Criminal

by Terra Elan McVoy

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Acknowledgments

  About Terra Elan Mcvoy

  For my Spark

  I’D BEEN DREAMING I WAS BEING CHASED BY A GIANT PIT bull. It was barking, and then it opened its mouth and I heard Doooom. Doooom. Dooom. Dooom, the bass beat sound Dee’s phone makes. It was ringing somewhere on the floor, under our clothes. My eyes opened as he leaned off the narrow futon to answer it. We hadn’t been touching because he can’t sleep with anyone touching him. But I could still feel him moving away.

  “We have to go,” he told me when he hung up. He hadn’t said much into the phone.

  I watched the stretch of his ribs as he pulled last night’s T-shirt over his head. The tattoo on his bronze chest disappeared: N—for Nikki—surrounded by swirling angels’ wings. I smiled, seeing it. Thinking of my lips on it last night.

  “Get up.” He didn’t look at me.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Get some clothes on.” He walked out of the room. To the kitchen, or to find whatever narrow scrap of joint was left in the ashtray from last night.

  I heard him muttering to Bird and her muttering back. Both of them low, short. I lay there hoping that Dee would say something to Bird about where we were going, what the phone call was about, but really I knew that hoping Dee and Bird would talk much to each other was like hoping the last scratch-off number on your ticket would reveal you’d won the whole $25,000 pot.

  I kicked the blanket off and reached for whatever pair of shorts lay handy. I didn’t know where we were headed, but wherever Dee needed me to be, I was going to go.

  “I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY THE POLICE WANT TO TALK TO you,” I said to him once we were in the truck and he told me where we were going.

  He just glared.

  “I mean,” I tried again, “how did they know to call you so fast?”

  “It doesn’t matter why,” he said, working the tight muscle of his jaw. “What matters is what the fuck I’m going to say.”

  I tried to calm down my breathing, to think. Jesus. The police already? “Well . . . We were at Bird’s yesterday. I mean, what else can we say?”

  “We need a story, Nikki. Okay? What about after work Friday?” He was staring hard at the road, trying to burn it up with his brown-black eyeballs.

  “You picked me up. Everyone saw you.”

  “And then?”

  “The truth. We got beer. At the corner. We partied, slept over.”

  “We can’t tell the police that.”

  For a second I didn’t get it. Dee’s almost twenty-one, but he’s been buying me beer with his fake ID since we started going out the first time. October.

  “But doesn’t that make it more, I don’t know, real? That you’re being honest?”

  He nodded just barely. “I’ll think about it. What else?”

  “Um, you spent the night and then—”

  “Then I went to the gym.”

  “You went to the gym on Saturday morning like you always do.”

  He probably wouldn’t tell the police how we’d also done it that morning: hot, ferocious, hard. And then again, in the back of Bird’s car, after what happened. It wasn’t their business. Dee didn’t like to talk about that stuff anyway. But the thought of it still made me reach out, put my hand on his hard, narrow thigh. I didn’t move my hand away even when I felt him tensing under my touch.

  The next part was tricky. “Then you came back, and we . . . went to get sandwiches?”

  His eyes flicked over to me for just a second. “Where?”

  “Um—McDonald’s. Or, no. Tell them the QT.”

  “The one up the street?”

  “Yes, the one at the street.”

  “We hung out.”

  “We didn’t go anywhere.”

  “Until we had to go get dinner,” he said.

  “Right. The chicken. I forgot. And more beer.”

  “We slept late this morning.”

  “At Bird’s.” I nodded.

  “My phone rang.”

  “Your phone rang. It was your brother, telling you the police were looking for you. And we left right away.”

  His jaw, thigh, wrist on the steering wheel, everything was still tense. But he finally looked at me then. Really looked.

  I WENT IN WITH HIM, SITTING IN THE WAITING ROOM, IN case—he told me—they wanted to ask me questions, too. There was no way I wanted to talk to the cops, or anyone, about yesterday, but the way Dee said it, I knew I had no choice. I spent the whole time staring at the floor, trying to slow down the red-swirling curls of panic behind my eyes. Nobody wanted to talk to me, though. Even though it took an unbearably long time, when Dee finally came out, he had that Don’t fuck with me expression on his face. For the cops and me both.

  We got in the truck without talking. I had questions—what he said to them, what if they wanted to know more, what I should do with the wigs and clothes, what was going to happen next—but he wouldn’t even look at me, so I knew to keep my mouth shut. He turned the stereo on, loud. Drove fast. He wouldn’t answer if I did ask, anyway. Just pretend he hadn’t heard. Or, not even.

  When we got to Bird’s, I wanted him to come in, explain how they knew to look for him so fast at least, not to mention why we went out to that house, what even really had happened, but he didn’t even unbuckle his seat belt.

  “Dee?”

  “Go in and get the stuff.”

