by Carolina Mac
I crossed my arms over my chest. “You seem pretty stressed if nothing is happening.”
His dark eyes were dark and filled with emotion. “I said I don’t want to think about it, Annie. I wish you wouldn’t fuckin’ push it.”
“Fine, I won’t talk about it—or anything else.” The bedroom door slammed shut behind me and silenced our conversation for the night.
CHAPTER SIXTY
I woke during the night and reached for George. The sheets on his side of the bed were cold. The room was pitch black as I rose and groped my way to the kitchen. Angel yawned, stretched and followed me. I flipped on the light over the sink. George wasn’t in the kitchen or the bathroom. My heart rate quickened, and my stomach flipped.
What have I done?
I pulled the homespun curtain back in the living room and squinted to see the bike trailer on the driveway, but it was too dark. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn’t need to see the trailer. I knew his bike was gone.
I wiped my face on my sleeve, sucked in a deep breath and fumbled with the coffee maker. That’s when I saw the note on the kitchen table.
‘Annie, had to go back. Stay here. Call you.’
I blew out a big breath. So maybe George didn’t leave because he was mad at me.
Should I stay at the cabin or should I follow George back to the city? I poured myself a mug of coffee and stared out the window into the early morning mist. After my second trip to the coffee pot, I tugged on jeans and a sweatshirt and paced for an hour wondering what to do next. Should I go back to Toronto? Did he leave without talking to me for a reason? Did he want me out the way or just out of his business?
I checked my phone. It was charged and had good signal.
After sunup, Angel and I made our way down the path to the dock. The boat was secure, bobbing gently on the still morning water of the lake. I didn’t know why I had gone down to the water, or what I was looking for. Aimlessly, I limped back up the hill and sat down on a rock. Breathless, I gritted my teeth. My bad leg hadn't bothered me much when George was here, but then again, the world felt better when he was near.
I checked my phone for messages. None.
If he doesn’t call by noon, I’m calling him.
Thinking I might be leaving at any moment, I unloaded my bike from the trailer and pushed it into the barn in case it rained. Nothing was going to ruin my third paint job. Poor Rusty would have a breakdown. I smiled at the thought of him.
All kinds of scenarios raced through my mind—none of them good. At eleven thirty, I was wired on caffeine and couldn’t hold back any longer. I called George’s cell phone.
“ . . . The party you are calling is not available at this time . . .”
“Shit, George, what the hell is going on? Answer your damn phone.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
GEORGE fumbled under the little sofa pillow for his cell when he felt the vibration. He stepped over his clothes strewn on the living room floor and shuffled into the bathroom as he answered the call. “Jackson?” he whispered.
“Trouble, boss. It’s old man Portsmith, Kenny’s dad. He got pissed out of his mind and came over here packing and bent on killing you. Says Kenny told him you and him were throwing down and now Kenny’s missing. He’s swears you killed him.”
“Where’s he now?”
“Tied up in the kitchen. What should we do with the drunken old prick?”
“Gag him and keep an eye on him until I get down there. Two hours, tops.”
George splashed some water on his face and eased past the closed bedroom door. He rubbed at the tightness in his chest, pulled his clothes on and stuffed a .38 down the back of his jeans. Heading out the kitchen door he made sure to close it softly behind him. Fuck, he wished he'd made up with Annie and gone to bed with her proper last night.
Fuck. What should I tell her?
He tiptoed back into the kitchen, scribbled a note on a torn envelope and tossed it on the kitchen table.
Releasing his bike from the trailer was a bitch of a job in the dark. After fighting with it for a bit, he cut two of the ratchet straps with his boot knife and rolled the Eagle backwards onto the path. Gravity pulled the bike down the steep hill and when he rolled onto the paved shoulder of the road, he started the engine.
The pain in his chest was constant, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the stress of the situation or because he had to leave Annie. His money was on the latter.
