R. Jagger - A Way With Murder

Wilde tapped a cigarette out and lit up.

He blew smoke.

“You love complicating my life, don’t you?”

“That’s not the question.”

“Okay then, what’s the question?”

“The question is, why aren’t you on your way over to the little lawyer’s house to ask her point blank what the hell is going on?”

“Why, what do you think she knows?”

“I don’t know. What I do know, though, is that she’s keeping it from you, whatever it is.”

Day Three

July 23, 1952

Wednesday Morning

A throbbing painbehind Waverly’s left eye pulled her out of a fitful sleep. The room was dark and silent except for the heavy breathing of someone sleeping next to her. The crazy storm of last night had diminished to a drizzle or had disappeared altogether. She raised her hand to the ache in her head and felt dried blood. Then the memory of last night flashed.

She recalled reaching for the man to see if he had the envelope.

She recalled his sudden move.

She recalled Su-Moon being knocked violently to the ground.

She recalled a scream coming from her throat followed by a heavy punch to the side of her head.

She recalled her legs buckling.

She recalled her face hitting the ground so hard that water splashed into her nose and choked the oxygen out of her mouth.

In hindsight, the man didn’t kill them.

He took what they had-the black book and the money-but he didn’t kill them.

They made their way to Su-Moon’s and confirmed that the envelope was in fact gone. Then they washed their wounds and went to bed.

That was last night.

Now it was dawn.

All their proofwas gone-the pictures, the black book, the money, everything. Bristol was too smart to try to hide it again. He’d destroy it. He’d burn it or rip it to shreds or something equivalent. It was forever gone.

Waverly flipped onto her back and closed her eyes.

Now what?

Nothing, that’s what.

It was over.

Over.

Over.

Over.

Wait-

Maybe it wasn’t.

No, it definitely wasn’t.

They had one more thing to do, namely warn the woman from Bristol’s houseboat-the one who was draped across Bristol’s lap in the red dress getting spanked.

They owed that to her.

Plus, maybe Bristol actually had feelings for her. If she left him, it might actually hurt.

He had it coming.

Suddenly Waverlyhad a wild thought, so wild that she shook Su-Moon awake.

“I have a plan,” she said.

Su-Moon exhaled.

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“I have a plan,” Waverly said.

“Good for you,” Su-Moon said. “Tell me in the morning.”

“It is morning.”

“The afternoon, then.”

Day Three

July 23, 1952

Wednesday Morning

At the break of dawn,barely awake before a shower or coffee, River threw on sweats and scouted the grounds for January. Last night’s storm was now a humid mess up top and sloppy puddles down below. A light breeze was breaking up remnants of gray-bellied clouds and herding them to Kansas.

January was nowhere to be found.

Her live body wasn’t there.

Her dead body wasn’t either.

The latter brought enough relief to let him set out on a run, almost a sprint, letting his stride lengthen and his lungs dig. A mile clicked off, then another. The sky softened and an eerie mist lifted off the ground.

It was possible that January had left of her own volition.

Maybe she spotted the guy but couldn’t call out.

Maybe the guy spotted River and called it off.

Maybe January followed him.

Maybe she’d show up any minute and tell him where to find the guy.

The run turned into six or seven miles, all Tarzan style. Back home, everything was the same.

January wasn’t there.

No notes were on the door.

He took a shower.

As he was drying off,the phone rang and a deep, menacing voice came through. “Listen carefully asshole, because what you do in the next thirty seconds is going to determine whether your tattooed little friend lives or dies. Do you understand?”

River exhaled.

“Let me talk to her.”

“She’s alive, don’t worry about it,” the man said. “Now, where is Alexa Blank?”

River pulled up an image of the woman chained in the graveyard. She should still be there, alive and well, unless something went wrong.

He needed time.

“I’ll take you to her,” he said.

A beat.

“Just tell me where she is and then stay put. After I have her, I’ll release your little friend. You have my word. All I want is a fair exchange, nothing more.”

River shook his head.

“Drive south out of town on Santa Fe, about twenty or twenty-five miles,” he said. “You’ll see my car at the side of the road. Be sure January’s with you. Be smart and we’ll both get what we want. Be stupid and I’ll rip your heart out and throw it to the maggots. Go now. I’ll be waiting.”

He slammed the receiver down.

His blood raced.

Someone was going to die.

Ten seconds laterthe phone rang. River watched it without answering as he threw on clothes, then grabbed his gun and headed for the car with his hair dripping. Halfway there he turned back long enough to get an eight-inch serrated knife from the top dresser drawer.

The knife and gun got thrown on the seat next to him.

Then he squealed out.

The traffic was thick.

Everyone in the universe was in his way.

The minute he passed someone, some other idiot popped up in front.

Calm down.

Calm down.

Calm down.

That’s what his brain said, Calm down.

Calm down and be smarter than him.

Calm down and come up with a plan.

Calm down and kill the little prick.

Traffic loosened.

River actually got some breathing room and opened it up. Then a car at a crossroad turned right in front of him. The jerk could have waited- should have waited-but was just one more of those selfish bastards who thought they owned the road.

River got on his tail and honked his horn.

The guy looked in his rearview mirror.

His hand came up.

His middle finger came up.

The finger waved back and forth.

River put every muscle of his leg into the accelerator and swung violently into the other lane to get alongside.

The massive grill of an oncoming 18-wheeler suddenly appeared from out of nowhere directly in front of him.

Shit!

He slammed on the brakes.

The rear wheels locked and went into a fishtail.

Day Three

July 23, 1952

Wednesday Morning

Wilde went to the law firmto find that London hadn’t shown up for work, to the puzzlement of the receptionist. Wilde found her at home, packing a suitcase. Her face was stressed. Her eyes wouldn’t look into his for more than a heartbeat.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

“It’s over, Wilde.”

“What’s over?”

“Everything.”

He lit a cigarette, blew smoke and said, “Last night was close, I’ll admit. You’re alive though.”

“This time,” she said.

He tilted his head.

“So you’re going on the run?”

She nodded.

“As far and as fast as my legs will take me.” She looked into his eyes, then away. “You can come with me if you want.”

The words rolled through Wilde’s brain with the force of a freight train. He pulled up the image of them getting into her car, heading down the road and never looking back.