The Word of a Liar (32 page)

Mason hugged Ellen into his side, and she wrapped her arm around his chest.

Ellen sighed.

“When the trooper shone his flashlight on Paul, I saw he was dead.  He was slumped back in the broken seat, and his face was grotesquely misshapen. Glass, chunks of animal fur, and blood covered his hair and lap. I looked down and saw fragments of glass covering my legs too. I tried to brush them off. I didn’t even feel the sharp edges cutting my palms.”

Ellen paused to listen to the grandfather clock in the foyer as it began to chime. She counted each melodious beat in her head. After the tenth strike, the clock fell silent. She continued.

“I turned to JD. Lightening flashed and I could see his frightened face and the surrounding horror. Paramedics ran down the embankment. The trooper didn’t want me to get out, but I had to get to JD. He took JD out of the car seat and then handed him to me. JD wailed for his blanket. That sweet man searched until he found it. The trooper shook it out because it was covered in fur and glass and then gave it to JD. He helped us up the embankment. He even gave JD a piggy back ride which made JD laugh.”

Ellen smiled at Mason.

Mason squeezed her tighter.

“At the hospital, the trooper stayed with JD while the doctors examined me and took me to see Paul’s body. My knees went weak when I saw Paul’s bruised face. I barely recognized him. I took his hand. It was so cold. At that moment, I understood death, its finality, and why people want to believe in an afterlife.  Paul wasn’t in that room.  He was gone….” 

Ellen ran her fingers through her hair. She was surprised that after all that time bitter tears stung her eyes. She swallowed.

“When I went out into the waiting room, JD was sitting next to the state trooper. The poor man was trying to read JD a story, but JD was too terrified to be consoled by any stranger. I took JD in my arms and told him Daddy wouldn’t be coming home with us. Daddy was dead. He was with Jesus and the angels.

“The trooper asked me if I’d called someone, but I told him I would call in the morning. There was nothing anyone could do. The trooper took us to a nearby motel. I could tell he was worried about us. He told me to call the post if I needed anything and he’d come.”

Ellen reached for the box of tissues on the end table.

“I regret not calling that trooper and thanking him for his kindness,” she said as she dabbed her eyes with the tissue. 

Mason took Ellen’s hand. “You were in a horrible accident; I don’t think that trooper was expecting you to call and thank him.”

“This was different, Mason. He went beyond the call of duty.”

“Maybe, but he was still just doing his job.”

“I know that. It’s like when students come and visit me after they’ve graduated and they thank me for helping them get through: it’s very gratifying. I’m sure it would have been the same for that trooper if I’d taken the time to call him.” 

Ellen looked at Mason. The troubled look in his eyes had intensified.

“I wish I could read your mind, Mason Hackett. There’s something you’re not telling me. Why this sudden preoccupation with death?”

Mason turned away without answering, confirming Ellen’s suspicions that the phone call she’d overheard hadn’t been about cars.

“Did you lie to me about that phone call?” Ellen asked.

Mason sighed. He looked at her.

“Yes,” he admitted, surprising himself. Tired of the deceit, he saw no harm in telling her part of the truth. Soon she’d know everything. He only hoped she’d still love him.

Ellen stared intently into his eyes. “It wasn’t about a car. It’s something dangerous. Something where you might die,” she said.

Mason squeezed her hand. “When I leave in the morning, Ellen, try not to think the worst of me. If there is a God, He sent you to me. Before I met you and JD, I didn’t realize how empty my life was.”

A single tear rolled down Ellen’s cheek, tearing at the core of Mason’s soul. He reached over and cupped her face in his hand.

“I love you, Ellen. That’s the only truth I’m sure of.”

Ellen took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled.

“You want to know what death is like, Mason Hackett?  I’ll tell you. It’s coming home from the grocery store and instead of seeing Paul sitting in his recliner watching a football game, the house is quiet. Sitting down at dinner, you look over at the chair he’s always sat in and it’s empty.  You can’t hear him walking down the hall or his laughter. You lie in bed alone every night. Time wears on and you begin to realize even though you’re going through the motions of living, you’re dead inside.”

