by Larry Hoy
“I did it, honey. I swore that I would, and I did. I killed them.”
Then a sharp, familiar pain in his head forced his eyes shut to block out the glare from the TV. The migraine felt as if someone had shoved a knife right behind his left ear. He pulled four pills from the bottle of pain relievers he always kept on the nightstand and chased them down with a swig of beer. The migraine was already starting to relax before he even had a chance to set the empty beer can down.
From the secret pocket in his wallet, where other men might hide a twenty, Erebus had stuck a note with a phone number written in pencil. He used the motel phone to make a call.
After three rings, a voice answered. “Yeah?”
“Mickey, it’s Adrian.”
“Oh, hey,” Mickey said in a friendly voice. There was some rustling, and after a few seconds he spoke again, this time in a panicked whisper. “What the fuck, man? You can’t call me here.”
“You still at work? It’s kinda late.”
“You think? They’ve got us working around the clock trying to find your ass. Get the hell out of Memphis before you burn us both.”
“So, they know about me.”
“No, what makes you think that? You kill two Shooters and a third shows up at your house, what did you think he was there for, to sell you some cookies?”
“Good,” Erebus said.
“No, you moron, not good. For all I know they’re backtracking my cell phone signal in real time.”
“Can they do that?” Erebus said, his tone reflecting panic of his own.
“Fuck if I know…no, I don’t think they can do that.”
“I’m ready for another name.”
“I knew you were gonna say that. I got it. But before I give it to you, I have some other news.”
“So, tell me.”
“This is going to cost you. Let’s say double?”
“Why? I thought we were friends.”
“What the hell made you think that? This is strictly business between us.”
Erebus’ face went slack, showing no emotion. Once again, he’d been fooled by someone pretending to be his friend. Yet there was also something empowering about Mickey’s statement, something he couldn’t put his finger on. But Adrian Erebus was no longer a man to be pushed around. Now, he was a man who pushed back. The extra expense would hurt, so he’d just have to figure out how to get more money.
“I’ll pay if it’s worth it.”
“You’ll pay anyway.”
“They haven’t caught me yet, Mickey, and they won’t. But one phone call from me and you’re at their mercy.”
“You wouldn’t do that!”
“Not to a friend, no, but to a business associate? Maybe I would.”
“I’m planning my exit, Adrian. Soon. And when I bug out of here, I’ll need more cash.”
“No, give me the name, and you’re safe. Don’t do it, or lie to me, and I make the call.”
“Yeah, fine, the regular fee then. I always figured you for an honest man, Adrian.”
“Did you? A friend would have known better.”
“The guy in the hospital?”
“Sweetwater, yes, what about him?”
“He ain’t dead.”
Erebus didn’t speak for more than ten seconds.
“Adrian, you still there?”
“We saw it on the news,” Erebus said, his voice matched the whispered tone on the other end of the line.
“It was all shit. He’s alive.”
Erebus hit himself in the head with the phone receiver and then squeezed it with both hands. He pulled in a shaky breath and put it back up to his ear. “So, where is he?”
“I don’t know. No one over here knows. He’s gone dark.”
“Gone dark?” Erebus repeated.
“He’s off the grid. He’s hiding.”
“I thought you could track him?”
“Normally, but we lost his signal when you bombed the place. It must have destroyed his phone. If it comes back on, I’ll get you his location.”
“Thank you, Mickey. I’m sorry I spoke harshly to you before.”
The change in Erebus’ tone was too abrupt for Mickey not to notice.
“Yeah, okay, sure, Adrian. We’re copacetic. Don’t sweat it.”
“I’m being tested by this guy, Mickey. I don’t why, but I’m being tested.” After a short pause, he continued, “I’ll take care of him, don’t worry about it. Now send me more names, as many as you can before you leave. Just pull the money from my account.”
“Your account is getting low.”
Erebus didn’t hide the warning tone in his voice. “You told me you were getting ready to leave.”
