Memory Hole

by Douglas Jern

  “Tell me about it.”

  A tortured whine rose from Joey’s throat.

  “Please,” he said. “I don’t wanna die. You don’t know what you’re dealing with here. Please just let it go and leave town.”

  “Tell me about the note, Joey. Then I’ll be out of your hair. I just want to know.”

  Joey swallowed, producing a loud click. Laura handed him the soda can and he drank greedily. When the can was empty, he set it down on the table with a sharp clang and started speaking, rapidly, as if he wanted to get through the ordeal as fast as possible.

  “Right, so I didn’t tell you everything. I don’t know how you know about the note, but fine, I’ll talk. He smiled at me, like I said, and right then and there, I wished that I were dead, cause at least then he wouldn’t be able to get me. He walked towards me, real slow, like he didn’t even care that I had a gun in my hand and might use it. Then again, I probably couldn’t have. I was scared shitless. All I could do was stand there, piss running down my leg, and watch him.

  “He came up to me and took the note out from his chest pocket. It was a small-size paper, ripped from a spiral notebook, folded in half. He held it out to me, and I just looked at it like a dummy. Eventually my brain kicked into gear, and I took it. He told me to read it. It was kind of like a script, for a play or a movie—stage instructions. ‘Target turns and shoots goon to his left,’ it said. And then: ‘Target shoots himself in head. Final goon eliminated by knife. One survivor.’ Signed: Homer Moley. That’s what it said, honest to God. Ink all dry and everything. You see what he did there, right?”

  Laura nodded.

  “Homer Moley isn’t human,” Joey went on. “Or at least he’s got some freaky powers that sure as hell ain’t. He controls the future. He wrote down exactly what was going to happen, and it did.” Joey spread his hands like a magician revealing his trick, then let them drop onto his thighs. “So now you know it all.”

  He was almost right. Almost, but not quite. There was still something that nagged her, lurking in the shadows of Joey’s mind. She couldn’t quite get at it.

  “Except I don’t do I?” she said. “You never told me why he let you live.”

  “How the hell would I know?”

  “Joey Bartholomew Valenti!” snapped Laura, slamming her hands down on the table and leaning over it. “Born on July 27th, 1971, graduated high school in 1989 and enrolled in college on a scholarship, but later dropped out—officially after a dispute with a professor, but really because you realized that you’d never fit in with all those rich kids—and eventually fell in with the mob. Your mother used to lock you up in the closet as punishment when you were a child, and you’ve been afraid of the dark ever since. There was blood in your stool this morning and you’re worried that you might have bowel cancer, but you’re putting off going to the doctor because you know you could never afford the medical bills.”

  She took a breath before she continued. Joey was staring at her with eyes the size of saucers.

  “Cut the crap, Joey. I know you’re holding out on me. Spare us both the trouble and spill it. Why did Homer let you live?”

  “Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you?” whispered Joey.

  “I’m the one who’s going to kill Homer Moley,” said Laura. “Now talk.”

  “He’ll kill me,” said Joey. “He’ll kill us both. I know I ain’t got much of a life, but it’s all I have. Please, I don’t wanna die!”

  “Calm down. You’re not going to die, I promise.” She decided to give him a helping hand. She had picked up a few scattered words from his mind. Fragments of Homer’s voice. “Homer wanted you to do something for him, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, he did. He said I’d get to live if I served him. Having seen what he could do, how could anyone say no? I just wanted to live. That’s what the note was for. It had a couple of e-mail addresses written on it. He told me if I ever met anyone who needed someone rubbed out, I should give him one of the addresses.”

  “And did you ever do that?”

  “Yes, once. I’m not telling you who, but he came back to see me about a month after. Gave me a wad of cash as thanks. Whoever he wanted dead, Homer must’ve taken care of it.”

  “Show me the note, Joey.”

  Joey’s eyes darted around the diner, as if Homer might show up any second. Without a word he reached underneath his shirt, pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper and placed it in Laura’s waiting hand. The ink had faded, and the paper was yellowed by years’ worth of perspiration—Joey had kept it close all this time—but the message was still legible, and underneath it were four e-mail addresses, the top one crossed out. Her heartbeat sped up at the sight of them. Here, at last, was a direct link to her brother’s killer.

