Invictus, page 8
I know better; Robbie is far from helpless and this is his doing but I refuse to let him down. Not today—not ever. I just have to fix this bullshit with Atasha first and then once I know exactly what the detectives know, I’ll go back and get him out of his mess.
Things are becoming so confusing and hard lately, and I’m stuck in the middle of a dangerous tug-of-war game. One has the right to pull me in his direction, while the other seduces my mind to hers.
“...anyway, I don’t know what else to tell you,” Atasha was saying when I finally reached the trio.
“Uh huh, so do you mind coming down to the station and maybe answering a few questions? You’re not under arrest, so you have the right to refuse, but we’re just trying to rule out everyone in the immediate area of the crime,” Detective Spaulding says to her in a meaningful tone.
Atasha’s eyes drift slowly toward me as I’m still standing behind the detectives, then toward the squad car where Robbie is watching this all unfold, with vacant eyes and she tilts her head.
“Tell you what,” she begins, putting a hand on her hip. “August’s little brother is a bit of a simpleton, as you can plainly see. If you let him go, I’ll come answer anything you want.”
“This isn’t like the movies, sweetheart,” Detective Camden snaps at her. “There’s no barter system here. He assaulted an officer of the law and now he goes to jail.”
I raise an eyebrow when I can see the intent rising in her eyes. She looks exactly the way she did when we had our first little tryst with a blade and I slowly shake my head.
Too many witnesses. Too many people that would definitely be noticed if they’re missing. Too many fucking options right now.
“I was wondering why I haven’t heard any heroic music yet,” she replies sarcastically. “Last I checked, people in this country are innocent until proven guilty…besides, what makes you even think any crime’s been committed here? For all we know, those two rich boys dumped that SUV and ran off to San Francisco to start a fabulous new life together. So unless you let Robbie go, you should just fuck off.”
Atasha spins on her heel and walks back into the barbershop and I’m frozen in place. Not by fear but by admiration that she’s becoming something much more than I could ever hope for. Something savvy, and deadly, and beautiful, like a dose of nightshade ingested way too many times and much too deeply—a pretty poison that deserves every ounce of reverence she receives.
“So. My brother? Where is he being taken?” I ask loudly, clearing my throat as the detectives turn around and damn near bump into me.
“Downtown,” Detective Camden snaps at me bitterly. “You can meet us at the police station, pay his bond, and then we’ll give him to you.”
“How much is it gonna be?” I call after them as they begin to walk away, not directly offering a bribe, but certainly open to the idea.
“Up to a judge; sorry,” Detective Spaulding calls back with a shrug as they disappear into their unmarked cars.
If it’s up to a judge and it’s already late afternoon, that means that Robbie has to spend the night in jail.
He’ll be put in a cage where nothing is familiar, where he has no control of what he can and can’t do—will he survive it?
One night away from everything he understands in a place full of criminals and evil men looking the way he does will put a mark on his back even if it is for less than twenty-four hours.
There’s only one way to keep him safe.
I quickly walk into the barbershop and grab Atasha by the arms, spinning her around to face me.
“I have to go with Robbie; there’s no way in Hell he’ll be able to spend the night in jail alone and I have to be able to protect him. There’s money in the apartment, in my room. There’s a box that’s sitting on top shelf in the closet. Empty it and come get us in the morning. Okay? I have to go.”
Before she has a chance to object or even realizes what my plan is, I run out of the barbershop and barrel toward one of the officers as quickly as I can and put my entire weight into him as I knock him to the ground and begin punching him in his face.
I can hear Robbie let out a gleeful laugh as the other remaining officer pulls me off of the other and slams me against the police car. The cop whose face I was pounding on lands one hell of a kidney shot on me before they cuff me and put me in the back of the car with Robbie just like I wanted. I knew it would be the only option anyway, since their car was the last one at the spot.
“Hey bro,” Robbie says with a grin as he scoots a little farther towards the other door. “That looked like it hurt.”
“Yeah,” I reply with a grunt as I lean my head back against the seat and attempt to regain my bearings. “It always hurts when we’re together.”
Robbie laughs again and nods. He understands what I mean when I say that and that it’s not a negative connotation on our relationship.
It’s just the truth and the truth always hurts.
As I watch the cop car drive away, I slump into my chair. Those unlit jackpot lights make memories of my mom’s murder unavoidable, and I catch myself twirling my hair like the girl I’d been. For the second time I feel robbed by the people who are supposed to serve and protect.
