Hard Return

by J. Carson Black

  He shifted position. What was the man doing behind the house? He decided to get closer. His leg was beginning to fall asleep anyway. He pushed himself to his feet and walked toward the house.

  As he reached the yard, a harsh light turned right on him, blinding him.

  Like those guys who headlight deer.

  It was his last thought.

  Landry was surprised when his phone buzzed—and it wasn’t the one he was using at the time. No, it was the other one. The phone he had given his wife.

  He answered.

  He expected to hear Cindi’s voice. Or Kristal’s.

  But the voice was male. Male and scared: Todd Barclay. “I—Cindi told me I should call you, something’s happened—”

  Landry gripped the phone hard against his ear. “Kristal?”

  “No, no, but it’s . . . Oh God, oh God.” His voice trailed off in a wail.

  Disconcerting, hearing even a wuss like Barclay cry like that. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Oh God, oh God, it just happened, I thought it was a . . . I don’t know.” The man seemed to suck it up then. “I . . . shot someone.”

  “You shot someone?”

  “I heard something outside the cabin—there have been break-ins around here—and so I . . . I . . .”

  “What happened?”

  “I shot him.”

  “Him?”

  “I shot this man. I think, I think . . . I think he’s dead.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No! He was dressed all in black. He might be alive. Kristal!” he shouted. “Don’t go outside! There might be more.”

  “Why’d you call me?”

  “Because . . . I thought you’d . . . You were a spy. You’d know what to do.”

  Landry had been many things, but he was never a spy. His wife’s fiancé needed him now. Or rather, he needed the kind of person Landry was. Landry knew what he meant. Someone who killed people. Someone who made people disappear. Someone who did the dirty work. Someone dumb enough to fight for his country in a foreign land.

  “What do you want?”

  “What do I want you to do? I want you take care of it!” The last four words were part terror and part command.

  Landry thought: He thinks I’m a cleaner. Like he’s seen in the movies.

  His heart felt like a stone. A cold stone. “I’m sure you can figure it out yourself,” he said.

  He was greeted by silence.

  Then: “Please.”

  Landry had been working on forgiveness. He had been working on accepting the fact that Cindi loved this milquetoast asshole, that she had moved on, and because he loved her and knew how badly she had suffered during and after their marriage, he would accept.

  Fuck acceptance.

  “Looks like you’ve got some work to do,” Landry said before hanging up.

  CHAPTER 38

  A few minutes later, Eric shoved a phone under his hotel room door and then knocked.

  Landry called Eric back.

  “Meet me in the lobby?”

  “Yeah.”

  Landry was ready to go. He shouldered his duffle and met Eric by the potted palm.

  “Car’s outside,” Eric said.

  The drive to Big Bear Lake seemed to go on forever, even though Eric was making good time.

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “My wife and daughter.”

  “Yeah. What I thought. You don’t want them mixed up in that.”

  Landry nodded. He leaned against the window on the passenger side, watching the headlights stream toward them as they headed up into the pass. Todd Barclay could go to prison for life for all he cared, but he had to think about Cindi and Kristal.

  He had always protected his girls and he always would.

  Maybe these days a man wasn’t supposed to call his wife and daughter—let alone a soon-to-be ex-wife and daughter—“his girls,” but that was the way he’d always seen them. They belonged to him. It went both ways: he belonged to them, too.

  So now Toddy Boy had gotten himself into a mess, and it wouldn’t just be a mess for him, but for Cindi and Kristal. There had already been news vans parked out in front of her house. Now what would that look like? He could see the story, the insinuation that she was a married woman (now that he was alive), that she was shacking up at Big Bear Lake. That she was having too much fun for a woman whose daughter’s boyfriend had been shot to death.

  Maybe none of that would happen, but Todd Barclay had been right about one thing: he was the expert.

  And so he had called Barclay back. “Don’t touch anything,” he’d instructed a very grateful Todd.

  “Have to figure out how to get rid of this guy,” Landry said now.

  “Yeah,” Eric said. “His vehicle, too.”

  At Big Bear, they parked by an empty cottage up the road, checked their weapons, and shouldered their duffles and hiked in. They split up—Eric melting into the forest.

  Unspoken between them: if Eric found a body in the forest, he would take measures to hide him. Didn’t have to talk about it, either. It was SOP—standard operating procedure.

  Barclay was standing on the porch of his cabin, his face fright-wig white.

  “Where is he?” Landry called up. Wishing he didn’t even have to talk to the creep.

  He pointed behind Landry. “Down that hill, down near the creek. I can go with you, if you want me to.”

  “No thanks,” Landry said. “First I’d like to see Cindi and Kristal.”

  Todd backed up inside the door, held it open. “Sure. Thanks for doing this, Cyril.”

  Cyril said, “You can call me Mr. Landry.”

  Todd had the grace to look chastened. “I’m going to head back over there. Maybe there’s something I can do.”

  “If you wait I can go with you.”

  “No, that’s okay, maybe I was wrong and he’s not dead.”

  “Don’t touch anything.”

  “I won’t. Maybe he’s okay, though. I should probably stay with him. If you call out, I can signal you with my flashlight.”

