The Word of a Liar

by Beauchamp, Sally

  Mad Dog slipped into the opposite seat. “I’m surprised to find you in here, Rambo.”

  “Why? Sons of Thunder don’t own the place. A man can still get a drink where he damn well pleases, can’t he?”

  Mason’s ankle nudged the knife hidden in his boot.

  Mad Dog poured whiskey and then drank it. He leaned back. Stern-faced and eyes steady, he looked across the table at Mason.

  “I’m going to miss riding with you, Rambo. We always had a lot of fun, and I owe you a huge debt for helping me out of a very deep hole.”

  “Why did you vote me out then?”

  Mad Dog looked down, twirled his empty glass, and then met Mason’s gaze. He sighed.

  “I don’t like where you’re heading, and after what you’ve done to Ellen and JD—not to mention Desi—I’m not sure anyone can stop you. You fuck with people’s lives, Rambo, and I don’t like that. There’s no way I could stand by and allow you to drag the Sons of Thunder down, too. And there’s no way I could put my life on the line for a liar.”

  Mad Dog poured another drink. “Now you’re free to patch over to the Long Riders, and then we’ll be sworn enemies instead of trusted friends.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call you a friend.”

  Keeping his eyes on Mad Dog, Mason placed his elbows on the table and rubbed his right fist into the palm of his left hand. “You’re so worried about Ellen, but did she tell you what she did to my bike?”

  Mad Dog nodded.

  “A woman does that to a brother’s bike and you’re worried about her?” Mason shook his head and grinned. “You must be fuckin’ the bitch.”

  Mad Dog lurched forward, slamming his hands down on the table. The whiskey glasses rattled. His narrowed dark eyes burned with sudden hostility.

  “I’m going to go play some pool before I shove my fist through your teeth, you mother fucker,” Mad Dog hissed. He slid out of the booth. “The bottle’s yours. Consider it a going away present.”

  Mason watched him go into the poolroom. Remorse buried Mason’s face in his hands. He should call a cab and go home before his anger got the best of him again. A blast of cold November air made him shiver. He looked across the dimly lit bar to the entrance. Muck Eye stood in the doorway holding open the heavy oak door. He looked like a worn out traveler from a Jack London novel.

  “Close the fucking door!” Mason bellowed.

  Muck Eye released the large brass door handle. Staggering over to Mason, he fell into the seat Mad Dog had vacated.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?’ Mason growled. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to Muck Eye’s drug-induced prattle.

  The small man swayed.

  “I did a line. This shipment Jack got in is good shit. You try it, Rambo?”

  Resting his head on the back of the booth, Muck Eye closed his eyes.

  “No,” Mason answered, pouring himself a drink. “I don’t partake in the merchandise. I’m in this for the money, not to snort it up my nose.”

  Muck Eye opened his eyes. Dilated pupils and clouded blue irises made Muck Eye appear wild and fanatical. “You’ve got to try it. It’s amazing.”

  Muck Eye rocked his head across his chest like it was too heavy to hold upright and then jerked it back. He grinned.

  “Jack really likes you, Rambo. The way he brags about how hard you hustle and the money you bring in, it’s a wonder he doesn’t make you second in command.”

  “Jack’s all right. So far I haven’t had any problems with him.”

  “Just wait. The guy’s a maniac. You see this?” Muck Eye lifted his sweatshirt to expose a thick white scar right beneath his ribcage. “That’s where the bastard stabbed me. He gets in these rages, and there’s no reasoning with the son of a bitch.”

  “Why do you keep working for him?”

  “I hardly have a choice, now do I? I know too much about his operation. If I told him I wanted out, I’d be out all right—with a bullet in my head. Just like that woman.”

  Muck Eye looked at the bottle of whiskey. “Mind if I have some?”

  “Go ahead. Mad Dog bought it.”

  Muck Eye picked up the bottle, took a long drink, and then set it down.

  “Is Mad Dog here?” Muck Eye asked, glancing around the bar.

  “I’m not his mother. I don’t know where the hell he is,” Mason said, watching perspiration bead on Muck Eye’s forehead. “Why?”

  “He gives me the creeps. It’s not natural.”

