Cain's Cross

by Dale Mayer

  He knew as he arrived, it would be the father. Cain crept in and took a look, only to see that the old man had a bullet in his forehead. He had a gun in his hand, but it was a long shotgun. It wasn’t the one Morgan had used to shoot at them earlier, before they’d found Petra’s sister, nor was it one he had used to kill himself. To have done it himself would have taken a handgun; that shotgun could not have done the job. He suspected Tristan was the killer once again. But Cain still saw no sign of him right now. He was somewhere in this house, and Cain had to find him—before the tables were turned.

  He slipped from the room and made it to the hallway, when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Swearing silently, he disappeared down the hallway to where he thought he could stay under cover and out of sight.

  Tristan walked into the office, snorting at the old man. “Son of a bitch wasn’t good for anything anyway,” he muttered. He opened a bunch of drawers, taking stuff out, but Cain couldn’t see what it was. He just heard the sounds of things being removed and slapped down on top of the desk.

  “All you had to do was keep that damn journal safe. That’s all we asked of you,” he muttered. “You could have kept the house. You could have kept everything. It’s not like anybody wants to live in this godforsaken town anyway.”

  Cain crept up closer, only to see that Tristan had two handguns placed on the desk.

  “He’ll be here any minute, you know? I want some of this paperwork upstairs, so I can talk to him. And I’ve got to get rid of the one guy first.”

  He talked in a conversational tone, as if his father were sitting there, listening to him. His father was a long time away from listening to him.

  “What the hell did you do with that shit anyway? I’ve been looking everywhere for it. Be typical of you to go hide it, just to make my life fucking difficult,” he snapped in an ugly tone. “If you weren’t dead, I’d fucking kill you again right now. Where the hell did you put it?” And then he straightened and said, “I don’t have time for this right now.”

  He stormed from the office and headed back upstairs. As he was halfway up the stairs, he stopped at the landing and looked out through the window. “Still not here. Fucking asshole, nobody can ever get here on time either.”

  Unsure who Tristan was talking about, whether Cain or somebody else that Tristan was looking for, Cain stayed very still. As soon as Tristan was upstairs, Cain listened to hear the sound of his footsteps going down the hallway.

  Cain hopped up on the railing and went up, hand over hand, foot over foot. He moved up without touching any of the stairs that squeaked, knowing that would alert the man that a predator was on the way.

  Once he was upstairs, he hopped off the railing silently, then slipped into the same bedroom where Petra’s sister had been killed. He stood here for a long moment, looked around, then walked to the closet where the weapons had been kept in the room, hoping that Tristan had left it all here and that the cops hadn’t found the true stash. They should have, but he opened the doors and smiled because it was all still here. They had removed the weapons in the front section but hadn’t found the false walls, revealing the real arsenal.

  He quickly snatched two handguns, checked them, and almost purred with joy when he found they were fully loaded. He stuck one in his belt in back and took the other one in his hand, then picked up a small one and slipped it into his boot.

  Just then, he heard yelling at the other end of the hallway. He listened, wondering if the expected company had arrived. He walked to the doorway, his ear against the slightly open door to hear Tristan yelling at someone.

  “You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago,” he said. “You know I’ll get set up over this. No way I’m going down without taking you with me.”

  Cain listened and thought about the implications of his words. Tristan most likely expected somebody to come help him deal with Cain and Eton.

  As Cain listened, Tristan was once again yelling. “I’ll just kill this one,” he said, “then I don’t have to worry about him. If you won’t be here to give me a hand, then I don’t need you either,” he said. Hearing no audible response, Cain assumed Tristan was talking on the phone.

  Taking the chance, he moved forward a little into the hallway. Just then he heard footsteps coming up the front porch and the front door opening. He dashed into the large bathroom on the side and listened as somebody talking into a phone raced up the stairs.

  “I’m right fucking here. I told you that I was coming.”

  Cain looked out, and, sure enough, it was Petra’s uncle. Cain stared in surprise, wondering when the hell this sudden change was done to the equation.

  Just then the door at the other end opened, and Tristan said, “There you are. I told you that you’re only getting paid if you help me get through this.”

  “You should have gotten some of your other guys,” he said. “This isn’t my field.”

  “I don’t give a shit if it’s your field or not,” he snapped. “Did you bring some weapons?”

  “I don’t do weapons. I told you that,” Pedro said in whining tones.

  “Right,” he said. “Why am I not surprised? Well, you better stand watch at the front and let me know if he comes.”

  “We saw them this morning,” he said.

  “When?”

  “They came to talk to my wife.”

  He snorted. “Why would anybody want to talk to her?” He sneered. “Talk about a major loser.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s the same answer as always. She is my wife.”

  “It’s ridiculous, Pedro,” he said. “You should have taken my father’s offer a long time ago and deep-sixed that witch.”

  “I couldn’t,” he said.

  “Whatever. Finish this job with me, and then you’ll get paid.”

  “That’s what you said last time. She told me that I shouldn’t do any more work for you until you paid me for the last job.”

