Widow's Run

by TG Wolff

  “I need you to flush out game for me. One hour. Two at most.” Black reached into his pocket and retrieved a blue Post-It. His gaze took my measurements again. “If you’re not up for it…”

  I slapped him upside his medium brown hair. “It’s a padded suit, you pig. I couldn’t have people recognize me. What were you thinking picking my funeral for the drop?”

  He didn’t answer, instead smoothing his hair back in place, his relief visible. “Lose the fat chick suit, Diamond. I need a slut. A sophisticated slut.”

  The crowd reassembled under a white tent, forming a loose circle around my coffin. Black stood next to me, his hands folded and chin to his chest as the priest began to read again. The words droned on as in some other world. It reminded me of the old Peanuts cartoons, the way the adults sounded. Wah wah wahwah wah wah.

  I didn’t want to stand here, listening to whitewashed words of a man who didn’t get my life. Who would never get my life. I wanted the file Black put together. I wanted to get out of here and do what I hadn’t been able to do for a year—learn what really happened to my husband.

  The blue square in my hand held an address. No name. No phone number. “When?” I said quietly when everyone else said “Amen.”

  Black draped an arm around me. Anyone looking would only see a man comforting a woman. “This afternoon works.”

  “I’ll need an hour to change.”

  Black’s gaze pierced my cheap sunglasses. “Take two.”

  A member from the funeral home wandered through the thin crowd, handing out white roses. Real roses, not wannabe carnations. Somebody gave a damn and a few bucks.

  “Let’s get out of here.” I took a step toward the open air outside the tent.

  Black held me in place. “Keep it together, Diamond. We leave now, all eyes are on us.”

  Guilt mated with determination and their love child was anger. I directed it at Black. “We don’t leave now and you’re the next body in the ground.”

  He shook his head, woefully under intimidated. “A few more minutes.”

  I didn’t move because the pain-in-the-ass was right. Unless I wanted to feign being inconsolable—oh, wait, my mother’s already doing that—I was stuck ’til the end. My mother revved up and went into a rendition of a cat in heat on a hot summer’s night. I planted an elbow in Black’s ribs as the priest opened his arms wide, embracing the crowd. “Why the hell did you pick my funeral for the drop?”

  Again, he didn’t answer but stood stoically at my gravesite, his head bowed.

  The priest spoke into the space grief created. “At this time, I invite each of you to come forward and offer your parting words.”

  The parade started anew. Focus. Catalog names and faces. Who else thought enough of me to give up a day of golf…

  Mother. Blah-blah-blah. More fake tears.

  Cass entwined in her husband’s arms. “This can’t be real.”

  My father. “Give ’em hell, baby.”

  Enrique Torres. “It’s hard to believe you’re really gone, Diamond. I always thought you’d go out in a blaze of glory. Not this way.” He choked up, swallowed it, then a smug twist graced his mouth. “Figured you’d take a dozen bastards with you.” He tossed the rose onto my casket.

  My section chief before I retired. The man taught me everything I knew about playing by the rules until the rules got in your way. He threw the rose in. “You were one hell of a woman, Diamond.” A high compliment.

  A few more CIA coworkers who didn’t let a little thing like a few years keep them away. Good people, no matter what their resumes said. Neighbors from the cul-de-sac where I played suburban grown-up. Good barbecue. Good times. More good people. A group of teens and early-twenty somethings moved with a herd mentality. My kids and their chaperones, my coworkers. After I retired from field work, I took a really dangerous assignment, mentoring the troubled, dangerous, razor-sharp youth of DC. Every one of those kids should have been tempered by the dangerous neighborhoods, the hard lives they’d been born into. Instead, they paraded silently by my hole in the ground, faces tainted by grief. The caboose of the line, a skinny punk in sagging denim and a black t-shirt, glanced my way. His gaze caught mine; his eyes widened. I feigned disinterest when I wanted to slap his hairless face. The girl in front of him said something, distracting him, and I stepped behind Black, impossible for the kid to see.

  Black stepped forward and I was up close and personal with my husband’s head stone. I had seen it every day from when it was installed until two days ago. Subtly, I blew him a kiss.

