Bernard DeLeo - Cold Blooded

With the garage door shut again, Nick donned plastic gloves. He wrapped Brewster in black plastic garbage bags: one over his upper torso, one with cut out leg holes over the middle part of the body, and another over Brewster’s legs. He duct-taped the body tightly, and half dragged, half carried it out past the Malibu to the Toyota. Nick had some difficulty crushing the body into the Toyota trunk, but managed with some sickening adjustments. Nick put bleach, rags, and a shovel on the floor behind the front seats along with two other garbage bags.

He went inside the house to check on Rachel. She wasn’t in the living room, so Nick called to her from the stairwell. Rachel walked down the hall towards the stairs hesitantly, gritting her teeth upon seeing Nick dressed in the dead man’s clothes. Holding on to the railing tightly, Rachel trudged down the stairs.

“It’s getting dark.” Nick kept eye contact with Rachel. “I have to get rid of Brewster and then drive the Toyota somewhere it won’t be noticed in town for a while. When I find a good spot for it, I’ll call the house phone. It works. Can you come pick me up?”

“I think so. Jesus, Nick. Did you have to kill him?”

Nick watched Rachel’s lip trembling in her attempt to keep from crying.

“You’re reacting and not thinking. We will always have very few choices. When we choose, it will be quick, and there will be no time for regrets. Can you pick me up?”

“Yes.”

Nick started toward the garage, and then turned back. “This is all still a trial time until we get those flash drives to Tim and Grace. Afterward, you’ll be free to choose again.”

“I know.”

By the time Nick drove back to the Las Vegas city limits, it was nearly ten o’clock at night. He had decided to leave the Toyota in a low-income housing project on the outskirts of the city. He parked the Toyota and carefully went over the inside of the car again with his rags, cleaning the vehicle meticulously, wiping every square inch of the trunk and passenger compartment. Nick wrapped the shovel, rags, and bleach bottle in a black plastic bag, took the bag with him and abandoned the vehicle. When he reached the corner of East Sunset and Pabco, Nick called Rachel, giving her specific directions to his location. Twenty minutes later, she drove up next to him in the Escalade with Jean and Deke in the back. Nick threw the black bag into the rear storage compartment and got into the front seat.

“Is everything okay?” Rachel asked.

He could tell she was relieved he no longer wore Brewster’s clothing. “We’ll know soon. Did you bunch eat without me?”

“It’s almost midnight.” Jean replied, yawning. “We ate a long time ago. Where were you?”

“Running errands,” he answered, and left it at that.

Nick took his beer out to the back patio with Deke trailing him. He felt much better after a shower, but knew from experience it would be a while before he could sleep. The sliding glass door opened behind him, startling Nick. Rachel pulled another chair over near his, holding out a fresh beer to him. Rachel wore the same shorts and blouse she had worn earlier.

“I thought you went to bed,” he said.

“I couldn’t sleep. I keep seeing Brewster staring at me with the ‘I’m dead’ look.”

“It was all nice and cozy there for a few moments, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, Nick,” she said with a sigh, “It really was.”

Nick glanced down at Deke where he lay near his chair. He nudged Deke’s flank with his foot, smiling when Deke replied with a short growl without looking up. Nick had been typing away on his new manuscript since getting up at six. As usual, writing smoothed the rough edges of reality. A mobster put out a hit on his character Diego, endangering the assassin’s way of life. Nick had enjoyed turning Diego loose to cut a swath through the mobster’s ranks, killing indiscriminately until the mobster rescinded the order and paid Diego a million dollars. He heard footsteps and looked up as Jean walked into the kitchen. The little girl waved at him before fending off Deke, who was now leaping around in front of her. Nick gave out a short whistle, and Deke returned to his place beside Nick’s chair.

“You’re up early.” He noticed it was only twenty minutes past eight. “I figured you’d wake around noon after being up so late.”

“I’m excited about hanging out with Kelly and Garth today.” Jean slipped into the chair next to his. Nick had cleaned and moved the chair Brewster had died in, and Jean sat in the same spot. He dropped the image of Brewster’s last moments at the same kitchen table from his mind and patted her hand.

“What can I get you for breakfast? Your mom did the grocery shopping for me while I was doing my errands. We have lots of food.”

“Could I have toast and tea?”

“I remember having toast and tea when I was a kid. The tea has to be strong, mixed with lots of sugar and milk, while the toast has to be crispy with butter, right?”

Jean nodded. “You know a lot of stuff, Nick.”

“Do you dunk the toast like I did?” He hung a teabag in one of his larger mugs, filled it with water, and heated it in the microwave. “It used to drive my mom nuts. The tea would end up filled with crumbs and I’d slurp it up. She’d look at me like I was from outer space.”

“That’s what my mom does!” Jean laughed, nodding her head excitedly. “She always says, ‘that is so gross’. Is your mom still alive?”

“No, honey, she passed away many years ago.” He put the bread in his four-slotted toaster and took the margarine from the refrigerator.

“Nick, is Mom mad at you?”

“She was a little upset because I had to go out on those errands last night and leave you two alone. I’m sure she’ll be fine this morning. You’re a pretty neat little girl, Jean. You don’t complain, and none of the awful things happening around you for the last year has messed with your mind too badly. What’s your secret?”

“I was messed up real bad when my dad was killed.” She clasped her hands in front of her in serious fashion. “That’s why I like you, Nick. See…ever since Dad died, everyone’s been running us around looking all scared and worried, even Grace and Tim. They’re US Marshalls, but they can’t really do anything. Bad guys killed Dad. Bad guys are tryin’ to kill us. Bad guys are why we had to leave New York. I kept wondering how come we can’t just kill the bad guys before they hurt us.”

Nick laughed, pointing at Jean appreciatively. “You’re all right, kid. I’m sorry things aren’t as easy in real life, or as straightforward.”

He spread margarine on the toast and doctored the tea up as he remembered from his own childhood. After cutting the toast diagonally, he placed the tea and toast in front of Jean on saucers.

“Better sip the tea, Jean. Make sure it’s perfect or the whole tea and toast thing will be ruined.”

She sipped the tea and made an audible ‘ah’ sound in satisfaction. “Yep, just right.”

Nick made more toast and filled his cup, joining Jean for breakfast with toast and coffee. She made a face as he dunked his toast in the coffee and gobbled it up.

“That’s gross! You’re supposed to dunk the toast in tea.” She giggled.

“Why you little elitist.” He reached over toward Jean as if to swat her, only to earn a no nonsense warning growl from Deke, who had appeared instantly at Jean’s side. “One of these days you won’t be with your bodyguard. You’ll be sorry then.”

“I still like you, Nick,” Jean petted Deke. The dog started lapping at the crumbs and bits of margarine on Jean’s hand. “Can I give Deke a piece of toast?”