Ellen shook her head and then looked down.  When she looked up again, their eyes connected like the night sky meeting the blue of morning.

“Mason, you brought me back to life, and I can’t bear to think of losing you. I want to hear your laughter and the heavy thud of your boots coming down the hallway into my bedroom. I don’t want to be a widow twice. If something happens to you, I might not come back a second time. So whatever it is you think you must do, think about how much I love you, and ask yourself if it’s worth it.”

Ellen stood up. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll be up soon.”

Ellen nodded and then turned to leave.

Mason’s words stopped her as she reached the threshold. “Ellen,” he asked, “would you reconsider having the abortion?”

Ellen didn’t turn around. “I don’t think so,” she replied and then left Mason sitting alone in the darkness.

CHAPTER thirty

Mad Dog held his Smith and Wesson .357 magnum with a steady hand, methodically running a cleaning rod through the barrel. He wanted no mistakes. Satisfied the revolver was clean, he loaded the cylinder with jacketed one hundred and fifty-eight grain hollow points. He snapped it shut and tucked the pistol into his waistband and then dropped the fully loaded speed loaders into the right-hand pocket of his jacket.

The clock on the wall reported the time, to be 4:00 a.m. Mad Dog picked up the mug of coffee on the kitchen table and took a sip. The hot, bitter liquid warmed his slightly chilled body. He felt surprisingly calm. Linda had been a magnificent distraction and release. He smiled as he recalled the note he’d left her. 

In it he’d expressed his gratitude for being chosen as her lab rat and that he hoped he’d exceeded her expectations. If more research was required, she could find him at the Ritz. Mad Dog wondered if that were true. In a couple of hours, he might be dead
.
But one thing was certain, before he died, either he or Rambo would kill Jack Nelson.

***

Ellen pretended to sleep when she heard Mason get up to dress. Peeking through squinted eyes, she read the clock. 4:05. Mason came over to her side of the bed. She slammed her eyes shut.  He bent down, kissing her on the temple, and then whispered, “I love you.”

She listened to the thud of his boots travel down the hall, pause at JD’s bedroom, and then continue down the stairs. Three hours earlier, when he’d finally come to bed, he’d made love to her. No wild cries of passion commemorated the moment, only soft, lonely moans like the wind when it moves through the graceful limbs of pine trees in March, that precarious time between winter and spring. She waited for the sound of his truck pulling out of her driveway but remembered he’d walked.

Ellen threw back the covers and then went to the window. The yellow glow of the street lamp illuminated the desolate road. A light snow fluttered to the black asphalt and then died. She watched Mason disappear up the block to his house. 

Nervous, she went downstairs to wait for his truck to drive by. She paced the length of the room until she saw headlights. Mason drove past. She knew that whatever he’d involved himself in must be illegal. It was the only reason that made sense as to why he couldn’t tell her where he was going and explain his talk about dying. Somehow she needed to stop Mason before he ended up in prison or dead. She remembered him saying something about a warehouse. Mad Dog owned a warehouse. They’d gone there once to see his Mustang.
Is Mad Dog involved in this, too?
With JD upstairs asleep, Ellen knew she couldn’t go after him. 
Spider and Dee Dee
!
They’re only a couple of blocks away.
She picked up the phone and dialed their number.

***

Mad Dog parked in the back of the warehouse. Frost clung to the tangled shrubbery outlining the Creel River. At the horizon, daylight squinted. Where the weak sun couldn’t reach the pavement, it remained encrusted with a thin coat of white ice. Mad Dog got out and looked around. Any minute, Rambo should arrive. They planned to meet at 5:30. It was 5:28.

He went to the rear entry door and unlocked it. Stepping into the space, he flicked on a panel of lights and looked around the vast room. He glanced up at the tripods of metal beams running along the roof. The fluorescent light fixtures poured harsh white light on the gray block walls and concrete floor. At the opposite end of the warehouse, Mad Dog’s ‘69 Mustang slept soundly next to his Harley Road King and vintage Shovel Head.  