  Allow me to do the introductions. Gavriil, meet the world. World, this is the love of my life, Gavriil Andrei Rubchinsky. Born April 28, 1979. Died May 14, 2018. One year to the day from the date that will be carved on my side of our headstone.

  I placed my hand on my casket, palm flat, fingers wide. Who’s inside? Don’t judge. It wasn’t like I picked some innocent, productive member of society. She’s past her problems, lying on a bed of silk, next to my husband, wearing my wedding ring.

  My wedding ring.

  It had been days, but my finger still wore the imprint. I was never naked until I took off my ring.

  A hand settled gently between my shoulder blades. “It is always hard to say goodbye. Take comfort. She’s gone to a better place.” The priest, doing his job and keeping the show moving along, guided me to standing.

  I cursed myself using words unbecoming for the priest. A smart woman didn’t lean over her own coffin, jealous of the body within. A strong woman wasn’t caught off guard by a man of the cloth she didn’t know and words of comfort she didn’t want. A sane woman didn’t rebuke kindly blue eyes or turn consolation into an accusation.

  “Better place? Where she’s going, the devil don’t dare look.” I tossed the rose sidearm. It hit one of those stupid, happy birds who chose that moment to fly through the tent. The rose and the bird fell, a satisfying thud punctuated the ending.

  The priest’s gaze followed me, consolation gone from the gaping mouth, replaced by confusion and a healthy dose of apprehension. I lifted my chin as I turned away from him, power coursing through my body as I embraced my true self.

  I strutted away, transforming with each step into a sophisticated slut. Striding from the cemetery as fast as my chub-rubbed thighs allowed, I headed to the powder-blue Prius I had borrowed from the parking lot next to my building. I broke into a giddy-up run to get ahead of the pack. Starting the Prius was a matter of touching the right wires together, and she was humming like the day she was born. I threw her into reverse and pulled out behind a dark crossover.

  Faster than you can say “oh shit,” said crossover fishtailed, drove over the high curb, and came to a cock-eyed rest across the only exit. The driver staggered out. He leaned heavily on the car, considering the doors and tires as though he couldn’t remember what they were used for.

  Oh, hell, I knew what was coming next.

  Pump This, Jack…or is it Pump This Jack?

  Alexei Rubchinsky was drunk, but that wasn’t the problem. What my brother-in-law knew about automotive maintenance fit on the head on a pin. I heard the stories and was surprised he still had all his fingers. One thing was certain, he thought a lug nut was a type of dessert.

  If you want a job done right, blah, blah, blah.

  I got out of my car. I wasn’t worried about Alexei recognizing me. I hadn’t seen him since Gavriil’s funeral, and I was incognito. “Seems like you have a little problem.”

  He swayed subtly, his eyes glassy and blurred. “I do not know what happened. I dropped my phone and the next thing, she is flat.” His empty hand ran through his dark hair. “I should call the car rental, they will send help.” He always had a close and personal relationship with his favorite vodka distiller, a man who counted on Alexei to marry his daughter. It seemed he’d taken some bolstering for my funeral.

  “That will take too much time and you’re blocking the exit. I can change i
t for you.”

  He frowned, a big, sad, upside-down horseshoe. “No. No, you are woman, and this is not right.”

  I rolled my eyes, dismissing the insult. “I’ve changed tires on every continent but one.” A fact, albeit not a proud one, and not the continent you’d think. “Pop the hatch.”

  He pressed a button on the fob and the SUV hatch silently raised. The trunk being empty simplified the process. The small spare was hidden under the false bottom, complete with the jack. I got to work. Like a NASCAR pit crew, I wanted my man back on the road before the field knew he’d pulled off.

  “I should do something?”

  The car was already in the air. “No. This is a one-woman job.” I glanced at him, only to find him studying my face. “Is there something wrong?”

  “You look very much like my brother’s wife.” He blinked twice, then narrowed his eyes. “It is in the shape of your face.”

