Night Work (30 page)

    "I don't deserve to die - not like this - please, not like this. I'll do anything you say, but - please."

    Frank pointed the gun at him a second time. "Shut the fuck up."

    "Okay," Artie gasped. "O-Okay."

    Frank focused on the blood, then the puddle of urine, then his own hands. They had begun to tremble, the odd steadiness a thing of the past. His mind replayed hundreds of images, and all he could be certain of was that at that exact moment, he was totally, completely, helplessly insane.

    "Don't look at me, fat man."

    Artie's head lolled forward, eyes trained on the floor.

    Frank slowly raised the gun, placed it under his own chin, and blinked away a drop of perspiration, a spattering of blood, or both, that had dripped across his brow. "Do you love your wife, Artie?" he heard himself ask.

    "Yes," he whimpered. "Yes, I do."

    Frank dropped his arm, removing the weapon from his chin and allowing it to dangle at his side as whatever semblance of his sanity that remained slowly reasserted itself. Crouching down next to him, Frank grabbed a handful of the man's hair and jerked his head back so that he could look into his watery eyes. "If you ever try to come after me," he said in a strangely quiet voice, "if I ever hear from you again - "

    "No, I - I'll never tell anyone. I swear, I - "

    "If you ever come to me in a fucking dream," Frank told him, the gun now pressed against Artie's temple. "You'll be dead the same day."

    Artie managed a quick nod, his eyes riveted on Frank's gun hand. "I swear you'll never see or hear from me again."

    "I've got lots of friends. If something happens to me - if I should step off a curb and get run down by a car - or if you get it in your head to send somebody else to do the job for you, they'll get you. There's nowhere to hide from the connections I have."

    "I know," he said, choking on the word. "I understand."

    "Say your prayers tonight, Artie," Frank told him. "I came here to kill us both."

    

    

    Benny saw Frank emerge from the office, and quickly put the car into gear. The moment Frank was inside he pulled away.

    Frank returned the gun and gloves to the bag, noticing that despite the cold his face and neck were bathed in sweat and partially flecked with a small spattering of Artie's blood. Eventually, he wiped himself clean.

    They drove on for more than a mile in silence.

    "Did you kill him?" Benny finally asked.

    "Does it matter?"

    "Not to me. I just need to know if there's any chance this guy's gonna be calling the cops any time soon."

    "None." Frank felt the car slow a bit. "Just get me the hell out of here, Benny."

    Benny checked the rearview. "We'll be on the state highway in no time. Once we get back in Massachusetts let's stop and get something to eat. I'm starving. You hungry, Frank?"

    Frank stared out the window, watched the snow fall.

    

    

    Frank's legs felt like limp noodles as he wearily made his way up the stone walkway to the house. The hamburger and fries he'd eaten on the way back from Vermont had settled heavily in the pit of his stomach, and emotions ranging from anticipation to apprehension filled his senses.

    The front door was open. Dressed in jeans, a heavy wool sweater and sneakers, Sandy stood looking at him from the doorway as if welcoming home a stray pet. Her face was pale, her eyes bloodshot. She managed a slight smile and crossed her arms over her chest.

    "Hi," Frank said, pausing a few feet from the door.

    "You look like you've had a bad time."

    "I have."

    She glanced at the ground. "Is it over?"

    "Yes."

    "I'd invite you in, but…" Sandy glanced nervously over her shoulder. "My parents aren't feeling very friendly at the moment."

    Frank nodded. "Then let's just go. Get your stuff, I'll wait for you in the car." She stared at him, unmoving, and he stepped closer. "What is it?"

    "I don't think that's a good idea," she answered softly, the words catching in her throat.

    "Why not?"

    "I'm going to stay here for a while, Frank."

    He shut his eyes, left them that way. "Can't we at least talk about this?"

    "I don't see the point."

    "You don't see the point? You're leaving me and you don't see the point of maybe discussing it first?"

