Marcus Sakey - Good People

And as he watched Tom and Anna Reed’s pretty little world begin to burn, the smile broke free and bloomed on Jack’s lips, and he leaned forward to start the truck.

THE SAND WAS PITTED and scarred from rain. Beneath swollen skies, Lake Michigan rolled in steady slate curls. Anna wrapped her arms around herself against the wind. They’d been waiting in the tree line north of Foster Avenue Beach for twenty minutes, and the whole time, she’d been trying to figure out what to say, how to explain the simple mistake that had led them here, to a meeting where they turned themselves in to the police. She knew it wouldn’t matter, not in a legal sense, but she wanted the cop to understand. That seemed important.

It had been something in the touch of the money itself. The heaviness against her palm. Not greed, exactly. More like fantasy. A selective blindness to consequence. Holding that much money, it wasn’t part of life. It was the definition of surreal. So when it actually happened, she had already fallen down the rabbit hole. Everything else was just their attempts to deal with the twisted Wonderland they’d found themselves in.

“There he is,” Tom said. He nodded toward the low bulk of the shuttered concession stand, not yet open for the season. This had been their beach, a million years ago. Less crowded than most of the others, and without the meat-market factor. They used to bike over, set up folding chairs right in the edge of the surf, where the water frothed and tugged at their ankles. Read and nap in the sun, watch kids make sand castles. Now Detective Christopher Halden strode in front of the concession stand where they’d once bought hot dogs and Popsicles. He wore a dark gray suit and an expression she read as pissed from a hundred yards away. “Looks like he’s alone.”

Tom shrugged. “Not like he isn’t going to take us in anyway.”

She felt an icy shiver, wrote it off to the wind. Having finally overcome her money blindness, she wasn’t going to let a little fear stop her. “Let’s go.”

Halden saw them coming, turned to watch. Anna’s eyes were drawn to the big black gun, the way his right hand rested on it. She imagined what it must feel like to carry death on your hip, to walk around like it was no big deal. The air had that worm-and-dirt smell of a spring rain, coupled with a faint odor of rotting lake weeds. When they were ten feet away, Halden said, “You want to give me one reason not to arrest you both right now?”

“Actually, no,” Tom said. “We’re here so you will.”

The cop squinted at that, thrown off his game, eyes drawing to slits, lines furrowing in his cheeks. He looked like he was about to speak, hesitated, then said, “Go on.”

“You once tried to warn us about getting in over our heads.” Anna took a deep breath. “Well, that’s where we are.” Halden said nothing. She got the feeling that she was telling him something he already knew, that he was the sort to stay quiet until he saw the advantage in speaking. It made her nervous, made her want to watch her own words. “Everything has gone wrong. We’re in a lot of danger.”

“Yeah?” He stared. “So why have you been dodging me? The runaround is not generating fuzzy thoughts toward you.”

“I know.”

“You know, huh? Did you know that a cop got killed this morning at the mall?”

Anna put a hand to her mouth. Tom cut his eyes over to look at her.

“Maybe,” Halden said, “instead of talking in riddles, you better start with the part where you found four hundred thousand dollars.” He watched their eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “I know about that. I know a lot of things. You two have been lying to me.”

“We’re done with that now,” Tom said quietly. “We’ll tell you everything.”

The detective nodded, dug in his pocket, came out with his keys. “Good. Come on, you can ride with me.”

“Wait,” Anna said. “The reason we met out here. At the mall, Jack Witkowski, he had a cop working for him.”

The detective cocked an eyebrow.

“I know how that sounds,” she continued, “believe me, I do. But it’s true. That’s why we wanted to meet here, why we wanted you to come alone. You we trust, but there’s at least one cop working with Jack, and maybe more.”

Halden looked from her to Tom and back, eyes appraising. He put his keys back in his pocket, then reached inside his suit, came out with a pack of Winstons and tapped it against his palm to pop one.

Tom said, “You mind?”

Halden held the pack out, then produced a gold Zippo and fired both cigarettes. He snapped the lighter closed. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t.” Tom inhaled, then blew a stream of gray. “Quit last February.” The cop nodded. Stared, content to wait them out.

Anna took a deep breath. “We found the money when we came down for the fire,” she said. “It was hidden in the flour, in all the food boxes.” She told how it had been a game at first, strange and wonderful. How they hadn’t exactly planned to take it, but one thing led to another. She told him about hiding it, about paying down their debt. The drug dealer. Jack coming to their house. Their flight to the motel. The arrangement with Malachi.

“It was my idea,” Tom said, cutting in. “Setting Jack up.” Anna said, “We did it together.”

Her husband looked at her, his lips tight. Slowly he nodded. “We didn’t want anybody to get hurt. Anybody but him, I mean. But then that cop started shooting, and…”

“We never meant for anyone to get hurt,” Anna said.

The cop dropped the cigarette to the concrete, rested the toe of his dress shoe on it, swiveled once left, once right. “Nobody ever means for someone to get hurt. But it’s what happens when you’re over your head.”

“We know that now,” Tom said. “That’s why we’re here.”

Halden scratched at his chin. “You’ll make this same statement officially? You’ll sign it?”

Tom looked at Anna. She felt the weight of the moment, the formality of it. She put her hand behind his back, drew closer to him, the two of them standing like a couple before a priest. “We will.”

“All right.” Halden nodded. “Right now, the only person who knows you have the money is me. Let’s keep it that way. I’ll bring you in personally. You’ll talk only to me. Once you’ve made your statement and given me the money, even if you’re right and there are police involved, they won’t have a reason to come after you.”

“What about Jack?”

“Jack shot a cop.” Halden said the words clear and level, and she heard the meaning beneath them.

“And Malachi?”

“We’ll deal with him too.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Finally Anna said, “What will happen to us?”

“I’m not going to lie to you.” Halden rubbed his hands together against the chill. “What you did, it was wrong. Worse, it was dumb. But if you do exactly what I tell you, help me close the Shooting Star, bring in Jack Witkowski and the drug dealer?” He shrugged. “That will matter. A lot.”

Relief flowed through her. She felt like a little girl escaping a spanking. They could get out of this. They’d done the right thing, finally, and could have their life back. It was the best she’d felt in days.

There was a sound of music, muffled. It took her a minute to recognize the theme from Hawaii Five-0 , her ring tone. She dug out her phone. The caller ID read “Sara.” Anna glanced at Halden apologetically, said, “My sister. Let me get rid of her.” He nodded, turned to Tom, who said, “How does this work?”

“Hey,” she said, speaking as soon as she stabbed the button, “I can’t talk right now.”

“Anna! Oh God, he-” There was a burst of noise, like someone grabbing the phone, and then a rough male voice came on. “Do you know who this is?”