  “What are—”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “Where are you going to take them?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “That wig was expensive. The red one.”

  He turned to me, slow. Flat expression, like a snake.

  The wrong thing for me to say. “Okay. You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “I need you to do a little more of that,” he said.

  Which made me snap. “How can I when I don’t even know what to think? When you won’t even tell me what really went on with those gunshots, and—”

  “You know what?” he growled. “You’re right. You don’t need to think. What you nee
d to do is shut up and just sit tight. Do what I tell you.”

  “Dee, I just . . . I mean, this is crazy. And I need some—”

  “Look, I’ve got some things to do. I told them where we were, okay? Just like we went over. They won’t need to know anything else.”

  He was already far away from here. But I needed him to stay a little longer.

  “But what if they come and—”

  “What if I put my fist straight through that mouth of yours, crush your pipes so you can’t talk any more, huh? What if that? Okay? I said I would handle it. It’s handled. You don’t have nothing to worry about. Nobody knows what happened. I made sure. Now go get what I asked you.”

  He wasn’t going to hit me or anything, but I got out anyway. When he was fierce like this, it was better to just disappear. Eventually he’d quiet down. He always did. And after, he was always sorry. Always wanting. And he needed me to understand this about him. I was the only one who did.

  Inside the house, Bird was in the kitchen, mouth full of pins, pinching together white satin along the waist of her friend, Kenyetta. Kenyetta was finally getting married next month, and Bird was so excited she was altering her dress for free. I said hey to both of them as I walked past and went into the back room where I stayed. Last night Dee had thrown the bag with his guns, wigs, everything into the big wood-patterned cardboard thing I used as a closet. You were supposed to hang your clothes on this rod across the front, but it slipped out if you hung too much on it. Most of my stuff was in a pile at the bottom. But Dee hadn’t bothered to hide that bag under anything. He just put it there, right on top.

  Holding it, I thought for a brief moment about getting the red wig out. Maybe Bird and I could wash it somehow, get rid of any trace of him. It was pretty. And like I said, it had cost a lot. But I wouldn’t have anywhere else to keep it except here. If I took it down the street to my momma’s, she would just find it and wear it, and that could be a disaster. But more than that, I didn’t want Bird connected with what we’d done. Dee said they wouldn’t, but if they came here and somehow knew he’d had it on . . . I didn’t want to picture what. Even if I wasn’t supposed to think too much, I knew enough to know I needed to get all of this as far away from us as possible. I didn’t want to open the bag anyway. I didn’t even want to touch it.

  Dee was more himself when I handed it to him through the driver’s side window.

  “I’ll call you, okay?” he said.

  “When?”

  “Later. And everything’s going to be fine. Don’t worry. I’m glad you came with me. It helped, talking it through.”

  I couldn’t help it. Smiling just a little. Knowing I was helping him.

  “Okay.” He nodded toward the bag on the seat next to him.

  “All right, then. But really, when will I hear from you? Tonight?”

  “Maybe. But, you know, it’s not a good idea for you to call me.”

  I wanted to ask why not, but he was starting the truck up again, so I just stepped back. His face was apologetic. He really had calmed down. Before he backed out, he leaned out the window a little and tapped his finger against his lips. I moved in and kissed him—a peck at first, but then more. Like we were swapping strength. Strength to prepare us for whatever was coming next. When I opened my eyes, he was smiling at me.

  “You do what I need you to do, baby. And I know that. Okay? And nobody’s going to ask nothing else, I promise.”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you, girl. We’ll talk soon.”

  Those words moving across his lips made everything turn gold. The insanity and fear of yesterday, of this morning at the police station—it faded into the background.

  “Love you too.”

  He left. I stood at the end of the driveway and watched the black end of his truck until I couldn’t see it anymore. Nobody was going to ask any more questions. Dee was going to get rid of the bag and everything inside. In a few days this would all be out of both of our minds. I hadn’t seen much of anything anyway. We were going to be safe.

  • • • •

  The house was dim inside, compared to the bright summer sun, and it took my eyes a minute to adjust. In the blinking switch over from outdoors to indoors, my vision was filled with Dee, running toward the Mustang yesterday. How . . . sexy and strange he looked. Running to me. And now he needed me to be strong and to help him. I was the only one—the only one—who he trusted.

  “Everything okay?” Bird called to me from the kitchen.

  I went in, said hey to her and Kenyetta, and scooped Jamelee out of her playpen.

  “Just some errands we had to run.” I lifted the baby over my head and bounced her, making her giggle. Mostly I was doing this so I wouldn’t have to look at Bird, because she would know I was lying. “You want any lunch?”

  “Girl, please,” Kenyetta said from under Bird’s hands. “Tyson on some crazy caveman diet before the wedding. Eating nothing but nuts and fruit. Plain steak. I need some carbs and mayonnaise, honey.”

