Misisipi

by Michael Reilly

  “What about Julianna?”

  “I’ll do what I can. No promises.”

  Scott swept his eyes to the ground. “What are you about to do here, Mike?”

  Stencek swatted Scott on the head. “Hey, before you go planning a pity-party for this creep, remember one thing.”

  “What?”

  “That girl on the slab. 16-year old smackhead. Well, he made her into that, his own wife. And he personally put the final shot in her arm, the morning he drove her up to the city jail and turned her over to a bent guard. He even told the guard to have some fun too, before the trash got their piece. That’s a divorce, Henry Almonester style. And then he got back in his car and went to his son’s—her son’s—funeral, like the good Catholic he is.”

  Scott gritted his teeth. “Ok. Your way.”

  Inside the back door, the rear kitchen was Spartan and dated; a pine table, a short counter and wash basin, bland chipboard cupboards over and under. Stencek peeled off his raincoat and threw it on one of the four chairs. He grabbed another by the back and took it with him.

  They crossed the bare wooden floor and through a connecting door into the living room. It was equally sparse; a heavy rug in the center of the space, a cloth couch under the far front window, a TV with rabbit ears. Larry leaned to the mantle above the fireplace where a crucifix on the wall was the only personal touch. Above them, the shearing winds ground against the roof, whistling like a skill-saw biting into a dense knot. A clock ticking was the only manmade sound.

  Their host was seated in a beaten leather-backed armchair over the rug in the center of room, his back to the kitchen. Scott stopped behind Stencek. Henry’s head didn’t turn but Scott noticed a twitch, a subtle reptilian response to the new stimuli in the room.

  Stencek directed Scott to the couch facing Henry. When he sat, Scott was ten feet from the man in the mugshot. Recalling that Henry was now 84 years old, Scott still appreciated how the years might have reduced his physique but they certainly hadn’t blunted the pernicious edge of his expression.

  Henry was bound to the chair, duct-taped by his wrists and ankles. His right hand was almost buried under a bulge of it, only its fingertips protruding from the binds. He wore a black suit and white shirt. It might have been a mirror of Scott’s attire. Scott was already drenched from the elements. Henry looked way worse, like he’d been dragged through water, wind, and earth before taking his seat. That Henry was also missing one shoe prompted Scott to recall the image of Stencek’s father-in-law.

  Sodden, the warped fabric of Henry’s clothing clung to his bones, streaked with dirt and grass. It accentuated the illusion that this tall bony frame more resembled a bundle of branches stuffed in a cheap suit or a mantis trying on an alien human skin.

  Scott couldn’t tell if Henry’s eyes were equally dispassionate. They were obscured by dark plastic glasses. While Scott wondered if Henry was subjecting him to the same scrutiny, Henry’s tongue rasped out and caught a bead of water trickling off his own nose. He made a sucking sound as he licked it in.

  Stencek set the kitchen chair in front of Henry and sat himself down. He waved his hand across the dark glasses. As he drifted his palm closer to Henry’s face, Henry spat into it.

  Stencek removed the glasses and scooped the spittle with the edge of the lens. He folded them and dropped them into Henry’s breast pocket.

  “Pleased to finally meet you too, Henry.”

  Henry stared straight ahead and said nothing. From the dark glasses and the inert interest his eyes now showed, Scott deduced that Henry must be blind. He was also beat up. He had two black eyes and a rising bruise above his left eyebrow. Rondell had probably slapped him around while securing him.

  Stencek extracted a small capsule bottle from his own pocket and removed one vicodin from it.

  “Do you need an insulin shot?” he asked Henry.

  No answer.

  Stencek started nibbling flakes from the end of the pill. “My friends do that to your face?”

  More silence.

  “Ok. Let me break this down for you. You and I are gonna have a quick chat. If I don’t like what I hear, my friend over there takes over. He’s a real poor conversationalist so you best have something to say to me.”

  “I’d just as soon skip the crawin and get to your friend. You borin me already, Boy,” Henry finally drawled, the strong assertive tone at odds with his withered body.

  “I appreciate the candor. I’m just trying to pay you the same respect.”

