Out of the Black
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2013 John Rector
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer
PO Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN-13: 9781477805046
ISBN-10: 1477805044
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012923929
For Amy
CONTENTS
Start Reading
PART I
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
PART II
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
PART III
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
PART IV
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
PART V
40
41
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In the dream, I do everything right.
I hold her hand a little tighter. I press my lips against hers a few seconds longer. I ask her not to leave, not quite yet.
And in that brief pause, everything changes.
She still smiles at me, like before, and she still kneels down to zip Anna’s jacket and make sure her hat with the pink tassels is covering her ears. She still touches her cheek to mine and whispers, “Good luck,” before she takes Anna’s small hand in hers and walks out into the cold.
I still watch from the doorway as she helps Anna into her seat then walks around and climbs in behind the wheel.
And when she drives away, she still waves good-bye.
Except this time, it’s not really good-bye.
This time, things are different.
This time, she doesn’t make the light on Twelfth Street. Instead, she sits at the red and listens to the radio and watches in the mirror and smiles as Anna dances in her seat and tries to sing along.
And this time, when the light changes from red to green, she pulls out into an empty intersection. There are no screeching brakes, no shattering glass, no twisting metal. There are no faraway screams of sirens, and there are no flashing lights, and there is no phone call.
In the dream, she comes home.
In the dream, I get to hold her again.
In the dream, I do everything right.
PART I
1
Once Jay was done talking, I lifted my drink and finished it, then motioned to the bartender for another.
“So, what do you think?” he asked. motioned to the door and said, o about the accident
“I think you’re out of your fucking mind.”
Jay’s smile didn’t fade, but the light behind it dimmed fast. He turned back to the bar and the television mounted above the pool table in the corner. “That’s what Roach told me you’d say.”
“She was right.”
“It’s a good plan, Matt. I’ve been over all the angles. It’s going to work.”
“You’re serious about this?”
“Hell yeah,” he said. “An opportunity this good? It’d be a mistake to say no.”
“Then I guess I’m making a mistake.”
Jay stared at me. “So that’s it? You’d turn your back on me just like that?”
Before I could answer, the bartender came by with my drink. I paid him from a shrinking stack of bills in front of me, and he counted them on his way back to the register. I watched him ring up the sale, but when he slid the money into the cash drawer, I had to look away.
Easy come.
Jay was staring at the TV. His lips were moving, and I knew he was still arguing with me in his head. I’d been friends with him long enough to know he wasn’t going to let this go until he felt he’d had his say, maybe not even then. I decided to get it over with.
“Why come to me?”
Jay ignored the question and pointed to the TV. “You really don’t see it?”
“See what?”
“He’s soft, Matt. Just watch him.”
I looked up at the screen. The local news was on, no sound. The man they were interviewing was old and carried a polished black cane. His hair was short and silver, and the lines on his face cut deep.
The reporter walking beside him looked young enough to be his granddaughter. She listened as he spoke, sometimes nodding, always smiling, and held his arm in hers as they crossed through a slow, shaded green garden somewhere in the city where things still grew.
I didn’t recognize the spot.
“He’s old,” I said. “That doesn’t mean soft.”
“He’s trusting.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because even with all that money, he still lives in a small house right outside of town, no security.” Jay shook his head. “I bet he keeps his money in coffee cans.”
“I’m guessing he doesn’t.”
“Either way, he’s an easy target. He’s not going to risk his wife by going to the cops, not over what we’re asking.”
“What are we asking?”
“Five hundred.”
“Thousand?”
Jay nodded. “Split down the middle.”
I laughed.
“Laugh all you want, but that kind of money doesn’t mean anything to him.”
“You really believe that?”
“Of course I do.”
and tried to catch my breath.itAKI shook my head. “What does Roach think?”
“It was her idea.”
I looked down and stirred my drink with a thin red straw. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“His wife comes into the salon every two weeks, always alone. Roach works the front counter and makes all the appointments. She can get us times, dates, all of it.”
I’d already heard the pitch, and I didn’t want to sit through it again, but if I didn’t stop him, he’d keep going until I’d had enough and walked out. That was just the way Jay was. He never could take no for an answer.
“You know what it sounds like to me?” I asked.
“What’s that?”
“It sounds like you want to go back to prison.”
“Over this?” Jay smiled, leaned in close. “No, this is easy money. The plan is rock solid. We can’t lose.”