  “I want you to contact him. You have a smartphone?” She knew he did.

  “Oh Jesus, don’t make me do this.”

  “I want to meet him, Joey. I’m going to put a stop to him. For good.”

  “He’ll kill you. And he’ll kill me too, just for wasting his time, if nothing else. Please just let it go, Laura.”

  “Do it.”

  Joey hung his head. He took out his phone.

  “What do you want me to tell him?”

  “Tell him that I know his secret,” said Laura.

  “Wait, what?” Joey gaped at her. “Are you serious?”

  “I want to meet him,” said Laura, ignoring him. Of course she didn’t know everything about Homer’s powers, but it couldn’t hurt to make him think she did. “He’ll know who I am. I’ll be waiting for him tonight at midnight in Rivertree Park near the south fountain. Tell him to come alone. Oh, and I want a reply within five minutes.”

  She watched as Joey typed in her message, his thumbs tapping at the screen:

  From: joeydoughboy71@freemail.com

  To: WnstnSmthMoT1984@mail4u.com

  Subject: (Blank)

  Laura Greenwood came to see me. Here with me now. Says she knows your secret. She wants to see you tonight, midnight, near south fountain of Rivertree Park. Says to come alone. Please reply within 5 minutes.

  JV

  Laura nodded her approval. Joey pressed SEND, and the mail was away.

  “Well, it’s done,” he said. “What now?”

  “Now we wait.”

  She sat back and crossed her arms, mulling over Joey’s story as she waited for Homer’s reply. She kept coming back to the note, and to Joey’s comment on Homer’s supernatural abilities. He controls the future, he’d said. Indeed, the note couldn’t have been written after the fact; Joey’s memories were proof enough of that. But something about it seemed off. She read the note again.

  Target turns and shoots goon to his left.

  Target shoots himself in head.

  Final goon(s) eliminated by knife.

  One survivor.

  Homer Moley

  OBrnMoL1984@mailsrus.com

  WnstnSmthMoT1984@mail4u.com

  19EmmnlGldstn84@coolmailz.com

  TmPrsns19MoT84@mailmonster.com

  The note described exactly what had happened. Alberto had killed his henchman and then himself, and Homer had finished off the remaining gangster, leaving Joey alive. The note had been written before the fact, which suggested that Homer really could see and control the future. So why could she not shake the feeling that this conclusion was wrong? She stared at the note until her eyes watered, looking for a hint she knew had to be there.

  Then she saw it, and nearly slapped her forehead when she realized how simple it was. She could not believe Joey had never seen it all this time.

  “It’s him!” exclaimed Joey. “He just replied, look!”

  He held out the phone so Laura could see the message displayed on the screen. She read it eagerly, all thoughts of the note flown from her mind.

  From: WnstnSmthMoT1984@mail4u.com

  To: joeydoughboy71@freemail.com

  Subject: (Blank)

  Acknowledged. Relay change of location: I will see he
r at the old warehouse located on 19 Sylvester Drive, North Ward, at midnight.

  Homer Moley

  She hadn’t expected him to go along with her original proposal, but she accepted that beggars couldn’t be choosers. North Ward was the old industrial district where car and steel production had been booming decades earlier. Nowadays it was a run-down slum, home to all manner of illegal activities, in which the warehouse in question no doubt played a part.

  “Do you know the place?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I know it. Used to be a storage for car parts off all kinds, but when production moved overseas, well, supply pretty much dried up.”

  “So it’s abandoned?”

  “Technically no, but I can’t imagine much business goes down there these days.”

  “No legit business, at any rate.”

  She noticed how much Joey had calmed down in the last few minutes. He seemed to find his courage when the spotlight was on someone else. Now he was just the observer once again. In another life, Laura thought, Joey could have been an excellent news photographer.

  “So, what should I tell him?” he asked in a tone so casual he might have been asking her what flavor sauce she liked on her falafel.

  Laura answered without a second’s hesitation:

  “Tell him we’re on.”