  “You should be paying me for helping you take out your brother-in-law,” he said. “You’ve been wanting to do that forever.”

  “But we couldn’t because we needed the money he got us monthly. Besides, you were supposed to pay us enough that we didn’t have to kill him.”

  “Whatever,” he said. “That wife of yours can’t live within her means, no matter how much it is. You would have been better off getting rid of her a long time ago.”

  “I loved her.”

  “Well, you don’t now,” he said. “After you get the money, you better go take her out too. It’s the only way you’ll ever be free.”

  “I know,” he said, “but I can’t let her know that.”

  “Nope. You can even have the house and everything you want here. It’ll be a mess to clean up but—”

  “You’re always talking like that,” he cut in, “but I never actually get anything.”

  “That’s not my fault,” he said. “Blame that on your useless wife. Get rid of her and then …”

  There was more talk, but it was in low tones, and Cain couldn’t make out all the words.

  Cain had listened, shocked as they made arrangements to first kill Eton, then deal with Cain, and finally take out Migi, Pedro’s own wife.

  So much for love. Cain might understand the sentiment, given the woman involved, but it was hardly the way to go. And now he had an extra person to deal with, though Cain didn’t know just what kind of an element the uncle would be in this scenario. Pedro had already fooled Cain once. The last thing he wanted to do was get fooled a second time. But now he was up against Tristan too. Normally that wasn’t an issue, but he had to shake him out of the room in order to access him.

  “Go, go, go,” Tristan said. “Get down there and watch that front door.”

  Cain waited as the footsteps of the uncle went down past the doorway Cain was behind. He poked his head out to check, but the door of the room Tristan was in was nearly closed. Cain silently walked up behind the uncle, immediately snapped an arm around his neck
in a chokehold, slapped a hand over his mouth, dragging him into the bedroom where the girl had been shot.

  There he knocked him out and quickly grabbed handcuffs from the weapons room. Soon he had the man tied up, a bandanna stuffed in his mouth, and, shoving him under the bed, left him there. Cain briefly wondered what kind of mess might be under that bed, but he wasn’t too bothered because, of all the things in life that he cared about, this guy was not it. But he didn’t want to kill him either, figuring Petra would want justice first.

  And then, with that, Cain stepped out and slowly made his way along the hallway to the end. As soon as he got up to the almost closed door, he listened intently, but there was not a sound. So, either Tristan was waiting for him to make a move, or he was just sitting there, pondering life. Ignoring the asshole was hard to do.

  Cain knew he just had to time his approach to make sure he had the element of surprise.

  A phone rang inside, and he hoped it was Tristan’s and not Eton’s. Tristan answered it. Only hearing half of the conversation still gave Cain enough to sort it out.

  “I know,” he said. “It’ll be over in ten minutes.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll take out the old man too. And leave the aunt. I’ll do that on my own,” he said. “That woman is a fucking bitch.” He paused. “Half an hour out, bring the wheels around. I want to get out of this shithole and the sooner, the better.” Again he stopped to hear the person on the other end. “No, I’ve got one. I haven’t seen the other one yet. He’s on his way, I’m sure.”

  Tristan groaned. “I told you that I’ve got it handled. You can always count on me. You know that. We got a bunch of them. Chico took care of a couple them, including Bullard. I’ve got the two here. We’ll take them out,” he said. “Then it’s to you.” Tristan went silent again, listening to his caller.

  “You taking out the next ones on your own? Or have you got somebody to do a hit-and-run?” he asked. “Sorry, not my business, I get it. Not my problem either. This is what I agreed to do. The money’s already been transferred, right?”

  Chapter 14

  Petra hunkered down low under the trees and waited. Her heart slammed against her chest, and she just knew something was wrong. Besides the fact that Eton was in there. She thought she’d heard voices, but it was so damn hard to hear out here. It was another hot day, while evening approached. She was used to those, but it certainly wasn’t something that she needed right now. She could almost feel beads of sweat rolling down her back, and she wasn’t sure if that was nervous tension or just the weather.

  She buried her face against her knees and wrapped her arms tightly around them, squeezing as hard as she could just to ease some of the tension. This was not where she expected to be at this point in her life. She had been so buried, trying to deal with her father and to keep up his care and, when she had free time, to work on whatever was going wrong in his system. She hadn’t had a chance to look forward at all.

  Her father had been young enough and could have gone on twenty years in that condition, until apparently her aunt and uncle had taken him out. And didn’t that just set Petra’s nerves on edge and bring up so many questions about their relationship. And about her mother. Did they have something to do with that death too? Petra really didn’t want to think it, but, if they had done this much, why wouldn’t they? They could have caused the fire that killed her grandparents as well, plus killed her mother and now her father. And Cain was right. If they’d already killed once, or potentially two or three times, taking Petra out wouldn’t be a big issue at all. And, if Chico and Tristan had anything to do with this nightmare, well, anything was possible.

