Gregg Hurwitz - You're Next

Again came the nightmare repetition, except this time it was not from his father’s mouth but his own. ‘She’s not… here.’

He was trying to watch the road, trying to grip the wheel steadily, trying to keep himself from flying apart. It took everything he had, and still he was coming up short.

‘Daddy,’ she said. ‘What’s wrong with your voice?’

‘Daddy,’ she said. ‘The light’s green.’

‘Daddy,’ she said. ‘Why are you breathing funny?’

Kat had retreated into a ball of fear and resentment in the back-seat. He needed to get them somewhere private before he explained to her about her mother. At least that’s what he told himself. Maybe he was just at a comprehensive loss for how to break the news. While driving he’d done his best to make his voice work and comfort Kat, but she was smart enough to take his generic reassurance as worse news, so finally he’d shut up, locking down his body to keep his grief from exploding out of him.

He pulled into a gas station, a dark voice needling him: The last time I filled up my tank, I had a wife . Taking a few steps from the truck, he flipped open his phone to call Shep. There Annabel was in the screensaver picture: the photo he’d snapped of her in the kitchen the morning he’d found out about Green Valley. He remembered the warmth of the sun across his shoulders, how she’d rolled her lotioned hands in his.

What?

Your hair. Your eyes.

The last quiet moment they’d shared before the PVC pipes, his decision to indulge the governor’s lie by lying himself, the hell that choice had brought down on them.

For the benefit of forty families, think you can smile for a few cameras?

That smile had cost him Annabel.

His thumb twitched, wanting to call her. Catching the instinct – and the blast of reality that came with it – was a fresh hell. It couldn’t be real. He couldn’t do it without her – navigate through this threat, parent, live.

He hauled his attention back to the eight-year-old waiting, needing him to take care of her. Shep. Game plan. He realized he had to use the sleek black Batphone, so he swapped them before dialing.

Shep picked up on the first ring.

‘My wife is dead.’ Saying it caused Mike’s face to break. He turned away from the truck, did his best not to double over.

Shep said, ‘What?’

Mike glanced over his shoulder, but Kat was still buckled in, staring blankly into space. He forced the words out. ‘She’s dead. William and Dodge made a threat against Kat, and I took the bait. I went running to her and left Annabel open. I left her alone.’

‘Who?’

‘A guy, William’s brother or cousin. I killed him.’

The memory set Mike’s teeth on edge. The vibration sent from the man’s skull through the omelet pan had left his arm throbbing, the kind of bone-deep ache you felt getting jammed by a fastball. The sound was inhuman. It was a construction-site noise, the complaint of material yielding. He had taken a man’s life. He had no remorse and would do it again unflinchingly, but the hard fact of it extinguished something in his chest.

Shep had spoken – ‘How do you know he’s related to William?’ – and it took Mike a long moment to retrieve the question.

He thought of that grainy Kodak of his father at the age Mike was now. How Dana Riverton had laid it beside the newspaper photo that had announced Mike to whoever had been waiting for him to appear. ‘Resemblance.’

‘He planned to kill Annabel?’

‘She fought.’ The man’s words played again in Mike’s head. You couldn’t just listen and sit on the couch and wait for him to get here . ‘He wanted to kill me , not her.’

‘So why misdirect you to Kat?’

‘So he could… I don’t know… have time to set up in the house. So it would be quiet and no one would know. Maybe he wanted them there for leverage. To get me to talk.’

‘About what?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘What happened after you killed him?’

‘A cop showed up – Rick Graham. They were in on it together. Graham called to warn him I was coming.’ Mike explained about the incoming call and how he’d phoned back. ‘Graham came in to kill me, I think. To clean up. I grabbed Kat and took off. So I’m probably wanted by the proper authorities now, too, because of how I left. I don’t know who I can trust.’

Shep said, ‘Money.’

‘I can’t think about that right now. I haven’t even told Kat yet. Later we can-’

‘There won’t be a later,’ Shep said.

‘Okay. Okay.’

‘You have your gun?’

‘No. That’s the one Annabel-’

Shep cut him off. ‘You need to turn off your cell phone – not this one but your original one. It’s under your name, and they can track it if you leave it on too long.’

Mike powered it down, glancing around. Vehicles flew by on the busy intersection. Two underage kids smoked by the drive-through car wash. A woman left her VW Beetle at the gas pump behind him and waddled to the convenience store.

Shep was talking. ‘-and your truck.’

‘My truck?’

‘You’ve got satnav, right? That means they can track you down through your own GPS system. Get rid of it.’

Discarding the truck seemed like losing a last, essential part of himself. The passenger seat still retained Annabel’s settings – slid forward toward the dash, slight recline, headrest low on its prongs. Crumbs from a PowerBar she’d eaten en route to the award ceremony were still caught in the leather seam.

‘Right now?’ The gas pump clicked off, and Mike tugged it from the tank.

‘They’ve gotta deal with a private company for the trace. It’ll take them some time to pull a warrant. Money first. Go.’

Shep hung up.

Mike crouched in a private office at the bank, moving stacks of hundreds into a black vinyl bag the prim-mouthed bank manager had provided. Kat was waiting in the driver’s seat in a front parking space, locked in, one hand at the ready on the horn.

‘Can we provide some other service, Mr Wingate, to make you reconsider?’

‘This isn’t about your service.’

‘It seems a shame, given your recent influx, to-’

‘Why can’t I withdraw more?’

‘I think under the circumstances, our producing three hundred thousand dollars cash on zero notice is rather impressive. With computerized banking we don’t stash as much cash in the vault as we used to. As I said, I’d be happy to arrange for a transfer of the balance to any-’

A cautious knock on the door, and then an attractive woman in a crisp pantsuit opened the door a crack. ‘Excuse me, sir. You have a phone call.’

‘You know very well, Jolene, that when the door to the back office is closed-’

‘I was told it’s very important.’

A red light blinked on the telephone sitting on the corner desk.

The manager stiffened. He nodded at Mike and turned for the desk.

Mike threw the remaining bundles into the bag and walked briskly out.

‘Daddy, why are we here? These people are scary.’

‘We’re going to catch a ride out of here in a second, Kat.’

‘Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?’

‘Yes. Yes, I am. Soon.’

South of Devonshire in Chatsworth. The shortest distance to the shittiest neighborhood. Weeds rose through cracked sidewalks, vining their way through fallen chain-link. Kicked-in front doors were spray-painted with blood reds and metallic greens: INS with a Ghostbusters bend sinister through it; gang symbols; the see-no-evil monkey with his two cronies. Clustered in doorways, meth heads vibrated, skeletal arms poking from puffy jackets, blackened fingers working toothless gums. Falling dusk gave the whole stretch of sordid real estate a haunted-house vibe.