Darkness Once More (Archie Lemons #1) Page 13

  "Stand still, Muhammad Ali. Take your hands out of your pockets, too."

  I did half of what I was told. I removed my hands from my pockets but my trembling got far worse. I placed both hands on the mattress table and tried to steady myself. I've never gotten myself into a jam like this before. I always try to avoid confrontation, but secretly hope for just a touch of danger in my cases. Not this much, though. I don't know what had come over me earlier when I attacked Carl and was filled with confidence but I sure do wish it would return. Soon. I turned around and faced my wife's killer.

  "Why did you do it? Why did you murder my wife? What could you have possibly gained from it?"

  He just stared at me with a dumb ass look on his face that I took as his normal stare. Fucking dumb ass. He lowered his gun slightly as if it was getting too heavy for him. Fucking dumb ass wimp bitch.

  "What did you even take from the house that was so important that it was worth my wife's life? And my daughter's!"

  "Your daughter's?"

  "Yeah, my wife was four months pregnant, you piece of shit." The feeling I had from before was coming back to me. Pure rage was replacing the fear and I could feel my body heating up. He must have noticed my face turning red because he raised the gun back up at my chest. "You didn't even notice the goddamn room you shot her in?! You didn't see the crib against the far wall or her fucking princess crown?!"

  "I didn't mean to kill her. She wasn't supposed to be there! I went there to kill YOU!"

  My mind sparked up at the possibilities of things I could have done that had warranted my death. The puzzle pieces were all out of the box and picture side up; I just needed to fit them all together.

  Who the hell would want me dead? And why didn't they finish the job? Looking at this jackass in front of me, I'm getting the distinct impression that he is not the brains behind this operation. Maybe just a gun for hire. But who hired him. Why didn't he come back at any other time and finish the job? Why is he holding me here when he could have easily killed me right after he killed Kojak? Shit. I can't concentrate!

  I can feel the adrenaline surge through my body and my heart starts pumping at a far faster rate than I believe to be healthy. I'm going to lose it.

  "So then fucking kill me!" I yell. "Why didn't you finish me weeks ago?! Do it!"

  "Can't. Not yet at least. We're waitin' on someone."

  "I don't understand why you killed her! What were you even doing in my goddamn house?!"

  "I told you! Shit. Pay attention. I went to kill you. You were causing us problems."

  "Are you the world's dumbest hit man?! I don't get it!"

  "Look man, your car was in the driveway and hers wasn't. I knew whose was whose. I staked your shit out. I was going to go in, pop you, and then leave your wife to clean up the mess when she got back."

  The puzzle was snapping together. The first time my car wouldn't start was the morning of the day Marianne was killed. She had told me to take hers instead and she'd have Elise call AAA for a jump when I got home from work. Shit. This was my fault. I was the target. I should be dead and my wife should still be alive with my daughter still growing in her belly. I felt sick to my stomach and I could feel my eyes welling up with tears. I wished he would just pull the trigger and send a bullet tearing through my heart. It feels like its torn apart already, though. Just end it now.

  "Just kill me."

  McKigney continued just to look at me, this time though his head was cocked a little to the left, as if he was admiring some artwork. He was contemplating fulfilling my request.

  "Can't," he said. He lowered the gun a little bit again. It was now aimed just a little above my left kneecap.

  I closed my eyes tight, hoping he would just do it and get it over with. I didn't have an escape from here. I was a goner and I knew it. I'd rather be shot than meet my demise on the bloodstained mattress behind me. Bad shit goes down here in the clichéd room of horrors and I was pretty sure I was about to find out exactly what it was.

  I could hear my heart beating again.

  My mind went blank. That’s how it is when I start a deep concentration. There was a flutter in my stomach and behind my clenched eyelids, I saw my nephews running into my hospital room to greet me. Then begging me to stay up and watch a movie with them. Then I see them with Elise, standing there. There for me when I needed them the most. Elise has already lost her husband and her sister. The kids have lost their father and their aunt. I can't leave them alone. Then I see my wife. I couldn't let her die for nothing. My eyelids clinch tighter and both of my hands are formed into fists. I open my eyes and see McKigney still staring at me, but this time with a look of confusion on his face. I wanted to die sixty seconds ago, but now I want to kill.

