by Rob Ashman
‘Where was he?’
‘He was buried underground in a metal coffin. No wonder I couldn’t find him last night. You stay here, I need to go get him.’ She handed Harper her gun. ‘If she moves put another hole in her.’
Moran ran back to Lucas. She found him staggering around, stretching his limbs and arching his back.
‘Hey, you need to be careful,’ she said.
‘Where’s Harper? How is he? Where’s Mechanic?’ He fell to his knees.
‘Wow, take it easy. Harper is safe. He looks like he’s been run over by a truck and he needs a doctor but he’ll survive. Mechanic is out of commission and she’s bleeding out. We need to get back there. You up for a walk?’
‘Yes.’ He held out his arm and she pulled him to his feet.
‘Take it slow.’
‘I thought I was going to die in there.’
‘I think that was Mechanic’s plan. And Harper nearly died as well, several times.’
They walked back at a slow pace. Lucas had to stop every so often to steady himself. Along the way, Moran filled Lucas in with the details of what Mechanic had done to Harper and how he had kept her occupied while she searched for him. Lucas described how Mechanic would visit him and taunt him. The outflow of emotions was too much for Lucas and he couldn’t stop crying.
They reached the cabin and went inside. Harper was still sitting, leaning against the wall with the gun by his side. Mechanic was coming round, groaning on the floor.
‘Fucking hell,’ Lucas said when he saw the state of Harper. Moran went to the sink, drew water into a bowl and tended to the deep wounds around Harper’s neck and wrists. She unwound the bandage from his fingers, Harper gritted his teeth as the material separated from his exposed flesh. Moran found some salt in one of the cupboards, made a solution in a bowl and handed it to Harper.
‘It will hurt like a bastard.’
Harper dunked his fingers into the fluid and almost hit the roof.
Lucas found the coffee and something to eat. He sat on the floor next to Mechanic and watched her writhe around. Moran fixed food for Harper and a mug of water.
‘Thanks,’ he said. Everything hurt.
‘Why did you patch her up?’ asked Lucas.
‘Because the holes in her are from my gun and I didn’t really think it was my place to kill her.’
‘What do we do with her now?’
Lucas and Harper flashed each other a look.
Moran and Lucas dragged Mechanic outside. She lay on her front, blood oozing from her chest. Harper hobbled out and sank into the wicker chair. Moran had found the keys to the van in the bedroom and opened it up. Lucas helped her heave the gurney onto the floor.
Mechanic came round and started to struggle against the cuffs.
‘What the fuck?’ she said twisting herself to lie on her side staring at Harper. She let out a yell as the shattered bones crunched in her knee.
‘Careful now,’ Harper said.
‘You stupid fuck. Now your precious friend Lucas is a dead man.’
Moran stepped up onto the decking.
‘You!’ spluttered Mechanic. ‘I saw you once with Lucas in an ice-cream parlour on the Vegas Strip. You must be a cop too.’
Moran nodded. ‘Yeah, we were there but I don’t recall him introducing me to you.’
‘Have you told her, Harper? Have you told her that this means Lucas is a dead man?’
‘No, I thought I’d leave that up to you.’
Mechanic laughed. ‘You fuckwit, you killed him. You’ll never find him now.’
Lucas walked up and stood behind Moran. Mechanic for once was lost for words, her mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.
‘Ready,’ Lucas said.
‘Yup,’ said Moran.
They marched forward and hauled Mechanic across the floor to the edge of the walkway. They rolled her over the edge and onto the gurney. She landed hard and yelped in pain. Moran stepped down, pulled out the extendable handle and inserted the crossbar. They towed Mechanic away from the lodge.
‘I’m going to kill you all,’ she snarled as she bounced around. Once or twice Mechanic tried to get off the gurney but her injuries were too great and she slumped back down. They walked in silence through the undergrowth and came to a clearing. Thirty yards ahead stood the mounds of earth.
‘We thought you’d like to try it out,’ Lucas said.
Mechanic twisted around and saw where she was. She laughed.
‘You think you’re going to scare me with that? Be my guest. None of you have the balls to kill me. You’re all cops and law-abiding citizens.’
‘That’s right, we are. But before we call the cops to have you taken in, I want you to feel what it’s like. Besides, we are all a lot safer if you are locked up in there.’
Mechanic laughed again. ‘I knew it. You’re gutless pieces of shit. Put me in the box, I don’t care.’
Moran pulled open the lid and Lucas tilted the gurney up onto two wheels. Mechanic rolled off and hit the side of the hole before landing in the metal box with a thud.
‘You should be ripping me apart right now, not putting me away for some limp dick cop to arrest me.’ Moran slammed the lid and fixed the clasps.
The sound of Mechanic laughing drifted up through the air pipe.