  Don’t strain yourself.

  Landry went inside.

  His wife and daughter were sitting on the couch, both of them leaning forward. Cindi propping her chin on her hand, Kristal’s hands slid down between her knees and clasped. She wore perhaps the shortest skirt ever known to man—but she didn’t look the least flirtatious. Her mascara had run.

  His baby wore mascara. Of course he knew that. But she looked even more vulnerable with the dark stains under her eyes. When she saw him she launched off the couch and into his arms.

  He closed his eyes and breathed her in. Felt the warmth of her against him rise up into his chest. He felt contentment. She was pressed against him; she called him “Daddy.” “He could have killed us, Daddy.”

  “The man?” Landry asked.

  “I didn’t see him, but you’re here now.”

  You’re here now.

  Warmth spread through him. He was here now, with his girls.

  For now, for a little while, they were still his girls.

  First thing to do was secure the cabin, make sure they were safe, just in case the man Todd shot had a friend. “You know the drill. Stick together, stay away from windows, and stay down.”

  “Bathroom?” Cindi said.

  “Better safe than sorry. Lock yourselves in. Cindi, you have your Glock, right?”

  Cindi nodded.

  “Remember to—”

  “Shoot to kill. I know. Center mass.”

  “What about the garage? Is the rolldown door the only opening?”

  Cindi nodded.

  “Where’s the door opener? In case we have to make a quick getaway?”

  Cindi went to a kitch
en drawer and produced it.

  Her fingertips touched his, and for a moment he lost his place in the world. She pulled back, faced away from him.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to check out the garage and the rest of the house. Stay down and away from the wind—”

  “—windows. We know, Dad,” Kristal said.

  Just hearing her say “Dad” nearly undid him. He drew his weapon and headed into the short hallway. Checked the bathroom. The window was too small to crawl through—either in or out—so that was neither a help nor a hindrance.

  He took the door from the little kitchen into the garage.

  It was dark.

  He flicked on the light, and donned latex gloves.

  It was a two-car garage, spacious. Almost as big as the cabin it was attached to—it had clearly been an add-on.

  Framed photographs hung on the walls at intervals—all of them of one plane or another. A Cessna Stationair, some kind of commuter plane he did not recognize, and helicopters. One of them, a Chinook in Iraq. Landry was pretty sure it was Iraq. Looked like it.

  It seemed like an eclectic collection.

  A Chinook in Iraq.

  Cindi’s SUV was closest to him.

  He checked the door switch to see how it raised. Raised it about two feet and then lowered it.

  Walked around the SUV, his shoes gritting on the pavement.

  The other car was under a cover.

  Interesting—why cover it inside a garage? He knew guys who did that. Guys who prized their cars, treated them like newly laid eggs.

  He registered the shape under the car cover. Distinctive. A muscle car. He was pretty sure he knew what kind of car it was.

  He reached down and pulled up the side of the cover over the front wheel well.

  Felt it in his stomach, that feeling. Like something had crawled up in there. Excitement and just a thrill of recognition.

  Pulled the cover back farther.

  You’d think he would be surprised. But he wasn’t, not surprised at all, to be looking at a 2014 black Camaro SS—

  At that moment, from inside the house, he heard Cindi scream.

  CHAPTER 39

  Rifle in hand, Landry stepped out of the short hallway to the living area.

  Todd Barclay stood in the center of the room. Kristal was locked into a half nelson. He pressed a SIG Sauer nine-millimeter hard into her cheek. “Stay back!” he shouted. “Or I’ll blow her brains all over the ceiling.”

  Landry lowered the rifle slowly.

  “Set it on the floor and push it my way,” Todd said.

  Landry shoved it with the toe of his boot.

  “Do you know who I am?” Todd said.

  “No.”

  “You really don’t, do you? Well—I’m your worst nightmare.”

  It was hard to respect someone who used a line like that.

  But he needed to take Barclay seriously. He’d put the man in a little box—passed him off as a mild-mannered accountant.

  Todd was talking. “You sure you don’t know who I am? Don’t see a family resemblance maybe?”

  Landry was mystified. Then he thought of the photographs of the planes, the helicopter.

  The Chinook. Barclay was former military. Landry needed to keep talking. Keep him engaged. “We’ve met?”

  The guy looked incredulous. His incredulity quickly turned to anger. “You don’t remember what happened in Florida?”

  “You’re going to have to clue me in.” He kept calm. The man was agitated, seething. Angry men made mistakes.

  Barclay jerked hard on Kristal’s throat, crushing the flesh under her chin. Landry looked at her, trying to convey calm. He looked at Cindi, too. She had both hands around her weapon, but it was pointed down. Uncertain what to do, with her daughter held at gunpoint. Barclay saw the gun and bellowed, “Drop it, Cindi! I’m on a hair trigger here!”

  Landry caught her eyes and nodded.

  She dropped it.

  “Kick it away.”

  She did.

  “Get around me so I can see you. Go sit on the couch.” Added with true loathing— “Honey.” Looked back at Landry. “You don’t know who I am, okay, that’s fair. We were only introduced once, and we were all busy that day. I was just another helo pilot to you. How many helo pilots have you spoken to over the years? Ten? Twenty? Thirty? All those missions in Iraq and Afghanistan?”