  “You don’t strike me as the respect type.”

  “What type am I?”

  “Dunno. Don’t care much neither. Love. Fear. Money. In our line, is one of those makes us do what we do. Knowing why you here, who sent you, I’d peg you as the in-it-for-the-cash type. So far, don’t seem like he’s getting his money’s worth. I expected to see him here for this.”

  “Oh, he wanted to be. Weather here being what it is, he’s touching down in Baton Rouge instead. Don’t worry. He intends to say ‘Hi’ before we get done.”

  “Seems you wanna say some more before then too.”

  “I expect I’ll get about as much truth from you as I’ve had from him so far. I’m curious. Why are you back? You managed to stay outta sight all these years.”

  “I been hunted since the day he turned on me. I got to being done running a long time ago.”

  “I know. Honduras in ‘91 was about as close as he got to you. Seems you’ve been back here since at least 2000. No one knew. You were home free. And then you resurface on the radar. Why?”

  “Don’t matter. It’s done now. How’s and why’s not important.”

  “And the ‘Who’?”

  “What ‘Who’ you talking bout?”

  “Jesus. Is that all the pair of you do, talk in riddles? I think you know who I’m referring to.”

  Henry chuckled.

  “Cherchez la femme,” Stencek added. “Just tell me where Julianna is and then we can all go home.”

  “What makes you think I know anything bout her?”

  “I know for a fact she’s been here, in the last 24 hours.”

  On the couch, Scott tensed.

  “How you come to think that?” Henry asked.

  “The ‘Hows’ of it aren’t important either. But if you want to keep dancing then just know that the music stopped three days ago. My time is limited and yours is about up.”

  “Nothing more worth saying then.”

  Stencek turned to Scott. “Give me the piece.”

  Scott looked confused. Stencek made a circle motion over his breast to clarify. Catching on, Scott extracted the broach from his jacket and passed it over.

  “Open your left hand, Henry,” Stencek said.

  Instead, Henry curled his able hand into a protective fist. His expression stiffened, expecting the worst. Stencek held the broach within reach of Henry’s fingers.

  “I just thought you might want to hold this one last time,” said Stencek. “It’s right in front if you just reach out for it.”

  “I ain’t giving you no more sport’n you already had.”

  “No tricks. Promise.”

  “What is it?”

  “Comfort. Closure. Whatever. Won’t know if you don’t see for yourself.”

  Henry’s fingers cautiously relaxed, extended to where Stencek held the broach patiently. When they met it, Stencek released it into Henry’s grasp. Henry drew the broach into his hand, white-knuckled as he clenched it grimly.

  “Whatever’s waiting for you in the next life,” Stencek whispered, “is gonna make us look like a bunch of boy scouts.”

  A single high sob caught in Henry’s throat and he fetched it back in.

  “You’ve got a lot to atone for, Henry. Especially her. You can make a start right now. Make it right.”

  Henry’s face alone betrayed whatever it was which came to his mind’s eye, to the place where even blindness was no refuge.

  Stencek drew his own face close to Henry
’s. “This isn’t Julianna’s fight, Henry. Do the honorable thing. Be the better man. Tell me where she is.”

  A pained wail escaped Henry. It carried on as Stencek brought his lips to Henry’s ear. Speaking a whisper too low to hear, Stencek’s mouth moved as a priest breathing absolution into the unclean. Henry’s cry responded, as though casting out the stain. The cries became hacks, for a second sounding like sobs. Only for a second. Their timbre deepened as they became an unmistakable chortle, an unruffled snigger ripe with scorn.

  And supremacy.

  Stencek straightened out of the chair and set it aside. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then.”

  Henry turned his head unerringly in Larry’s direction. “The big guy hadn’t said much since he got here earlier.” He looked directly up at Stencek. “And you ain’t shut up since you rolled in. But it’s the mystery man here has me wondering what exactly is the pony he got in the race?” When Henry looked squarely at Scott, only a constriction of his chest stopped Scott blurting any response.

  “Boyfriend?” Henry tested. “Husband?”

