Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  “You don’t get to judge me. You weren’t man enough to stick around, and when you left, you made sure not to return. I checked everywhere for you—hospitals, jails, the morgue—and here you come strolling in three years later as if nothing happened. So, if you are looking to get your jollies off again, I’d suggest you go and use what you always were capable of doing and go do your own circle and jerk.”

  She pushed against him and hurriedly opened the office door, allowing the sounds of her new home to cement her back into the life she now called her own.

  9

  Alone, Shane frowned and watched her retreat. Humility was never one of his strengths.

  He’d have to play his best game of poker to keep all of the lies straight, especially when it came to the real reason he’d been recalled out of his undercover position before.

  Her.

  Before he’d left, he’d stolen one last night away with her in hopes of keeping him warm for many cold nights. In all of her brevity, she’d somehow wiggled her way through and gotten too close to him, piercing his cover and making him reckless, so much so that the Greater Richmond Police Department had suspended his assignment, pulling him back in and sitting him behind a desk until he recovered.

  For three years he’d tried to make his way back—first, dealing with his commanding officers wanting to pull him out and second, following the trail of heroin, the drugs being transported until he found another way into the circle of trust. Whenever he was in the same city, she was never far from his mind.

  But it had taken too long. Her warmth had been replaced with a coldness he could never shake. Her dilated pupils told him what he didn’t wish to know.

  A man without anything to lose is formidable, but one who showed weakness was feeble, including him.

  Instead of allowing that thought to fester, he straightened and headed back to the table where his friends waited.

  He’d have to deal with his wife later.

  10

  August 6, 2003

  It was a one-sided love affair and always with a different “he.” A man with a different face and name who seemed soulless. In the backroom, while loud music blared from the girls dancing out front, Charlie tried to hide. She fiddled with an unlit cigarette. She’d hoped Jesse would walk away, but that would have meant allowing her to have the upper hand, and strong-arming her would’ve been bad for business.

  Instead, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward his office, a larger room with its sizable windows that overlooked the club and was outfitted with a bed.

  Once alone with her, and blocking the door, he crossed his arms and stared at Charlie. “You know him?” Jesse asked. He glared at her, waiting for an answer. She’d told no one about Shane—no one about the husband she still had.

  Placing the cigarette between her lips, she flicked the flint wheel, creating a flame. Leaning forward, she watched the paper begin to burn.

  She inhaled.

  Charlie turned and stared out the window and bit back the curse words she wished to unleash. She’d been a fool to act out with Jesse looking on. She tried not to pinpoint the gait of Shane strutting back toward his table.

  Turning instead, she took in Jesse’s brooding posture. “We were acquainted,” she muttered.

  “And now? Why’d you hit him?”

  “It doesn’t mean anything. It was me just being foolish, irrational.”

  “You expect me to believe that? I’m not a fool, Charlie. Is that the guy?”

  She didn’t have to ask about what he meant by the guy. According to him, someone had made her emotionally unavailable to him.

  “We’re together. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

  “You’re mine.”

  “I know.” Her words were less of an affirmation and more of the validation of a prison sentence, a sentence she longed to have pardoned. But when was enough, enough? When would sick and tired go from thought to propelling her out the door? Without the information of her son, the information Jesse held over her head, she was stuck.

  Once in the family, there was only one way out—death—and she’d been in too long to simply disappear.

  Under the soft lighting, his cold glare had softened and now smoldered. Like an animal seeking to mark his territory, he led her over to the mattress.

  Despair seeped out of Charlie’s pores as layers of sweat-soaked the too-often used bed sheets. Self-worth was something she couldn’t afford, for in her line of work a willing spread eagle made all the difference.

  With Jesse grunting loud in her ear, she tried to imagine a different place and time, her with a man who saw beyond the grime that stuck under her nails as she tried to crawl her way out of her self-made hell. She tried to remember what it meant to be free, able to do as she wished, ready to be who she truly was.

  Freedom, maybe that's why Shane was back. Perhaps he'd come back to rescue her.

  Instead, her door was constantly kicked open as man after man took what she dared not deny them. Maybe in a better place and time she would have had options, but the yoke around her neck was too tight; the bit in her mouth kept her quiet.

  Her thoughts continued to snowball until he spasmed over her and stopped moving.

  Feeling the warm stickiness on her stomach, she rolled to the side, retrieving a couple of tissues to clean up while he lay on his back, his powers extinguished for at least another twenty minutes.

  Popping a psychedelic-causing pill, she leaned back and thought of him. Seeing Shane tonight didn’t make things easier. She’d always imagined a different scenario: his rescuing her from the beast. But now she knew he was a part of it.

  But that’s what happens when love and survival become a crazy whirlwind filled with hands wrapped around necks, bruised egos, and trunks. The game she played teetered on suicide. Each day she stayed was another day of spinning the metaphorical cylinder in the cocked and loaded gun.

  She watched Jesse rise and zip up his pants. “If I see you talking to him again, I won’t be so loving next time.”