  “We don’t want to get you too fat,” Bird teased, pinching Kenyetta’s broomstick arm. To me she said, “We got about twenty more minutes here,” before she frowned back at the dress.

  I put Jamelee back in her playpen and went around to open Bird’s cabinets. I took out some cans of tuna and Duke’s mayo while Kenyetta and Bird got back to gossiping together. The sound of their laughing and jeering, mixed with Jamelee’s squeals and gurgles, made me feel even calmer than kissing Dee had. Filling the kitchen with the smell of toasting bread was nicer still. Normal. I took a can of fancy green beans out of the pantry and threw those into a pan too, after chopping up a little onion and cooking it in some oil. By the time I was sprinkling pepper flakes on the beans and serving up plates, I was feeling more myself. I thought, when Kenyetta left, I’d ask Bird to show me what she’d bought yesterday on her trip to the outlets. We could maybe dress Jamelee up, take her out for ice cream. Everything would be fine. I would eventually stop hearing gunshots.

  • • • •

  We sat down with our lunch in front of the TV. Kenyetta was in charge of the remote, flipping around, trying to find something decent, when she passed a news channel and then clicked back.

  “You hear about this?” she asked me and Bird. “Yesterday? Animals, I tell you. They shot this man just in broad day. Coming home from some speech to Boy Scouts.”

  A wad of tuna and bread and cheese stuck, dry, in my mouth. I was afraid I’d choke. On the TV screen was the house we were at yesterday, me and Dee. The yellow one with the porch. In front of it were a couple cop cars and that CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS tape all around the yard. A news lady with wide brown eyes and straightened hair was talking into her microphone. Serious.

  “. . . still have no official suspects in the case, but we’ve been told by police that they have begun questioning a few leads in the investigation. Neighbors said they believed the shots they heard in the area on Saturday afternoon were simply kids playing around with firecrackers. If more of them had investigated those sounds, police might now be closer to finding the persons involved in the murder of Deputy Marshall Palmer, who is survived only by his sister, in Indiana, and his seventeen year-old daughter, who was out of town at the time of the shooting. A sad homecoming for her, for these nearby neighbors, and the county police force as the search continues for these brazen killers. For now, I’m Kelly Douglas, reporting live.”

  Kenyetta and Bird were talking to each other while the report was going on, but I heard nothing. Only the words of the news reporter: persons involved. Persons. As in, more than one. Killers.

  Kenyetta’s voice finally came into my head. “. . . know they ain’t going to rest until they get these crazy-ass folks. Police don’t take killing one of they own kind too light. Who I really feel sorry for is his daughter, though. Only child and they say she was up in Ohio somewhere looking at college when it happen. Can you imagine?” She put her hand up by her face like she was talking on the phone. “‘
Hello, is this Miss Palmer? We sorry, honey, but your daddy dead. You need to come back on down here.’”

  Bird made tsking noises.

  “They think a gang done it,” Kenyetta went on. “Man’s retired now, but they say he worked real hard getting the gangs out from over where all those, you know, refugees and them come in and ain’t have nothing. He cracked down even on apartment landlords and all that. But still, son. In the day? Man coming home from his do-good work and just get shot dead.”

  “Lord, I hope we don’t start seeing more of that around here,” Bird said.

  “You far enough away.”

  “These times, people getting desperate . . .” Bird went on, talking about the neighborhood, telling Kenyetta about the rash of break-ins that happened a few streets over from us at the beginning of the summer, but I stopped listening. I had to concentrate on making myself swallow the food in my mouth. On fixing my face in some kind of way that pretended I was as concerned about the neighborhood as they were. That my gut wasn’t burning and hollow at the same time, finding out the man Dee shot yesterday—and killed, killed—was a cop.

  Five minutes later, though, I was in the bathroom, over the toilet, retching. I’d said I wanted a shower and turned on the bathtub water, hard, so that Bird and Kenyetta wouldn’t hear. I flushed and sat on the edge of the toilet, not sure I wouldn’t puke again, hearing Kenyetta saying, Police don’t take killing one of they own kind too light. Eventually I climbed under the water, my clothes still on.

  Persons involved, the reporter had said. Brazen killers.

  Persons.

  Not just Dee.

  But Dee and—

  Me.

  I WAS IN THE SHOWER A LONG TIME. THINKING, I GUESS, but mostly needing to get clean. I’d stripped off my clothes and left them in a pile on the bathtub floor, rubbing the soap over my skin, my hair, my face. Sudsy water washing down. I wished I could get it far enough into my ears, behind my eyes, to take away what few sounds and sights I had from yesterday, what Dee did, but I knew the only thing that would take care of that was time. More time, especially, in the dark with Dee taking over me—Dee and nothing else.

  After I got dressed in dry clothes, I went into the kitchen. Kenyetta was gone, but Bird was still at her sewing machine. I walked past her as normal as I could and took a couple of garbage bags out from under the sink.