  “What’s not natural, and why would Mad Dog give you the creeps? He’s always been decent to you.” Irritated he hadn’t left the bar sooner, Mason drummed his heel on the linoleum.

  “You know his wife was killed in this bar?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Do you know he was the one who found her?”

  Mason nodded.

  “Would you keep coming back to the place where you found your murdered wife? It’s not natural.”

  Mason shrugged. Muck Eye gawked at a table a few feet from the bar for so long Mason thought the drugs he’d taken had put him in a trance. “What are you looking at?”

  The color drained from Muck Eye’s face. Nervous and fidgety, the man acted like he expected the cops to burst through the door at any second. He leaned over the table and whispered.

  Mason strained to hear.

  “Mad Dog found his wife at that table. I bet if you look close, you can still see the blood stains in the floor.”

  “How do you know where her body was? Did Mad Dog tell you about it?” Mason asked, his curiosity piqued. In all the years he’d known Mad Dog, the guy hadn’t told him anything about the night he’d found his wife.

  Muck Eye shook his head and then slugged down some more whiskey. His glazed eyes fell on the table again.

  “Crazy bastard!” Muck Eye shouted.

  The few patrons in the bar turned to look.

  “What the hell is the matter with you? Keep your voice down,” Mason scolded. “You snorted too much of that shit. You’re starting to lose it.”

  “That poor woman. She didn’t know what hit her,” Muck Eye moaned.

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Mad Dog’s wife! I was there!” Muck Eye yelled and then dropped his head to his chest, shaking it from side to side. “Shit. I need a smoke. Do you have any?”

  Panic rose like bile up Mason’s throat. Surging adrenaline sped up his heart rate, prickled nerve endings, and made him sweat.

  “No.”

  Mason slumped back as the serious repercussions of their conversation registered. “You know who killed Gina?”

  Muck Eye answered in a loud excited voice, “You’re damn right I know. Jack! Jack killed her!”

  Mason jumped up and grabbed the back of Muck Eye’s neck.

  “Keep your fucking voice down,” he hissed into the man’s ear.

  Muck Eye broke down. Tears rolled down his thin, angular face. “I tried to tell him he was wrong, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  Bewildered, Mason released his hold and then sank back into the booth. He kept his voice low. “Why would Jack kill Gina?”

  “He thought she was Usher’s daughter. Don Usher was trying to expand his Chicago business up here, and Jack didn’t take to kindly to the competition. He got a tip Usher bought this bar to launder drug money and sent his daughter here to manage it. Jack decided to teach Usher a lesson.”

  Mason ran his fingers through his hair. “Jesus.”

  “I tried to stop him, Rambo!” Muck Eye wiped his wet cheeks with the back of his hand. “I told him he’d gotten it wrong, but he wouldn’t listen. I rode over here with him, trying to talk him out of it, but I couldn’t stop him.”

  Muck Eye shook his head. “Jack pried the lock on the back door. The jukebox was turned up, so she didn’t hear him until he was practically on top of her. With Jack so close and the table behind her, she was trapped.”

  Muck Eye’s chest heaved and his shoulders shook as he continued.

&
nbsp; “Jack asked her if she was Usher’s daughter as he pressed the barrel of his pistol into her forehead. Her face turned white. ‘I don’t know any Usher,’ she told him. ‘I’m Gina… Gina O’Donnell. Mad Dog is my husband. Please….’ “She started to cry. “‘Please mister,’ she begged him, ‘don’t shoot me… I have three kids.’

  “Gina was so fucking scared, she pissed herself. Jack got this disgusted look on his face.

  “‘You fucking bitch. Look what you’ve done,’ he said to her in this cold, crazy-assed voice. And then… just like that… bam! He pops her right between the eyes. She fell to the ground still holding the fucking rag she had been using to clean the tables.”

  Muck Eye dropped his head back and exhaled.

  “When we got back in the car, Jack started cleaning the blood that had splattered on him off his face and hands with one of those sanitizing wipes. Then he wiped off the barrel of his gun, stowed it in the glove compartment, and then got out of the car. He lit the soiled wipes on fire with his lighter. When he got back in he had this enormous smile on his face.