  11

  “We have a job to do tonight,” Jesse announced as he and his men piled into a box truck. “If we don’t fuck it up, the boss will be happy, and when he’s happy, we prosper from that . . . if we don’t act like a bunch of animals that is.”

  “It should be easy enough,” Shane said. Glancing into the rearview mirror, he looked at the four thugs seated behind him: Sven, Otto, Alcide, and Javier. Each with their own set of skills, be it language translation or more physical assertion. He pulled out into traffic.

  “We’re not fucking animals, Jesse. We’re humans,” Sven said.

  Everyone stared at him, including Shane from the rearview mirror.

  Jesse turned around in his seat.

  “Are you a nitwit, or were you just born stupid?” Javier asked. “Humans are animals.”

  The portly man shook his head as if understanding and then pinched the nostrils of his nose.

  No one was sure if Sven was just one shot shy of flying over the cuckoo’s nest or if he’d already landed there. He was the same man who constantly talked about Quebec being a different country than Canada. His impediment wasn’t due to a disability though. He’d been using too long, and the stuff had cooked his brain. It was an all-too-common side effect of using one’s own supply.

  At least he still was an okay enforcer, but one to watch. All Sven ever seemed to want was access to that good stuff, which meant if anyone ever got in his way, he’d take them out without an afterthought, probably because he couldn’t remember the difference between right and wrong.

  “When are we going to break in a new girl?” Sven then continued. “It’s about that time, right?

  “We’re just transferring something for the boss,” Alcide chimed in and slapped his twin brother on the back.

  Sven and Alcide were biological twins, but born of different fathers. No one had ever understood how it had happened; they were two shades and had almost nothing in common except for
their surnames. While Sven was short and round, Alcide was tall and brawny. Sven said the first thing that came to his mind, and Alcide was quiet; and where Sven seemed to wish to make everyone his friend, Alcide hung back in the shadows and watched.

  Shane had previously heard of heteropaternal superfecundation, where two men fathered fraternal twins, and having witnessed it, he didn’t dare ask any questions. It wasn’t any of his business, and he didn’t want to take the chance that Sven might react badly. That would only lead to a massive confrontation, and he couldn’t afford that right now.

  “You stick with me, and then you can change from just one of the boys to part of our family.” Jesse stretched out his closed hand in Shane’s direction, and they pounded fists.

  With that news, Shane nodded his head in agreement. No matter what plans anyone in the group may have, all that mattered was loyalty, and when Blackwell, the boss, called, regardless of time, place, or distance, he knew he had to be available.

  From his knowledge of the group’s hierarchy, it appeared to be modeled after the Italian Mafia, as if they’d all watched too many episodes of Scarface and legitimized their gang into a circuit for organized crime, without the symbols and bloodline, forming into a syndicate with international ties. Blackwell was the boss, the man behind the scenes who he needed to catch.

  Driving, he followed Jesse’s directions down Interstate 95 to Petersburg and pulled up to an old brick warehouse. The large metal shipping door rose with a bang, and there on the ground lay five people, male and female, bound and gagged.

  “Don’t worry about them,” Jesse said. “They are illegal immigrants, no documentation, no paperwork, and no way for the police to track them as missing.”

  Shane tried not to shake his head in disgust. There was no one around to pull them over or make it so that he didn’t have to go through with the imminent crime.

  One by one, the men and women were gathered up and pushed toward the truck.

  “Por favor, por favor,” one of the women said in her muffled Spanish.

  Stuck behind the steering wheel, Shane watched from his side mirror while she continued to repeat herself and beg the males in the group to release her.

  “This one here can’t wait to give it up,” Jesse almost howled. “Bossman is going to be happy about that.”

  Shane gripped the steering wheel and inhaled.

  Everything had sacrifices, even justice.

  12

  Pulling herself up from the mattress, Charlie began to straighten herself up when her gaze fell on Jesse’s desk. Unlike the rest of the cluttered room, it was neat and clean. On the center of the massive piece of furniture, she saw a ring she recognized—a ring she’d seen on Veronika’s hand when she’d tried to persuade Charlie to leave. Picking up the ring, she stared at its ornate Celtic design. Putting it up to the light, she saw what appeared to be crusted blood on the ring’s ridge.

  Veronika would never have given her ring away; it was the only thing she had left of her family, all killed during a car accident that she’d survived. Charlie read the inscription:

  Happy 16th Veroni - love mom & dad

  Bile rose up her throat, burning. She cupped her hands over her mouth. How was she going to find out the truth without looking for it? Pulling her shoulders back, she swallowed the frightening scream, hoping to hold her composure, hoping to quash the questions rattling around in her mind. The only truth she knew was that the ring in her hand belonged to her dear friend.

  She recalled Veronika's words. Maybe it was time to seek other recourse after all. Maybe sleeping with a monster wasn't the best protection from living the nightmare.

  Charlie slid the ring into her pocket.

  The best investigations started with asking the correct questions, and the only person she could ask for help was the man who still owed her an explanation of why he had disappeared.