  I lunge at McKigney with as much ferocity as my broken body allows and I catch him off guard. We both fall to the ground and my ribs take another hard hit when I land on top of him. I don't have time to focus on the pain right now, though. I reach my left hand for his gun, but his dominate hand easily overpowers my non-dominant one and he manages to strike me in the ear with the handle. I flail my head backwards and see him moving his gun towards my face. I close my eyes tight again and bring my head down fast, connecting my forehead straight into his mouth. I see that at least two of his front teeth are missing as he parts his bloody lips to let out a wail. He must have swallowed them because he sure didn't spit them out.

  I make another grab for the gun, this time with my right hand as I try to position myself better. I manage to bring my knee up to his balls and apply my full weight down on them as he spits blood onto my already bloody face.

  With my knee crushing his testicles and both my hands on his arm, I am able to get a good enough grip on the gun to turn the barrel towards him. I just need to get my finger on the trigger. With his left hand, he is repeatedly socking me in my ear, and then makes a pathetic attempt at pulling my hair. At this point, I feel nothing.

  I shift my knee a little and I'm pretty sure I rupture one of his testicles. This causes him to release the hold on his gun and my hair as he begins screaming in agony. I take the gun away from him with both hands and push the barrel into his mouth, right where his teeth used to be. My finger wraps around the trigger.

  Unfortunately, I didn't even realize there was someone standing behind me, swinging something very heavy at me and landing it to the right side of my skull. I fall backwards into darkness once more.

  When I awaken, I find myself tied to a chair with my hands fastened securely behind me with what feels like a zip tie. I look down towards my feet and see that they are each fastened to the chair legs. There is no escape from this one. I had my chance and I blew it.

  I can't even bring myself to raise my head back up. I just sit there, staring at the ground as a steady stream of blood leaks from my head onto my pants. I hear footsteps heading my way. A woman's footsteps, her heels clicking on the concrete with each step.

  "You lied to me, Mr. Lemons," she says.

  I slowly raise my head like a boxer who has been in the ring too long. My eyes meet with my attacker and suddenly all the pieces come snapping together.

  "Hello, Mrs. Fick."

  24.

  "Hello Mr. Lemons. Sorry I never returned your call," she said to me.

  I am now speechless and I glance around the room and wait for my mouth to catch up to my brain. I notice James McKigney sitting on a chair in the corner, hunched over. I imagine that his testicles hurt like a bitch. Good.

  "Why me?" I finally ask.

  "You were starting to give us a little trouble, Mr. Lemons."

  "Yeah, that’s what Ruptured Nut over there told me, too." I gave a little nod in James' direction then returned my eyes to Monica Fick...or whatever her name is. "Care to go into a little more detail about that? How could I have been giving you trouble when I didn't even know you existed until you came to me?"

  "Unfortunately for you, Mr. Lemons, I believe you would
have, given a little more time, probably found out about me and my husband."

  "So he's not dead?" I ask.

  "Oh no, he's quite alive. You'll meet him shortly."

  "So then who is this piece of shit slumped over in the corner?" I ask.

  "Oh him? That’s my idiot stepson." I heard James groan from the corner, objecting to the insult directed at him.

  "So it was all bullshit? The case, everything?"

  "I'm afraid so, Mr. Lemons."

  "But why? Why come to me with a bullshit case and pay me for it?! It makes no sense. If you wanted me dead why didn't you just fucking kill me?!"

  "Come on, Mr. Lemons, this isn't a movie. I'm not going to spill all the details of our dastardly deeds to you, only to have you escape and ruin everything. This isn't James Bond." She gave me a sly little smile, letting me know full goddamn well I wouldn't be escaping from this.

