T. Bunn - Drummer in the Dark

After Jackie’s father had dumped them, her mother had gone through a series of bad jobs and worse men, finally landing as a waitress at a HoJo’s on Route 50. The place had been so rough she would seldom let her children come in for the free meals offered to all employees’ families. And there she remained, right up to the moment Preston struck it rich and rented her a fine little place on a lake. Their mother had never acknowledged the gifts, for that would have meant also accepting that a man in her life had done something good.

Jackie let herself into her mother’s room. The upper half of her mother’s bed had been slightly elevated. Evelyn Havilland lay there inert and pale. Eyes closed. Chest hardly moving. Face slack. Taking revenge on life and everyone she had ever known by shutting them out. Jackie carried the chair over from its station beside the opposite wall, seated herself by the bed, and waited.

“These people do everything they can to hurt me.” The mouth scarcely moved. The eyes never opened. “You satisfied now? You should be.”

“Hello, Mom. Would you like something to drink?” Jackie picked up the plastic cup from the bedstand and saw it was empty. “Let me get you some water.”

Evelyn Havilland said nothing more until Jackie had fitted the plastic straw into her mouth and let her sip. “A decent daughter’d have gotten me out of here. Found me a place with people who know how to do things right. But not you. Oh no. Too much trouble, finding your own mother a decent place to breathe her last.”

Evelyn turned her head then, just a fraction. Far enough to shoot her daughter a glimmer from shadow-filled eyes. “Probably just as well you didn’t try. You’d only have made a mess of it anyway.”

Jackie found a fly buzzing about the room to focus her attention upon. It was a trick she had used since childhood. A dust mote in sunlight would do. A sound from beyond the room. Anything to keep from being opened and penetrated.

“I always knew it would come to this. Lying here waiting for the end, looking at a daughter who’s wasted every chance she’s ever had.” Pausing now, building up the venom. “And every man.”

A bad day. Sometimes Jackie could slip in, spend an hour beside the inert figure in the bed, exchange no more than a few words. Converse only with her memories and all the old pain. Such days were a delight compared to these, when she was forced to remember how she never had the chance to be young.

“Not a day goes by, I don’t regret the horrible mess you made with Shane. I adored him, you know.” Another pause to refill the fangs. “Didn’t even learn about it from my own daughter. Oh no. Shane had to be the one to come and tell me you’d run away. I couldn’t believe it even then. Told him no daughter of mine would be that stupid.”

Jackie rose and picked up the chair. Deliberately she placed it back against the wall. There to wait another month for the only visitor her mother had. She masked her movements as she did her thoughts. Wondering what her mother would do if she lifted the chair and swung it down upon her head. Thank her, probably.

“You’re going to see your brother’s grave now, I suspect. What a loser he turned out to be. The ultimate disaster. Just like his father. Hung around just long enough to ruin my life. Never could take the bad times, neither of them.” Evelyn swiveled her head back up, closed her eyes. “Don’t have a daughter, don’t have a son. All that sweat and worry for nothing. Might as well not have lived.”

“Bye, Mom.” Jackie left the room without a backward glance. Her work here was done.

Jackie spotted the tail while she was buying flowers. It was mostly the way the man stood and stared at her. Then she noticed the car, and something sparked inside her brain; he had been following her since the nursing home. She’d never been involved in a surveillance job, but while working around the office she’d learned the signals. Jackie checked in both directions but could not identify another suspicious car or tracker. She glanced back in time to see the man lock his car and hurry across the street. That was definitely an amateurish move, letting her spot him beside his wheels.

She paid for the flowers and headed through the cemetery gates. Just inside she turned and faced him full on. The man knew he had been spotted, there was no disguising it now. But to her surprise, he did not duck back or head down a side lane. Instead he merely stood there, hands bunched together by his belt buckle, and waited. She continued along the gravel path, warmed by the thought that this might be one of the men who’d trashed her apartment. It was enough to grant the day a momentary reprieve. She would love to meet those guys, give them a piece of whatever was available and heavy.

The cemetery was packed with mourners and gardeners. Jackie made the turning down the now-familiar lane and glanced back. He was still there, yet showed nothing to suggest either hostility or threat. What he looked like was a Latin hunk. Olive complexion, early fifties, extremely well groomed. Clothes with a European cut, shoes so well polished they reflected like black mirrors. The day was an oven set on wet-bake, yet he walked in jacket and tie. He held to a respectful distance, a professional mourner waiting for her to show him the proper place to grieve.

The problem was, she had no interest in sharing this part of a lousy day. So she checked to make sure there were a couple of gardeners nearby, then walked straight up to him. “You want something?”

“Forgive me, Ms. Havilland. I have no wish to disturb you in this hour of communing with your brother.”

She recognized the voice instantly. Not Latin at all. Arab. But just as handsome up close. “You’re that guy. The Arab on the telephone. Esther’s emergency contact.”

“That is correct.” He bowed slightly, a gesture as formal as his tone. “Nabil Saad is my name. I am Egyptian. Again, forgive this intrusion. But we needed to meet. And the contact required someplace more private than your apartment.”

She took a moment to inspect him, trying to get a handle on this sudden appearance. Nabil Saad was not tall, standing only a few inches above her own five-seven. Flecks of silver decorated the dark hair at his temples and crown. He wore a jacket of tiny gray-and-black herringbone. It looked incredibly expensive, probably silk. White-on-white shirt, black gabardine pants, perfectly knotted silk tie. Face both hard and soft, eyes liquid and black as night. And calm. Standing and accepting her inspection in silence.

Jackie said, “Excuse me, I’m a little confused here. Last night I got the impression you didn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

“My objections had nothing to do with you personally. But Esther Hutchings had no right to hire you as she did, without our approval. Nor did she ask permission to give you my name.”

Jackie hoped her confusion did not show. “But she did.”

“Indeed so. Esther has never been prone to listen to anyone when her mind is made up. And now you have been attacked, and you have my name. Esther needed to make contact with you. Esther’s file spoke of this monthly pattern. I elected to come meet you myself.”

“So there’s this file on my private life that’s been passed around?”

“You must forgive us all, Ms. Havilland. Such intrusion is not excusable.”

“I totally agree.”

“And yet we are faced with an impossible situation. Lives are at stake.”

“That friend you mentioned on the phone last night?”

“She was like the daughter I do not have.” Nabil Saad’s features opened to reveal an ocean of sorrow. “Our cause was her life’s work. Yes. Her passion. And it killed her. Of that I have no doubt.”