business partner?”

  “Wilma Jenkins. M
ayor Wilma Jenkins. The two of you are in business together. It has something to do with the land we’re standing on right now. The land she wants to turn into the country’s newest and best ski resort.”

  “Huh. Is that right? This chunk of dirt a ski resort? This mayor you speak of… she must have some kind of imagination.”

  “You expect me to believe you don’t even know the woman your wife is in business with?”

  Medola shrugged. “I’m a businessman. My wife’s a businesswoman. We do lots of business. Too much to keep track of, really.”

  “Funny. I just thought you’d remember a woman you had a romantic dinner with in Aruba.”

  There it was. Gut shot. Now, to see how he’d react.

  He rubbed his hand on his chin. Then he smiled.

  “My nonna on my father’s side, she lived in a little house on Long Island. There were tons of stray cats in her neighborhood, and my nonna’s cooking was so good, those cats would always show up at her doorstep. Nonna hated it. So she told my brother Michael and me that she’d give us a dollar for every cat we killed. Well, Michael loved that. He was a lot like Nonna that way. If there was a problem, he just got rid of it.”

  I had to admit, I wasn’t real thrilled about the direction of this little cat story.

  “But not you?” I managed to ask hopefully.

  Medola shrugged. “Killing a cat, even when you do it with your bare hands like Michael loved to do…” He paused and stared directly into my eyes. “It’s not as much fun as you’d think it is.”

  I swallowed hard.

  “No, I prefer more creative solutions. I like games. Michael tried to kill the neighborhood cats, but I liked to lure them away from the house.”

  “You preferred misdirection.”

  “Something like that.”

  “And am I the cat in this story?”

  “You? Like I said, you’re a fiction writer. Your lies… they were a problem. But now?” He smiled and looked around. “Well. Look at this quaint town you live in.”

  “Why are you here, Mr. Medola?”

  He took a deep breath of the crisp mountain air. “Just visiting, I suppose. Never know when I might want to vacation in a sleepy little village like Hopeless.”

  “I’m supposed to believe that?”

  “I don’t know what fiction writers believe. But it’s the truth.”

  He stepped toward me, and I took an involuntary step back.

  “Relax, Miss Walker. You have no need to be afraid. I’m not my brother Michael, remember? I don’t enjoy hurting things. In fact, I avoid it whenever possible. I just solve problems. Like those cats. You know, some of those cats at my nonna’s doorstep were mama cats, trying to get food for their kittens. I didn’t want to hurt those mamas. What can I say, I’m soft-hearted like that. So instead, I’d tell Michael to do his thing with their kittens. And you know what? After a few of their kittens died, those mama cats learned. They stopped coming by.”

  A shiver went down my spine. “That some kind of threat?”

  Medola ignored the question. “You know, as I passed through your quaint little town, I noticed a delightful bar called the Library. I hear an old woman runs it. People call her Granny.”

  “This has nothing to do with Granny.”

  “And a few blocks away from that bar is a cute little white house. The very picture of Americana. A little family that lives there. The Rodgers. Do you know them?”

  I said nothing.

  “They’ve got three adorable little kids. Ring a bell?”

  “Don’t you even think about it.”

  “Miss Walker, like I said, you have nothing to fear from me. I’m a businessman. If something’s not a problem, then there’s nothing I have to do about it.” He shrugged. “But if something becomes a problem…” He licked his lips. “Did you know my brother Michael really never outgrew his urges? He really enjoys what he does.”

  He stared at me for a long time, making certain I got the picture. Which I most certainly did.

  “I’ve enjoyed our little visit, Miss Walker. I really have.”

  Then he buttoned his jacket, walked back to his SUV, and got in. His bodyguards did the same. Andre was the last to get in, and he gave me a cold smile before he did. And then both cars left, and I was alone on Moose Mountain.

  I just stood there for a couple minutes, fear and adrenaline coursing through my body. Then I jumped in my car and drove as fast as I could to Katie’s house. I ran up the steps, flung open her front door, and practically sprinted into her kitchen.

  Katie was cleaning, and Dominic and Lucy were coloring pictures at the counter.

  Katie jumped. “What on earth, Hope?”

  I wrapped my arms around her neck and hugged her as tightly as I could.

  And then, overwhelmed, I collapsed… and I began to cry.

  Chapter 18

  I’m not really sure why I cried so much. I guess it was… everything. Coming home again after so many years. Being with Granny and Katie again. Getting to know Katie’s kids. Getting to love Katie’s kids. And then to have that monster stand in front of me and threaten all those I loved and held dear.