  "Are you fucking kidding me?" I ask. "Look at me, I'm zipped tied to a chair and was taken from my own home without anyone seeing anything, and I don't even know where the hell I am so it's not like I'm going to be rescued. I'm fucked. You know it. I know it. Lopsided Larry over there knows it. Just humor me. You can check that I'm properly secured before you tell me if you want."

  "Very well, Archibald." She walked over, picked up James’ gun, and then approached my chair, checking that I was, in fact, fucked. My bright red left hand and numb, bloodless and disgusting right hand were apparently enough to convince her that I wouldn't be going anywhere soon.

  "My name isn't Archibald, by the way. It's Archie. And again, why go through all this much trouble instead of just killing me?"

  "I was actually trying to save your life, Archie," she tells me. "I felt bad about your wife."

  "Bullshit! You don't feel bad about anything." My anger was returning again. I was now starting to feel my heartbeat in my hands bound behind me.

  "I guess you're right. Well, actually, while you were knocked out, my idiot stepson did manage to tell me that your wife was pregnant when she died. I do feel bad about that, Mr. Lemons. But again, your wife was not the intended target. That idiot over there just fucked up."

  "Yeah, so I've heard. Wrong car, right?"

  "Yeah, something like that."

  "Why did you want me dead in the first place?"

  "You were poking your nose into stuff you shouldn't have been."

  "Mallory Colley?"

  "The girl from the hotel? Yes, that would be her."

  "And I suppose her mother was your handy work, too. Correct?

  "Yes, actually. My husband and I handled her. We wanted to make sure it wouldn't get fucked up. You know what they say." She stole another glance at McKigney in the corner.

  "But why her? What did she have to do with anything? Why did she have to die but not me? Enlighten me."

  "I don't know how you got this far, Mr. Lemons. You're not very bright, are you?"

  Actually, I had it all pretty much worked out. The lack of forced entry into the house had connected some dots for me. They knew where she lived and there was no forced entry because Mallory had her driver’s license and house keys on her. Her mother had only removed her car keys from her key ring, and I seriously doubted that an eighteen-year-old girl would be capable of a murder in such a way as Amanda was killed. Once I figured out someone else had her keys I had pretty much figured out Mallory’s fate, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I had it all put together except the biggest piece. Why they didn't just come back and kill me. That was all that was missing. The lost piece to the jigsaw puzzle of my current predicament. It seemed like a lot of trouble just to get rid of me when they obviously have no problems with murder. I was just wanting to confirm everything I thought, find that missing piece and honestly, buy some time. I know I still had to meet the wonderful Mr. Fick before I met my demise, but every second still counted to me. I wanted her to tell me everything.

  "You underestimate me. Obviously. Otherwise we wouldn't be in this rather awkward situation we find ourselves in."

  "Yes, I suppose you're right. So what do you want?"

  "I want to know," I said, "why the hell you didn't kill me!"

  She sighed loudly and rather over-dramatically, stressing her annoyance and then started her story. "Mr. Lemons, that girl from the hotel, Mallory?" I nodded in agreement and she continued. "Yes, well she was not supposed to be missed. Or at least not searched for. We pegged her as a runaway. My recently deceased associate had messed up. Turns out someone was searching for her. Her mother hired you and this caused us problems.

  "We watched security camera footage from the hotel after you made your presence known, right after we took her.

  "Let me ask you this, why did you spend some nights in that hotel bar and never once talk to management about who you were or what you were doing?"

  "I don't know," I answer. "I was just sitting and waiting. I asked a few patrons if they had seen her around and even the bartender. I got a couple of yeses. When she didn't turn up there, I switched hotels and did the same routine. It wasn't until I was leaving that other hotel one night that I finally saw her getting in to that piece of shit cab."

  "I see. You hadn't seen her the other nights you were in that hotel, though?"