‘You haven’t got the balls.’ They could hear her voice screaming from the box. Moran kicked the soil on top, filling in the trench. Lucas and Harper followed suit, pushing the earth into the hole. A few minutes later it was covered over. The dirt had a sound-deadening quality, but they could still hear Mechanic’s cackling voice rising from the tube.
All three stood around. Nobody spoke. Each one in their own personal quiet zone, taking in what had just happened. Each one thinking ‘It’s over’.
Lucas picked up the branch Moran had used to dig him out and took out Mechanic’s hunting knife. He sat on the floor and drew the blade across the wood. Slivers of bark peeled away. He rotated the wood and repeated the process.
‘We used to do this when I was a kid. Me and my dad would go camping and we’d sit around whittling away at old branches. I had one of those Swiss Army knives with the twenty-seven blades, I thought I was the kingpin with that. We would make spears and bows and arrows and go hunting. My mum would never have approved of such things so we never told her.’
He turned the wood over and over in his hands, slicing at the end, whittling it down into a point.
The sound of Mechanic’s voice drifted up from the air pipe.
‘You do realise I will spend my days in a high security mental hospital having three square meals a day and watching daytime TV while your wife will be decomposing in the ground, Lucas. Lucas, do you hear me?’ She screamed with laughter.
Lucas put the wood on the floor and sawed the end off.
‘Yeah, I used to do the same thing except neither of my parents would have approved,’ said Moran, ‘so I didn’t tell them either.’
They allowed the moment to pass between them.
Moran looked at Harper.
‘Are you ready? We got some serious cleaning up to do in that log cabin.’
‘Yes, come on, let’s go.’
They turned and left Lucas sitting on the ground.
Lucas thought about the families Mechanic had murdered, he thought about the women left alive with nothing to live for. He thought about the kids who would never see their next birthday. He thought about the couples she had killed in the motels and how in the end she did it for fun. He thought about Chris Bassano and his grieving family, and of course he thought about his wife, Darlene. It would have been their wedding anniversary next month. A tear ran down his cheek.
He rooted around in his jacket pocket and brought out the Polaroid camera which Harper had presented him as a gift. He had found it on the floor of the van when taking out the gurney. He slid the lever on the side and it popped open.
He put the viewfinder to his eye.
Lucas pushed the button.
; 50
Exactly one year on
June 1985
Lucas heard the familiar sound of alloy wheels striking concrete. Harper had come to visit and he was late. They were watching the afternoon baseball game and Lucas had prepared a feast. A feast of chili dogs and beer that is. There was a rapid knock at the door.
Lucas opened it and Harper pushed past him into the hallway.
‘It’s hammering down out there,’ he said shaking water from his coat and onto the walls as he tossed it in the corner. He left dirty footprints on the carpet on his way to the living room, carrying with him a suitcase of forty-eight cans of beer.
‘Come in, why don’t you,’ Lucas said as he breezed by.
Lucas hung up Harper’s coat and went into the living room to find him with a beer already in hand, pulling back the tab on another. He handed it to Lucas.
‘Cheers. Here’s to drinking in the afternoon.’ They hit the cans together and drank.
‘You hungry?’
‘Always hungry, man. You of all people should know that. Always hungry and always thirsty.’ He took a massive slurp and burped.
Lucas clanked around with pots and plates in the kitchen.
Harper went to the sideboard and picked up a framed photograph.
‘This always makes me smile,’ he said holding it up.
‘Yeah, me too. You know it was a year ago today.’
‘Yup, I got up this morning and smiled so wide my head almost broke in half. It is truly a day to celebrate.’ He emptied the can down his throat and cracked open another.
Harper took another swig and continued, ‘I keep mine stuck to the dashboard of my car. Every time a light turns red or I can’t find a parking space or someone cuts me up, I take a look at it and smile. It works every time.’
‘What could be better – the New York Yankees versus the Tampa Bay Rays on a day of celebration.’ Lucas laughed and handed Harper a plate overflowing with a foot-long hot dog, chilli, onions, grated cheese and a fist-sized helping of jalapenos on the side.
‘You got sauces?’ Harper asked.
‘What?’
‘You know, like condiments.’
Lucas skulked back into the kitchen shaking his head.
Harper balanced the photograph on the top of the TV.
Lucas returned with ketchup and sat down ready for the game.
‘That way we can look at both,’ Harper said pointing to the picture and holding his can out towards Lucas.
‘Yes, that way we can look at both.’
‘Cheers.’
Two thousand miles and three time zones away Moran was waking up. It was late, but that was fine because she had nothing planned and all day to do it in. She got up and padded into the kitchen. The plates from last night’s dinner were still on the table along with the wine glasses. She clicked on the kettle and turned the TV to a twenty-four-hour news channel.
Moran pottered around loading the dishwasher and fixing coffee. She fetched her bag from the hall, unzipped a pocket and pulled out a photograph. She laid it on the table and ran her finger across it.
The kettle boiled and she poured water into the coffee pot to let it brew. She pulled two cups from the cupboard.