“Anyone can lose.”
“Not this time.”
I spun the ice around the bottom of my glass, then took a drink and motioned to the TV. “What did he do?”
“No idea,” Jay said. “A new wing down at the gardens? Or maybe a school for homeless orphans?” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. The local news eats all that charity shit up.”
“I meant his money. How did he make it?”
Jay looked at me, and at first I didn’t think he understood the question. Then he said, “Is that important?”
I thought about it. “I guess not.”
Jay took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped one out. “From what I heard, he inherited it.”
“His father?” He put the cigarette to his lips. “His grandfather? Some dead relative made a fortune drilling oil in South America. I don’t know the specifics.”
“Oil drilling?”
Jay lit the cigarette with a black Zippo. “Could be bullshit, but it’s what I’ve heard.”
I leaned against the bar and studied the old man on the screen. He didn’t look rich. In fact, nothing about him screamed money. His clothes were plain, wrinkled from the day, and his sleeves were pushed up past his wrists showing faded green tattoos underneath.
“You sure this is the right guy?”
“Doesn’t look like much, does he?”
“No,” I said. “He doesn’t.”
“That’s because he doesn’t give a shit about his money, and that’s why this’ll work.” Jay tapped his cigarette over the red plastic ashtray. “I mean, what’s the point in having that kind of cash if you’re not going to spend it?”
I told him I didn’t know.
“If it was me, you’d never see my face around here again.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Home is home.”
“When did you get so Goddamned sentimental?” Jay laughed then put the cigarette to his lips and inhaled deep. “What would your old Semper and tried to catch my breath.itAK Fi buddies say?”
I smiled, silent.
The interview with the old man ended and was replaced with a familiar shot of police cars, flashing lights, and yellow crime-scene tape surrounding a low house on the south side. The tagline along the bottom of the screen was only two words.
Bodies found.
I watched for a while then turned away and ordered another drink. When the bartender set it in front of me, I reached for my money, but Jay put his hand on my shoulder, stopping me.
“I’ll get this one.” He pulled a credit card from his pocket and handed it to the bartender. “Run a tab?”
The bartender took the card and walked away.
Jay yelled after him. “And we’ll take two more.”
“Who the hell gave you a credit card?”
“I applied for it,” he said. “They give them to anyone these days.”
“Obviously.”
Jay finished his drink in two swallows and set the empty glass on the bar. When he did, I saw his hands were shaking, but I pretended not to notice.
“I want to ask you something,” I said. “And I want you to tell me the truth.”
“You got it.”
“Why me?”
“We have a history.”
“Car stereos and shoplifting,” I said. “And not since we were kids. You’ve never come to me with something this big.”
“I thought you could use the money. And since we go back, I figured—”
“Don’t give me that shit.”
“What do you want me to say? You did this kind of thing when you were a soldier. You know what you’re doing.”
“Marine.”
“What?”
“I wasn’t a soldier,” I said. “I was a Marine.”
“Is there a difference?”
I took a drink. “A pretty fucking big one.”
Jay hesitated. He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and said, “Whatever, Matt. The truth is you’re my friend, and you have a van.”
I laughed. “There it is.”
“We’ll switch the plates. Don’t worry.”
I didn’t know where to begin, so I kept quiet.
“Look, I know you’ll have my back, and I know you’ll do what you say.” He tapped out another cigarette and lit it. “I trust you.”
“Is that it? Trust?”
“What else is there?”
It was a good answer, but not good enough.
“Sorry,” I said. “Count me out.”
Jay waved me off. “You’re not going to say no.”
“I think I just did.”
“You’ll change your mind.”
“And why’s that?”
“Beca to make sure she was safeft out of use you’re my friend, and I need your help.”
“You think that’s enough?”
“It would’ve been at one time.”
I stirred my drink, watching the kaleidoscope of light from the back bar reflect off the slow-melting ice. “You know I can’t do something like this. It’s not who I am.”
Jay turned to face me. “I need this, Matt. We both need this, and you know it.”
There was an edge to his voice that bothered me, and it made me want to argue, but I couldn’t.
He was right.
“I made promises,” I said. “I can’t break them.”
“Promises? To who?”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to.
Jay looked down at the wedding ring on my finger and frowned. “You’re still wearing the ring?”
I nodded.