  Landry said, “Want to get to the point?”

  “Oh, yeah. The point. Fuck you, asshole. Here’s the point. Ever heard of Peters, Jackson, Davis, and Green? That ring any kind of bell?”

  Landry remembered his former team members well. He had killed them in a well-planned ambush at the safe house in Port Saint Joe, Florida. “Which one?”

  “Guess.”

  Guess? Seriously? “If whoever it was meant something to you, don’t you think we should stop with the games?”

  “Oh, yeah, your family. That’s what’s important. Your daughter. Wish my guy had shot her when he had the chance.”

  Landry heard his wife gasp. He looked past Barclay to Cindi, and shook his head.

  “You understand now? I hired the guy who shot up the school. Cindi!” Barclay yelled. “Get around here so I can see you better!”

  She did.

  “Who do you think took your wife and daughter?”

  Landry said nothing. He looked at his wife, trying to tell her with his eyes: Don’t react. Don’t give anything away. I’m here.

  I’m here.

  She nodded. It was so small you’d miss it, normally. She kept her eyes on him. Kristal kept her eyes on him, too.

  Landry knew from having a gun pressed to his own temple—on three separate occasions—that fear was not a maintainable emotion. At first you were terrified. The fear would spread through you like wildfire, blotting out all thought. You were going to die. You were at the edge of the darkness, and you were going to die.

  But the longer the gun was pressed to your head, the more stray thoughts wandered in. Thoughts like: I’m still here. Thoughts like: How can I get out of this? And the adrenaline backed off a little, the blood moved back out to the extremities, the heartbeat slowed. The human body was mostly hopeful. Still alive, still alive, as long as I’m here there has to be a way out.

  Landry had known this feeling often enough to recognize it in his wife and daughter. And in himself.

  He knew the man wanted to talk. He wanted to gloat, he wanted to tell his side of the story, because he’d never had the chance before.

  So if the guy wanted to vent, to tell him the story, to tell him how he had been screwed over by one Cyril Landry, what was the harm? It would buy them time. Barclay—if that was his name—wanted to share the injustice of it. He wanted to kill Landry, yes, but first, he wanted to tell him why.

  “I am afraid I don’t remember,” Landry said softly. “Maybe you could remind me?”

  “God damn you to hell!” Barclay screamed. “I should shoot you right now.”

  Landry held his hands up slightly, in the universal gesture of surrender. He felt as if he were in a TV western, might as well go through the motions. “Maybe you can tell me,” he said.

  “Peters, Davis, Jackson, and Green!” Barclay yelled. “What you did to them!”

  Green.

  Now he remembered. It wasn’t his best moment. In fact, it had been one of his worst. He had planned to dispatch the blond kid with an icepick to the base of his skull. Death would be instantaneous—he would have felt no pain.

  But it hadn’t worked out that way. The icepick had slipped. The kid had fought him. It was ugly. He had died badly.

  Landry said nothing.

  “He suffered!” Barclay shouted. “He suffered like she’s going to suffer!” He pushed harder at Kristal’s cheek, pinching the skin with
the sight of his handgun.

  Landry said, “So this was the plan? To get to know my wife and daughter, hoping that they would lead you to me?”

  The man was shaking. His anger getting the better of him. That was good for Landry. But it was bad for Kristal because angry people did stupid things.

  Landry needed to give the man what he wanted. If confession was good for the soul, then airing grievances was even better. And taking credit for something clever was even better than that. Landry said, “How did you know I was alive?”

  “I didn’t. Not for sure.”

  “But you guessed.”

  “Oh, it was more than a guess. Let’s call it an educated guess.”

  Good, if all went well, the man would launch into an explanation. If that happened, he would concentrate more on telling his story, airing that grievance, boasting about his smarts, than on holding the gun to Landry’s daughter’s head. Landry could see that the muzzle wasn’t pressed so hard against her cheek.

  “How’d you know?” Landry asked. He tried to sound puzzled, incredulous, and dismayed all at once.

  “Simple. I saw you.”

  “You saw me? Where?”

  “That day off Cape San Blas. I saw you swimming.”

  “You couldn’t have. You couldn’t have flown in that weather.”

  “But I did. You must have noticed. That sound of rotors you heard right above you? Come on, don’t lie to me.”

  “Nobody could fly through that,” Landry said.

  “I could. I had to get out of there, sure, it was a cat-2 storm—but I spotted you swimming. I knew you’d survive to live another day.”

  “You couldn’t be sure. I swam all night.”

  “You know the old saying. ‘Never assume a SEAL is dead until you see his body.’ No, I didn’t know for sure you were alive, but it was worth a try. When you lose everything, when you lose your little brother to an animal like you? I figured it was worth a damn try.”

  “You hired someone to shoot the school up just to get me?”

  “Damn right I did.” He smiled serenely. He thought he held all the cards. “And look what happened.”

  Landry became aware that the crickets had stopped chirping. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the side window. It was dark—black almost—but there was something darker there. The side window was out of Barclay’s line of sight, because Barclay was concentrating on him.