  Petra lifted her head and looked around. She thought she heard something, but, under this olive tree, she was really struggling to hear anything. And it seemed like a great place to hide, but, at the same time, it distorted the sounds—noises that were particularly disruptive to her peace of mind. The last thing she needed was to get caught, just adding to the complications that Cain was no doubt dealing with.

  The minute she thought about that, she wondered if she should get out of here. He had told her to hunker down and to stay hidden, but she felt something odd. She twisted suddenly, looking behind her, and almost cried out when she saw the handgun pointing directly at her. She threw herself off to the side, when feminine laughter rolled over her.

  “Do you really think you’ll avoid a bullet just by dodging it?” Her aunt sneered. “Get out of there,” she said. “I want you to stand up and face me, when I pull this trigger.”

  Not knowing what else to do, Petra slowly pulled herself up from the undergrowth of the trees and stared in shock at her aunt. “Why?” she asked. “What is this all about?”

  “We’re just done,” her aunt said, with a hard shrug. “We’re so done. With you, your family, the whole mess. Even after everything we’ve done, you will still end up with all the money.”

  “What money?” she asked.

  Migi just shook her head. “As if you don’t know.”

  “I don’t know very much, no, because none of this makes any sense.”

  “Our parents left everything to your mother, instead of sharing it with both daughters, and then your mother left everything to your father. Now, everything’s been left to you. But I also know that, when you go, we’re the last of the family,” she said. “Now that your sister’s dead of course. That was most convenient.”

  “Hardly convenient for her,” Petra said, stiffening in outrage against her aunt. “So all of this—it’s just about money?”

  “Without money, there is nothing,” she said. “Try not having any just once and see what it’s like to put food on the table and to pay the bills.”

  “And yet you could have gotten jobs,” she said.

  “We tried,” she said. “Do you think we didn’t try? What do you think we are?”

  She didn’t even dare respond to that. “So you’ll just shoot me right here?” she said. “Don’t you think that’ll be a little suspicious?”

  “I doubt it,” she said. “So much is going on right now already. Besides, Tristan’s a piece of shit. He got my husband into so much trouble.” She sneered. “Anything that makes trouble for him is perfect.”

  “Are you telling me my uncle was working for Tristan?” She gasped in horror, as her aunt remained silent. “Oh, my God, did he know about my sister?”

  “No, neither of us knew about her,” she said. “That’s just disgusting. To think of that mouthy little brat’s body up there, rotting away on the bedding like that, that’s just gross.”

  Petra didn’t know what to think about the words spewing from her aunt’s mouth. So much disgust and hatred. “How long have you hated us?” she asked. “Forever?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “I was engaged to your father, you know.”

  At that, Petra stopped, her hand going to her chest.

  Her aunt nodded. “I was engaged to be married to him,” she said, her voice swelling with fury. “Then my sister came home from overseas, where she’d been traveling with friends. She and your father took one look at each other, and that was it. Love at first sight.” She sniffed at that. “He broke up with me, hooked up with her, and they were married within sixty days. Sixty days!” she yelled.

  “The only good thing was they didn’t choose my same wedding day,” she said, “but how do you think I felt, watching them year after year?” She continued, “When she finally died after giving birth, I was overjoyed. I figured he’d turn to me, and I could get rid of my husband at that point. But he didn’t. Instead he did that ‘there’s only one love in my life forever’ bullshit,” she snapped. “And he would never have another relationship because of the memory of my perfect sister,” she said. “I’ve hated all of you. But not him. I hate what he did to me, but I could never hate him.”

  Seeing the look on Petra’s face, she continued, “When you love, you really love. At least I did. That he tossed my love in the dirt—not once, but t
wice—hurt me more than I could ever say. But, as much as I wanted to hate him, I never could.”

  “And yet you didn’t want to look after him,” Petra said quietly.

  “No, of course not. I didn’t want to see him like that. It hurt. And he was so pathetic. It was just impossible to deal with on a day-to-day basis. All I could think of was all the things that could have been.”

  “Wasn’t it you who made him like that?” she asked quietly.

  Her aunt stared at her in shock. “No,” she said, “not at all.”

  “Are you sure? Didn’t you try to poison him or give him something that caused him to have a heart attack in the kitchen that day?”

  “No,” she said, “that plate was for my husband. He was the one who was supposed to die.”

  “My God,” Petra said, shaking her head and taking a half step back.

  Her aunt waved the handgun in her direction. “But the idiot switched plates. He wasn’t supposed to do that, but he did. I don’t think he knew about it. He got a little bit of food poisoning from it, but your father took the brunt of it.”

  “Jesus,” she whispered.

  “Besides, your uncle has become useful in the last little bit.”

  “In what way?” Petra asked, with a nod toward the house. “This?”

  “To a certain extent, yes,” she said. “His jobs with Tristan have given us a little bit more money.”

  Everything the woman said seemed to be about money, and it was driving Petra crazy. “There’s a lot more to life than money,” she said quietly.

  “You’re young,” her aunt replied. “You still believe in romance and happily ever after. It’s all bullshit,” she snapped. “I had it, and it was taken away.”