Mission Canyon (40 page)
Authors: Meg Gardiner
‘‘You’re dead, Blackburn. You’re fucking dead.’’
He swung the cleaver into the passenger’s window and the glass collapsed like a wall of ice.
The Mercedes came back down the hill. It purred around a bend, coasting toward us. Harley braked to a stop about sixty yards away. Pausing, idling, perhaps wondering what was going on. The headlights lit up. High beams, full effect, showing Kenny center stage: screaming obscenities, chopping away at the crumbled safety glass that clung to the window frame.
Now playing:
My Heart Belongs to Daddy.
My Heart Belongs to Daddy.
Jesse pushed his door open, shouting, ‘‘Ev, get in.’’
Kenny cleared the glass from the frame and reached inside, fumbling for the door lock. Jesse, trying to stop him, threw the car in reverse. I ran around the front end of the car, trying to figure how to jump into a moving vehicle onto the driver’s lap while he was steering and Kenny was—
Kenny was climbing headfirst through the passenger’s window.
I heard it, the growl of the Mercedes accelerating as Harley floored the gas pedal. The headlights swelled. I had time to think, She wouldn’t, and the Mercedes roared past me and smashed into the Audi.
Steel and glass sang. The Mercedes T-boned into the Audi’s passenger’s door and shoved it sideways. The cars stopped, and the Mercedes backed up.
I expected to see Kenny crushed against the door like a fruitfly, but he wasn’t there. The Mercedes backed up about twenty meters. One headlight was out, the hood bent, the grille squashed. The wheel wells shrieked.
Kenny was in Jesse’s car. I could see his feet—he must have dived through the window right before she hit. The Audi’s engine had died, and I could hear Jesse working the ignition, trying to restart it.
The Mercedes stopped backing up. She put it in drive and accelerated toward the Audi again.
I said, ‘‘Stop—’’
I saw Kenny now, fumbling up, looking out the window at the onrushing Mercedes, raising his hands against the coming blow.
She was trying to kill him.
She rammed the Audi again. They slid farther downhill, toward the far edge of the road. I ran toward them. She was trying to push Jesse’s car over the dropoff.
They stopped. The Mercedes’s horn was blaring. Its engine had died. Jesse was still trying to start the Audi.
Kenny was shrieking, ‘‘You bitch, you crazy, miserable bitch.’’
In the Mercedes, Harley slumped unconscious over the steering wheel. In the weak light from her remaining headlight, I could see Kenny shaking the Audi’s door, trying to get it open. The crash had smashed it shut.
I stood in the center of the road, hands limp, head thumping. The back end of the Audi was over the lip of the dropoff. I could hear rocks and dirt clods dropping out from beneath the rear axle and tumbling down the escarpment. Each time Kenny rattled the door handle, the car trembled and more debris let go.
I walked toward the Audi, stopping short, as if my breath might send it over the edge. I stared through the windshield. Kenny was squirming around inside, but Jesse was sitting perfectly still, hands on the wheel. He had a cut on his forehead but looked focused.
‘‘Get me out of here,’’ Kenny said.
Jesse said, ‘‘Hold still or I’ll punch you.’’
‘‘Get me out.’’
Jesse called to me, ‘‘What’s it look like?’’
Kenny started to climb out the passenger’s window. He got his arms out. He was still holding the meat cleaver. He began pulling his head and shoulders through. The shift in his weight unbalanced the car, and it started hinging like a seesaw, the front tires rising off the ground.
I ran and threw my upper body onto the hood of the car, adding weight. I felt the balance slowly, slowly come back in my direction, the car hinge down, but only by inches.
I looked at Kenny. ‘‘Don’t you move. Don’t you damn move.’’
But he couldn’t control himself. He again shimmied his upper body through the window, and again the car shuddered and started to swing. I felt my feet leaving the ground.
He pulled his torso back inside, and the car tilted down. My toes found earth.
Kenny’s head was sticking out the window. His voice rose to the pitch of the Chihuahua. ‘‘Help me.’’
Jesse’s door was still open, and I could see him looking oh-so-carefully out.
Kenny wailed, ‘‘Get me out of this fucking car.’’
Jesse locked eyes with me. He didn’t look scared. He had a wry expression on his face. I didn’t want it to be the last thing I ever saw of him.
‘‘Can you make it out?’’ I said.
‘‘No.’’
Kenny said, ‘‘Okay. Right. Here’s the deal. I’ll get all the way back inside the car and hold still. Then, if I see Gidget coming around to help me, I’ll throw the cleaver out. If not, I’ll use it on Blackburn.’’
