Wicked Break (22 page)

Lonnie and Mo moved toward me.

I stood still.

They spread apart, sealing off the room.

Mike stood at the bar, smiling.

I didn't budge.

They got to within five feet of me.

Small beads of sweat appeared above Lonnie's eyebrows. “This is gonna be fun.”

I didn't say anything. My gun was in the Jeep. Hadn't figured on needing it in Mike's house.

Mike came up next to me. “Sorry it's gotta go like this, man. But some things are important.”

I took a step toward Mo, away from Mike. I felt Mike follow, probably thinking he could help by staying behind me.

Perfect.

I brought my left elbow up and stepped back, swinging my arm around as hard as I could. Mike's throat collapsed beneath the force of the blow. A horrible gagging noise came from his mouth and he brought his hands up as he fell to the floor. An awful way to die, choking on your own windpipe.

I turned back just in time to see Mo wrap me in a bear hug.

His arms were like giant pythons. He had my arms pinned to my sides and he squeezed. We were nose to nose. His face was so impassive he could've been watching television.

Only he was crushing the life out of me.

“Make it hurt, Mo,” Lonnie said from behind him.

I tried to struggle free, but it was useless. The more I flailed, the more he tightened his grip. Mo was making it hurt.

I brought my forehead down on the bridge of his nose. He flinched and shuffled his feet, but didn't release his grip.

I leaned back as far as I could and brought my head down again. This time I caught him flush. I felt bone and cartilage disintegrated against my skull and his arms weakened.

He let out a piercing howl and as I tried to wiggle free, he hurled me over the bar.

I slammed into the racks of booze on the wall. Glass sliced into my shirt and bit into my skin. I hit the floor with a thud, the alcohol and busted bottles raining down on me like a storm. The lacerations in my back immediately started to burn and sting, the pain of hitting the wall radiating down my spine.

“Get him,” Lonnie commanded.

Mo grunted and I felt the footsteps coming around the bar. I tried to push myself to my feet, slipping on the now-soaked floor, and went back down to my knees.

Then my hand hit something that I thought my help.

Mo came around the side of the bar. Frankenstein with a destroyed nose, blood splattered on his face like cake batter. A corner of his mouth was curled up. The most emotion I'd ever seen from him.

He reached down for me.

I pushed off the floor and lunged at his midsection. The paring knife in my hand pushed into his gut and he gasped.

I shoved as hard as I could and then brought the knife up awkwardly, feeling the flesh and whatever else was in there rip and tear. He gasped again and stepped back. I let go of the knife, now nearly all the way into his body.

Mo stumbled back, his hands shaking and searching for the knife, staring down at the now-very-visible hole in his stomach.

I charged at him, lowered my shoulder, and drove him back and off his feet. He sailed through Mike's picture-perfect glass wall.

Amid the shattered glass and noise, Mo landed on his back on the pool deck, a huge shard of the window pushing its way up through his chest, as if I'd staked him to the concrete.

I was huffing and puffing, and the adrenaline and pain sending my system in overdrive.

A bansheelike scream came from behind me and I remembered Lonnie.

I pivoted and something sharp and metal flashed in the air. I caught Lonnie's arm before the six-inch blade in his hand got to my neck.

Holding Lonnie's arm and stepping in toward him, I pushed his hand and the knife up higher. I brought my knee up into his crotch with everything I had and he screamed. The strength in his arm dissipated and we toppled to the floor.

Now beneath me, Lonnie was still trying to bring the blade toward me. I had his wrist and drove it into the tiled floor. The bones below his hand gave and the knife clattered onto the floor.

I kept his hand pinned to the floor.

We stared into each other's eyes. He started to relax. He'd lost and he knew it.

And then he smiled.

“You think this is over?” he said, laughing derisively. “You think I haven't done jail before? I'll be out in less than three months and I'll take you and that fuckin' kid down.”

Again, Famazio's words came back to me. Lonnie knew someone, somewhere in the legal system, would have the power to take care of him.

Lonnie grinned at me. “Just like I did that nigger bitch yesterday.”

I moved my free hand to his throat and pressed down. His eyes bulged as his pupils dilated, my leverage winning out as I compressed everything in his neck. He slapped at my hands.

Footsteps echoed in the room. They stopped just before reaching us.

“Noah?” Carter said. His voice sounded like it was in a tunnel.

I eased up on Lonnie's throat, but didn't look at Carter.

Lonnie started to smile again, maybe thinking that it was over now. Probably thinking about how stupid I was for sending him to jail so he'd have another chance at me and at Linc. Almost certainly thinking he would eventually win.

I pressed down again, harder than before, feeling Lonnie's windpipe and larynx pulsate against the palm of my hand.

His eyes bulged more and he started to gag. He started kicking beneath me, slapping again. I guess he realized he wasn't going back to jail, that even his powerful friends couldn't help him out now, and that his chances at me and Linc were over.

Lonnie's kicking stopped. The pulsating in his throat stopped. And finally, the hate in his eyes stopped.

Carter and I were standing in the driveway when Wellton walked out of Mike Berkley's house.

Wellton looked at me. “You alright?”

I shrugged. “I'm fine.”

“Tell it to me again,” Wellton said.

“I came up here because Berkley called me and said he had some things to tell me about Peter and Linc Pluto,” I said. “It was a setup. Carter got here at the very end.”

Wellton stared at me, his eyes frozen with intensity.

“I took Mike first,” I continued. “Mo was next. Lonnie and I were struggling with the knife he brought at me. He wouldn't drop it. I had no choice.”

Wellton looked me up and down. “He cut you?”

“I'm cut everywhere. Probably.”

