Deep Dark Night

by Steph Broadribb

  ‘You got him though. You must have fought back even after you were shot. When I came into the room you’d gotten him cuffed.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to let him get away with what he did. He killed Anton and Mikey. Otis and Thomas, too.’ My voice is rasping against my parched throat. There’s a tippy cup on the side table. ‘Could you pass me the water?’

  ‘Sure.’

  He does and I take a sip. The water feels like liquid needles against my raw throat.

  ‘You should know…’ JT exhales hard. ‘Anton, Mikey and Otis weren’t the only ones who died last night.’

  I stare at him. Wait for him to continue.

  He runs a hand over the stubble on his chin. ‘Johnny and Carl didn’t make it.’

  ‘What happened?’

  The question hangs in the space between us. The machines beep on.

  JT says nothing. Looks real conflicted.

  I break the stalemate. ‘Where’s Carmella?’

  He shakes his head. ‘She’s gone. In the wind.’

  ‘I don’t understand—’

  He glances over his shoulder towards the closed door. Moves closer to me, crouching down so he can whisper in my ear. ‘It was her. She got that specific group of men together for a reason; she orchestrated the power outage, she set up the electronic voice and the penthouse lockdown, and initiated the decontamination process. The voice recordings implied one of them was Herron for a reason – she knew they’d fight, that none of them would want to reveal their secrets or lose face. She meant for those men to either kill each other or be arrested and jailed for killing.’

  It doesn’t make sense. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because those men were all part of a development project that destroyed her family. Her father was leading the residents’ group against the development – so they had him killed. Her mother hung herself a little while after. Carmella was just a teenager, a few years older than Dakota is. She ended up on the street.’ JT shakes his head. ‘It doesn’t make it right, but she wanted to destroy those men – to make them pay for what they did to her family.’

  I give a slight nod, as much as I can manage. I can understand why Carmella did what she did. I’ve felt those feelings of revenge myself. I know how powerful a motivator they are, but also that they’re a false promise. I know from experience how empty you feel after you’ve gotten revenge. How it doesn’t make the loss you’ve experienced any easier to bear. ‘Shit.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘But she didn’t try to kill you?’

  ‘Not once she knew the truth. She’d assumed we were mob, because Cabressa was so insistent you came to the game. She hadn’t wanted anyone in the penthouse except for the men involved in the property syndicate, but she couldn’t refuse Cabressa and risk alienating him, and it was too late to call off the game. So she went ahead. Figured that you were mob so if you got taken out then it was collateral damage she could live with. I wouldn’t have been in the penthouse at all if Cabressa hadn’t insisted you made the call to get the knight delivered to the suite. She had to change the electronic recording when the lockdown happened and I was inside. Everyone had to have a secret revealed, so she made up a secret for me. Each person had a secret – but only one was Herron.’

  ‘So Carmella was Herron?’

  ‘As far as anyone ever was, yes. See, Herron was a myth – just a part of the set-up. She paid a lot of bribes to people with the skills she needed to make the plan work, and used the same tactic to get Herron’s name whispered whenever things went wrong on the street. When attacks and thefts went unclaimed, the rumours started that it was Herron’s doing. It didn’t take long for people to believe them.’

  ‘You felt sorry for her, so you let her go. Even though she was responsible for people dying?’

  He doesn’t speak, but I can see from his expression that I’m right.

  ‘She was in the hotel last night. I saw her.’

  ‘Yeah,’ says JT. ‘And now she’s gone.’

  ‘You tell Monroe about her?’

  He shakes his head. Grimaces. ‘You know how I feel about that guy.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Me and him both.

  ‘Shit, Lori. This…’ JT gestures to the hospital room, my wounds. ‘It’s real bad.’

  I fake a smile. Try to lighten the mood. ‘You should have seen the other guy.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Then you know I didn’t let him get off so lightly.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t going to make it.’ He takes my hand. Squeezes it. ‘You almost didn’t. If that had happened, I couldn’t have … Dakota would have…’

  ‘I know.’

  There’s nothing I can say to change the situation; JT’s speaking the truth. I’ve been shot twice in the last three jobs I’ve done. That’s double the number of gunshot wounds I’ve gotten in the rest of my career before that. And there’s a common factor in both. His name’s Special Agent Alex Monroe.

  I meet JT’s gaze. ‘Something needs to change.’

  69

  Monroe keeps jawing on, but I don’t hear a word he says. Instead, all I can hear is the voice in my head screaming at him: Liar, liar, liar.

  I hold up my hand to stop him. Even through the morphine the small movement hurts like a bitch. ‘Why are you here?’

  He frowns. Looks real confused. ‘Like I’ve been saying, we’ve got him. It’s a watertight case. All the evidence we’ve got, your testimony – he’s going to jail, no way to dodge it this time.’

  ‘How much did you get on camera?’

  ‘All of it, Lori, we got the whole damn thing.’

  ‘Really?’ There’s doubt in my voice. Enough, I hope, to get Monroe to talk me through the detail of what the micro camera captured.