Jesse said, ‘‘Don’t listen to him.’’
‘‘Help me or I’ll swing it right into his neck. One blow, I’ll kill him,’’ Kenny said.
Jesse said, ‘‘That’s not what you’re going to do, Ev.’’
‘‘Yes, it is. She has to. She has no other choice.’’
Jesse’s gaze pinned me. He pulled the seat belt tight against his shoulder and gripped the wheel with both hands.
‘‘I’m counting to three,’’ Kenny said.
I checked my inner radar, trying to understand what Jesse was telling me. I knew that if I did what Kenny told me to, either Jesse or I would die. Kenny wouldn’t give up his weapon. He would use it.
‘‘One,’’ Kenny said. ‘‘Help me and I’ll make it worth your while. We’ll both get Blackburn out.’’
‘‘He’s lying,’’ Jesse said.
‘‘I know.’’ I looked at him.
Kenny said, ‘‘Two. You stupid cunt, it’s the only way.’’
Jesse was waiting for my answer.
I held his gaze. ‘‘Do you trust me?’’
‘‘With my life,’’ he said.
‘‘Three,’’ Kenny said.
I leaped backward off the hood.
The Audi hinged up, front wheels rearing into the air. Kenny screamed, a weightless howl. The car hesitated for an instant, and slid backward over the edge. All the rest was noise and darkness.
35
The dust was thick. In the beam of the flashlight it whitened the silence in front of me at the bottom of the hill. I pounded down the escarpment, following the trail of flattened grass.
The flashlight was Harley’s. I’d grabbed it from the Mercedes, found it on the floor below the cell phone scanner and global positioning monitor. Harley was still unconscious.
Kenny was lying in the grass in the middle of the fall line. One look, and I knew that the car had rolled over him.
He was alive. I shone the flashlight on his face. His nose was spewing blood and his jaw hung crooked, but his eyes were staring back at me. He raised a hand. Not a pleading hand, but a claw, wanting to tear at me one more time.
I left him there. Running across uneven ground, I reached the car. It was upside down, roof crushed on one side, wheels spinning at the sky.
‘‘Jesse?’’
I dropped to all fours and shone the flashlight through the shattered windows. The first thing I saw was the blood, blooming red under the flashlight. It covered his face.
‘‘Jesse, can you hear me?’’
He was hanging from the seat belt, his head an inch off the crumpled roof of the car.
He blinked and grimaced. ‘‘Where’s Kenny?’’
‘‘Up the hill. It worked.’’ My hand trembled as I reached through the window. ‘‘You’re hurt.’’
‘‘It’s only a cut. Is he dead?’’
My voice was shaking. Everything about me was shaking. ‘‘Alive, but he isn’t going anywhere.’’
‘‘Help me out.’’
I shone the flashlight into the car. From what I could see, he was tangled up with the steering column in the smashed interior.
‘‘Maybe we should wait for the paramedics.’’ Tears were pushing their way into my voice.
He braced an arm on the roof of the car below his head. ‘‘When I unbuckle the seat belt, pull me through the window.’’
You can’t argue with a mule. ‘‘Let me clear out the glass.’’ With the flashlight I knocked away the beads still clinging to the window frame. ‘‘Ready?’’
He reached up, pressed the buckle, and bumped down onto the roof.
‘‘Okay.’’ He stretched his arm out the window.
I clasped it, braced my feet against the chassis, and pulled. Got his head and shoulders through the frame, and he wrenched his other arm out to help push. Huffing, I pulled, he shoved, and he came free, sliding out.
He wound his arms around me, spread his fingers into my hair, and fell back on the grass, holding me.
He said, ‘‘Remind me never to come here again.’’
I put my head down on his chest. His heart was knocking as hard as my own. I listened to it, a blessed sound, wanting never to let go of him.
He breathed, shifted. ‘‘I want to see Kenny.’’
‘‘Why?’’
He worked his elbows underneath himself and sat up. ‘‘I’m not finished with him.’’
‘‘No.’’
He looked at me. ‘‘I’m not going to kill him.’’ He angled himself toward the car. Rolling onto his side, he reached inside and pulled out one of his crutches.
Above us on the road, I heard a car stop. I looked up and saw headlights.
‘‘Honest. I’m not going to touch him.’’ He held out an arm. ‘‘Give me a boost.’’
