Hot Flash (26 page)

“She needs water.”

“You don't go anywhere until they get back with the money. Now, sit down.” He rushed up on me and pushed me back against the wall, the gun jammed in my throat.

I grabbed his wrist and twisted him around, causing him to drop the gun. He raised his fist and aimed for my head. I ducked and jabbed him in the solar plexus, sending him back and to the floor. I fell to my knees adjacent to him and punched his face, until I fell forward and needed both arms to keep from falling on top of him. I got up and stumbled to the corner where Jesse's gun had landed, stumbled back and aimed it at his head. My hand shook. I used my other hand to steady my grip and pulled the trigger.

I pulled the trigger again, and again. Jesse Boone's eyes flew open as he rose up from the floor snarling and swinging. Only then did I realize the gun had misfired, too late. His fist slammed the side of my head and sent me flying. I hit the floor face-first and slid into a wall.

Nareece's whisper echoed in my ear, “Muriel, get up.” Her voice grew louder until she screamed, “Get up, Muriel!”

I turned over as Jesse Boone lunged toward me, spit streaming from his mouth with each swear he slung. I struggled to push myself out of his path, but my arms, my legs, were like putty.

He grabbed me by my hair, pulled me across the floor, and slammed my body into the wall, stepped back, and swung me around the other direction in a circular motion. I held his arm, trying to lessen the pull on my head. With each turn, I saw Nareece crawling along the floor away from us. Boone slammed me into the wall again, which stopped the action for a moment before he swung me in a circle, all the way booming, “You bitch. You think you can go up against me? I will fuck you up. Make you wish you were dead. I'll cut your ass up and feed you to the animals.”

“Bastard!” Nareece screeched and pulled the trigger of the same gun I had used. She shot again and again until the gun emptied. At the first shot, Boone released my hair. I lay sprawled on the floor, covering my head. When the firing stopped and I looked up, Jesse Boone appeared suspended upright for a few seconds before he fell to the floor and landed on top of me. I scrambled like crazy to free myself, his stench fighting back to hold me. The clicking sound of the gun continued until I managed to get up and take the weapon from Nareece and she crumpled into my arms. I fell back against the wall as Jesse's other three men rushed into the room, guns blazing. I fell to the ground and covered Nareece with my body as gunfire exploded. When it stopped, Laughton and Calvin stood over us. After the smoke cleared and they'd confirmed that Nareece and I were all right, Jesse Boone was gone, as in left the building. Laughton ran out to find him.

C
HAPTER
27

I
screamed, “There's no way he's still walking around. Reecey shot him, four, five times. There's no way.” Fear crept up my spine for this man, Jesse Boone, who had walked away from multiple gunshot wounds. I rushed over to where he had fallen. “He fell right here. Fell out, dead.”

Calvin came over and put his hand on my shoulder, the weight of which nearly drove me to my knees. “Calm down, Muriel. He couldn't have gotten far. The guys and Laughton will find him.”

I shook him off and went back to tend to Nareece. She was barely conscious. Her eyes flitted around as she grabbed hold of my arm. I wanted to tell her there was nothing to be afraid of, that everything was good, that Jesse Boone had no reach to her anymore. I wanted to . . . I could only squeeze her hand.

Calvin perused the room, picked up my bag and a torn piece of clothing, and double-checked that there was nothing else revealing left behind. Fact was, there were no sirens in the distance. No one really cared in this part of Philly. The bodies of the men would be found in a day, maybe two, maybe not for a few weeks or months. There would be some investigation, since the men would be identified as known associates of Jesse Boone's, and Jesse would be sought for questioning. Maybe. That would be that unless Jakes and Janey got involved.

Calvin carried Nareece to his car.

“I'll follow you to the hospital in my car,” I said. I locked eyes with Reecey, who gave a slight nod, then I walked away too fast for Calvin to respond.

I felt the underside of the fender for my spare car key and got in. A check of the flap mirror showed my face scratched up and swollen, my eye still blackened, and my hair standing on end—literally. My hands were shaking. When I started the car, the light came on and a bell sounded indicating the trunk was open. I got out and slammed it shut. Boone knew the money occupied a different space, not my trunk, as I said. I knew he would go to where he thought the money was. At least that was what I thought I knew. I called Laughton.

“Where are you?”

“I'm trying to pick up Jesse's trail.”

“I think I know where he went—to get the money. He's gone to my parents' house.”

There was silence. “Laughton? You there.”

“I'm here.”

“Nareece told Jesse where she hid the money. That's where she sent me to get it, my parents' house. It's not there anymore, but I'm thinking that's where he'll go to check. I'm on my way there now. I'll meet you.”

“How's Carmella?”

“She's going to be fine. She'll need some time.”

“I'm sorry we left so many things unsaid.”

“Laughton, you don't have to say anything. We all had a part in this . . . this . . . tragedy. We were all hiding. Everything is out in the open, and while it stinks like hell now, when it clears it'll be a new day and we can all get on with our lives, for real.”