The road was clear, and the air was warm as he roared down the center line. No traffic at that hour, just the odd deer on the side of the road grazing. His single headlight pointed the way to the city and to the promise of a bad night ahead.
WHEN he arrived at his place, the little wartime shack was lit up like a county fair. The boys waited for him, drinking and playing poker. Snake Portsmith was tied to a rickety red chair in the kitchen, his hands bound behind his back and a filthy bandana in his mouth. His eyes widened when he saw George burst through the door. Portsmith was a tall, lean man with black straggly hair, sharp features and rotten teeth. Kenny definitely got his looks from his mother.
“Hello, Snake. I hear you came here to kill me.” George leaned down and ripped the gag out of his mouth. “That true?”
“Cops can’t find Kenny ‘cause you killed him,” he slurred, and spat at George.
“Not gonna lie. I wanted to kill the greasy little shit. Fuckin’ wish I had,” George hollered, wound up and punched Snake in the face. His skull rings tore into the flesh under Snake’s right eye. Blood gushed from his nose and ran down into his mouth making him cough until he choked and gagged on his own vomit.
George picked up a sawed-off twelve gauge pump from the floor, ejected the shells and put them in his pocket. “This your gun?”
Snake nodded.
He walked over and stood the gun up in the corner. After lighting up a smoke, he took a big drag and called to the boys in the front room. “Anybody know where this scum lives?”
“Out by the zoo, down Reesor’s Road,” hollered Rusty.
“Leave him tied up and dump him on his front lawn,” George said and snarled.
“Gonna’ let this low life piece of shit go, boss?” Jackson asked with raised eyebrows.
George punched his fist through the drywall in the kitchen and grumbled, “Yeah, I’m in a good mood.” After he ripped the handle off the fridge, he grabbed two beers and chugged one. “Deal me in.”
They played poker until the boys came back from dumping Snake on his home turf.
“Get him home safe?” George asked without looking up from his hand.
“If you call that shack a home, yeah—dog shit all over the grass where we dumped him.”
“Somebody do a Tim’s run. Get coffee and breakfast. We need to have a meeting . . . and don’t forget the fuckin’ hash browns,” George yelled and pounded his fist on the table.
The boys made a grab for their tipping bottles.
When Jackson and Rusty came back from Tim’s, George made it clear that he wasn’t pleased with the way things had been handled in his absence over the past few days. The boys swore business would run smoothly for the rest of the month and George said he wanted to believe them. He also made it clear what would happen if it didn’t.
When the meeting ended and the boys straggled off, George used his leather jacket to cover the small window in his bedroom at the back of the clubhouse. The early morning sun was creeping into the room and his body craved rest. Since his heart attack, he was incredibly tired and testy, but he didn’t want Annie to know how shitty he felt. She was the only thing in his life that was worth having. He fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of her beautiful face.
Three hours later, he woke with a start when he heard his phone vibrate. Annie. Shit. He’d forgotten to call her. He sat on the side of the bed and pressed the button to call her back.
“Annie, it’s me.”
“Thank God,” she said, choking back a sob. “I’m losing my mind here.”
“Shit. I'm sorry baby, I should have called sooner.” He scrubbed his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I'm also sorry for being a prick last night. I swear I'll make it up to you, but right now I’m trying to straighten out a bunch of shit down here. Can’t leave these boys alone for more than a minute.”
There was a long silence and George worried that she really was still pissed at him.
“Annie? Are we all right?”
“I’m sorry about last night, too. I was scared when I woke up and you were gone . . . I thought you left because you were mad at me.”
George laughed. “You couldn’t make me mad enough to leave you, baby girl. I'll sort out these assholes and I should be leaving the city in a couple of hours.”
“If you’re tired or you have a chest pain, stay at the house and come up tomorrow. Just let me know what your plan is.”
After they said their goodbyes, George hung up, lay back on the small cot and closed his eyes. Four hours later, he woke, showered, changed his clothes and began the long ride back to the cabin.
