Marcus Sakey - Good People

Slowly, she peered around the corner. The vanity lights were on, hot white spilling across the room. Below, the cabinets gaped, revealing the lonely leftovers of a life: air freshener, plunger, half-burned candle. The medicine chest doors hung wide, their mirrored faces throwing fragments of the room. Bottles had been knocked over, and the toothpaste and toothbrush lay on the floor. The room looked like someone had gone through it in a hurry.

The smell was worse here. It took her a moment to realize why, and then she noticed the toilet. Ughh. Why would Tom walk away like that, forget to flush-

Suddenly it hit her all at once. The disarray, the closed bedroom door, the toilet, Jesus, the disgusting toilet, left filthy by someone. Someone not Tom. The muscles in her neck tightened, and she threw one hand up to cover her mouth. Whirled around, realizing her back was exposed, sure someone was behind her.

The bedroom was empty.

She had to get out. Fast. But what if whoever had done this was still inside? Her temples throbbed, and her armpits went moist. Did she dare risk running for the front door? She’d come in humming, called Tom’s name, done everything but telegraph exactly where she was. He could be creeping down the hallway now, a skinny man with long dirty fingers, a knife in one hand, the other on the zipper of ragged pants, stroking slowly-

Get a grip, get a grip, goddamnit, get a grip!

The best thing to do was get out, get out fast. Front door or back? The front, the way she’d come. Chances were if the burglar was still here, he was heading away from her, for the back door. Okay. Simple, then. Pull out your keys. Good. Grip them so you can punch with them, stupid as that seems. Good. Now just turn and walk out the way you came. Don’t panic, don’t run and risk falling, just walk out of here right now.

I said, just turn and walk out of here-

Anna Reed lunged for the door, threw herself into the hallway, and sprinted for the front, her heart slamming till she thought her ribs might crack.

JACK STARED THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD at the woman they’d seen earlier. She’d just thrown open the door to Will Tuttle’s place, then the front door to the vestibule, and was tear-assing down the block like the bogeyman was behind her.

“I guess she realized we’d been there,” Marshall said dryly. “What do you think she was doing in his apartment?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said.

“You think she’s in on it?”

He spread his hands, said nothing.

“Lucky thing you saw her coming.” Marshall pulled the briefcase onto his lap. “If she’d just walked in on us…”

Jack started the car, glanced over his shoulder, and then pulled the Civic onto the street. The Reed woman would be dialing the police. Best to be moving. Marshall popped the latches on the briefcase and lifted the lid. Rows of neatly ordered bundles and prescription bottles fit together like a puzzle. “What do you want to do with this shit?”

“You know anybody who can move it?”

Marshall sucked air through his teeth. “Maybe Mikey Cook?”

“Trust him?”

“I wouldn’t let him fuck my sister or anything, but he’s good people.”

Jack nodded. “Fine. We can unload it when we’re finished.”

They rode in silence for a momen; then Marshall said, “Will’s going to be spooked now.”

“Yeah.” Jack signaled, then turned south. “We’ll have to keep a close watch, make sure he doesn’t bolt.” He kept his face and voice calm, but behind them his mind surged and raged. You better be spooked, Will. I’m coming. I’m coming for you and for my money, and nothing is going to stand in my way .

Nothing.

THERE WAS A POLICE CAR in front of his house.

Tom had been away from his office when Anna called. It was one of those mornings, the kind where by nine-thirty he knew he’d be lunching at his desk, and by eleven o’clock he realized he wouldn’t be eating lunch at all. The kind where he wished he’d stuck to his dream of writing books, instead of getting a corporate job doing technical writing. The Vice President in Charge of Fucking Up People’s Day had had a change of heart on a program Tom’s team had been set to roll out next week. Typical bullshit, just ego cloaked in platitudes about “forward-thinking design” and “going another way,” but it tanked ten weeks’ worth of work. After a meeting like that, seeing the red voice-mail light burning didn’t brighten things up.

Then he heard the message, and it got worse. Anna was panicky, breathless. All he could make out was something about someone in their house, and to come home right away. He’d stood with the phone in one hand, his lips clenched, staring out at the city street far below, boxy yellow cabs and ant people. Part of him was thinking about how this was going to complicate things here, and wondering what the hell she was doing at home in the middle of the day anyway. The other part was already racing for the street, hailing a cab, offering the driver forty on a twenty-dollar ride if only he’d go fast.

He went with the latter, spent the ride praying that nothing was wrong. But there was a police car in front of his house. Tom threw two bills at the driver and leapt out of the car. He ran straight through the rows of tulips his neighbor had planted, and took the steps to their porch two at a time. “Anna?” He started to unlock the door to their apartment, then noticed that the one to the bottom unit was a few inches open. He pushed it wide, looked in. “Hello? Anna?”

“Tom?” The voice came from down the hall, followed by loud footsteps, and then she was there, throwing her arms around him, her grip tight, her hair in his face, and something in his chest loosened, a fist he hadn’t realized was clutching his heart.

“You okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine, just…” She sniffed. “Someone was here. In this apartment. I was so scared-”

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” He held her, stroked her hair. “You’re okay. Just tell me what happened.”

She stepped back, took a deep breath. “I decided to call in. Ran some errands, took care of our bills” – giving him a meaningful look – “you know, like we’d talked about.”

They had talked about it, though he hadn’t intended for her to miss yet another day of work to do it. Not like Currency Exchanges weren’t open twenty-four hours. But that wasn’t important. He nodded.

“When I came home, I was dropping stuff off in here. I went in the bedroom, and the drawers were open, the closets, there were things on the floor.” She locked eyes with him. “Tom, they went through everything.”

The fist moved from his chest to his gut, his stomach going wobbly. “Are you saying-”

“They were looking for something. Whoever they were.”

He realized his mouth was open, and closed it. “It was probably just someone robbing the place.” He saw her uncertainty, kept talking. “Looking for jewelry, money, that kind of thing.”

“They didn’t take the TV, the-”

“They didn’t take it yet . You probably startled them.”

She started to protest, then stopped as footsteps came down the hall. A cop, tall and barrel-chested in his bulletproof vest. “Are you the husband?”

“Yes. Tom Reed.” He put his hand out.

“Al Abramson.” The cop shook hands, then rested his right on the butt of his gun and turned to Anna. “Ma’am, we’ve checked the whole place, including your apartment and the basement. There’s nobody here.”

She sighed. “Thank God.”

“Any idea who would have done this?”

“No,” she said. “Tom?”

He shook his head.

“Well,” Abramson said, “the way they went through everything, I’d guess it was junkies. They hit the medicine cabinet too. Pretty common. Get strung out, need a fix, they’ll try anything. I wouldn’t worry about them coming back.”