  “Okay.” He typed a short message and showed it to her before sending.

  From: joeydoughboy71@freemail.com

  To: WnstnSmthMoT1984@mail4u.com

  Subject: (Blank)

  Okay. She will be there.

  JV

  Joey pocketed his phone and went back to his falafel. It was almost amazing how calm he was now compared to just three minutes ago. Laura smiled ruefully as she watched him stuff his face. She stood up.

  “Well, thanks for all your help, Joey. If everything goes well, neither of us will have to worry about Homer Moley after tonight.”

  “Good luck, Laura,” said Joey between bites. “You’re gonna need it.”

  “So is Homer,” Laura shot back over her shoulder as she walked out of the diner.

  11:23 – Zachary

  Across the street from Himdad’s, Zachary peered over the edge of his newspaper. Laura sure was taking her sweet time in there. He’d give her five more minutes, then he’d go get her. Being out here made him feel exposed. The cheap plastic sunglasses didn’t do much to conceal his identity, and if someone recognized him and called the police, he was fucked. Come on, Laura, get a move on!

  He raised the newspaper in front of his face again and turned the page, pretending to read the book reviews. His gaze swept over titles and author names without taking any of them in as he listened for any telltale gasps or exclamations of recognition. He was sitting on a wooden bench at a bus stop and had already seen three buses go by. He must look suspicious as all hell just sitting here, but getting up and walking away now would look even worse.

  So he stayed, leafing through the pages of his newspaper, shaking his head at the bus drivers as they stopped by, and casting furtive glances at the big window of the diner across the street, where he could just make out the shapes of Laura and Joey at his usual corner table. He was too far away to tell if they were talking or just sitting there, but it seemed that they were leaning toward each other, heads bent down over something. Whatever they were doing, Zachary hoped they’d be done soon. If Joey really knew something about Homer Moley, Laura should be able to fish it out of his mind.

  He shuddered despite the warmth of the day. Laura seemed like a good girl, but it was creepy to know that your every thought was open for scrutiny. Once they were rid of Homer, he’d part ways with Laura as well. He’d have to leave town, maybe even the country. But where the hell could he go?

  Someone sat down on the bench beside him. His view was blocked by the newspaper, but when the person spoke, he recognized the voice right away.

  “It was risky of you to come here, sir.”

  Leo’s tone was casual, as if he were sitting next to a friend and commenting on the weather.

  “You’re lucky I’m the only one on the force who knows about this place. She’s inside, I take it.”

  “Any particular reason we’re not already surrounded by cops?”

  “I wanted to give you one last chance to come quietly.”

  “You’ve changed, kid.”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  “Are you off the case now, or what?”

  He looked sideways at Leo, who was gazing at the diner.

  “No,” said Leo. “They put me in charge of it. Said it’s my chance to prove myself.”

  He turned his face toward Zachary.

  “Zachary, please give yourself up.”

  It was the first time Zachary could remember that Leo had spoken his first name. Leo put a hand on Zachary’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. Leo’s face had changed. Zachary hadn’t gotten a good look at him the night before, but in the daylight, he could see Leo’s hollowed-out cheeks, his red-rimmed eyes, his unkempt hair. The collar of his shirt was wrinkled, and a smell of sour sweat emanated from him. Leo looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. Zachary himself probably looked even worse.

  “Please,” said Leo again. “Just come with me to the station and give yourself in. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here, but it won’t do anyone any good. Laura Greenwood must stand trial, and so do you.”

  “Sorry, kid. I can’t do that.”

  “Mullin is alive, Zachary.”

  The words were like a punch in the gut. He had to bite his tongue and roll his eyes up to stop himself from crying. Good thing he was wearing the silly sunglasses. Leo continued:

  “The bullet ricocheted off his rib and grazed his lung on the way out. He lost a lot of blood, but he’s in the hospital now, and his condition is stable.”

  “That’s good to hear,” said Zachary, cringing at the thickness of his own voice. “That’s… really good to hear.”

  Leo smiled, and for a moment Zachary could see the Leo he knew in that face. Zachary knew he was right. He had to give himself up. It was the law, after all, and what kind of example would he be setting if he acted as if he were above it? It was still not too late for redemption.