Halfway to Maynooth, he pulled his bike up to the pumps at an Ultramar station and filled up. At the cash, he paid for the gas, bought a Coke and a pack of smokes. When he stepped outside he lit one up and noticed an old blue pickup with rusted out fenders, sitting at the edge of the lot. The engine was running with no one inside. He shrugged, put on his helmet, flicked his butt onto the pavement and took off. Every once in a while he checked his mirror, but the highway was deserted behind him.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
ONE-THIRTY the next morning, Angel growled and bolted from her blanket to the front of the house. I tip-toed through the dark cabin into the living room to take a look, hoping to quiet the dog and not wake George. He’d been exhausted after his long ride home.
I roughed up the scruff of her neck and peered out the window. “What is it, girl? Another bear?” Through the trees and undergrowth, I could see the flicker of headlights on the road at the bottom of the hill but couldn’t catch any movement in the trees. Angel’s growling exploded into barking and scratching at the door.
“What’s wrong with the dog?” George grumbled as he stumbled into the room. “It’s only one-thirty. She doesn’t need out yet.”
“Somebody’s out there,” I whispered. “Car lights down at the road.”
“Where’s the shotgun?”
“Under my side of the bed. It’s loaded.”
“Get your Beretta, Annie. Don’t take any chances.”
“Probably just some locals out drinking.”
“Don’t feel like that to me,” George whispered his breathing fast and louder than usual. “When some asshole’s trying to kill me, I always feel it. Always.”
George retrieved the shotgun from under the bed while I checked the Beretta to make sure it was loaded and had one in the chamber.
“Leave the lights off,” George said as he opened the door for Angel. “Go get ‘em, girl.”
Angel took off barking and running like she was on fire. George watched until she vanished into the bush and then stepped out onto the porch. “Stay in the house, Annie.” He pulled the door closed and disappeared into the darkness.
My hands were shaking as I held tight to my Beretta. How could I see to shoot in the pitch dark? Nights up here in the woods were blacker than in the city and there was only a sliver of moon in the sky. I opened the door and silently slipped out onto the front porch. I stood in the shadows and listened. Angel was growling and running through the bush on the west side of the property. Twigs snapped, leaves rustled, and boots thumped on the moss and pine needles. The dampness of the lake and the night air chilled my skin.
George shouldn't be running through the bush after his heart attack.
I limped back to the bedroom, tugged sweats over my thighs, pulled on a sweatshirt and shoved my feet into a pair of sneakers. I crouched down on the porch steps with my gun, waiting and listening. When my eyes grew more accustomed to the dark, I saw a flicker of movement over by the bike trailer. I waited, motionless, kept my breathing even, like George taught me—there was shifting—just a shadow—much too small to be George. I lined up the Beretta and fired.
The shadow groaned and fell down behind the trailer out of my range of vision. He might be only wounded and yet able to return fire if I tried to move closer in the open. Getting behind him was the better option.
I hurried through the cabin, out the back door, then skirted through the pine trees and down the bank. Big gasps of pine-filled night air filled my lungs as I struggled against the ever-present ache in my leg. Branches clawed and scratched at my arms, slowing my progress up the hill.
My Beretta was zeroed in on the legs of the man when I saw the flash. Dropping flat on my stomach, I fired at the flashpoint and heard him yelp when the bullet found its mark. Crawling on my belly I got close enough to see him lying motionless in the long grass. I didn’t recognize him.
Getting to my feet was a challenge on the steep hillside. I put my weight on my good leg and propelled myself forward with a grunt. I approached with caution and quickly pried the Glock out of his hand before returning to the porch.
One down.
Angel hadn’t been barking for the last few minutes and I wondered if she had run too far away for me to hear her. Maybe George had caught the other guy. Were there only two? I had no way of knowing for sure and calling out for George was not an option. He wouldn’t answer and give away his position. I waited on the porch steps, staring into the darkness and shivering in the increasing dampness.
