Jason Pinter - The Mark

“Amanda…” I said, the words spilling out of my mouth like water. “Who…”

“That’s not important,” he said, his voice like metal. The second time in a day a gun was pointed at my head. And just like the last one, the safety latch was off. I could tell he’d held people at gunpoint before. Many times. “The what, now Parker, that’s what is of real importance.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. Amanda trembled as involuntary sobs escaped her mouth.

The man nodded to me, flicked the gun. “I want the package you stole from Luis Guzman. That’s the only thing you need to worry about. If you give it to me, you’re the only one who will die here tonight.”

The only one…

Amanda.

Oh, God.

“I don’t have it, I swear.”

“Parker, you’re going to give me what you took or your female friend here will be breathing out the back of her skull. And I’m going to make you watch her die before I ask again.”

“Carl,” Amanda said, her voice shrill, pleading. Again the name took a moment to register. “Why is he calling you that name? What’s happening?”

The man laughed softly, raised his eyebrows. “Carl? Is that what you told her? You really don’t look much like a Carl.”

“Amanda, I can explain.”

The man shook his head. “No, Henry, you won’t. There’s no buying time, no explanations. You give me what I want and Miss Davies gets to wake up tomorrow morning.”

Amanda twitched. He was too strong. She couldn’t budge.

“Listen,” I said, trying not to stammer, my body numb, “I swear I don’t know anything about a package. The newspapers were wrong. The Guzmans were lying.”

Amanda’s head swung toward me. There was fear in her face, but a hint of anger as well. She knew I was hiding something. My deception had somehow led this man to her house. Had put a gun to her head. A cold lump rose in my throat. She could die because of me. And we both knew it. I mouthed the words I’m sorry, knowing how little consolation they must have offered.

“Carl, please,” Amanda said. Tears streaked down her cheeks in wet rivers, tumbling toward her chin and falling softy to the floor. “Please, Carl.”

The man laughed softly. Not to make a statement. He genuinely thought it was funny. “All right, Parker. I’ll give you this one.” He paused. “Tell her the truth.”

I looked at Amanda, summoning sorrow to my face. I didn’t need to try hard. The hollow feeling in my gut came on its own.

“My name isn’t Carl,” I said. “It’s Henry. Henry Parker.” Amanda’s eyebrows furrowed. There was a hint of recognition, but no definitive response.

“And what did you do, Henry?” the man said. I looked at him, tried to glare, actually, but it was merely pitiful. “Go on, tell her.”

Choking back tears that ran hot in my throat, I said, “They think I killed a cop.”

“Who does?” Amanda’s eyes were streaked with red. “I don’t understand.”

“The cops. The cops think I killed him.”

“John Fredrickson,” he said. “Pity. I heard his wife and kids really counted on him.”

“Are you a cop?” I asked him, suddenly feeling stupid. Would a cop hold an innocent woman hostage?

“No, but I’m flattered you’d consider my judgment on par with theirs. I do know a lot of cops, though, and I can honestly say I’ll be doing you a favor by killing you quick.”

“Henry?” It was Amanda. She was staring at me as she said my real name for the first time. Her eyes were red, like they’d been singed.

“Yes?”

“Just give it to him.”

What was she talking about? Amanda, more than anyone, knew I had nothing with me.

“Amanda, I don’t know…”

“Henry, I don’t want to die. Just get it. Get the package. Give him what he wants.”

“Right, Henry,” the man said. “Just get it.”

Amanda said, “You had me put it in the nightstand when we came upstairs, remember? Just give it to him.”

“Nightstand? Amanda, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man took a step toward me, pushing Amanda as he moved. He leaned closer. “Parker, I want you to go into that nightstand and give it to me. You have five seconds. If at the end of those five seconds I don’t have it, Amanda’s blood will be on your hands.”

“Amanda, I…”

“One.”

“But…”

“Two.”

“Henry, get it,” Amanda moaned.

“Three.”

It hit me, just like that. I knew what was in the nightstand. Swallowing the thick saliva in my throat, I nodded. “Stop. I’ll get it.”

I took a step back, the man matching me by moving closer. Amanda’s nightstand was a small, knee-high balsa-wood table with a pullout drawer. Whatever he was looking for, it couldn’t have been wider than a chessboard. Positioning my body so he couldn’t see my hands, I cracked the drawer and stuck my hand in. I could feel paper scraps and loose change. A condom wrapper. Then I felt it. A thin cylinder, probably the size of a tube of lipstick. Mace. Amanda wasn’t kidding when she said she kept it in her nightstand.

I curled my finger around the small tab. I could see their shadows just over my right shoulder. I had one chance, otherwise we were both dead.

“Amanda,” I said, shifting slightly to my right. “Here it is.”

I saw his grip loosen just barely.

At that moment, Amanda ducked down, grabbing hold of the gun as I whipped around and depressed the tab. A stream of clear liquid burst into the man’s face. He cried out and took a step back, the smell making my stomach lurch. I grabbed Amanda’s arm.

“Run.”

We sprinted toward the door, my hand clenched firmly around Amanda’s wrist. But suddenly I was jerked backward. Amanda screamed. The man was clenching Amanda’s hair, holding it like a human leash.

Red lines streaked his eyes. Mucus dripped from his nose. He sniffled, but other than that he looked unaffected. He gently dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve, making sure not to rub any of the mace in too deep. Jesus, I whispered. Again he raised the gun. Amanda thrashed violently, trying to free herself.

“Parker,” the man said, his face emotionless, eyes bloodshot. His complete lack of a reaction was terrifying. “I’ve been maced, I’d say thirty or forty times. It really doesn’t sting so bad once you get used to it.”

I tugged at Amanda’s arm, but he held on tight.

“Please,” she whimpered. He seemed to think about it for a second.

“Where was I? Oh, right. I’d just finished counting to four.”

He aimed the gun at Amanda’s head. I had no more tricks up my sleeve. Her body was between us, a barrier. I didn’t know what was in this package, so I couldn’t bullshit my way out. There were no more options. No more time.

Please don’t let this happen. I’m sorry, Amanda, I didn’t mean to get you involved. I don’t know what to do. I don’t…

Suddenly there was a loud crash downstairs, the sound of wood breaking. Amanda screamed. Confusion etched itself across the intruder’s face. Then I heard footsteps downstairs, more than one set.

“Who the fuck is that?” the man said. “Who the fuck is here?”

People were coming upstairs. My eyes darted back and forth, looking for an escape. Suddenly two men burst into the room. One was heavyset, older. The other was slim, younger. It couldn’t be. They were the same cops who’d chased me that morning. How could they have known where we were?

The older man’s eyes glared at me with a burning hatred, my heart hammering. Then he saw Amanda. Then he looked at the man with the gun, its barrel still firmly pressed against Amanda’s head.

“The hell’s going on?” the older cop said.

“Jesus,” the younger one said. He was staring at the man, his mouth flapping like a dying fish. He was looking at the man in black the way I was looking at them. Like he’d seen him before. “No fucking way.”