“You and your damn philosophical bullshit.” He chuckled. “Meet you in a minute.”

I wished we had kept talking until we got there. The quiet left me thinking, Jesse could be waiting there, thinking that sooner or later I would come and he could kill me; or we could miss him. Boone could have gone there, found the bins broken up and empty, and left already, with a big head start. What the hell would life be like if Boone disappeared? A staple of fear and uncertainty shoved down my throat: constantly checking over my shoulder and over the shoulders of my family members, and being afraid to let them from my sight. In that case there would be no new day. The stench would linger for God knew how long.

The thought made me gag. I pulled over, opened the door, leaned out, and puked.

I parked a few houses down from my parents' house. Laughton drove up a few minutes later and parked behind me. We got out of our cars, checked our weapons, and crept up to the door. The street was deserted. It did not appear anyone was in the house, either. It was dark and quiet—the kind of quiet that causes ringing in your ears. Jesse certainly would have had someone standing watch outside.

I tried the front door. It was open.

I pushed it open, and Laughton and I moved in with weapons drawn. The basement door was down the hall to the right. No light shined up from the basement. Laughton moved right around through the living room; I went left through the dining room. We came together at the basement door.

It was dark, but the smell of rancid fish and funk settled in. I pinched my nose and Laughton nodded.

Laughton flicked the switch on the wall leading down into the basement. “Jesse, we know you're down there. Give it up, man. It's over.”

There was no response. Going down the stairs meant leaving ourselves open for target practice.

“I'm coming down. I just want to talk.”

I motioned to Laughton not to be stupid. How do you motion “stupid”? you might ask. With a lot of whispering, arms flailing, mouthing of swears, waving of a gun, and bending from the knees up and down. Laughton put his hand up for me to stop.

Sweat dripped into my eyes, down my arms, off the tips of my fingers.

Laughton started down the stairs. “I'm lowering my weapon, Jesse. Don't shoot.”

Silence.

I followed in Laughton's steps, ready to shoot, ready to blow Jesse Boone's head off.

At the bottom of the stairs, Laughton turned around to see the entire room. He stopped halfway around and was still, staring. I continued down the stairs and stopped at the bottom, following his gaze. Jesse Boone sat upright on the floor, leaned up against the back wall of the basement with a gun pointed directly at Laughton. I aimed at him. He twitched, I fired.

C
HAPTER
28

J
esse Boone dead felt good, but not like I expected. If I could smack him back to life and shoot him again, and smack him back to life and shoot him again . . . fifty, one hundred times, each time making him aware of what was coming . . . maybe then.

No matter how many times we killed him, the damage would remain the same, though. Nareece stared blindly into space, seemingly unaware of her surroundings, or her husband's funeral going on right in front of her.

Rose and Helen stood beside me at their father's graveside memorial service crying so hard their bodies shook as though freezing from cold. I held them close, one on each side. They blessed me with drippy nose wipes on my black paisley suit. And Travis stood soldier-like behind Nareece's wheelchair, stone-faced and white-knuckled from gripping the handles.

John's gravesite was in Fairview Cemetery in Hyde Park, Massachusetts. The burial had taken place weeks ago, but the twins had wanted a graveside service for their dad. The gravestones glistened in the June sun, which had already pushed the temperature to 85 degrees at 11:00 a.m. Ama's moans drowned out the preacher's final blessings. The moment the preacher stopped talking, Jerry and Debbie whisked their mother away without even a look across the gravestone at us, the only attendees besides Dulcey and Bates. Rose and Helen were crying too hard to care, thank goodness.

As Jerry's car pulled away from the curb, I focused in on Laughton's silhouette in the distance, the sun at his back and in my eyes. I shaded my eyes to see better, but he was gone. Maybe it was my imagination?

On the way to the car, Bates stopped me. I sent the twins along with Dulcey.

“There's bound to be some fallout behind all this,” he said. “Like I told you, Boone had business in Boston, too. This whole thing has more to do with drugs and weapons and money than your sister. I suspect Boone left some things hanging.”

“Much appreciated, Bates, but I really don't give a damn about Boone anymore or anyone connected to him.”

“You're not hearing me, Muriel. Your sister might still be a target. Does she talk at all?”

I watched Travis half-lift Nareece into the van.

“No. She doesn't do anything anymore.”

“I'll be in touch. You take care,” he said, kissing my forehead. “You need for anything, you know I'm your man.” He chuckled lightly.

“Thanks, Bates.”

I drove down I-95 in a rented Caravan, back to Nareece's house. The twins unbuckled their belts and opened the vehicle's door before I had fully stopped in the driveway.

“We're home,” they said with a hint of excitement.

A Realtor met us at the door, ready to finalize the deal of selling the house. Inside, the twins raced up the stairs to their bedroom for one more look, one more check in case something important was left—one piece of paper, one manila folder, one pencil, or one clue to any of the cases employed by the Twofer Detective Agency.