    Sandy brushed her hair away from her forehead and leaned against the doorframe. "I can't live like this anymore."

    "No one's asking you to. I told you, it's over."

    "For now."

    "For good," he told her. "I'm out of the life - out of the business entirely - and I'll never go back. That's a promise. It might take some time but we can make things right. We can make things the way they were before."

    "I'm letting all the heat out of the house, Frank," she said. "I really have to go."

    Frank rubbed his temples, hoping to dull the pain of the headache that had settled behind them. "Please come with me."

    "I can't."

    "Sandy - "

    "Frank, I can't."

    "Just for a few minutes. I only want to talk to you for a few minutes."

    "You're talking to me now."

    "Somewhere private. Please, Sandy." He looked up at her, his heart racing. "I can't just walk away."

    She watched him a moment. "I'll get my coat."

    

    

    About a mile from the house at the end of the road was a private beach for residents. Frank drove past the large stone pillars at the entrance, across a desolate paved lot and parked at the very edge of the beach. Before he could say anything Sandy got out of the car and headed for the water. Moving slowly, she trudged through heavy sand until she'd reached the waterline.

    Frank followed, fighting the stiff wind blowing in off the ocean. The rain had stopped but it was still cold and damp.

    "Isn't it strange how the weather often reflects people's moods?" Sandy asked. "I used to come here off-season all the time when I was a kid. It's a great place to think, but there's nothing quite so sad as a New England beach in winter."

    "Then I guess we came to the right place."

    "Maybe so."

    Frank flipped up the collar on his coat and stuffed his hands into the pockets, afraid he might hug her otherwise. "Come home with me, baby."

    "I need some time." Sandy turned her eyes to the ocean. "And so do you. You need time away from me - from everyone and everything." She looked at him, pulled a few loose strands of hair away from her eyes and secured them behind her ear with a finger. "We need to pull ourselves together before we can even begin to deal with saving our marriage, Frank. It's the only way."

    "But if we're apart how can we - "

    "It's the only way."

    He tried to keep from shivering. "Don't you love me?"

    "We've been through too much," she said, just above a whisper. "I can't - I've told you, I need time."

    "How much time?"

    "Enough to clear my head."

    "How am I supposed to know when that is?"

    "I'll know."

    "But - "

    "Frank, I'll just know."

    He bit his lower lip. "What if you don't?"

    Sandy hugged herself. "Then maybe it wasn't meant to be."

    Frank turned away and studied a long stone jetty on the far side of the beach. "Maybe I will take off. I've never seen California. Is that far enough away for you?"

    "I knew you'd turn this into a fight."

    "I love you."

    Her eyes found his. "And I love you."

    "Then what's the problem?"

    "We're going around in circles," she sighed.

    A tear blinked free; rolled the length of his cheek. "You're all I have. I've got nowhere else to go."

    Sandy moved toward the water, teasing the incoming waves as they lapped the beach. "We'll be together again, Frank. Just not… just not now."

    He wiped his eyes. "There's five thousand dollars in cash in the top drawer of my bureau in the bedroom. Take it."

    "I don't need it."

    "Just take it."

    She offered a subtle nod. "All right."

    "Come on," he said, clearing his throat. "I'll drive you back."

    "No," she said, drawing a deep breath of sea air. "I'd rather stay a while. I can walk back, it's not so far."

    "Sandy, you'll freeze."

    "I'll be fine."

    Frank wanted to kiss her, but knew if he did, he'd never be able to let go. Like a statue, he stood watching her.

    "What will you do?" she finally asked.

    "Go away, get my head together," he told her. "And then I'll be back to sweep you off your feet."

    She cocked her head to the side. "Sounds romantic."

    He nodded. "Don't forget about me."

    Sandy smiled brightly. He had not seen her do that in a very long time. "No chance."

    With a smile of his own, Frank turned and forced himself back in the direction of the car.