The Word of a Liar (28 page)

“Close the fucking door!” Mason bellowed.

Muck Eye released the large brass door handle. Staggering over to Mason, he fell into the seat Mad Dog had vacated.

“What the hell is wrong with you?’ Mason growled. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to Muck Eye’s drug-induced prattle.

The small man swayed.

“I did a line. This shipment Jack got in is good shit. You try it, Rambo?”

Resting his head on the back of the booth, Muck Eye closed his eyes.

“No,” Mason answered, pouring himself a drink. “I don’t partake in the merchandise. I’m in this for the money, not to snort it up my nose.”

Muck Eye opened his eyes. Dilated pupils and clouded blue irises made Muck Eye appear wild and fanatical. “You’ve got to try it. It’s amazing.”

Muck Eye rocked his head across his chest like it was too heavy to hold upright and then jerked it back. He grinned.

“Jack really likes you, Rambo. The way he brags about how hard you hustle and the money you bring in, it’s a wonder he doesn’t make you second in command.”

“Jack’s all right. So far I haven’t had any problems with him.”

“Just wait. The guy’s a maniac. You see this?” Muck Eye lifted his sweatshirt to expose a thick white scar right beneath his ribcage. “That’s where the bastard stabbed me. He gets in these rages, and there’s no reasoning with the son of a bitch.”

“Why do you keep working for him?”

“I hardly have a choice, now do I? I know too much about his operation. If I told him I wanted out, I’d be out all right—with a bullet in my head. Just like that woman.”

Muck Eye looked at the bottle of whiskey. “Mind if I have some?”

“Go ahead. Mad Dog bought it.”

Muck Eye picked up the bottle, took a long drink, and then set it down.

“Is Mad Dog here?” Muck Eye asked, glancing around the bar.

“I’m not his mother. I don’t know where the hell he is,” Mason said, watching perspiration bead on Muck Eye’s forehead. “Why?”

“He gives me the creeps. It’s not natural.”

“What’s not natural, and why would Mad Dog give you the creeps?  He’s always been decent to you.” Irritated he hadn’t left the bar sooner, Mason drummed his heel on the linoleum.

“You know his wife was killed in this bar?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Do you know he was the one who found her?”

Mason nodded.

“Would you keep coming back to the place where you found your murdered wife?  It’s not natural.”

Mason shrugged. Muck Eye gawked at a table a few feet from the bar for so long Mason thought the drugs he’d taken had put him in a trance. “What are you looking at?”

The color drained from Muck Eye’s face. Nervous and fidgety, the man acted like he expected the cops to burst through the door at any second. He leaned over the table and whispered.

Mason strained to hear.

“Mad Dog found his wife at that table. I bet if you look close, you can still see the blood stains in the floor.”

“How do you know where her body was? Did Mad Dog tell you about it?” Mason asked, his curiosity piqued. In all the years he’d known Mad Dog, the guy hadn’t told him anything about the night he’d found his wife.

Muck Eye shook his head and then slugged down some more whiskey. His glazed eyes fell on the table again.

“Crazy bastard!” Muck Eye shouted.

The few patrons in the bar turned to look.

“What the hell is the matter with you? Keep your voice down,” Mason scolded. “You snorted too much of that shit. You’re starting to lose it.”

“That poor woman. She didn’t know what hit her,” Muck Eye moaned.

“Who are you talking about?”

“Mad Dog’s wife!  I was there!” Muck Eye yelled and then dropped his head to his chest, shaking it from side to side. “Shit. I need a smoke. Do you have any?”

Panic rose like bile up Mason’s throat. Surging adrenaline sped up his heart rate, prickled nerve endings, and made him sweat.

“No.”

Mason slumped back as the serious repercussions of their conversation registered. “You know who killed Gina?”

Muck Eye answered in a loud excited voice, “You’re damn right I know. Jack! Jack killed her!”

Mason jumped up and grabbed the back of Muck Eye’s neck.

“Keep your fucking voice down,” he hissed into the man’s ear.