  It was too much.

  So I cried. And Katie let me. She held me for a really long time. Dominic and Lucy whispered to each other as if seeing an adult cry was like seeing an alien from outer space. But I didn’t care. I just cried.

  When the tears finally stopped flowing, I pulled back, rose to my feet, and told Katie thank you.

  She held my shoulders while she took a good long look at me. “Someone die?”

  “No.”

  “Does this have something to do with you missing out on a date with a super hot guy?”

  “No.”

  “Is it something really pathetic like the time Granny ran over your Holly Hobby doll with the lawnmower?”

  That got a smile out of me. A small one. “That was not pathetic. I had to duct-tape her head back on.”

  “I remember. You pretended that she always wore turtlenecks after that. And yes, it was pathetic. You cried for an entire day. At least this time was just for an hour.”

  “It was a minute, tops.”

  She shrugged. “Felt like an hour. Seriously, Hope. What happened?”

  I ignored the question.

  “Ahh, this is the part where you conveniently pretend you didn’t just sob in my arms for an hour.”

  “It was only a minute. And I can’t tell you why.”

  That wasn’t true. I could tell her. And she had a right to know. She had a right to know that a psychotic mob boss had threatened her and her family. Because of me.

  But I just couldn’t bear to tell her that.

  Tommy Medola talked about problems. And making them go away. Well, this was my problem… and I had to find a way to make it go away.

  The solution was obvious.

  I had to stay away from Tommy Medola.

  And at least for now, that meant staying away from Wilma Jenkins too.

  “I mean, I can’t tell you yet,” I said. “But someday.”

  Katie made a face, then tilted her head to the ceiling. “Baby’s up,” she announced.

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Just wait five seconds.”

  Sure enough, five seconds later I heard Celia whimpering, clear as the day.

  “How’d you do that?”

  “It’s one of those superhero mom gifts. Remember when we used to watch reruns of Fantasy Island and the little short guy could hear the plane before everyone else? I’m like that with kids. Crying. Pooping. Lying. I can sniff it all out five minutes before it happens.”

  “Sounds like all you need is a superhero uniform.”

  “What do you think the stretchy pants are for?”

  “Picking up hot guys while you take the kids to the park.”

  “Can you imagine the man desperate enough to pick up a mom with three kids and a five-year-old yeast infection?”

  “You know, I feel li
ke you bring up the yeast infection often enough that maybe you should get it treated one of these days.”

  Katie threw her hands into the air. “You think I haven’t tried? It might as well be a radioactive yeast infection. Cockroaches, nuclear winter, and my yeast infection… a short list of things that will still be there after World War 3.”

  “So you really have tried treating it?”

  Katie snapped me with a dishtowel. “Of course I’ve tried! Now go get my crying baby so I can clean all the snot off my shirt from where you were blubbering on me for an hour.”

  I spent the rest of the day with Katie and her kids. I didn’t want to think about Randall Mossback or Tommy Medola, and I didn’t want to let the four of them out of my sight. At one point I borrowed Katie’s phone to call the Library and speak to Granny. I asked her if everything was okay and if she’d seen anything suspicious. She asked me what was going on. I said nothing. She called me a liar. I told her I loved her. She asked me if I’d been drinking. So pretty much the usual conversation for Granny and me.

  Katie and I then took the kids to the park. The days were getting pretty short, and by the time we got there the sun was setting over Moose Mountain. The oranges and violets that spread over the horizon were beautiful. It was a perfect frame for the children in front of me, laughing and giggling as they played.

  Katie’s phone buzzed, and she looked down at it. “It’s a text from Sheriff Kramer. He wants to know if I know where you are.”

  “Well, do you?”

  Katie made a face, then typed out a response, speaking it aloud as she typed: “Hope said goodbye to me and the kids a few hours ago. Said she was going to join the circus.”

  Her phone buzzed immediately. “Seriously?”

  She shook her head and typed again: “No, Sheriff, not seriously. She’s sitting here next to me.” She rolled her eyes.

  After a moment her phone buzzed again. “He wants to know why you haven’t answered any of his texts and calls.”

  “I lost my phone.”

  “Where’d you lose your phone?”

  “Somewhere on Moose Mountain.”

  Katie gave me a look.

  “Long story.”

  She typed again. “Hope is sorry she missed your calls. She lost her phone.”