  Scott couldn’t stop the involuntary uneasy twitch as his foot scuffed on the wooden floor.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Henry purred. “Y’all can thank me later. I did this sorry sap a favor.”

  Stencek grabbed Henry’s hair and yanked his head back. “We’re done talking, Henry,” he snapped, popping the last of the pill in his mouth.

  “That tubby bluegum,” Henry said. “Bout as mouthy as you. He had no mind to go snooping when he got here though. Wheezin like a clapped-out mule just at the sight of them stairs. Shame.”

  Stencek released Henry. He swallowed the pill and looked incredulous at Larry. “Didn’t you check the place out?”

  Without answering, Larry disappeared through the connecting hallway door.

  “Back bedroom on the right,” Henry called helpfully as Larry hammered up the staircase.

  “I know one thing,” Henry added. “Tubby, he terrified of you. Soon as they arrive, they gets to cleaning up all the mess like a pack of possedes. ‘Can’t be letting Mike see all dis blood. He think we done this, it be my ass!’” Henry mocked, his falsetto mimicry succumbing to worryingly pneumonic coughs.

  Larry thumped back into the living room.

  “Well?” Stencek snapped.

  Larry looked shiftily in Scott’s direction.

  “What?” Stencek barked.

  “Someone was up there,” Larry said. “There’s some cord tied to the bed, could have been binding.”

  Scott bolted from the couch and, before Stencek could stop him, fled the way Larry had come.

  Stencek seized Henry’s throat and slammed the armchair onto its back. He came nose-to-nose with Henry. “Tell me where she is. Now!”

  Henry laughed. “Your boys made like a buncha washa wummin for an hour before they gave up.” He twisted his head against the tufts of the rug that he had been tipped onto. “Got this in Tobago. Never sat here though. Used to be in the hall. Seems your boys did some rearranging.”

  Stencek grabbed the arm rest and dragged Henry’s chair off the rug.

  Scott burst back into the room. “Mike?” his voice, quivering, begged.

  Stencek gripped the edge of the rug and whipped it away. A blackened circle of blood lay beneath, fresh-glistening, from which a ropey red trail began in the direction of the kitchen.

  “No!” Scott lunged for Henry. He scrambled across the upended chair, got his hands around Henry’s neck just as Larry did the same to Scott. For a second, as Larry lifted Scott in a one-handed choke-hold, Scott kept his grip of Henry and brought him half-ways up with him. Silver fireflies flitted through Scott’s vision. He released Henry, might have heard the chair crash back to ground, but all he could register was the crushing force of Larry’s grip, absolute in its motive. He meant to squeeze the life out of Scott.

  Scott flailed his feet, caught the maniacal intent in Larry’s face as grayness overcame his sight. He grabbed Larry’s wrist with the last of his strength.

  Stencek put the muzzle of his Glock to the back of Larry’s head. “Put him down, Larry.”

  “I’m done giving hall passes to this scuzrag.”

  “I’m giving you to the end of this—”

  Larry opened his hand and Scott fell like a sack of stones.

  “I’d take your piece too,” said Stencek, “cept I know that Ma Bergman back in Big Fork raised you to be looking out for Ma Bergman’s wellbeing.”

  “You sonofabitch.”

  Stencek holstered the Glock and pointed to Henry. “Get him up.” Then he pulled Scott from the floor and ushered him through the kitchen and onto the back porch where Scott grabbed the rail, dry-puking, gagging to get his breath back.

  “So much for stay out of the way, huh?” said Stencek.

  “It’s over,” Scott panted. “We’re too late.”

  Stencek grabbed Scott’s shoulders. “No we’re not.”

  “You saw in there. It’s obvious—”

  Stencek slapped Scott’s face hard. “Hold it together, Scott. We’re not done tonight but we are done here. Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I need to know I can trust you.”

  “Why?”

  “I still have to earn my keep. Today’s payday. We’ve gotten all we’re gonna get from him.”

  “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

  “I want you to stay out here. Even better, go sit in the Navigator.”

  “And then what? I go home? Wake up in my bed one morning and it was all just a bad dream?”