He glanced at his watch. 5:35. He stood by the narrow window overlooking the parking lot. He faced the door in case any uninvited guests showed up. Sweat dampened his hairline. His hands, cold and clammy, fingered his pistol. He removed a flask from his jacket and slugged down some whiskey.
Where the hell is Rambo?

A silver Audi pulled up next to his truck. Adrenalin accelerated Mad Dog’s pulse. He took another drink and then removed his pistol. Jack got out of the car. Sunglasses, gloves, a long black coat with a scarf hanging loosely around his shoulders, Jack looked like he was going to Sunday morning mass. 
He’ll be well-dressed when he meets his maker
. Mad Dog took a last sip and then tucked the flask back into his jacket. The passenger door opened. Mad Dog swallowed. Muck Eye stepped out.
What the fuck is Muck Eye doing here?
The two men approached. Mad Dog took aim.
Where the hell is Rambo?

The doorknob turned. Sunlight scored the concrete floor. The two men entered.  Jack’s malignant eyes fell on Mad Dog’s raised pistol. The door slammed. Sunlight vanished. Jack raised his hands above his head. Muck Eye followed suit.

“Don’t shoot. Let’s talk first,” Jack said as he stepped closer.

“What’s Muck Eye doing here? Not that it matters. Saves me the trouble of tracking him down and killing him, too.”

Jack smiled. “I brought him along because he has something to tell you.” Jack glanced over at the small man. “Don’t you?”

Muck Eye looked at Mad Dog. A blackened left eye was swollen shut. A wide gash sliced the bridge of his nose, a deep purple bruise colored his right cheek, and a thin scab formed over a split lip.

Jack, or one of his boys, worked him over pretty good
, Mad Dog thought.

“Jack didn’t kill your wife, Mad Dog. That night at the Ritz, I was out of my head. The night your wife was killed, Jack and I were in Chicago. I have the receipt from the Hilton in my pocket if you don’t believe me.” Muck Eye patted his jacket.

“You put your hand in that pocket, I’m going to put a bullet between your eyes, you fucking little weasel.” Mad Dog steadied his pistol.

Muck Eye dropped his hands to his side.

“Mr. O’Donnell, perhaps we could work out an equitable deal regarding this whole unfortunate incident. After all, I’m sure neither one of us wants to end up dead today,” Jack said as he unbuttoned his coat.

“What kind of deal?” Mad Dog cleared his parched throat.

“I don’t know. How much was your wife’s life worth? Fifty thousand? A hundred thousand?” Jack cocked his head, lifting his eyebrows. “Let’s make it two hundred and fifty thousand. Think of it. No financial worries. You could send your kids to college with plenty left over.”

Mad Dog sited his pistol. “No amount of money is worth my wife’s life, you mother fucker!”

Footsteps interrupted.  Movement in his periphery made Mad Dog glance over at his Mustang. Mason walked toward him, Glock in hand. 
He’s been here the whole time and hasn’t made himself known?
Mad Dog thought and swallowed. He didn’t know who to point his weapon at. The room closed in.

“Rambo, so good of you to join us,” Jack said.

Mad Dog’s eyes darted to Jack. His lack of surprise caused Mad Dog’s ears to ring.

“I was beginning to wonder whose side you were on,” Jack continued.

“Is that so?” Mason replied.

Cold metal squeezed against Mad Dog’s temple. Maintaining a steady bead on Jack, Mad Dog fought panic and asked, “You need three guys to take me out?”

“Actually four. Doc is keeping watch outside. We wouldn’t want anyone to bust in and ruin all the fun. Besides, when I offered Rambo a half a million to kill you, he willingly accepted.” Jack smiled, brought his arms out to the side, and then shrugged. “You see, Mr. O’Donnell, your life does have monetary value, unlike that of your wife’s.”

Mad Dog’s stomach lurched. Sweat trickled down his back. He thought of his children who’d be orphans because he had miscalculated the depth of Rambo’s treachery. Mad Dog glanced at Mason. “You sold me out to this, you worthless piece of shit.”

“Afraid so, brother,” Mason said.