Muck Eye broke down. Tears rolled down his thin, angular face. “I tried to tell him he was wrong, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Bewildered, Mason released his hold and then sank back into the booth.  He kept his voice low. “Why would Jack kill Gina?”

“He thought she was Usher’s daughter. Don Usher was trying to expand his Chicago business up here, and Jack didn’t take to kindly to the competition. He got a tip Usher bought this bar to launder drug money and sent his daughter here to manage it. Jack decided to teach Usher a lesson.”

Mason ran his fingers through his hair. “Jesus.”

“I tried to stop him, Rambo!” Muck Eye wiped his wet cheeks with the back of his hand. “I told him he’d gotten it wrong, but he wouldn’t listen. I rode over here with him, trying to talk him out of it, but I couldn’t stop him.”

Muck Eye shook his head. “Jack pried the lock on the back door. The jukebox was turned up, so she didn’t hear him until he was practically on top of her. With Jack so close and the table behind her, she was trapped.”

Muck Eye’s chest heaved and his shoulders shook as he continued.

“Jack asked her if she was Usher’s daughter as he pressed the barrel of his pistol into her forehead. Her face turned white. ‘I don’t know any Usher,’ she told him. ‘I’m Gina… Gina O’Donnell. Mad Dog is my husband.  Please….’ “She started to cry. “‘Please mister,’ she begged him, ‘don’t shoot me… I have three kids.’

“Gina was so fucking scared, she pissed herself. Jack got this disgusted look on his face.

“‘You fucking bitch. Look what you’ve done,’ he said to her in this cold, crazy-assed voice. And then… just like that…
bam
! He pops her right between the eyes. She fell to the ground still holding the fucking rag she had been using to clean the tables.”

Muck Eye dropped his head back and exhaled.

“When we got back in the car, Jack started cleaning the blood that had splattered on him off his face and hands with one of those sanitizing wipes. Then he wiped off the barrel of his gun, stowed it in the glove compartment, and then got out of the car. He lit the soiled wipes on fire with his lighter. When he got back in he had this enormous smile on his face.

‘I’m really hungry, Muck Eye,’ he says.  ‘Let’s go get ourselves a big, fat steak with all the trimmings, and you’re buying.’ 

“I thought I was going to throw up all over his god damn fancy car’s interior.”

Speechless, Mason shook his head.

Muck Eye reached for the bottle of whiskey, took another long drink, and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“Now you know what kind of a mother fucker you work for. You think you can do this until you’re rich enough: well, think again.  You try to get out, and he’ll fucking kill you, Rambo. He might even go for Desi.”

Muck Eye looked down.

“I’ve done some terrible shit in my life, but what Jack did to that innocent woman still gnaws at me. Especially when I saw what it did to Mad Dog and his kids. They don’t have a mother now. What a fucking waste.”

The pain in Mason’s chest made him realize how hard he’d been breathing.  He felt sick to his stomach. Suddenly afraid, Mason slid out of the booth.  He held on to the back of the seat, not sure if his legs would hold him.

“Come on, Muck Eye. We need to get out of here. I’ll take you home, or you can crash at my place.”

Muck Eye nodded and then stood. Mason threw several twenties on the table. As they turned to leave, an apparition from the dead appeared, stopping them cold.

“Well, look who the cat dragged in,” Mad Dog said with a smile.

Mason’s eyes darted to Muck Eye, who was even paler. He hoped Muck Eye would be able to keep it together until he got him out to the parking lot. Caught up in the story, Mason had forgotten to keep his eyes peeled for Mad Dog. He wondered if he’d overheard.  Muck Eye began to retch.

“I think you better hit the can,” Mad Dog said, eying the man with a poker face. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m taking him home.” Mason slipped into his jacket.

“It’s a shame to leave good whiskey,” Mad Dog said as he reached for the bottle.

Taking it over to the table that had provoked Muck Eye’s confession, Mad Dog called to Nick to bring him a beer and an empty glass.  He sat down facing the two men. A sinister smile exposed the truth.