“You’re right, Adrian, never mind. We’re cool. I’ll send it out in tomorrow’s mail. If you were to set up an email, I could send it to you tonight.”
“The mail is fine. Computers are how people get caught. I’m not gonna get killed over some stupid computer.”
“As long as you can keep paying, I’ll send it by carrier pigeon.”
“Not leaving anymore?”
“Plans change…”
The happy mood of earlier faded into the rage Erebus knew so well. For his entire life he’d tried to control it, to keep the explosive anger that led to blackouts filled with violence from ruling his life. Now, it no longer seemed worth the effort. After returning the phone to the cradle, he took the last two beers out of the mini fridge, put a fresh Coke beside the two untouched ones near Herbert, and sat in the chair by the window. His son was still watching the news, enraptured by a story about a gang shootout that left a young girl dead. But as much as such stories usually cheered him, now Erebus let the darkness settle into his brain.
Staring unblinking at a fly on the far wall, he made plans.
Chapter 28
Southwest Memphis, TN
The fly hadn’t moved for hours because it wasn’t a fly; it was an old nail in the wall. That didn’t stop Erebus from leaning forward on his forearms, focused on the nail’s flat head like it was the face of God. Only when his peripheral vision caught movement coming from the bed did he blink, which snapped him out of his trance.
He didn’t notice his urine-soaked pants, or the puddle he now sat in. The TV channel had one of the local news broadcasts on a 30-minute loop, and when the image of the sheet-covered girl lying in the street came on again—the one killed by gang members—the camera shifted to a line of residents in the background who jeered and threw things at the police. Herbert pumped his fist in the air, which Erebus had never seen him do before. It took him a few seconds to understand that Herbert was cheering the protestors on, and that washed away his gloom. His son was so much better than he deserved.
Erebus muted the sound when that story gave way to coverage of the hospital bombing. He’d seen the story three or four times now, yet every time he spotted some new detail that jumped up his heart rate. The FBI bomb and crime scene teams were crawling through the wreckage searching for clues to the bombing.
Good luck, he thought.
The internet was a wonderful thing, a resource for showing people how to build everything from bird houses to bombs, and the dark web let you buy anything you might need. His smile returned and he glanced at the wires, wire cutters, and other leftover paraphernalia on the table near the window; there was plenty for more bombs. Maybe next time he’d strap four together instead of only two.
“He’s still in there, Herbert,” Erebus said, pointing at the TV. “Somehow, the murderer Sweetwater survived, and is still in there. I’ll bet he’s got a dozen nurses waiting on him hand and foot. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s planning to kill the ones who have kids.” He punched the pillow on the bed beside him. “He’s gotta be stopped.”
When a new scene showed MPD officers searching packages coming into the building, Erebus realized the looped news had given way to a live feed. The screen changed to show a policeman standing with a dog.
“Now they’ve
got bomb dogs? Fuck. How do I get in there now?”
Herbert sprang up to his knees, climbed off the bed, and walked to the TV. He pointed to the edge of the screen where an ambulance had pulled up and backed up to the doors of the hospital.
“An ambulance,” Adrian whispered. “You’re right, son; that might do it.”
Pieces of PVC pipe lay scattered in the corner. Beside them was a bag of black powder and a small pile of electronics that weren’t needed for the last two bombs. The last bombs hadn’t been big enough; that had to be why they failed to kill Sweetwater. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
“We can’t do it here. One look at this place, and we’ll get locked up.” He walked to the window and peeked through the curtain. Across the road was a liquor store. As he watched, six cars pulled in and out in the space of a few minutes. “Perfect.”
He pulled the Sig Sauer from his suitcase. It felt heavy and bulky in his hands, but twice now he’d managed to face down a killer with the gun. Herbert said something that made him look up. The boy rarely spoke, so when he did it got his father’s attention.
