Brian Freeman - Spilled Blood

Chris thought about Hannah: This isn’t Mayberry. No, it wasn’t. The idyll of small-town life was an illusion.

‘Mr. Hawk.’

Chris put down the newspaper. Marco Piva stood behind the counter, his fleshy Italian face grim. ‘Mr. Hawk, there are no words.’

‘Thank you, Marco.’

‘How is your daughter?’

‘She’ll be okay. I’m going back to the hospital to see her now.’

‘When I heard the news, I fell on my knees and prayed for both of you,’ Marco said.

‘I appreciate that.’

‘Do the police know who did this terrible thing?’

‘They’re investigating. Sometimes you know who did it, but you can’t prove it. I’m worried this could be one of those times.’

Marco studied Chris long and hard across the counter. His black mustache twitched as he frowned. ‘I see something in your face, Mr. Hawk.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Anger. It is a dangerous thing.’

‘I’m just tired.’

‘No, no, that’s not it. I understand, my friend. I know anger. I’m still angry about losing my wife, but for you, it’s your child, your own flesh and blood. Something has been taken from you, and you don’t know how to get it back. You want to rage against the world.’

‘Banging my head against a wall gives me a headache,’ Chris said.

‘I know, but we’re men. We bang our heads anyway.’

He managed a smile. ‘You’re a wise man, Marco.’

‘Wise men can be the most foolish. We ask: is it better to do nothing in the face of injustice or do the wrong thing?’

‘I don’t like doing nothing,’ Chris said.

‘That’s what worries me. I like you, Mr. Hawk. You seem like a solid man, and that’s the highest praise I can offer. Doing nothing is like surrendering for men like us. However, it’s one thing if you’re alone in this world like me. You – you have a daughter. Remember that.’

‘I do.’

‘You remind me of a friend in San Jose,’ Marco told him. ‘He had a daughter like you. Married. Two kids. Beautiful girl. Unfortunately, her job took her to one of those Indian casinos in the desert. Those gaming places, they prey on people. This girl started gambling, and it took over her life. She lost her job. Her house. It broke up her marriage. Terrible.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Chris said.

Marco wagged a finger at him. ‘My friend banged his head against the wall until it was bloody. He wanted justice.’

‘I’m not sure I want to know,’ Chris said, ‘but what did he do?’

‘He drove out to the desert, and he waited in the parking lot for two of the tribal leaders to come out. Then he shot them both in the head.’

‘That was a bad choice,’ Chris said.

‘Yes, it was. He’s in jail, and he’ll never get out. But I think when he sleeps, he still sees those bodies on the ground, and I bet you he smiles about it.’

‘You sound like you’re defending him.’

The motel owner shook his head. ‘Oh, no, no, don’t think that at all. I’m saying I understand him. I know what he went through. I know what you’re going through, too, Mr. Hawk. Sometimes choices are easy. Sometimes they are hard.’

Marco slid open the top drawer of the desk behind the counter. Inside was a revolver with a wooden grip and a two-inch barrel. He removed the gun from the drawer and laid it on the counter next to a scattering of reservation forms and a glass jar stocked with spiky white candies. ‘We all have to be careful these days, don’t we?’ he asked.

‘Yes, we do.’

Marco took a handkerchief from the pocket of his pants and carefully wiped the surfaces of the gun, rubbing them clean with firm buffing of the cloth. The butt. The barrel. The hammer. The revolver was fully loaded, and he opened the cylinder and wiped each cartridge, too, before replacing them. ‘I keep a gun for safety,’ he said.

‘People don’t often get robbed here, but you never know. There are vagrants everywhere who make a point of seeking out deserted motels like this. A loaded revolver gives me peace of mind.’

Chris said nothing.

Marco opened the drawer again, placed the gun inside, and replaced the handkerchief in his pocket. ‘Of course, guns have been known to be stolen. Who knows, a guest sees what I keep in my drawer, and I turn my back, and it’s gone. Things like that happen. What can I do?’

He slid the drawer shut. His eyes were dark and meaningful.

‘I will keep praying for you, Mr. Hawk,’ Marco told him. ‘When you see your daughter, you hug her to your chest, okay? Keep her safe, and make sure she always has her father to look after her.’

Marco disappeared into the living room behind the office and shut the door, leaving Chris alone. The only noise was the hum of the old house fan, rattling as its blades turned.

Do nothing or do the wrong thing.

Chris was shocked by how quickly he made the decision. Some choices are hard, some are easy. He leaned his chest across the counter, opened the drawer with his long arm, and took Marco’s gun.

18

‘I don’t remember being in the train car,’ Olivia told him. ‘I was in the back of a truck, and they were holding me down. Then it’s like the film stops, you know? I woke up here.’

Chris sat beside the hospital bed and stroked her hair with the back of his fingers. He remembered caressing her that way when she was a child, as she sat on his lap and he read to her from Curious George books until she fell asleep on his chest. ‘It happens that way sometimes,’ he said.

She stared at him, and her eyes were dead serious. ‘So what am I blocking out?’

‘An assault you didn’t deserve,’ he said.

‘The doctor said I wasn’t raped. Is that a lie? I don’t want anybody protecting me like I’m a kid.’

‘Doctors don’t lie about that kind of thing.’

‘I want to remember what happened,’ she said.

‘Why?’

‘I don’t like my brain hiding stuff.’

‘Well, when your brain figures it’s safe to remember, you’ll remember. Until then, focus on getting your strength back.’

Olivia nodded. ‘Sorry,’ she added.

‘For what?’

‘For sneaking out. Mom must be pissed.’

Chris took her hand. Her grip was firm, but her skin was clammy. The hospital room was uncomfortably warm. ‘The only thing we care about is that you’re safe.’

‘Can I get out of here now? I’m sick of being poked and prodded.’

‘Maybe tomorrow. The doctors want to keep you around for a little while.’ Chris added, ‘Your mother called a friend of hers in Mankato. A counselor. She’s going to drive up here and talk to you this afternoon.’

‘I don’t want to see a shrink.’

‘Give her a chance.’

‘I already said I don’t remember.’

‘Just talk to her, okay?’

Olivia shrugged. ‘Okay. If you say so.’

Chris wondered how much of her bravery was real and how much was an act. ‘After you get out, how would you like to go see my sister? Aunt Jennie has that great place outside Little Rock. You and she could hang out for a couple of months and spend some girl time.’

‘What about the murder trial?’ Olivia asked.

‘There’s a lot of legal stuff that has to happen first. Given what happened, I can get the court’s permission for you to stay with her.’

Olivia shook her head. ‘No. I won’t run away.’

‘That’s not what I’m talking about,’ Chris said.

‘Sure it is, and I won’t do it. I’m not going anywhere.’

Chris didn’t fight her. He would have preferred that Olivia stay far away from Barron, but he was learning what Hannah had discovered years earlier. His daughter was every bit as stubborn as her mother.

Olivia played with the steel railing of the bed, tapping on it with her chipped nails. ‘I suppose you know, huh?’