Mason swallowed.

Mad Dog had heard every word.

CHAPTER twenty-six

Impeccably dressed in a rich black tuxedo and white silk shirt, Jack Nelson rapped his gloved fingers on the steering wheel of his Audi RS7.  Elegant diamond cufflinks sparkled at his wrists. A cashmere scarf peeked from beneath the lapels of a stylish wool overcoat.

Doc Khoury, the president of the Long Riders, sat in the passenger seat. His Long Riders cuts layered over a worn sweatshirt, the hood of which hid half of his bull-doggish face, reeked of cigarette smoke and perspiration. His jeans, stiff with dirt, bled thawing snow, leaving dark puddles around his scuffed leather boots. Jack fumed. The big, boorish man was going to ruin the car’s expensive interior.

Across the Creel River, lights from the paper mill shown upon the black water, casting long shadows upon the thin, fragile ice clinging to the river’s edge. A light snow fell from the cold night sky. Parked in a deserted parking lot, the two men plotted.

Doc blew on his knuckles. “Billy’s been a hang around for the Long Riders for over a year. He told me about what happened at the Ritz because he figured it would get him in as a prospect.”

“Let me get this straight,” Jack said and glanced over at the large barrel of a man. “Billy was playing pool with Mad Dog when he heard Muck Eye spout off about the murder?”

“Yeah.”

“Why was Billy even in the Ritz? Isn’t that Sons of Thunder territory?”

“He was spying on Rambo.”

“Rambo?”

“Yeah. He’s been sniffing around the Long Riders like he’s interested in patching over, but I heard he’s been voted out bad by Sons of Thunder
.
I wanted to know if it was true, so I sent Billy. No one knows him there. He played a couple of games with this Mad Dog fellow but didn’t get much out of him. But Billy did say Mad Dog was yelling at Rambo before he came over to shoot sticks.”

Jack stared intently at Doc. This new information about Rambo was quite interesting.  He wondered why Rambo’s precious motorcycle club would suddenly want to shun him.

Doc moved restlessly in his seat.

Jack smiled inwardly. He’d known Doc for several years, and yet the man was always nervous around him. He liked that.

“I know the dude works for you, but I don’t trust him. Something about him rubs me the wrong way. The first time I laid eyes on him at the Alley Cat, I asked Pan Head if he’d seen the guy before, but neither of us could place him. He smells like a rat to me.”

Jack drummed his fingers over his lips. Rambo would be looking for revenge if he’d been expelled from Sons of Thunder.  That certainly played into Jack’s hand.  He turned to Doc.

“I think your imagination is getting the best of you. Rambo has been a great asset, and his lovely girlfriend has proven to be one as well. However, if your suspicions are correct, I have a plan that will prove where his loyalty lies.”

Jack folded his hands behind his head.  A wide, malignant smile spread across his clean-shaven face

“Rambo can take care of business with Mad Dog. What better motivation than a betrayed man seeking vengeance? Rambo will be eager to do the job and I’ll offer him a half a million to boot. That ought to help him to decide.”

Jack started the car.

“If he kills Mad Dog, we know he’s honest. If he doesn’t, we kill them both and the problem disappears.”

Jack straightened his overcoat.

“What do you plan on doing with Muck Eye?” Doc asked.

“I’m afraid Muck Eye will be going for a little swim in the Creel River. I hate to lose him. He’s been such a hard worker, but I can’t have my employees shooting their mouths off regarding my affairs. It’s bad for business.”

Jack flicked a hair off his shoulder.

“Well, Doc, it’s time for you to go. I’ve a Christmas charity ball to attend. Senator James is the guest of honor, so I don’t want to be late.  I’ll be in touch.”

Doc opened the car door and slid out. Jack handed him a small black pouch. “Don’t put it up your nose all at once. You need to savor it, my friend.”

Jack grinned. Doc nodded and then closed the car door.  Jack drove out of the parking lot.

***

Darkness swallowed him alive. The smallest speck of light couldn’t be found. He ran but never fast enough. Ahead of him, her panic-stricken voice called his name.