  "I think the answer to that is pretty obvious. I don't know where she was those nights. All I know now is that she had been there before and after me. Enough for that headless lump of shit lying on my nursery room's floor to peg her as a runaway."

  "Yes, well talking to him was your mistake. You see, that headless lump of shit was the one who immediately called me to tip me off that a dick was searching for the girl we just hauled away. We thought about aborting everything and letting the girl go, but honestly, we needed her and thought killing you would be easier.

  "Your information was easy enough to find. Christ, you gave your card to Carl. We sent my idiot stepson to check out your house. He was supposed to wait until you were alone then go in and kill you. Maybe make it look like a robbery gone very wrong. But of course, as is his custom, he mucked it up and we had to lay low for a while. One murder could be dismissed as a break-in, but a second murder would draw too much attention and be risky for us so soon. So, we let you bury you wife while we thought of a better plan for killing you.

  "Only problem was, every time we tried to follow through on our plan, we spotted a cop always on your tail. Always! Day or night, whenever we cased your house or office or where ever you were, there was always a cop on you, making little to no effort to be spotted or known to everyone that he was law enforcement."

  "That would be my detective friend. He was convinced I killed my wife. Maybe your plan should have been to just simply frame me. That would have solved your problems but I don't think you guys are smart enough to come up with something so intricate." If they didn't pick up on my sarcasm then they were even dumber than I thought.

  So there it was, though. Detective Anderson had apparently saved my life. At least up until today. His constant belief that I killed my wife had somewhat ironically saved my life. I wish I could get the chance to thank him, but I seriously doubted I would.

  "Yes, well," she responded, "but, it was my idea to hire you for another job. The murder thing was out for now. The risk was too high for us. I thought if I went to your office and threw around some hundred-dollar bills it would be enough for you to work full time for me and give up everything else. Then when you told me you hadn't even heard from your client lately, I figured we were in the clear and you would wipe your entire slate for me and go on a wild goose chase while my associates and I continued to conduct our little business."

  "So that's why you got so pissed when I told you I would be working both cases."

  "That's right. I shouldn't have done that, I thought I may have tipped my hand."

  "Actually you tipped your hand when you showed up to my office in the same cab that hauled Mallory away."

  "Yes, I
realize that now. I never, in a million years, thought you would match the cabs. You're right though, that was my first mistake. I really did have a flat tire, though."

  "I just wish I put it together sooner. I shouldn't have asked you about it, either. In fact, I should have gone with my instinct when you showed up in that red wig and told me your name was Fick. That’s a little too cutesy, but oh well. It's all in the past now. But why Amanda Colley?" I asked, but I already knew why. I remember telling Mrs. Fick I would go over there and meet with Ms. Colley the following morning, after my conversation with her. If my client couldn't pay me, I would close the case. With her dead, my case should have been closed. But again, she underestimated me. Mrs. Fick confirmed my thoughts.

  "Again though," she said, "I never would have thought you would have put it together as murder. Even the newspaper said it was a natural causing death."

  Hey, at least that worked. Kind of. My stomach let out a rumble informing me that I needed to eat. I needed to take a leak, too, but I doubted either of those things would be happening soon.

  "Well, Mrs. Fick," I said.

  "Please, call me Roxanne," she interrupted.

  That’s what I thought. That would explain Kojak saying Rocks before he went faceless on me. "Well, Roxanne," I continued, "usually when people take a bath they bring a towel with them. Maybe even some soap or a change of clothes to get into. And usually they use the same bathroom every time, not decide to use the guest bathroom for no good reason. You may have left her clothes on the ground and made everything look legit, but you forgot the most obvious of details."

  "Shit. Well, it was my first staging of a murder scene. I guess I have a lot to learn. Good call though. Anyway, James over there was following you and said the police didn't mark the house as a crime scene. We thought that would have finished it. If you just would have let it go you'd be fine right now. But you didn't, and you lied to me. And look at you now."

  "Yeah, look at me now. What about the business card, though. Did you really have fake ones printed up just for my benefit?”