  ‘I’m really hungry, Muck Eye,’ he says. ‘Let’s go get ourselves a big, fat steak with all the trimmings, and you’re buying.’

  “I thought I was going to throw up all over his god damn fancy car’s interior.”

  Speechless, Mason shook his head.

  Muck Eye reached for the bottle of whiskey, took another long drink, and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  “Now you know what kind of a mother fucker you work for. You think you can do this until you’re rich enough: well, think again. You try to get out, and he’ll fucking kill you, Rambo. He might even go for Desi.”

  Muck Eye looked down.

  “I’ve done some terrible shit in my life, but what Jack did to that innocent woman still gnaws at me. Especially when I saw what it did to Mad Dog and his kids. They don’t have a mother now. What a fucking waste.”

  The pain in Mason’s chest made him realize how hard he’d been breathing. He felt sick to his stomach. Suddenly afraid, Mason slid out of the booth. He held on to the back of the seat, not sure if his legs would hold him.

  “Come on, Muck Eye. We need to get out of here. I’ll take you home, or you can crash at my place.”

  Muck Eye nodded and then stood. Mason threw several twenties on the table. As they turned to leave, an apparition from the dead appeared, stopping them cold.

  “Well, look who the cat dragged in,” Mad Dog said with a smile.

  Mason’s eyes darted to Muck Eye, who was even paler. He hoped Muck Eye would be able to keep it together until he got him out to the parking lot. Caught up in the story, Mason had forgotten to keep his eyes peeled for Mad Dog. He wondered if he’d overheard. Muck Eye began to retch.

  “I think you better hit the can,” Mad Dog said, eying the man with a poker face. “You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m taking him home.” Mason slipped into his jacket.

  “It’s a shame to leave good whiskey,” Mad Dog said as he reached for the bottle.

  Taking it over to the table that had provoked Muck Eye’s confession, Mad Dog called to Nick to bring him a beer and an empty glass. He sat down facing the two men. A sinister smile exposed the truth.

  Mason swallowed.

  Mad Dog had heard every word.

  CHAPTER twenty-six

  Impeccably dressed in a rich black tuxedo and white silk shirt, Jack Nelson rapped his gloved fingers on the steering wheel of his Audi RS7. Elegant diamond cufflinks sparkled at his wrists. A cashmere scarf peeked from beneath the lapels of a stylish wool overcoat.

  Doc Khoury, the president of the Long Riders, sat in the passenger seat. His Long Riders cuts layered over a worn sweatshirt, the hood of which hid half of his bull-doggish face, reeked of cigarette smoke and perspiration. His jeans, stiff with dirt, bled thawing snow, leaving dark puddles around his scuffed leather boots. Jack fumed. The big, boorish man was going to ruin the car’s expensive interior.

  Across the Creel River, lights from the paper mill shown upon the black water, casting long shadows upon the thin, fragile ice clinging to the river’s edge. A light snow fell from the cold night sky. Parked in a deserted parking lot, the two men plotted.

  Doc blew on his knuckles. “Billy’s been a hang around for the Long Riders for over a year. He told me about what happened at the Ritz because he figured it would get him in as a prospect.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Jack said and glanced over at the large barrel of a man. “Billy was playing pool with Mad Dog when he heard Muck Eye spout off about the murder?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why was Billy even in the Ritz? Isn’t that Sons of Thunder territory?”

  “He was spying on Rambo.”

  “Rambo?”

  “Yeah. He’s been sniffing around the Long Riders like he’s interested in patching over, but I heard he’s been voted out bad by Sons of Thunder. I wanted to know if it was true, so I sent Billy. No one knows him there. He played a couple of games with this Mad Dog fellow but didn’t get much out of him. But Billy did say Mad Dog was yelling at Rambo before he came over to shoot sticks.”

  Jack stared intently at Doc. This new information about Rambo was quite interesting. He wondered why Rambo’s precious motorcycle club would suddenly want to shun him.

  Doc moved restlessly in his seat.

  Jack smiled inwardly. He’d known Doc for several years, and yet the man was always nervous around him. He liked that.

  “I know the dude works for you, but I don’t trust him. Something about him rubs me the wrong way. The first time I laid eyes on him at the Alley Cat, I asked Pan Head if he’d seen the guy before, but neither of us could place him. He smells like a rat to me.”