“I’m here, Gina. I’m coming for you!” he shouted.

Silence drowned his voice and swallowed it down into the heavy black void. His heart pounded painfully, his lungs burned for want of air, and yet he kept running… running… running. But never getting anywhere.

The scene shifted.  He crept behind her through a low crawl space within the walls of their home.

“I’ve got to show you where I’ve put things, so you know where they are,” Gina told him.

In a frenzy, Gina flipped up lids of boxes lining the cubbyhole. Finally, Mad Dog managed to grab her. Gina’s porcelain white skin felt cold to the touch. Something warm and sticky matted her hair. She looked at him, but it wasn’t Gina’s face. A doll’s eyes, round and unseeing, stared at him. The substance in her hair leaked out into his hand. It soaked his clothes and then he realized what is was. Blood! Gina’s blood was all over him.

“Wake up! Wake up!”

Gina called to wake him for work like she had done for the past twenty years. It had all been a terrible nightmare. Someone shook his arm, pulling Mad Dog out of his disturbing world of unconsciousness and back into reality.

“Dad, wake up. You’re having another dream.”

Mad Dog opened his eyes to see his daughters standing over him. Their frightened faces full of concern. Perspiration wet the back of his T-shirt. His heart thundered as he orientated himself to his whereabouts. He was in bed.

“Are you all right, Dad? Were you dreaming about Mom again?” Amelia asked. She clutched the stuffed dog she had taken to bed with her since she was two. Ten years later, the thread bare toy still comforted her.

“Yes.” He rubbed his forehead, trying to eradicate the horrifying dream. “I dreamt your mother was calling to get me up for work.”

“Oh, Dad.” Tess sighed and then sat on the edge of the bed.

Amelia scrambled to the other side, dove on the mattress like it was a trampoline, and then snuggled up beside him. She reached across his chest. “I think Tess and I should sleep in here tonight. Then you won’t be so lonely.”

“Good idea! Move over, Dad,” Tess said and smiled, lifting the covers and crawling in beside her father like she was still a small child instead of a young woman.

Mad Dog sat up and wrapped an arm around each of his daughters and then kissed the top of their heads consecutively.

“Maybe we should have a pajama party and do each other’s hair and nails. I could use a good manicure. You girls can tell me all about the boys chasing you, so I can chase them with my shotgun.”

Amelia giggled, “You wouldn’t really do that, would you, Daddy?”

“Try me.” Mad Dog narrowed his eyes and then began to tickle her side.

Amelia laughed and squirmed until Mad Dog stopped. He turned to Tess.

Her expression, too serious for her seventeen years, bothered Mad Dog. She rose up on her elbow. “You know, Dad, I’ve been thinking about when I graduate this spring. I don’t have to go away to school next fall. I can always live here and take classes at the community college. That way I could help you with Amelia.”

Mad Dog smiled. Her feminine beauty matched his male good looks, but her demeanor was so much like her mother’s it was uncanny.  Gina had been soft-spoken and always worrying. Like Tess, she always put others ahead of herself.

“You can’t take care of your old man and your sister forever, Tess. Someday you’ve got to begin a life of your own.”

“I want Tess to stay here and take care of us. I don’t want her to be away at school all the time,” Amelia said and laid her head on Mad Dog’s chest.

“I know you do, sweetie. But Tess needs to be thinking about her own life and having some fun.” 

He stroked Amelia’s hair, looking at his oldest daughter. “You’re a beautiful young woman. You don’t need to be straddled with your widower father and your preteen sister.”

“Will you promise me you’ll at least think about it? It would save you a lot of money.” Tess cocked her head and grinned.

“Yes, I promise, if you promise me you’ll consider going away to school. And don’t worry about the money. We’ve always gotten by. I might have to sell a kidney or a lung, but you’re worth it.”

Tess kissed Mad Dog’s cheek. “I promise.”

She lay back down.