‘Come back to bed,’ a voice came from the bedroom.
‘In a minute, just making coffee.’
She returned to the photograph, it made her smile.
‘Hurry up!’ The voice was playfully insistent.
Moran had finally worked out why her track record with dating men was so crap. Judy was an elementary school teacher and was everything Moran was not. She was soft, girlie, colourful and a touch on the crazy side. They met at a job fair and hit it off straightaway. Three months later she moved in. Judy was now waiting for her late morning coffee.
Moran had left the force. The charges that were levelled at her melted away. Mills couldn’t prove she’d been at the public records office, and she managed to convince the disciplinary hearing that she was unfit for duty at the time she investigated the Nassra Shamon accounts. Having fifteen people testify that she threw up her breakfast during the morning briefing certainly helped. And quietly pointing out to Mills that he was on Bonelli’s payroll had helped a great deal.
Despite escaping with nothing more than a severe dressing down from the chief and a disciplinary note on her file, her heart was no longer in the job. Two weeks later she handed her badge in for good.
Now she worked at the University of Las Vegas lecturing in criminology. It was challenging at times but at least people didn’t tend to fire guns at her. For the first time in years she was happy and relaxed. She still wore black, but Judy had it as her life’s ambition to see her girlfriend dressed in pink one day.
Moran replaced the picture in her bag and zipped the pocket shut. She poured the coffee and headed back to bed.
Fabiano Bassano was watching baseball in his man-cave. The room was full of excited chatter as the additives from the fizzy drinks and chocolate snacks began to kick in and the kids went a little crazy. He liked nothing better than watching the game with his five grandchildren. They were mad about baseball and mad about Grandpa.
Whenever they got together it was always the same. The kids talked over the commentary, walked in front of the TV, and bombarded him with questions about the rules, but that was fine. For Fabiano Bassano, enjoying the ball game with his grandchildren had nothing to do with the ball game.
‘Hey, what’s going on,’ he cried, holding up an empty beer bottle. ‘Who’s on bar duty?’
One of the children reached up, snatched it from his grasp and dashed into the kitchen, returning a minute later with a frosted replacement, courtesy of Grandma.
Zak, the youngest, snuggled onto the chair alongside him.
‘Grandpa, why do you have this silly picture?’ His shock of black tousled hair hid his face as he gazed at a silver framed photograph in his tiny hand. He looked up, his moon face and bright eyes waiting for his favourite playmate to respond.
‘Yes, that is a silly picture, isn’t it?’
They both laughed.
‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know. Someone gave it to me. I like it, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I like it too.’
‘It makes me smile.’
‘It makes me smile too, Grandpa. Who gave it to you?’
‘A friend of Uncle Chris.’
‘Is he the one who died?’
‘Yes. He died when you were small.’
‘I like it.’ Zak turned the picture over in his hands and the frame caught the light.
‘I’ll let you into a secret.’ Fabiano bent his head and whispered into the child’s ear. ‘Do you know what today is?’
‘No, what?’
‘Today is its birthday.’
‘Its birthday?’ Zak was fixated, not taking his eyes off the image. ‘How can a picture have a birthday?’
‘Well, it’s one year ago today that the photograph was taken.’
‘Wow, then it does have a birthday.’ Zak and his grandpa sang Happy Birthday. But Grandpa struggled on occasion to get his words out. When they finished he dabbed his eyes with his sleeve.
‘Now put it back and we can watch the game.’
Zak shuffled off the chair and placed it on the shelf.
It was an odd photograph.
It showed a length of green metal tubing poking out of the ground with a carved wooden plug jammed in the top.
The End
Acknowledgments
I want to thank all those who have made this third book possible – My family Karen, Gemma, Holly and Maureen for their blunt, painful feedback and endless patience. To my band of loyal proofreaders Yvonne, Lesley, Christine, Penny, Christine, Nicki, Jackie and Simon who didn’t hold back either and finally my superb editor, Helen Fazal, who once again did an amazing job and made me a better writer in the process.
I would also like to mention my wider circle of family and friends for their fantastic
support and endless supply of helpful comments. Who made marketing suggestions such as, ‘You should have a battle bus Rob like they do in elections’, provided excellent advice on plot development, ‘You need more teachers in your books’ and gave constructive critique on my attempts at media promotion, ‘Just been listening to some knob on the radio rambling on about coffee and writer’s block’. With such an abundance of quality guidance, how could I possibly go wrong.
Finally, I would like to say a special thank you to the brilliant bloggers Caroline Vincent, Sharon Bairden and Susan Hampson. They saw something in my writing when I was initially setting out that made them want to shout about it, and fortunately for me they still do. They are very special people and I am a lucky man to have them in my corner.
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Readers who enjoyed Pay The Penance will also enjoy the first two books in the Mechanic Trilogy also by Rob Ashman.
Those Who Remain .
In Your Name .