  I lowered my head, obscuring his view. “I’m her cousin. Family resemblance.” It was an explanation his brain could wrap around. Alexei lived in California. Though he and Gavriil spoke several times a week, we’d only been face-to-face a few times. Out of nowhere, he called shortly before my death. He was coming to DC and wanted to stay with me. I was on a tight time table at that point with zero room for collateral damage. I told him my house was infested with bed bugs and he told me he’d stay in a hotel. We had plans for dinner the evening after my death. I expected him to leave after I died.

  “You are big, sturdy woman, like your cousin, yes?” He pronounced cousin “kuss-sin,” enunciating all three s’s.

  I’m five feet nine inches and while I won’t blow over in a storm, I am not, nor will I ever be “sturdy.” That may be a compliment in some parts of the world but not in the good ol’ US of A. Cursing him, I worked on breaking the lug nuts because I didn’t have time to break his. The suit worked against me as I struggled for the right angle over my latex blubber. The padded tits didn’t help. There was no place to put my arms where they didn’t get in the way.

  “My brother very much loved your cousin. I am glad he is dead. This, her death, would have killed him.”

  Swallowing hard, I focused on the work at hand and refused to listen.

  “I would never have believed anything would be more important to him than his research. Knowledge and the laboratory were always his first loves.” Alexei took a deep, noisy breath. “Until he met her. She was his…I do not know a word for it in English.”

  My throat tightened to the point of suffocation. I was a victim of my own anatomy. Close your eyes, you can’t see. Close your mouth, you can’t taste. Hold your breath, you can’t smell. But you can’t not hear, you can’t not feel. The pain of a thousand knives pierced my heart through my ears.

  “Yes,” I said, my voice cracking. “She felt the same way.”

  “That is why it surprised me when he sent the key to me.”

  Errrrk.

  My brain screeched to a halt. I blinked a few times and got it jump started. Then thoughts raced into my head, the scene resembling a bumper car pit. I shoved the emotional baggage out of the way and tamed my thoughts with a crack of a whip, letting one coherently form. “Gavriil sent you a key? Before he died?” Like he could have sent it after. Yeah, I was real coherent.

  “The envelope was in his handwriting. It was buried mistakenly within papers for my own research. My graduate assistant recently found it.” He pulled a small key from his pocket. “It is foolish, but I carry it everywhere.” He shrugged, not pulling off nonchalant any better than I did coherent. “It is from my brother. Is the tire fixed?”

  “Nearly.” Footsteps approached. I needed information before we had an audience. “What does it open?”

  “A box in a bank. The note said this was insurance and to give it to his wife if anything happened to him. That is why I make this trip, to give the key.”

  Gimme gimme gimme.

  Oh fuck, I’m dead.

  “Hey buddy! You need a hand?” Enrique Torres strode across the blacktop with the confidence of a well-armed man. “Hey. I know you. Don’t tell me…I never forget a name or a face.”

  The spare was on, just needed to tighten the lug nuts. One minute more.

  “Alexei, right? I’m Enrique.”

  Alexei turned to Enrique, unconsciously sheltering me with his body. “Yes, yes. I remember. From the cookout after they bought the house. You are good?”

  “Good? Maybe another day, but not this one. I can’t believe my girl went out like that.”

  Glancing up, I could see part of Enrique’s face over Alexei’s shoulder. Enrique was too close, and he was too good to rely on makeup to hide my identity. Play time was over. Time to make like a tree and leave. “The man who stomped in, he was of the same mind, yes?” Alexei asked.

  Slowly, slowly, slowly, I lowered the car. With nowhere to go but in, I opened the back door. The crossover SUV had room enough for me to curl up behind the driver’s seat. Alexei wouldn’t see me once he was in the car. I covered my head with his black suit coat. With the tint of the windows, I was invisible to all but direct scrutiny.

  “Yes. I thought for a minute we’d have to go Molotov cocktail on his ass, you know? Opening the casket like that…but it’s hard to believe Diamond was taken out by a candle.” There was speculation in Enrique’s voice.

  Sometimes, it didn’t pay to have a bad reputation.