I crouched by his side. He put his arm over my shoulder and I helped him get to his feet. With him leaning on me and on the crutch, we picked our way across the ground. From the road came the sound of voices.
Kenny hadn’t moved. We halted along until we could look down at him. I aimed the flashlight over him. He was twisted and swollen in a dozen ways. But he managed a sneer.
‘‘Unbelievable. Blackburn is the last man standing.’’ He turned his head and spit. A bloody glob trickled down his chin. ‘‘You win.’’
Jesse looked at him. ‘‘No, I don’t. But you lose, Rudenski.’’
‘‘It was the dyke’s fault. She screwed it from the second she left the money out and you found it. Never trust a woman.’’
From above, a man called out, ‘‘Is anybody down there?’’
‘‘Here,’’ I said. ‘‘Call the paramedics.’’
Kenny said, ‘‘No, no ambulance. I want . . . Get me out of town. I have money. Get me to a private airfield and I’ll—’’ He coughed. ‘‘Millions. I can pay you millions.’’
Jesse shook his head. ‘‘Ev, let’s go.’’
‘‘I’m talking seven figures. You’ll be rich.’’ Kenny said, ‘‘What is wrong with you? Don’t you want to be rich?’’
Jesse stared down at him. ‘‘You’re going on trial. And then you’re going to prison.’’
‘‘My father won’t let that happen.’’
The voice above said, ‘‘Does one of you have the keys to the Mercedes? We should move it out of the road.’’
I called to him. ‘‘Don’t touch the driver. She could have head or neck injuries.’’
‘‘What driver?’’
Jesse and I looked up the hill.
Kenny laughed harshly. ‘‘Never trust a woman.’’
Jesse said, ‘‘I think I’d better sit down.’’
I felt his hand. It was cold and clammy. I said, ‘‘Come on.’’ We got five feet before he passed out.
The surf was up, breakers scintillating as they rolled in. I walked around the side of Jesse’s house and onto the deck. He was sitting in the sun, watching the ocean.
‘‘Quite a shiner,’’ I said.
He looked around, touched his black eye, and shrugged. He had stitches running up his forehead into his scalp, and bruises from head to toe. Otherwise he was all right. Thank seat belts, air bags, guardian angels, maybe sunspots.
Pulling up a deck chair, I sat down next to him. ‘‘They found Harley.’’
He leaned on his knees, wove his fingers together. ‘‘Where?’’
‘‘Cold Spring.’’ I felt a snag in my throat. ‘‘The bridge.’’
‘‘She jumped?’’
I nodded, trying, impossibly, not to picture that long, irrevocable drop into the gorge below.
‘‘Jesus.’’ He closed his eyes. ‘‘What a waste.’’
I listened to the roll of the waves, watched the seagulls swaying above the water.
‘‘Lieutenant Rome came by. He gave me this.’’ I took the photocopy from my pocket and handed it to him. ‘‘The original . . .’’ Another snag. ‘‘It was on her body.’’
He unfolded it and started reading.
The word
sorry
cannot begin to express my regret. I have turned my life into a bonfire and burned down the lives of people I care about. Everything I touched is reduced to ashes.
sorry
cannot begin to express my regret. I have turned my life into a bonfire and burned down the lives of people I care about. Everything I touched is reduced to ashes.
George, you trusted me to keep things ship-shape and I screwed it. Sorry.
Evan, you were my friend and I fed you to the wolves. Sorry.
Jesse, you were the one true thing, and fear set me out to destroy you. Sorry.
Sandoval family—there are no words.
He looked up, eyes the color of sky, staring out past the horizon. Looked back at the photocopy.
I make the following statement fully aware of my constitutional rights and the laws of evidence of the State of California—
He turned the page over. ‘‘There’s no more.’’
‘‘Rome’s keeping the next two pages confidential. The prosecutor will want it as evidence at Kenny’s trial.’’
‘‘And you didn’t wangle a look?’’
‘‘Of course I did.’’ I saw a look of appreciation brush his face. I said, ‘‘It’s a confession.’’
‘‘Was it what we thought?’’
‘‘Yeah. Harley and Kenny were laundering money for i-heist. Harley would take it to casinos. Kenny let them invest in Mako. In return, Yago let Harley skim a percentage so she could keep gambling. And he helped Kenny build his secret museum.’’
He looked again at the suicide note. ‘‘Did she admit to being with Kenny when he ran me and Isaac down?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘‘Did she say why they did it?’’
‘‘Because you saw her with the cash, Yago’s money. She told Kenny, and he decided to eliminate you.’’
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