  He takes the bait. ‘We’ve got it from the moment you stepped into that elevator and went up to the penthouse suite, until you cuffed him in your hotel room. We’ve got what he said, what he did, and what he planned to do. It’s multiple homicide, clear and simple. There’s no wriggle room.’

  ‘So the micro camera kept working even after I jumped into the river?’

  He nods. ‘They’re robust little suckers.’

  ‘Huh. I thought I’d lost it.’

  ‘After the medics did their thing, my tech team checked you out and retrieved it. It’d dislodged from the original spot in your hairline, ended up down near your ear, so the picture angle in the last section of footage is sort of wonky, but the audio’s good.’ He looks real pleased with himself.

  I muster my strength. Fix Monroe with a hard stare. ‘So you knew the whole time I was out on the street, and in my hotel room with him, that Cabressa meant to kill me?’

  Monroe glances away. Doesn’t reply.

  ‘You didn’t step in when he put the gun to my head, even though you were right there in the bathroom?’ My voice sounds stronger now; the anger overcoming the weakness of before. ‘And don’t deny you were in the bathroom. I saw you. As I started to fall, I saw you open the bathroom door.’

  Monroe runs his hand through his hair, pulling at the unruly tufts. ‘It wasn’t like—’

  ‘Save the bullshit.’ I look from him to the machines, and back again. ‘All this here,’ I say. ‘You’re paying for it.’

  It’s not a question.

  Monroe nods. ‘Least I can do.’

  I narrow my eyes. ‘Yeah. It is. Totally the least you can do. Because you could have stopped this happening.’

  He looks away. Fiddles with the cuff of his suit jacket.

  ‘So why didn’t you?’

  ‘Things aren’t always black and white, Lori.’

  ‘Next you’ll be telling me there’s a line that gets blurry.’

  ‘Well—’

  I glare at him. ‘You were watching the feed. You saw what he did. Heard what he intended to do.’

  ‘I needed the case to be strong. The more evidence I had that—’

  ‘So, what: you wanted him to kill me? For me to be another homicide add
ed to his tally. A lot of people died last night. They didn’t need to. You could have—’

  ‘Hold up.’ Monroe puts his hands up in surrender. ‘I didn’t want it to get that far.’

  ‘Sure, you say that now, but you could have stepped in at anytime. You had the SWAT team in position, you had yourself, but you chose to stand by and not intervene.’ I stare at him. Frown. ‘You disgust me.’

  ‘Look, if it helps, I’m sorry.’

  He doesn’t look sorry. And his half-assed apology is nothing more than a crock of shit. From my silence he seems to realise I’m not buying it.

  ‘Look I really am sorry,’ he says. ‘I messed up, okay? I get that. I got caught up in the high of finally having the evidence to convict the bastard. I’ve been after him for so many years, gotten so close but never made anything stick.’ He shakes his head, and points towards me. ‘You’ve changed all that, Lori. Together we’ve put a monster away. We should be proud.’

  I don’t reply. I don’t deny Cabressa needed to go to jail. I just don’t think I should’ve had to nearly die to make it happen. The machines around me beep and click. The bright white room feels claustrophobic with Monroe inside it.

  He steps closer to the bed. ‘We make a good partnership. We get stuff done, important stuff. We’re a team now, Lori, we make a difference, we owe it to—’

  ‘No.’ I stop him mid-flow. Can’t listen to any more of his delusions. ‘It doesn’t work for me. I could have been killed, and you would have stood back, stayed in the bathroom hiding, and let it happen.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have done that. Like I said, if I really thought you couldn’t get out of the situation I’d have stormed in and—’

  ‘Like I told you, I don’t believe you.’

  He shrugs. ‘Well, I guess it is what it is then.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. Fixing him with a hard stare. ‘And what it is, is done.’

  Monroe shakes his head. He smiles, but there’s no joy in it. ‘It’s done when I say so.’

  The anger flares inside me. ‘You don’t own me. I’ve paid back the debt for your help. We’re even. And we’re done.’

  He’s shaking his head. ‘If you think I’m going to just walk away from—’

  ‘I do think that. And I will not work with you again.’ I hold Monroe’s gaze, and make my voice firm, strong. ‘So this is the situation: You’re an asshole. My debt is paid. And, like I said, this here between us – it’s done.’

  We glare at each other.

  After a long moment, he nods once. ‘Well then, I guess this is goodbye.’

  I’m all talked out. I’ve got nothing left to say to him. So I just stare back at him, my expression emotionless, until eventually he turns and leaves the room.

  As the door closes behind him I sink back down against the pillows.

  Take a deep breath.

  And hope to hell my alliance with Monroe is finally over.

  70

  They insist on wheeling me out to the parking lot in a wheelchair. I argue that if I’m well enough to be discharged, I’m well enough to walk, but the medical staff won’t allow it. They quote hospital protocol, health-and-safety guidelines, or some such nonsense. In the end I give in and sit in the damn chair. Figure I’ll get the hell out of there faster if I do.

  JT walks alongside me, carrying the bag with my stuff inside. It feels strange being back outside in the daylight with the sun on my skin. My room in the hospital didn’t have a window, and my last memories of the outside world are the darkness of the blackout. It kind of feels like, having been removed from the real world, I’m now getting released back into the wild. It’s a good feeling, freedom. Even though I’m under stern instructions to take things easy and rest up, give my body time to heal.

