John Lutz - Bloodfire

“Well, that wasn’t exactly true.”

“Then what is?”

As she spoke, she rocked the baby ever so gently. “Let me tell you, Carver, I grew up in a slum in Chicago. Like most ghetto kids, I wanted the fast and expensive life; that’s the values you get in a place like that.”

“Sure, I understand.”

“Doubt it. Anyway, I got outa there the only way I knew how, using what Mother Nature gave me before Father Time took it away.”

Carver thought about that, then said, “You’re still a few steps ahead of Father Time.”

Beth glanced over at him, somehow acknowledging the compliment with only those big, dark eyes. She was used to such remarks and had had practice. “I got mixed up with Roberto and lived the fastest of the fast life. Money, cars, sex, power. Then, a couple of years ago, I was surprised to find myself getting sick of my life. And sickened by what I’d become. Sounds stupid, but I wanted to do some giving instead of taking, even up whatever scales there are. Roberto wouldn’t understand. Couldn’t. But he let me more or less do what I wanted, and I began associating with people outside his crowd. Even took some correspondence courses from Florida State University.”

“You don’t sound like you’re from the ghetto,” Carver noted. “Not much slang and slide in the way you talk.”

“I pretty much worked that outa myself long ago, so I’d be acceptable wherever rich men wanted to take me. Though I admit my college communication courses helped some, too. Anyway, when I became pregnant last year I was pleased, but Roberto wasn’t. Not at first. I talked him outa forcing me into an abortion, and when he got used to the idea of fatherhood, he became more enthusiastic than I was over having a son. He never even considered it’d be a girl, and he was right. During my months of pregnancy I began to think about raising my child. I really saw what I was. What Roberto was. What kind of life I’d be bringing my baby into. I didn’t want it to be that way. I decided it wouldn’t be that way.”

“What about your drug habit?”

“Never actually had one. I secretly put together some money, which wasn’t difficult the way we lived. Money flowed all around Roberto, like a river around an island. I bribed the doctor who delivered Adam. He told Roberto the baby died because I was heavily addicted to heroin.” She looked away from the child and directly at Carver. “I thought we’d have a chance that way, a door out. Roberto would think his son was dead. He’d think I’d be dead within a short time, like most heroin freaks. I could live on what I had for a while, then get some kinda job under another identity and bring Adam up right, not in an environment of narcotics and death and twisted values. Call it the American dream.”

Carver held his cane with both hands. Jabbed at the ground a few times with its tip. There she sat with her son; he had to believe this one. It made sense. A woman begins thinking of her child and not just of herself, and she wants out of the kind of life Beth Gomez had been living. Wants the child’s father to stay out of the picture. A father like Gomez, who could blame her? Attila the Hun would be a better influence.

Beth said, “It only worked up to a point. Roberto thinks Adam’s dead, and that I’m doomed as a heavy user, but he still wants to find me. He thinks I killed his son and he wants vengeance. In all the time I’ve known him, this is the one thing he hasn’t been coldly businesslike about. He won’t stop till he’s killed me, Carver, and now I don’t wanna die. Whatever else you might think of me, I know I can be a good mother, Adam needs me. We need you if we’re gonna make it through this. You might not like it, but that’s the way it fell.”

Carver said, “I’m no guarantee.”

“None of those in this life.”

“Who else knows the truth?”

“Only the doctor, who has every reason in the world not to talk. And my friend Melanie, who won’t talk. A couple of people I was close to know I’m on the run and Roberto wants me dead. I talk to them now and then, and they tell me what they know about whatever he’s doing. That’s how I found out about you turning down Roberto’s offer. Sometimes they don’t know enough, though. I can’t keep out of his path much longer.”

“Why don’t you get far away from here? Out of the state?”

“Roberto has connections anywhere I’d go; drug trafficking is all about connections. And fear. And I don’t have any family left. Melanie’s closer to me than anyone; that’s why she’s hiding us at her place in Fort Lauderdale for a while.”

“If you’re that close to Melanie, won’t Gomez be watching her?”

“He doesn’t know about her. Melanie used to be a coke addict. She went through rehabilitation and she’s been clean for the past five years. Used to be a hooker, too, but now she’s outa that game. That’s where I knew her from. I cut her outa my life after Roberto because of the drugs. I knew she’d be back on coke and I’d be responsible. Then we met again at the university, when we were both taking a final. She’s a secretary at a brokerage firm in Lauderdale. So I’d go see her every once in a while, but I kept her, and our friendship, a kinda secret. She understood. We’d talk about my life, but we’d skirt what it was my husband did to make money. I feel reasonably secure at her place, but I know I’m not completely safe, and I don’t want anything to happen to Melanie because of this. But most of all, Carver, I want to save my baby. And I want you to help me.”

Carver said, “I don’t know if I can.”

“I’m asking you to try. I’ll pay you. Information and money, but you never can say where either came from.”

“What kind of information?”

“There’s s’pose to be a big drug drop here in Del Moray soon.”

“How soon?”

“I don’t know. Days, weeks. Not months,”

“Why don’t you go to the law?” he suggested. “Work a deal. Supply them with what they need to put Roberto away, and they’ll set you up with a new identity, give you and Adam a chance.”

She shook her head violently, startling Adam, who squawked again. She fit the nipple back in his mouth and said, “You’re speaking bullshit, Carver. I’ll talk to you ’cause you’re not the law and I’m desperate. That makes it personal. One thing you can’t do with drug dealers at the top of the pyramid is go to the law and be an informer. The dealers got bought-and-paid-for government snitches-they got goddam governments -to help them track you down and make you pay. They consider it time and money well spent. It keeps others from informing. I’m gonna stay one of the others. The government witness protection program ain’t for shit. If I talked to the cops or DEA, I’d be dead within a year or two years or five years, and so would Adam.”

“But Roberto figures you’ll be dead within a few years anyway, as far gone as that doctor said you were on heroin.”

“So maybe he’ll stop searching for me after a year or so. But if I talk, he and a lot of other people will never stop looking for me. They’ll wanna be certain I’m dead. Not just so I can’t talk anymore, but to discourage anyone else from playing close with the law.”

“You’re between a rock and a rock,” Carver admitted.

“And you’re the only one I can trust. The only one I know who’s refused to do something for Roberto, who’s stood up to him.”

Carver said, “This isn’t Shane .”

“Damned right it’s not. If it was, I’d just sit back and wait for the happy ending.”

The tiny face among the blanket folds opened dark eyes and tried to focus them on Carver. Couldn’t do it. Concentrated again on the bottle, which was now almost empty.