Two EMTs rolled a gurney out of the house, a sheet covering whoever's body was underneath.

Wellton caught my eyes again. “So you held off the knife with one hand and choked him with the other?”

I held his gaze. “He wouldn't drop the knife. I had no choice.” I motioned in Carter's direction. “Carter will tell you the same thing.”

“I'll bet he will,” he said.

“Famazio might be able to link Berkley and National Nation,” I said. “I don't know.”

Wellton remained silent. He didn't move. Just stared right through me.

I didn't care.

“I could give a shit that they're dead,” he finally said. “Just taking up my air while they were alive, as far as I'm concerned. So fuck 'em.” He paused, chewing on his lip for a moment. “And I'll write it up just like you said. You had no choice. Because I got nothing else.”

“I had no choice,” I said.

Wellton shoved his hands in his pockets. “But maybe someday you can explain to me exactly what that means to you.”

He turned and walked back into the house.

Carter followed me back to my place. I got out of my car and walked over to his monstrosity of an automobile. He cut the engine, but didn't get out.

“We good?” he asked.

“Think so,” I said. “There'll probably be some follow-up. But we're good.”

Carter nodded. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

He stared at me. “Sure about that?”

“Positive.”

“I thought about taking you off him,” he said.

“I figured.”

“Wasn't sure I could, though. You looked different.”

“I could've taken myself off if I'd wanted,” I said.

“I know. You want my opinion?”

“Always.”

“You made the right choice,” he said.

I shrugged.

He turned the key in the ignition and the engine rumbled to life.

“I mean it, Noah,” he said, leaning across the passenger seat so I could hear him. “It was the right thing and it always will be. He doesn't die today, he would've come after you and the kid again someday.”

I didn't say or do anything. I didn't know how to respond.

He held up a hand, dropped the gearshift, and sped away down the alley.

I walked into my place and didn't bother to turn on a light. I went to the fridge and pulled out a beer. Popped the top on the bottle. Set the bottle on the counter. Turned to the sink and vomited.

After a few minutes, I picked up the beer and walked out to the patio. The white foam of the collapsing waves was bright against the black sky and dark water. The wind blew softly off the water and up the sand, whispering against my face.

I didn't regret killing Lonnie, but that didn't mean it would ever feel right. No matter what Carter said or how I justified it, I had taken a life. I would always feel his skin on my hands and see his eyes as they ran out of life. Lonnie hadn't added anything to the world, but I had taken something from it and I wasn't sure how to get back on the right side of the line I'd crossed.

I stood there, watching the ocean and thinking about those things, for a long time.

“You mind if we make a quick stop?” I asked.

It was Friday morning and Liz and I had just started north on I-5 for Santa Barbara. I'd tried to reach Linc after Wellton released him from custody, but he hadn't returned my calls and if he'd gone back to his apartment, he hadn't answered the door when I'd knocked.

I called Marie Pluto and told her that her nephew was okay but I wasn't sure where he was. She told me that he'd already called her and was going to stay with her for a while. She thanked me for my time, told me the remainder of my fee would be in the mail the following day, and promised to keep in touch.

I hoped that she wouldn't, but didn't tell her that.

“Sure,” Liz answered. “What for?”

I slowed at the off-ramp. “Just want to check on Carolina. I told her I'd call her after we had dinner the other night and haven't had a chance.”

“Sure,” she repeated, a soft smile on her face.

The thick early morning fog was melting away, leaving a wet haze behind. I figured by the time we got to Santa Barbara, there'd be nothing but sunshine.

I needed it.

We pulled up at the curb and I cut the engine. “You mind waiting?”

“Take as long as you need,” Liz said.

I walked up the path to the house, free of the anxiety and questions that had wracked me the last couple of times I'd been to the house. Our dinner had been good and helped cleanse a few things.

Maybe the fractures in our relationship could heal.

I rang the doorbell.

No answer.

I knocked and got the same response.

I turned the doorknob and it opened, so I stepped in.

And right back to my childhood.

There were at least six empty vodka bottles scattered around the coffee table. The stale smell of booze clung to the air and seemed almost tangible. Paper plates and glasses, several days old, were strewn across the carpeting.

Peeking into the kitchen, I saw the sink and counter were full of dishes that hadn't seen cleaning in a while.

I took a deep breath and walked back to the bedroom.

Carolina was passed out on the bed, snarled among the sheets and blankets. Her blouse was wrinkled and unbuttoned. Her makeup was smudged, the mascara having run down past her eyes, giving her face a macabre appearance.

I walked closer to the bed.

Her chest rose and fell evenly, as she breathed out through her mouth.

I'd stood in the exact same spot and seen the exact same thing so many times before.

The relationships that had been destroyed in the last week flashed through my mind.

I had hoped that Carolina and I were repairing ours. But she'd made a promise that she couldn't keep. It wasn't so much about anger as it was disappointment. A week earlier, maybe I would have stormed out of the house and made some sort of declaration about a future without her.

Instead, I pulled the blankets over her as best I could and locked the front door to the house behind me when I left.

I looked at Liz sitting in my car. Her head was back—she was probably dozing. There was nothing I could do about Carolina at the moment. But another chance with Liz was in front of me and that was more than enough to satisfy me for the time being.

I got in the car, stuck the key in the ignition, did a U-turn, and pointed us back toward the freeway.

Her eyes on me for a few minutes before she spoke.

As we glided down the on-ramp, she asked, “Everything okay?”

I moved the Jeep into the fast lane, thinking again of Linc, Peter, Malia, Deacon, Lonnie, and my mother. Chances missed and chances taken.

I reached over and covered Liz's hand with mine, determined to find that sunshine up the coast.