He sighed, deep, shook his head. “All right, I’ll lay off, for now. This isn’t what tonight was supposed to be about anyway.” He took a drink. “Five years inside. We have a lot to catch up on.”
“It’s been a long time.”
Jay turned and lifted his glass. He held it up between us. When I didn’t reach for mine, he frowned.
“Come on, for old times?”
I picked up my glass. “What are we drinking to?”
Jay seemed to think about it for a moment, then he smiled. “To ghosts.”
I didn’t like the toast, but before I could say anything, Jay reached out and touched his glass to mine. The soml" href="../s
3
The cab pulled up in front of my house. I took the last of my cash and handed it to the driver. Then I turned to Jay and said, “Good to have you back.”
Jay looked past me at the house. “This is your place?”
“That’s right.”
He stared for a moment longer. “Are you sure you don’t need the money?”
“’Night, Jay.”
“You’ll think about what we discussed, right?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”
I got out and sh+
The house was dark except for a soft glow coming from the kitchen window. I knew that Anna would be asleep by now, and that Carrie would be inside, waiting.
Knowing this made me feel even worse.
I slid my key into the lock and went inside, moving as slow and silent as possible. I took off my coat and set the keys on the table by the door and headed toward the light in the kitchen. Halfway there, I saw a shadow shift on the couch, and I heard a voice.
“Matt?”
“It’s me,” I said.
Carrie sat up, her eyes half-closed. She tucked her hair behind her ears and stretched. “What time is it?”
“Late.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” I said. “Lost track of time.”
“I figured.” She looked around. There was a library book lying open on the end table next to a half-empty cup of coffee. She picked up the book, marked her place, and closed it on her lap. “Did you have a good time?”
I had to think about my answer.
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess I did.”
“You must’ve. What did you two talk about?”
“He offered me a job.”
Carrie’s eyes went wide. “That’s great.”
“Not that kind of job,” I said.
It took her a moment, but then the understanding spread over her face. “Oh.” She paused. “But he just got out of jail. Why would he—”
“I don’t think he was serious,” I said. “He talks big, but nothing ever comes of it.”
“I guess that’s good.”
“He’s part of a different life, that’s all.”
“There’s only one life,” Carrie said. “Just different chapters.” She got up and stepped closer, then reached out and touched my arm, soft. “I’m happy you’re home safe.”
I looked d
own at her hand. Her skin felt good against mine—too good—and for an instant, all I wanted to do was reach out and pull her close and kiss her.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I moved away.
Carrie smiled, but it never touched her eyes.
We stood, neither of us saying a word, then Carrie motioned toward the window and her house across the street. “I should go. I’m sure you’re tired.”
I nodded. “Thank you again.”
“It was fun,” she said. “Oh, and someone called for you. He didn’t leave a number, said you’d know what it was about.” She picked up her coffee cup and started toward the kitchen. “I wrote it down. Brian something.”
I felt a cold burn start deep in the center of my chest. It hung there for a moment, then sank.
I tried to ignore it.
Carrie one-level brick building to the out of came out of the kitchen with a yellow sticky note and handed it to me. “He said he wants to see you, but he didn’t leave an address.”
I read the note then crumpled it. “Thanks.”
“Who’s Brian?”
“A friend of mine,” I said. “He owns Murphy’s, down on Sixth Street.”
“Brian Murphy?” Carrie folded her arms across her chest. “It’s not Brian Murphy, is it?”
I didn’t answer. “It’s late.”
“Matt?”
“What do you want me to say?” I thought of Anna asleep in her room and lowered my voice. “He’s an old friend, and he helped me out a while ago.”
“Helped you out?”
I paused. “I would’ve lost the house, Carrie.”
“You borrowed money from Brian Murphy?”
“It wasn’t my first choice.”
“I hope not.” She put a hand to her chest. “What about me? I would’ve lent you the money.”
“You don’t have the money to lend.”
“I could’ve found it,” she said. “And you wouldn’t end up dead in an alley if you couldn’t pay me back.”
“I’m not going to end up dead in an alley,” I said. “I’ll pay him back.”
“It’s not him I’m worried about,” she said. “Do you have any idea who he works for?”
“I know,” I said. “And I’ll handle it.”
Carrie started to say something else, but instead she put a hand to her mouth and turned away.
“Go ahead, say it. You might as well.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“You don’t think I’ll be able to pay him back.”