The barrel of Mason's pistol dug into Mad Dog’s skull like a nail being hammered into the lid of a coffin. Mason’s elbow slammed Mad Dog’s arm, dislodging Mad Dog’s weapon. The Smith and Wesson spun on the concrete floor like a life preserver out of reach. Mad Dog sighed.

“I never would have taken you for a god damn Judas, Rambo. It only goes to show you can’t trust the word of a liar. You going to shoot me in the head like this ball-less fuck killed my wife? After you kill me, you good for nothing poser, the Sons of Thunder are going to find you, and when they do, the brothers will stomp you into the ground.” Mad Dog spat and then looked at Jack. “I should have killed you when you stepped out of the car.”

Jack shook his head and said, “But you didn’t because you’re a man of integrity. A tragic character flaw.”

Jack pulled a Walther automatic pistol from beneath his coat. “Muck Eye!” he hollered. “Get Mr. O’Donnell’s gun.”

Mad Dog watched Muck Eye, who had positioned himself by the door as if he were going to make a break for it. Even though Jack had his back to Muck Eye, Jack knew what the little man was up to.

“Doc is outside.  If you open that door, he’s going to kill you and throw your corpse into the Creel River.” Jack’s voice lost its calm, congenial, tone.  It grew loud and bordered on hysterical. “Do as I say. Pick up the gun!”

Muck Eye hesitated. Approaching Mad Dog and Mason, he glanced up, speaking in a whisper. “Don’t do this, man.” He squatted, picking up the revolver. “Don’t kill your brother.”

Muck Eye stood and turned to face Jack, who unloaded three rounds into Muck Eye’s small frame. Loud pops echoed throughout the warehouse. Muck Eye’s body jerked backward, dropping five feet from Mad Dog. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air. Blood leaked unto the concrete floor. Dead blue eyes stared up at the rafters.

***

Ellen parked her car across from the warehouse. The deserted street showed no signs of life except for a utility van snoozing in a motorcycle repair shop next door. She flipped up the hood of her jacket and then made her way across the street. As she skirted the side of the warehouse, the sound of gunfire made her stop. Ducking under a narrow window, she pressed her hand to her chest to stop the abnormal pounding. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths and then rose. Cupping her hands around her eyes, Ellen peered through the glass.  She swallowed to stop herself from retching. Mason held a gun to Mad Dog’s head. A man bled on the floor. Mason’s employer aimed a pistol at Mad Dog.

Adrenaline rushed into Ellen’s bloodstream. Her breath froze on the glass. An arm twisted around her waist, jerking her off balance. A grimy, calloused hand slapped over her mouth. At her back, a cold voice made her shudder.

“Make a sound, I’ll snap your neck. Understand?”

Ellen nodded. The sharp cold point of a knife cut through her jacket, pricking her lower back.

“Move.” 

Fear clenched Ellen’s jaw shut.  The stranger prodded her over to the rear entry.

“Open the fucking door.”

Ellen’s hand trembled as she turned the knob. Her abductor shoved her into the warehouse and kicked the door shut.  Gripping her upper arm, the man stood by her side, his hand still over her mouth.

“I found this bitch snooping around the building. You think she’s a fucking cop?”

Seeing her, Mason and Mad Dog’s eyes widened in shock. Ellen’s heart rammed her chest with each beat. Bits of thought flashed.
What’s going to happen?  How can I have loved a killer?
Ellen knew she had stepped into a deadly trap, and now her son would be motherless.

Jack turned. A smile of recognition crossed his clean shaven jaw.

“You have a knack for showing up where you don’t belong,” Jack said and then looked at her captor. “You might be right, Doc. She could be a cop.”

A glint of light. A loud quick
pop
. A tremendous heat slammed her chest like an exploding grenade. She looked at Mason. Her body reeled back and her legs came out from under her. In slow motion, she hit the solid concrete floor. Her lungs contracted as if a demonic presence wrung out the air. Each breath agonizingly painful, she heard Mason scream her name from some faraway place but couldn’t answer. Her body wouldn’t move, and her eyes were unseeing. The sound of gun shots ricocheted through the metal rafters.
Bang, bang
!
Bang, bang!