Sitting stock still for what seemed like an hour, gave me a cramp in my good leg. I stood up and massaged my calf. The sound of a twig snapping froze me to the step, and I peered into the blackness. I heard panting and relaxed when I realized it was Angel coming back home. She ran up on the porch beside me and I stooped down to hug her.
“Good girl. Where’s George?” I whispered in her ear.
“Right here, baby girl, shouldn’t you be in the cabin?” he said, quietly reprimanding me.
“How many are there?” I asked. “I shot one over there by the trailer.”
“Fuck. Annie, I should have known.”
“Thought there were two running ahead of me and Angel but could have been three at the start. Couldn’t see shit. Even darker in the bush. Angel put a good run on them. They’ll be a while circling around and getting back here, but they’ll make another try. No doubt about it.”
“Who are they?”
“Must be friends of Snake Portsmith—Kenny’s old man. He came to kill me at my place in the city, but I thought I convinced him to give it up.”
“Guess not,” I said. “Are we putting on a pot of coffee while we wait for the second run, or are we moving out?”
“I don’t run from a fight, Annie. I’ll keep watch with Angel, out here. She could use a drink.”
I started the coffee maker, swallowed two of my pain meds, and carried Angel’s water bowl out to the front porch. She lapped up half of it and lay down beside George. She would definitely hear anyone approaching through the bush, long before we would. When the coffee was ready, I poured two mugs and sat with George on the front steps.
“Won’t be light for hours yet.”
“Wish I had my night vision scope up here,” George said. “It would give me an advantage.”
“Did you look at that guy over there? I don’t know where I got him.”
“Yeah, I looked while you were inside. He’s done, Annie. You finished another one.”
“I was aiming for his legs when he shot at my head, so I bore down on him.”
“His fuckin mistake,” he whispered.
A low growl came from Angel’s throat and we both stopped talking. She bolted off the steps and ran to the left of the cabin into the thick underbrush.
“Ughh,” someone cried out.
George ran after Angel and a few seconds later a shot echoed in the night.
“Fuck.”
&nb
sp; George. Running on my sore leg was awkward and painful, but that had been George swearing. I'd know his cursing anywhere. Another shot rang off directly in front of me. I tripped and fell. What the—
George pulled back his outstretched leg and I scrambled to my knees. He was sitting up against a tree holding on to his right leg, his gun in his hand.
“Are you okay?” My voice cracked. “Where are you hit?”
“No big deal, Annie, through and through,” he gasped, “I think I got him. Be careful.” His breathing was rapid, and I needed this excitement to end.
As I moved forward, a low menacing growl rumbled from Angel. About three feet away I could make out a figure lying partly covered in a bed of ferns. Angel had his throat. He wasn’t moving. I scooped his rifle out of his hand, called Angel off and groped my way back to where I had left George.
He was gone.
Scrambling back through the dense undergrowth towards the cabin, another shot went off. Angel took off and I was right on her heels. My breath was coming in short gasps as I pulled myself up over the hill. Blood was oozing from the cuts in my arms and felt molten hot against my ice cold skin. Angel was barking rabidly about twenty feet in front of me.
Another shot rang out as I stepped into the clearing around the cabin. A tall skinny man was standing over George with a rifle pointed at his head. It hadn’t started to get light yet, but his outline was clear against the stainless steel of the bike trailer across the driveway behind him.
The click of his gun being cocked was followed by the guy shouting in a high pitched whine. “I’m gonna’ kill you for what you did to Kenny. You think breaking my nose would slow me down? Then you don’t know Snake Portsmith. You don’t know who you’re fuckin’ dealing with. You killed my boy, and now I’m gonna kill you.”
“I killed him,” I shouted, and when Snake cranked his head to the right to look at me I fired. He dropped like a stone and fell on top of George.
Angel growled and grabbed him by the neck. “It’s okay, girl. I think we’re done for tonight,” I said. I used my foot to roll the body off George, then helped him sit up. “What about your leg?”