“We can't let our clients down,” they quipped. Rheumy eyes contradicted their bouncy demeanors.

The warmth once exuded by Nareece's eclectic decorative style was now ripped away. Now the décor consisted of rolled rugs, gleaming wood floors, stark white walls, boxes of every size stacked against them, and furniture pushed together at the center of the living room like a fortress prepped to thwart the movers' assault the next day.

Our footsteps echoed, and voices bellowed in the emptiness.

A half hour later, we sped down I-90 toward Philly, the twins huddled in the far back of the van watching a movie, Nareece and Travis asleep in the midsection, and Dulcey driving. I worked on wrapping my brain around what lay ahead, a much happier prospect.

I embraced raising Rose and Helen in the house where Nareece and I had grown up, where we'd once lived as a happy family. I took a breath, whisking away the bad memories determined to whittle their way front and center. Today they lost the battle. New day, new memories.

Plans for remodeling the family house were underway. They included redesigning the kitchen and bathrooms, painting inside and outside the house, refinishing the wood floors and replacing carpets. Other plans included building an addition for a live-in nurse to care for Nareece and a shed-sized outhouse in the backyard for the twins' detective agency. Between me and Nareece, we had plenty of furniture and household goods to outfit the place.

I decided to rent out rather than sell my house. For now, it was where we would live until the renovations were completed at the family house.

I took leave from the department, unsure whether my road to happiness spelled retirement. Fifty years rested on my shoulders, asking the question:
What do you want to be now that you're all growed up?
Summer first, I decided.

Seemed like a lifetime ago I was tripping about being old, menopause-old, and not having accomplished a damn thing, and being alone. Menopause pummeled me at full throttle and sent me deep within
God, help me
territory, but I realized my saviors were upon me. The twins squawking double-time, Nareece needing everything from dribble wipes to ass wipes, and the prospect of telling Travis the truth, actually cooled the sweats and backed my moods into a dark room, slamming and locking the door after them. Crazy. Crazy.

My worst fear was still about Travis's reaction when he learned his true identity and that his whole life echoed regurgitated lies. The good news was that the past was the past for now and evermore—banished, handled, resolved, and done. At least it would be done after Travis learned the truth.

Next thing I knew, Dulcey was waking me up as she pulled curbside in front of my house. It was 9:30 p.m. Travis went to unlock the front door, while I got the twins out of their seat belts and guided them up the walkway and up the stairs to Travis's room. Travis went back and got Nareece. He carried her into the house and up the stairs to my room. Dulcey walked behind him the whole way with her arms out in case they stumbled and she needed to catch them. Then they would all be goners, for sure.

I settled Nareece in my bed, while Dulcey settled the twins in Travis's bed. I would sleep on the living room couch, and Travis would sleep downstairs in the basement.

“Girl, it has definitely been a journey,” Dulcey said, trudging down the stairs. I followed behind her.

“It is not over yet.”

“It's over for me, girl. I'm about beat to a frazzle. What's left is left for you.” She stopped at the front door and said, “Now, Missy M, ain't nothing blocking your way but what you put there.” She squeezed my hand and left. I watched her get in the car and drive off, before I closed the door and held on to the doorknob, contemplating running away—far, far, away. Then I went into the kitchen to put some water on for tea.

Tomorrow was a new day. There was Mr. Kim to check out, since I had not seen or talked to him since he'd left the note in my door. He wasn't answering his phone and seemingly had not been home since I went there after receiving the note. A tinge of concern stayed in my gut, even though I knew Mr. Kim was quite capable of taking care of his own.

There was the money, two million dollars, not five, as Cap had said, but still, two million dollars in drug money hidden away for twenty years—now a curse or a treasure? Calvin had returned it to me, and all I could think was, who else knew about it? Would there be others coming for it? I decided that when Nareece was better, we would figure out what good we could do with it, because she certainly did not need the money.

Turns out I never knew exactly what John did for work because he did not do much of anything. At twenty years old, he had invested in Microsoft and made a small fortune, then invested some of that and made more. He and Nareece were set for life. Now Nareece and the girls were set. I was good, too—content with what I had, with no desire to profit from drug monies.

And then there was the matter of my heart. Calvin. That was going to be either a long-ass conversation or a very short one. No matter, I was ready, able, and pumped. “Bring it on.”

Travis snuck up behind me at the kitchen sink and kissed my cheek. “Talking to yourself, huh? You know what they say about people who talk to themselves? They got issues, ain't all there.”

“That sounds about right.”

He spun me around and hugged me tight enough to send my brains shooting out the top of my head. He turned me loose and kissed me again. I tousled his hair and scratched his beard. He slapped my hand away.

“I know, I know, I need a haircut and a shave,” he said.

We laughed.

“Sit down, son. It's time we talked.”