“Oh yeah, good point son,” Erebus said, and put the gun back in the suitcase. Herbert was right, even if he smuggled the gun inside, how was he going to find Sweetwater? With all the cops and federal agents prowling the halls, he couldn’t exactly do a room-to-room search. “So, what do I do?” Herbert answered, and Erebus cocked his head. “Really? They have those?” He didn’t question how his son knew such things.
Wet stains reached to the knees of his pants as Erebus walked to the door. Cut short, spikes of oily hair stood out like an overgrown Mohawk. Beard stubble itched on his face, but anger drove him to ignore it. When Herbert spoke again, he turned in the doorway. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. You’re smarter than your old man, just like I was smarter than my father.” He pulled out his wallet, withdrew a twenty, then tossed the wallet to his bed. “Wish me luck.” Twisting the knob, he went out into the night.
Following Herbert’s suggestion, he started toward the corner gas station. The night was colder than he expected, but he didn’t want to waste time going back for his jacket. He stuffed his fists into his pockets and kept walking. The gas station was on the corner, not too far from the motel. He pulled the door open and stepped inside. Hot air hit him in the face.
Erebus shook his arms, as if to get the blood moving. He smiled at the man behind the counter and realized his teeth were chattering.
“Sure is cold out there.”
The clerk nodded and went back to work opening cartons of cigarettes and slipping them into a display behind the counter. Erebus went to the coffee station and pulled a small cup out of the metal sleeve recessed into the table. He put in four French vanilla creamers and three packets of sugar, topped it off with coffee, fitted a lid, and walked back to the counter. That’s when he spotted what he needed. Herbert had been right.
The clerk pushed the cigarette cartons to the side, out of Adrian’s reach.
“That be all?” he said.
“Actually, I was wondering how much those pocketknives are?”
The clerk turned to look at the display on the back wall.
“Which one?”
“The big black one, right next to the red…upper left.”
It was a folding knife, half-opened for the display. The blade was six inches long, and made it resemble more of a medieval dagger than a modern weapon.
“That one’s fifteen. Want it?”
Erebus nodded. The clerk pulled a box from under the display case and scanned it with a bar code reader.
“With the coffee, it’s $19.79.”
Pulling out the twenty, he smoothed it on the counter and slipped it to the clerk. “Thanks.”
The clerk slipped him the thin cardboard box with the knife inside. Twenty-two cents rolled down a thin steel slot and spun in the bowl at the bottom.
After scooping up the change, he stood by the entrance, took a deep breath of the warm air, and then bumped the door open with his butt. The door swung out just long enough for him to slip outside. He sipped the coffee as he walked to the trashcan.
The coffee was still too hot to drink and burned his lip. He set it down and slipped the knife from its packaging. He pressed the nub on the back of the handle and the blade popped out. He looked the knife over, peeling away the manufacturer stickers stuck to the edge. Then he folded it and put it in his pocket.
Leaving his coffee on top of the garbage can outside the store, he walked to the liquor store and back. By then, the coffee had cooled enough to drink. Arms huddled against his body in defense against the breeze, he stood outside the door and slurped the coffee. It had a faint burnt flavor. He was still standing there when Herbert walked toward him out of the shadows.
“What are you doing out here, son? You should be up in the room. You’re not even wearing your coat.”
Herbert just stared at his father, not speaking.
“I’m going to do it, just give me a minute to finish this.” He took another sip of his coffee, but the boy kept staring at him. “It’s cold out here.”
Herbert’s eyes never left his face, never blinked; it was the same pleading gaze Grace Allen had always given him when they had to separate for any reason. His family couldn’t live without him and in return he indulged their every whim.
“Fine, fine, it’s not going to get any warmer. Let’s do this.” He slipped around the corner of the liquor store. This was something best done out of the streetlights. Erebus emptied the cup and placed it against the wall. He pulled out the knife, clicked it open, and brushed the edge of the blade with his thumb. He felt a sting and pulled his thumb away; a thin red line formed from where he touched the blade. “Perfect, nice and sharp.”