  13

  August 9, 2003

  In the half-empty diner with a baseball cap pulled down over his head, Shane stared into his cup of coffee as if it would provide him with a get-out-of-hell card. He patiently waited, while the waitress, in her black outfit, skirted around the restaurant serving platters filled with bacon and eggs.

  A television in the corner announced the day’s weather as a breaking news ticker scrolled across the bottom of the frame, inciting more fear of pending terrorist plots, a recession, wannabe reality stars, and the newest hate crimes.

  Yet on the streets, the world was different.

  What he saw and understood through his lens of perception was three-fold: people struggled to survive the hikes in cost of living, mothers abandoned their kids to make ends meet, while absent fathers stood on street corners, slinging more drugs than the War on Drugs had successfully procured since its inception. All the while the fat cats of rival gangs fought for territory and servants to do their bidding.

  Shane lifted the cup again to his lips. The hot brew was strong enough to keep him awake although his body craved more than a couple of hours of sleep.

  His table was filled with a half-eaten plate of pancakes, bacon, and hash browns, and even though the normal him would have loved to pick up a newspaper and peruse the day’s headlines, this version of him couldn’t.

  As if on cue, a figure slid into the booth behind him, separated by the red vinyl cushions. Listening to the shaking of a newspaper opening, and the clearing of a throat, he heard the words: “The Bible is an interesting read. John 11:11.”

  Shane bit back his smirk. Only a smart-ass would think to use his actual name in their secret code, but that was Edward Hobbes, his partner on the other side of justice. The Bible verse stated: “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but now I will go and wake him up.”

  “Why’d you want to see me?”

  “You went off the grid last time, and I want to know the plan.”

  “Same as it was. Get info and report.”

  “Well, according to our intel, the heads of the Brotherhood, Blackwell, and Lang will meet soon. They are about to move some heavy weight. Chief has been gearing up for a takedown, but we need to know the exact details of where and when.”

  “They just moved something, a large number of shipping crates, but there wasn’t time or opportunity to pass the information along. I’ll figure out a way to get it to you, even if I have to leave a message on the bathroom stall next time. But I may now have a new idea.

  “You can’t get too deep in this.”

  It was a soft-spoken warning, a reminder of all it took for him to return to being an undercover officer.

  “You know I ran into her, right?”

  “You conveniently left that out of your report.”

  “I’m fine with her, with everything. I know who I am and what I’m here to do.” He wasn’t sure if the words were more for him or Hobbes. “In fact, she’s going to be what gets us to Blackwell.”

  “Are you willing to take that risk? To risk her for this.”

  “I’ll do whatever I have to do. What’s a little collateral damage?” Shane left the rest unsaid. Instead, he reached into his pocket and dropped a couple of dollars on the table. The less time he was seen with a cop, the better, especially when he was so deep undercover. If his cover was blown, then it would mean becoming someone’s target practice, and he simply didn’t like getting shot at, unless he had a weapon to return fire.

  Then it was a true gem of a game.

  Shane knew he only had one option to get what he needed: Charlie. Back behind the wheel, unsure of how he’d handle everything with her, he followed the winding road to an old house, the place she’d lived when they used to meet up.

  The once manicured lawn was now overgrown, untrimmed shrubs crowded the dirty windows, and two cars sat in the dirt driveway.

  Pulling up, Shane wasn’t too sure about what he’d say to her and how he’d try to get into her good graces. She’d evidently found a different way of living, a move he never thought she’d consider.

  Stepping
out of his car, he heard the porch swing creak as a soft breeze pushed it back and forth, and in the distance, a hound dog barked. He glanced over to the parked car that blocked the stairs, a car he’d seen many times before.

  Jesse.

  Shane tapped against the door and waited, all the while feeling eyes bore into him, as if behind the dirty windows others watched and waited. His weight shifted from right to left as he continued to weigh his options. He needed to see her, to speak to her, but not show his desperation. No, she could never know how much he needed her to help him. Getting involved with her was like a Chinese finger trap. He’d be sucked in and unable to get out.

  To him, Jesse’s mannerisms depicted a wannabe mobster who couldn’t get his mask quite straight. His hollow hardness filled with weak holes. Yet, still higher in rank than him, Shane knew that to procure what he needed, he couldn’t risk getting in Jesse’s way.

  At least not now.

  Cupping his hands, he attempted to peer into the windows, but saw nothing besides grit and grime, which covered the glass panes. After seeing no movement and hearing no response, Shane turned to leave.

  But he’d be back.

  14

  Jesse hurried back into the kitchen, away from the foyer. She shouldn’t have asked him about the ring, about Veronika. He’d remained silent. But he seemed even more amped up after the knock on the door. Charlie could feel his rage bouncing off of the walls even before his fist slammed into the wall, cracking the plaster. His muffled curses encased her. Dark shadows forever present.

  Seeing Shane depart was bittersweet, for she knew what it meant for Jesse and her. His presence would be catastrophic to their happiness. It was never good when the man you’re with was not the one you desired.