Snuggled in their father’s arms, the girls lay quiet. Mad Dog listened to the cold December wind howling outside the window. It had been storming since late afternoon. He’d barely made it home from work the snow had been so heavy.

“From the sound of that wind, I don’t think the two of you will be having school tomorrow.”

“Good,” The girls said in unison.

Time passed in silence. Mad Dog thought his daughters had fallen asleep, but then Amelia whispered, “I can hear your heart beating, Daddy.”

Her sleepy voice brought tears to his eyes. She rolled over, taking up half the bed. Soon her heavy breathing told him she was asleep. Mad Dog looked at Tess. Eyes closed, she slept, too.

He looked around the dark room. He didn’t need light to know the room looked exactly the way Gina had left it two years before. Her clothes still hung in their closet and laid folded in their dresser, her smell slowly fading away. A recording of Gina’s voice answered their telephone calls, so he wouldn’t forget the sound of it.

If he changed things, he’d have to face the cold, horrific truth that Gina was gone. She was never going to holler at him for his annoying channel surfing habit, grease under his nails, or the chores he never got to. He didn’t want to consider the alarm clock had permanently replaced her voice. At night when the house was dark and still and the children slept, he would never feel her in his arms. The misery of his grief had abated, but it wasn’t gone. On the contrary, it laid just below the surface, and when some little thing would remind him of her, his crippling anguish returned.

Still unnerved by the dream, he sat upright, folded his arms behind his head, and looked up at the ceiling.

It was an ordinary night. Gina was bartending at the Ritz and going to be home late because she had to close the place. I helped Amelia with her schoolwork and then put her to bed. Tess was in her room working on her laptop, and Sean, who’d just gotten home from his job at the grocery store, watched television in the living room. The day had been very busy at the shop, and I was extremely tired. I told Sean to lock up when he went to bed and not to stay up too late because he had school in the morning. On my way to my bedroom, I peeked in on Tess and kissed her goodnight. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. In the early hours of the morning, I was awakened by some unearthly sound I never could identify.

I glanced at the clock. Four a.m. and Gina was still not home. I went downstairs to see if she had fallen asleep watching television, but the house was quiet. The light above the kitchen sink still glowed in anticipation of her arrival. I didn’t immediately panic but began to feel concern. I called the bar, letting it ring several times. No answer. Then I phoned her cell and only got her voice mail. That’s when my fear began to take hold. I went upstairs to dress and then went into my son’s room.  I shook him awake.

“Sean, I’m going to the Ritz,” I told him. “Mom isn’t home yet, and there’s no answer when I call. If we happen to miss one another, tell her I went to check on her. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Sean mumbled.

I got into my truck. In bitter defiance of April, winter had crawled through emerging lawns and left mottled patches of snow. Traffic lights flashed yellow or red as I drove down the deserted streets. At the Ritz, I saw Gina’s car parked in the back. That’s when my fear worsened into panic.

I pulled in next to her vehicle. Knees weak, I stumbled out of the truck and over to the employee entrance. The jimmied door sucked the air from my lungs. I pulled my pistol from my shoulder holster and then stepped into the storeroom.

“Gina!” I shouted. My voice was so hoarse that it didn’t even sound like me. I needed water. A monstrous stillness hung in the room. A bare bulb burned brightly over the large laundry sink. I moved cautiously into the barroom.

“Gina!” I called out again. “Are you in here?”

With my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, I tried to swallow. The rich oak-varnished bar glistened under the lights. I’d never felt such a heavy, strangling stillness. Blood throbbed in my ears as my eyes fell upon a bucket of water sitting on a tabletop. I glanced downward and then stopped.  Gina lay next to an overturned chair. Her legs were twisted in its wooden rungs, and the rag she’d been using to clean the tables was still crumpled in her hand. I shrieked in terror.

“Gina!”

Drawing close, I noticed a dark puddle of blood partially concealed by her brown hair. Her coffee-colored eyes looked up at me. Her olive skin had turned a ghostly white, and between her eyes was a small, swollen hole, its edges blackened with gun powder and dried blood.