  “C’mon. Make yourself useful.”

  Stencek strode to the rear of the Navigator and pulled the hatch fully up. He unstrapped two large olive gas cans secured against the inner side. The contents sloshed loudly as he set them on the grass.

  Scott’s eyes widened. “Jesus! Are you going to…”

  “Hammer,” Stencek muttered to himself. “Climb up and see if there’s a hammer in the tool box back there?”

  “Why do you need a hammer?” Scott asked warily.

  “Just… go see, will ya!” Stencek snapped. “Red metal box in the corner.”

  Scott clambered into the rear and crawled to the far end. He pushed aside a trio of small suitcases and flipped the lid of the steel workman’s chest behind them.

  “Got it,” he announced, taking an all-metal short-handled mallet from the chest.

  “Throw it over, lemme see if it’s the right one.”

  Scott tossed it out.

  Stencek examined it. “Is there another one in there?”

  Scott pulled all the drawers and checked. “I don’t think so.”

  “Good. I don’t want you doing any damage out here.”

  “Huh?”

  Stencek grabbed the hatch and slammed it down.

  “Hey,” Scott yelled.

  Around Scott, all the doors locked as one. He scrambled to the hatch. The release lever did nothing.

  Scott banged the back window. “Mike! What the hell are you playing at?”

  Stencek carried one of the gas cans over to Henry’s Continental and set it down.

  Scott climbed across the partition into the back seats. He tried the door, the window switch, both dead.

  Stencek smashed the hammer into the side windows of Henry’s car, shattering both. He uncapped the can and heaved gasoline through the holes onto the seats. Circling around, he bust the other sides and, after an equally liberal dousing, tossed the hammer in after. He carried the can back to the Navigator and collected the second.

  Scott slammed the window and called out as Stencek walked back to the house. “Mike! Don’t do this.”

  Stencek mounted the steps.

  “You kill him, you kill her!” Scott screamed.

  Stencek disappeared inside.

  Scott pulled himself through to the front seats. The central-lock switch had no effect. He turned the cabin light on and hunted through the glovebox for a spare k
ey, a second remote, anything. Coming up empty, he sat dejected in the passenger seat. Larry’s bullet bump glistened on the glass, a reminder that the Navigator was impregnable from either side of attack.

  “Fuck it,” he spat.

  He lay his back across the seats and put his foot to the glass.

  “Calibrate this!” He smashed his heel against the bullet mark. The surface held, unflinching.

  He hit it again, quickly, repeatedly. One of them was going to lose.

  After 30 seconds of barraging the window, his knee screamed. He sat up and checked the bump. A number of cracks had extended beyond the original mark, just an inch or so. It was something. But the spearing sensation in his right knee told him to get real. Against the effort it took, it was nothing.

  He lay down and continued with his fresh leg, pummeling until it also screamed Enough, his breathing rapid, chest pounding.

  Vexation spiking, he launched into a desperate two-footed assault, beating a violent tattoo against the window. He kicked and grunted, beyond the searing agony in his knees and the growing numbness in his soles. His tenacity endured. So did the glass’s solidity. When his energy gave out, Scott collapsed where he lay, too exhausted to even bother to check what he already knew.

  Stencek set the cans down in the kitchen. In the living room, Henry was upright again, directly above the now-exposed pool of drying blood. Larry had resumed propping up the mantle, with a fresh smoke. He watched Stencek circle to face Henry, a look of disinterest on his face.

  “Gimme your satphone,” Stencek asked Larry.

  Larry pulled the phone from his pocket and tossed it across. Stencek started punching the client’s number in. He got as far as the second digit when the screen suddenly displayed the client’s complete number and a listing of associated calls: one call only, less than an hour ago, two minutes duration—an incoming call. Stencek forced himself to look only at the phone as he pressed ‘Send’ on the client’s number.

  “I got papers, evidence,” said Henry. There was no smugness now. “I’m worth more to you alive than I am to him dead. We could both come out on top.”

  The call connected and began ringing. For a second, Stencek hoped it wouldn’t. “Stop talking, Henry,” he said.