  Jack drummed his fingers over his lips. Rambo would be looking for revenge if he’d been expelled from Sons of Thunder. That certainly played into Jack’s hand. He turned to Doc.

  “I think your imagination is getting the best of you. Rambo has been a great asset, and his lovely girlfriend has proven to be one as well. However, if your suspicions are correct, I have a plan that will prove where his loyalty lies.”

  Jack folded his hands behind his head. A wide, malignant smile spread across his clean-shaven face

  “Rambo can take care of business with Mad Dog. What better motivation than a betrayed man seeking vengeance? Rambo will be eager to do the job and I’ll offer him a half a million to boot. That ought to help him to decide.”

  Jack started the car.

  “If he kills Mad Dog, we know he’s honest. If he doesn’t, we kill them both and the problem disappears.”

  Jack straightened his overcoat.

  “What do you plan on doing with Muck Eye?” Doc asked.

  “I’m afraid Muck Eye will be going for a little swim in the Creel River. I hate to lose him. He’s been such a hard worker, but I can’t have my employees shooting their mouths off regarding my affairs. It’s bad for business.”

  Jack flicked a hair off his shoulder.

  “Well, Doc, it’s time for you to go. I’ve a Christmas charity ball to attend. Senator James is the guest of honor, so I don’t want to be late. I’ll be in touch.”

  Doc opened the car door and slid out. Jack handed him a small black pouch. “Don’t put it up your nose all at once. You need to savor it, my friend.”

  Jack grinned. Doc nodded and then closed the car door. Jack drove out of the parking lot.

  ***

  Darkness swallowed him alive. The smallest speck of light couldn’t be found. He ran but never fast enough. Ahead of him, her panic-stricken voice called his name.

  “I’m here, Gina. I’m coming for you!” he shouted.

  Silence drowned his voice and swallowed it down into the heavy black void. His heart pounded painfully, his lungs burned for want of air, and yet he kept running… running… running. But never getting anywhere.

  The scene shifted. He crept behind her through a low crawl space within the
walls of their home.

  “I’ve got to show you where I’ve put things, so you know where they are,” Gina told him.

  In a frenzy, Gina flipped up lids of boxes lining the cubbyhole. Finally, Mad Dog managed to grab her. Gina’s porcelain white skin felt cold to the touch. Something warm and sticky matted her hair. She looked at him, but it wasn’t Gina’s face. A doll’s eyes, round and unseeing, stared at him. The substance in her hair leaked out into his hand. It soaked his clothes and then he realized what is was. Blood! Gina’s blood was all over him.

  “Wake up! Wake up!”

  Gina called to wake him for work like she had done for the past twenty years. It had all been a terrible nightmare. Someone shook his arm, pulling Mad Dog out of his disturbing world of unconsciousness and back into reality.

  “Dad, wake up. You’re having another dream.”

  Mad Dog opened his eyes to see his daughters standing over him. Their frightened faces full of concern. Perspiration wet the back of his T-shirt. His heart thundered as he orientated himself to his whereabouts. He was in bed.

  “Are you all right, Dad? Were you dreaming about Mom again?” Amelia asked. She clutched the stuffed dog she had taken to bed with her since she was two. Ten years later, the thread bare toy still comforted her.

  “Yes.” He rubbed his forehead, trying to eradicate the horrifying dream. “I dreamt your mother was calling to get me up for work.”

  “Oh, Dad.” Tess sighed and then sat on the edge of the bed.

  Amelia scrambled to the other side, dove on the mattress like it was a trampoline, and then snuggled up beside him. She reached across his chest. “I think Tess and I should sleep in here tonight. Then you won’t be so lonely.”

  “Good idea! Move over, Dad,” Tess said and smiled, lifting the covers and crawling in beside her father like she was still a small child instead of a young woman.

  Mad Dog sat up and wrapped an arm around each of his daughters and then kissed the top of their heads consecutively.

  “Maybe we should have a pajama party and do each other’s hair and nails. I could use a good manicure. You girls can tell me all about the boys chasing you, so I can chase them with my shotgun.”