  “Do you know she tickled a volcano once?” Enrique asked. “We were working a faction of weapons dealers who set up shop on the volcano. She was a rookie, there to learn only. Things got hot, our inside man got made. Diamond fought fire with fire. She set off a detonation that had the bad boys thinking the volcano was erupting.” Little chuckles grew to a familiar belly laugh. “They raced down the mountain screaming from their windows as this nasty black smoke rose up. Down at the bottom, our men and the local government forces waited. She saved the agent’s life and took down a multi-million-dollar-a-year black market. I was the first one to get to her. Found her sitting inside the volcano rim, laughing at the chaos around her.”

  I shouldn’t be smiling under all this latex and makeup but talk about running like rats. Those big bads were all tough when they had rocket launchers on their shoulders but shake the earth a little, and they were little boys running for their mommies.

  “I squatted down next to her. I remember shaking my head and saying ‘You are one hard woman. Gorgeous but hard. Come on, Diamond. You’re on clean up.’”

  “She wouldn’t answer to anything except Diamond that day forward.” A new voice entered the conversation, my ex-chief’s. “She was one of the best. Remember the time…”

  New voices entered, and the stories flowed, all at my expense. And they were total bullshit. It was not true that explosions followed me across the continents and I so did not tip the scales of a certain Central American coup. If the general got the wrong idea, you can’t blame me. He asked me what I was there to do. I told him straight out I was there to blow the shit out of him and his asshole friends. He told me to get to it. I did. It might have registered as a small earthquake. You see, I—

  “What in the name of all that is holy is going on here! This is a funeral, not a traffic jam.” My mother’s voice, melodic as fingernails on a chalkboard, cut through the reverie.

  “You, Alexei.” My mother snapped like a mousetrap. “You’ve been in this country long enough, haven’t you learned to drive?”

  “Oh, ur, yes Mrs. Allerton.”

  “Mrs. Ridgeway. My marriage to Allerton was annulled.” Her reply had the arrogance of a woman who expected everyone to keep up with her daily Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and billboard postings.

  I dug my nails into my hand, fury barely contained. Leaving my father wasn’t enough; she annulled him. As if with the snap of fingers, fifteen years never happened. She wouldn’t let me see him. We fought over it. That’s when she dropped the bomb. Edward Allerton was not m
y biological father. But he was Cass’s, she couldn’t annul that. I didn’t really know the current Mr. Ridgeway and never would. I’m sure he’s a perfectly nice man—wait, no he’s not. He married my mother.

  Point to the curious…why wasn’t he here today? Mommy dearest probably left him tied up on the porch. Hope she left a bowl of water for him.

  “Mrs. Ridgeway. My congratulations and condolences,” Alexei said.

  “Huh?” my mother said. I snickered. Alexei probably thought she killed her officially nonexistent first husband. “All of you, get. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t block the driveway. Get out of the way, Alexei.”

  “Mrs. Aller—Ridgeway. The tire is flat.” In his moment of silence, I held my breath. “But…where is the cousin?”

  I didn’t move. This was make or break time.

  My mother squawked again. “Close your trunk and move your ass.”

  I swallowed a twisted laugh as I cheered my mother on. No one ruined a good time like her.

  The rear hatch closed, then the driver’s door opened. The car shifted as Alexei’s weight settled into the front seat. He muttered in Russian as he brought the engine to life. A left out of the parking lot, a right onto the main street. We were clear.

  Still, I stayed hidden. I wasn’t trying to give Alexei a heart attack and end up wrapped around a telephone pole. It wasn’t part of my plan to die leaving my funeral.

  His phone rang, the one he was searching for when he surfed the curb. It was wedged between the center console and the driver’s seat. I knew because the light from the screen blasted my eyes. Alexei flailed wildly, as if the phone would sense his hand and jump to it like Thor and his hammer. The groping hand landed on my head. I freed the phone and held it out. If he had turned around, he would have seen the phone floating above his coat.

  But he didn’t. The scavenging hand brushed against the device and then locked on. “’Ello? Alexei Rubchinsky here…Yes, Mr. Winston, I read your email…Excuse me, Buford…”

  I sucked air like a Dyson, getting carpet dandruff, lint, and weird rental car seeds in the bargain. Buford Winston was the head of an agricultural conglomerate called AgNow! and Gavriil’s arch enemy. I can’t tell you the number of nights I listened to Gavriil nerd rage over some scheme Winston was selling.