  The orderly – an older guy with slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair and a kindly manner – wheels me all the way up to our rental car, then bends down and applies the chair’s brakes. ‘Here we are.’

  JT unlocks the white SUV. Opening the passenger door, he slings my bag onto the backseat, then turns to face me. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Sure am.’ I push myself out of the chair and turn stiffly to look at the orderly. My vision swims a little from the movement, and it takes me a moment to get my balance back. Now that I’m upright, I feel kind of wobbly. Maybe the chair was a good idea after all. I meet the orderly’s gaze and smile. ‘Thanks so much, Frank.’

  ‘Anytime,’ he says with a smile. ‘Get home safe, you hear?’ He nods goodbye to JT, then releases the wheelchair’s brakes.

  I watch Frank push the chair back to the hospital building, then turn to look at JT. He looks real fine leaning against the SUV; faded denim jeans, grey tee, deep tan and those remarkable blue eyes of his, the exact same colour as our baby girl’s, only slightly hidden by the dirty-blond hair that flops down over his forehead. I look up at him and meet his gaze.

  ‘Hey,’ JT says. He moves towards me. Cups my face in his hand. Kisses me on the mouth.

  Even through the bruising and the pain my body responds to him; love and lust mingling as one. I kiss him back. Don’t want to ever stop. The taste of him is like home.

  When we pull apart he’s smiling, but there’s still worry in his big old blues.

  ‘Hey yourself,’ I say, smiling back. ‘It’s damn good to be out.’

  He laughs then, a proper belly laugh. ‘It was only four days.’

  ‘Felt like four years to me.’

  ‘You never did like to stay still.’

  ‘True that.’ I rest my head against his chest. Listen to his heartbeat. Feel his warmth as he puts his arms around me, real gentle, and strokes my hair.

  We stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, standing in the hospital parking lot.

  Then he kisses the top of my head. Releases me from his embrace and nods towards the car. ‘You all set?’

  ‘Sure am.’ I take a step closer to the SUV. My body still aches, the pain meds they’ve given me take the edge off, but the bruising and stitches make my skin feel too tight, and every movement is an effort. I tire easy, right now. I hate feeling sub-optimal, health compromised, but I’m grateful too – I know how close I was to not getting out of that penthouse, and then the hotel room, alive.

  ‘You need a hand?’ JT asks.

  I look at the passenger seat. Now that I have to climb inside it, the rental SUV seems higher off the ground than usual. ‘Maybe a boost.’

  He smiles. ‘I can handle that.’ Moving behind me, he puts his hands on my hips. ‘Is this okay, not hurting?’

  ‘It’s fine.’ I grit my teeth. Don’t tell him that everything hurts. He’s not pressing on the gunshot wound, that’s the main thing.

  He supports me as I grip the passenger seat and the handle over the doorway, and start to ease myself into the vehicle. I’m halfway in when my cell starts vibrating in my pants pocket. I ignore it. Whoever it is, they’ll have to wait.

  The twist is the worse. Pain stabs into my side and I gasp.

  ‘Okay?’ JT says, concern in his voice, and on his face. ‘Did I—?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say. I keep my breathing shallow and my body as still as possible. Give myself a moment to get the pain under control. Then I put my hand on JT’s arm. ‘I’m good.’

  He smiles, but the worry is still there in the lines around his eyes. He helps me with my seatbelt, then closes the passenger door and heads around the SUV to the driver’s side.

  As he climbs into the vehicle I check my cellphone. I inhale sharply when I see the caller ID. Bite my lip.

  ‘Problem?’ says JT.

  I show him the screen. ‘Monroe called me. He’s left a voicemail.’

  JT frowns. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  I put the cell on my lap and try to get comfortable in the seat. However I sit, the stitches in my side seem to pull. I shake my head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I think you do.’ JT’s sitting real still, his focus totally on me.

 
I swallow hard. Know that he’s right. ‘Yeah, I guess I do.’

  Calling my answer service, I wait for the connection, then listen as the service takes me to Monroe’s message.

  ‘Lori? It’s Monroe.’ His Kentucky drawl is even faster than usual. ‘I guess you don’t want to talk.’ He pauses again, like he’s hoping I’ll pick up or something. A few seconds later he continues. ‘Well, look, I thought you should know, we’re taking Cabressa to trial. The DA’s real hot for the case, so it’s getting expedited, which is good news – great news – but, you know, like I said, they’re going to want you to give evidence against him. Tell it like it happened that night. Be someone, a victim – survivor if you like – that the jury can make a human connection with, you know.’ He takes a breath. ‘So you’re going to need to be there, at the trial. I don’t have a date to give you yet, but, I thought you should know.’

  I stare out of the windshield, across the parking lot. Watch a young child and her mother walking along the path towards the hospital building. See the cars arriving into the lot, and others leaving. Feel the freedom I felt just minutes ago drifting away from me. The thought of going to Cabressa’s trial makes me feel sick. I want to get out of this city and not come back for a real long time. And I sure as shit don’t want to testify.