Tim Green - Exact Revenge

“You want to have some tea?” she asked. “Or a coffee?”

That’s how she saw the night ending. His last night in the city before going back to school. Just the two of them at the kitchen table. But Allen looked at his watch again and winced.

“You don’t mind, right, Mom?”

“Of course not,” she said, forcing a smile.

Allen took out his cell phone, turned it on, and called Martin to find out where everyone was going. Lexis sighed, then took her own cell phone out of her purse and turned it on. She had a new message. It was Cornell Ricks, the governor’s man. He’d left a package at their building. His voice cold and clipped. Not saying anything else. No hint. Nothing.

Michael, their doorman, had given personal things of hers before to Frank. She dialed the apartment and looked at her watch. There was no answer. She looked at her son, forced a smile, and leaned forward to fill a glass from the crystal decanter of bourbon.

When she looked back at Allen, he was still talking, but watching her. He immediately looked away. Lexis sighed, but still brought the glass to her lips. She took two small sips, watching her son, then swallowed the whole thing and fumbled with the decanter again, refilling her glass with her eyes on him the whole time.

The second one she enjoyed a little more, and by the time the car pulled to a stop in front of their building, she was feeling much better. She replaced the empty glass in its holder and let Allen help her out. Michael held the door for them with a slight bow.

“Mrs. Steffano,” he said in his Brooklyn accent. “Your husband just came in. He doesn’t look good. He said he took a spill at one of his construction sites, but I’m worried. There was a lot of blood.”

She asked about the package.

He rubbed the side of his face and showed her his crooked yellow teeth.

“Mr. Steffano took it up for you about fifteen minutes ago when he came in.”

Lexis gripped Allen’s arm and walked unevenly to the elevator.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” he asked.

They got on the elevator.

“Nothing,” she said, forcing a smile. “Maybe you should just go like you are.”

“In a tux?” he said with a brief laugh. “Right, Mom. What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s fine,” she said.

They arrived at the top floor.

“Mom,” Allen said, stepping out into the hall.

He followed Lexis into the apartment.

“Dad?” he called.

She shut the door behind them. When Frank didn’t respond, she took a deep breath. Maybe he was gone. Maybe he didn’t read what Cornell Ricks brought her. Maybe there was nothing much inside the envelope besides an account of how Raymond White had died in jail or was living out his life in a cell somewhere.

Allen was looking at her.

“I’m just tired,” she said. “Your father probably got a Band-Aid and went right back out.”

When she reached up to kiss his cheek, she heard Frank’s muffled voice calling her name from deep inside their master bedroom.

Allen looked that way.

“Allen,” she said, following him down the hall.

Allen disappeared into the bedroom and she heard him cry out.

She went in. Frank was sitting on the bed, a gun in one hand, the other in a fist jammed into his coat pocket. His suit, like his face, was covered with dirt. The collar of his shirt was red with blood, and when he took the other hand out of his pocket, she saw the bloody bandage. There was a hole in his pants and a dark stain. Behind him was a manila envelope, opened with the papers spilling out. On it was her name.

“Allen,” Frank said in a growl, “listen. We’ve got trouble.”

“What happened?”

Frank held up his bloody hand and pressed his lips tight. He raised his voice.

“Allen Francis. Listen, goddamn it,” Frank said. “I’ve got a plan. It’ll all work. Go change your clothes and pack some things for a few days. I’ll meet you on the back stairs.”

He looked at his watch and said, “Hurry up. We’ve got to meet Mickey at the Rockefeller Outlook at midnight.”

“Dad, we start practice-”

“Goddamn it! Look at this!” Frank shouted, holding up his hand clenched around the bloody white rag. “Go get your fucking things!”

Allen left. Lexis moved toward her husband, reaching for his hand.

“Frank, let me-”

“You get back,” he said, waving the gun at her and grinning. “You’re not coming. I’m getting the money from Mickey and you’ll have nothing .”

“Frank, what are you talking about?”

“Bitch,” he said, standing up and raising the gun as if to strike her.

Lexis flinched and backed away.

“Get in the closet.”

“Frank, tell me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he said, limping toward her, herding her back. “I know.”

Frank pointed his bloody hand back at the papers on the bed.

“That fucking Raymond White is behind all this. Him and that Seth Cole,” Frank said in a harsh whisper, “and you knew . He escaped and he’s out there. Who do you think ruined Rangle? His daughter’s dead. That fucking Raymond White wants to kill me . He wants to kill my son, and you knew .”

“Allen won’t leave me,” she said, feeling the doorframe of her closet and stepping inside.

“You think he’ll know?” Frank said, grinning even wider, moving into the doorway and steadying himself on the door handle. “Just that we had to split up. To be safe. That we’ll meet you. But don’t you ever let me see you again.”

Frank had her backed into the corner. He raised the pistol and struck her in the side of the head. Lexis crumpled to the floor. She tried to raise her hands, but Frank brought the gun down again and again. Blood spilled down her face. One eye went dark. Her teeth were shattered and she gagged on the bony fragments and the blood.

Frank stopped and stepped back. He was breathing hard, holding himself up by the bar that held a row of dresses, smearing their collars with his own blood.

“You can’t take him,” she sobbed, spitting blood and teeth onto the carpet, her head hanging. “You can’t, Frank.”

Frank was bent over, huffing from his efforts. He tilted his head up, his pale blue eyes burning beneath his thick dark eyebrows.

“The only reason I’m not going to kill you,” he said, “is because of that boy.”

Frank turned to go, staggering toward the closet door.

“You can’t , Frank!” she shouted, sobbing now, her face already puffy from the swelling. “He’s not yours!”

Frank whipped around, pointing the gun at her, his hand shaking.

“He’s mine ,” she moaned, looking away.

“Not anymore,” Frank said. He slammed the door shut and left her in the emptiness.

HELENA AND I LIE IN THE DARK, the sweat cooling our naked bodies. My fingers are interlaced with hers and I squeeze them, compressing the bones between the second and third knuckles with my own. I used to do this to Lexis and I wonder if I should feel ashamed, thinking of her when I’m lying here like this.

I can’t help what I think. It was another life, but some parts of it are still vivid, no matter how hard I try to forget.

Helena rolls my way, puts her fingertip against my Adam’s apple, and starts drawing a straight line down when the phone rings.

Helena groans and says, “Don’t answer it. It’ll be Darwin. He’s the only person I gave your home number to that would call this late.”

“You should talk to him if it is,” I say, picking up the phone.

“It’s eleven o’clock,” Helena says, arching her neck so she can see the clock by the bedside.