  Would you really abandon Laura now, after you’ve already come this far? said the little voice in his head. She needs you. You know that.

  Leo seemed to sense his hesitation.

  “Why are you so intent on helping Laura Greenwood? Can you tell me that at least? I just can’t make sense of your actions.”

  I’ll bet you can’t, thought Zachary. He could hardly make sense of them himself. Going to Laura’s house last night, for example. How stupid did he have to be to go along with that crazy idea? And yet he had. Because it’d been the only choice. He had to protect Laura.

  “She needs my help,” he said. “I believe she is innocent.”

  “She can’t be,” said Leo, shaking his head. “Her prints were all over that knife.”

  “Things are not what they seem.”

  “Yeah? Tell me what I’m missing then, because I sure don’t get it.”

  “You want the truth? No matter how crazy it sounds?”

  “Try me.”

  Zachary opened his mouth to speak, to tell Leo everything about Laura’s telepathy, Homer Moley, and Laura’s plan to track him down. But something made him hesitate. He wasn’t meant to tell Leo about this. He said:

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “There you go again!” Leo stomped his foot. “You always treat me like a kid—bossing me around, yanking my chain, throwing out bullshit trick questions and lame platitudes. Would you for once just be straight with me? I’ll ask one more time: Why do you believe Laura Greenwood is innocent?”

  As he was about to answer, a movement from across the street caught Zachary’s eye. The door to Himdad’s had opened and Laura was walking out. He quickly looked away, but it was too late. Leo had already noticed the faint inclination
of Zachary’s head toward the diner and spotted Laura. He was on his feet in an instant and dashed into the street towards her.

  “Police! Stop where you are!”

  Laura saw him and bolted, heading around the corner of the diner into what Zachary knew was an alleyway that led to nowhere but a dead end.

  Oh shit.

  Zachary followed Leo, nearly getting himself run over by a convertible that came to a screeching halt inches from his hip as he ran by. He heard the angry yells of the driver behind him but paid them no heed. Leo was in the alley now and it was only a matter of seconds before he’d get to Laura. Zachary pushed himself harder, his knees protesting under the strain of his not inconsiderable weight as it pounded down on them with each heavy step.

  Fuck me, I gotta get in shape.

  He skidded around the corner into the alleyway and saw Leo ahead. The young man had eased his pace by now. He must have noticed that the alley was a dead end. He slowed to a walk as he drew his gun and took aim.

  “Freeze! Put your hands in the air!”

  Laura, who’d reached the end of the line, complied, turning around with her hands up. Leo walked towards her, reaching into his pocket for a pair of handcuffs. It was now or never. Zachary drew his revolver.

  “Drop the gun, Leo.”

  “Or what?” said Leo without turning around. “You won’t shoot me, Zachary.”

  “Shot Mullin, didn’t I?”

  “But you won’t shoot me.”

  “You willing to bet on that?”

  He could feel his finger begin to squeeze the trigger.

  Please don’t say yes.

  “He’ll do it, you know,” said Laura, taking a step forward. “I can tell. Just like I can tell you won’t shoot me, Leo. You don’t have it in you. Never did. Couldn’t even kill that rat, could you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Zachary couldn’t see Leo’s face, but he could detect a tremor of uncertainty in his voice. Laura must be reading his mind.

  “You know what I’m talking about, Leonard Hudson Junior,” said Laura, taking another step forward. This time, Leo took a step back. “I’m talking about the rat that got into your apartment two weeks ago. The rat you agonized about killing, standing in nothing but your underpants in front of the cardboard box where it was hiding for two hours straight, telling yourself over and over that you’d just lift the box and smash the rat with the rolling pin in your hand, but never daring to do it. In the end you just let it go and went to bed. You rationalized your decision by telling yourself that you didn’t want to make a mess in the kitchen. Big difference that would have made, what with all the rat turds you had to clean out of the pantry the next morning. But that’s just the kind of guy you are, isn’t it? You couldn’t bring yourself to take a life, no matter how small and meaningless.”