Dim illumination reached the side of the liquor store from a streetlight across the parking lot next to the gas station. Herbert kneeled, facing his father with the light behind him, so he was only a black shape…except for the faint red glow from his eyes. Erebus hadn’t seen him do that for a while. It was a sign of approval.
Now came the hard part. In preparation, Erebus thought back on all the movie scenes where Japanese soldiers committed suicide. Pulling up his shirt, he put the knife tip against his belly, took a deep breath and held it. He pushed against the point until a line of blood dribbled down his stomach. A quickly growing ball of icy doubt churned in his stomach.
If the Japanese could do it, why couldn’t he? He wasn’t even going to kill himself. Faint reflections from the knife blade included a smear of red, which meant Herbert was still right there watching, and Erebus felt shame under the gaze of his son.
“One…Two…Three.”
He placed the blade back against his belly, but couldn’t push it in.
His strength left him, and he leaned against the building’s cold brick wall. Summoning his courage, he looked up at his son. Herbert’s eyes had shrunk to pinpoints of red, which burned like lasers into Erebus’ soul. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes; he’d let Herbert down.
“I can’t do it,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, son, I can’t do it.” He was crying now, his chest heaving as he struggled to control himself. The knife slipped from his fingers. There was no other way to get into the hospital, and if he tried to wait until Sweetwater finally left, they’d track him down. One mistake Erebus would not make was to underestimate law enforcement, especially the FBI. They’d find him, all right. If he stuck around Memphis that much was certain. Even if he ran, they might find him anyway, but not running wasn’t an option. If he was going to kill Sweetwater, it had to be now, and since he couldn’t kill him now, then the assassin had won. There would never be vengeance for his wife.
Erebus watched through tears as Herbert bent down and picked up the knife. Herbert wiped the blade against the leg of his jeans, brushing it free of dirt and gravel. The boy pointed the tip at his father.
“Herbert? Be careful, buddy. That’s sharp.”
&nb
sp; Herbert met his father’s eyes, two glowing coals that reminded Erebus of the glaucoma test that used to be part of his yearly eye exams. Entranced, he leaned back, as if commanded to do so by some unseen power. Something flickered in the corners of Herbert’s eyes, flames, tiny flames. Erebus felt like he was floating, watching the scene unfold in the darkness below. It was all so strange…
The spell snapped, and he understood.
“Herbert, no!”
The boy put one hand on his father’s shoulder for leverage and plunged the knife deep into his gut. As the steel slipped through his flesh, Erebus heard a meaty thunk.
He gasped at the sudden pain, exhaling until his lungs emptied. With no air, he couldn’t scream and breathing hurt too much to take a deep breath. His eyes grew wide as Herbert pulled out the blade, drops of his blood falling from the point, and slammed it into his chest. Erebus fell forward, extending his left hand to keep from hitting the pavement while clutching his ruptured stomach with his right. Blood poured in a stream from the wounds and spread across his shirt.
He felt Herbert’s hand on his shoulder, followed by a shove. Erebus fell over and groaned. He closed his eyes as spasms of agony wracked his body. A red light shone through his eyelids and he looked up at his son. Herbert shook his head, the gesture of an adult, not a child, one that did nothing to hide the boy’s contempt. He stabbed his father again, and yet again.
Erebus’ jaw fell, hanging loose.
Herbert raised the knife high above his head, and slammed it all the way to the handle into the right side of his fathers’ chest. Finally, he let go of the knife, leaving it sticking out of his father’s chest, where it rose and fell as Erebus gulped shallow breaths.
Time passed. Seconds or hours, he couldn’t know. The world turned dark.
Someone pulled on his arm, and some part of his brain recognized that he was being supported by another person. Disjointed images came to him like photos shown out of order. The neck of a broken rum bottle on the concrete sidewalk, the gray door handle, the features of a dark-skinned man running toward him, fluorescent bulbs shining overhead, and then…blackness, relieved at some point by the wail of a siren.
