Brian Freeman - Spilled Blood

Lenny twitched. His legs jerked like jumping beans. He tried to beg, but he couldn’t make a sound. His eyes went blind, and he heard a roaring like a train.

Johan loosened the strap. Lenny spit and gasped as air rushed back into his lungs, but when he tried to get up, Johan piled a fist into Lenny’s jaw. His head snapped into the mud. Johan twisted the strap, and Lenny felt the blindness again, the roaring, the blackness sinking like a shroud over his brain.

The strap came free, and he inhaled in a rush. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he squeaked out a plea. ‘Stop.’

‘Was it Kirk?’

Lenny shook his head, crying, gasping, saying nothing.

‘ Was it Kirk? Did he do this to Olivia?’

‘Please. Please.’

Johan slapped him. Lenny felt the impact like stinging wasps.

‘I swear I will choke you again,’ Johan told him.

‘ No , don’t, don’t.’

Johan bunched Lenny’s shirt in his fists and yanked his torso off the ground. He shook him like a doll. ‘Did Kirk do this to Olivia? Was it him?’

Lenny’s head bobbed. ‘ Yes. ’

‘Were you there, too?’

‘I called – I called for help. Please. ’

Johan dragged Lenny to his feet. The older boy towered over him, and his face was red with fury. Lenny cowered, expecting another blow. Instead, Johan grabbed Lenny’s arm and belt and threw him across the bench. Lenny tumbled over it and crashed down on his knee in the dirt, where he lay terrified, not moving. Angry footsteps sloshed through the wet grass as Johan stormed away. Lenny pushed himself over onto his stomach. His neck burned where the leather strap had chewed into his skin. Shivers of pain knifed up and down his spine. He bit down, and his teeth didn’t align. He pushed his tongue around his mouth and tasted blood. He collapsed onto his chest, crying.

On the bench, he heard his phone ringing, but he didn’t answer it. He couldn’t get up. He couldn’t face Kirk.

He didn’t see the SUV passing the monument on the eastbound route toward Barron.

A minute later, he didn’t see the truck turn around and speed back toward the drop.

The phone rang and rang. Leno didn’t answer. Kirk hung up and dialed, hung up and dialed, hung up and dialed. Nothing. His brother had gone silent.

‘Pick up, you worthless fucker!’ he screamed in his closed-up truck. ‘Answer the goddamn phone, Leno!’

His blood vessels pulsed. He climbed out and delivered a ferocious kick to the front tire with his boot. Breathing hard, he sank back against the hood and drummed his fist against his chin. He could see the splash of bright red in the field. The backpack. The money. He told himself there was nothing to worry about. The customer had made the drop and run away with his tail between his legs. This one was just like all the others. No cops. No traps.

Even so, if Leno didn’t answer, that meant there was a problem. The safe thing to do was get out of there, but if he left, someone else would stumble onto the backpack and steal his money. He wasn’t going to let that happen. No way.

Kirk eyed the highway. He saw no cars, and the world was flat enough here that he had at least a minute of safety before anyone else could reach the drop. If he moved now, he could grab the backpack and be gone. He wouldn’t head back toward Barron. He’d use the dirt roads and leave Leno at the monument with the dead Indians. Fuck him.

He got into the pick-up and drove fast. He kept his eyes on the highway. At the intersection, he spun the truck around, pointed back toward the dirt road heading north. He got out, leaving the door open, and jogged through the rutted field. He left boot prints; he didn’t care. The backpack was thirty yards from the highway shoulder. He reached it and grabbed it and tore open the zipper, confirming the wads of cash inside. Throwing the strap over his shoulder, he ran for his truck.

He heard the roaring engine of the SUV before he saw it. He was still in the field when the truck rocketed past the drop site.

It was him.

The bastard had turned around. He’d come back to find him.

The truck was going so fast that the man’s face was a blur, but it was enough for them to see each other. Their eyes met, from the speeding vehicle to the field. Kirk recognized him, and he recognized Kirk. The game between them was over. The engine on the highway gunned as the bastard accelerated. The SUV would be gone in seconds.

Kirk couldn’t waste time. He had to get out of here.

He retraced his steps to his pick-up and shot north. He made random checkerboard turns, keeping his eyes on his mirror. No one followed him. He glanced at the backpack and wondered if there was a tracking device inside. Was that it? Maybe it didn’t matter where he went or how fast he drove; maybe they were behind him, watching him like a blip on a screen. He pulled onto the shoulder and dumped the contents of the backpack onto the seat and sifted through the money. He saw no obvious electronic devices, but he knew that meant nothing. The feds were clever.

He waited in the middle of nowhere. The roads shot like arrows in every direction. The fields were empty. When ten minutes passed, and he was still alone, he decided that the sirens weren’t coming. Whatever the trap was, it hadn’t closed around his neck yet.

So what was it all about?

Maybe his prey simply wanted to know who’d been taunting him and put a face to the childish voice on the phone. If so, he’d succeeded. He’d stripped away the mask, and they were both at risk now, both exposed. They could each destroy the other’s life, but only by giving up their own.

Kirk’s mouth curled into a sour frown. He didn’t like not knowing.

What happens now, Daddy?

32

Hannah put her arms around their daughter when Chris brought her home from the hospital. Olivia was six inches taller than her mother, and the girl bowed her head to rest on Hannah’s shoulder. There had been awkwardness between them for three years, but mother and daughter had both declared a truce. When Olivia went upstairs to her bedroom, Hannah’s teary eyes followed her. He sensed his ex-wife’s flood of relief at having her safely back home.

He waited until Olivia closed her door upstairs. ‘The counselor says she’s strong,’ he reported. ‘She takes after you.’

‘I don’t feel very strong,’ Hannah said. She wiped her eyes, as if she felt guilty about letting her emotions overrun her.

‘She’ll be okay. Really. It will just take some time.’

‘I know.’ Hannah reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. With her, the simple touches went a long way. ‘Do you want me to make breakfast for us?’

‘That would be great.’

She glanced down at herself. She wore a plain terry robe, and her face was without makeup. Her feet were bare. ‘I need to shower and dress first. Can you wait?’

‘Sure. I’m sorry I kept you up late.’

‘No, I’m glad you called. It was like old times.’

‘Take your time,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait.’

‘Why don’t you come up and talk to me?’

She padded up the stairs. He followed behind her. Her bedroom was at the end of the hall, and she went into the bathroom to start the shower, leaving the door ajar. Her voice carried over the noise of the water.

‘Are you staying at the Riverside Motel?’ she asked.

‘That’s right.’

‘It’s a dump, isn’t it?’

He laughed. ‘Oh, it’s not so bad. The owner’s a decent guy. He tries hard.’

Hannah poked her face around the door. ‘Why not stay here with us, Chris?’

He was so surprised that he had nothing to say. Hannah picked up on his hesitation.

‘I’m sorry,’ she added. ‘Please don’t feel obligated.’