What happened in this very chair got us into this mess, and I bounce up and hurry across the room, trembling fingers swiping at my long bangs. This place is cursed now…haunted by ghosts I midwifed into existence. I need space between me and the crime scene.
Though my instincts tell me to bolt, I take my time, sweeping up the remnants of Robbie’s visit. If only all of his messes were so easy to clean up. He’s batshit crazy, that‘s painfully obvious. I see now why he reminded me of the boy who died in my foster home so many years ago. He’d had Robbie’s reckless nature. Nothing is as dangerous as someone who feels they have nothing left to lose.
But Robbie has August. And Robbie thinks you’re trying to take August away.
August floods my thoughts, washing concerns about Robbie out to sea. August’s even crazier than Robbie…inserting himself into his brother’s mess just like he did mine. He should have just walked away when he saw that those guys were going to rape me. He should have just let his fucking brother rot.
His reaction to Robbie’s arrest is the exact opposite of what he would have advised me to do in his place. He’s not thinking clearly…and his actions are so out of character I’m not sure what to think.
I should hop the first Greyhound out of town, but thanks to Robbie, the cops already have my name. I remind myself what August told me the first night we were together. They can’t even prove any crime happened, let alone prove foul play.
Even if they locate the bodies somehow, they’ll never find my razor, I’m certain of that. They have no murder weapon.
My broom moves like a pendulum, the monotonous sound lulling me into a near meditative state. I marvel at the time it takes to sweep up such a seemingly small amount of hair. How little bits of it just seem to elude the bristles.
It’s always struck me how something as gorgeous as hair becomes repulsive in seconds when it’s severed from its host. Like blood, so vital to survival, and so beautiful, fanning out in a wide spray. But the cleanup? Hellish. Just like hair…it makes a bigger mess before you finally manage to get rid of it. It just seems to multiply, like roaches.
I ring Marty and tell him I’m not feeling well…which isn’t much of a stretch. I tell him I’m closing up early. I want to tell him thank you. I want to say goodbye. Instead, I just laugh when he gives me shit for being a slacker.
I trudge into the back to Marty’s desk. I dump a few of his pills into my palm and stick them in my coat pocket. Then I flip open Marty’s address book searching for Burt. He lives nearby, so I dig out a pair of aviator glasses from the lost and found and steal someone’s abandoned jacket. Popping the hood over my hair, I set out on foot, taking the long way around to avoid the law.
Burt’s building doesn’t even have a secure door. I climb two sets of stairs, listening to a baby cry through the thin walls. If Burt yells at me, the entire building will know it.
I knock with my coat-covered fist.
“I’m coming, I’m coming…” he barks, like I’ve been pounding for a week. When Burt peeks through the chained door, he doesn’t look surprised to see me, though I’ve never been to his place before. He shuts the door, and I hear the chain slide open.
“I figured you’d come.” He’s resolute as he nods and ambles back into the kitchen. “Drink?”
“Whatcha got?” I follow him in, closing the door behind me. Scanning his medals and military memorabilia, my eyebrows bob. I knew Burt was a vet. I didn’t know he was a bonafide badass hero.
“This visit calls for a stiff one, doesn’t it?” He’s pleasant, sagely even. I nod, and he splashes a healthy amount of scotch into two glasses. “This is the good stuff. I’ve been saving it for a rainy day.”
“Yeah, you know how rare those are around here.” My aborted laugh melts into a wry smile. “What should we toast to?”
“To justice.” His smile’s gone, and he’s searching my face in a way that makes me feel naked.
“May she stay blind,” I contribute, and drink deeply. His poker face never wavers, but he drinks right along with me.
“I want to thank you, Atasha.”
I pull my chin back. “Me? Why?”
He nods. “You have no idea what it’s like to be old. You feel exactly the same on the inside, but you don’t recognize the person in the mirror. Everything hurts. You can’t taste anything and everything that does taste good the doc tells you to avoid. It’s hell on earth, kid. You…you always make my days a little brighter down at the shop. You’re why I’m always at Marty’s. You think I really give a toss what my hair looks like?”
He swigs back virtually all of his scotch and turns toward the kitchen.
“Martha gave this scotch to me on our fiftieth wedding anniversary. You remind me a lot of her, back in the day. She could do anything I could do and look like a million bucks while doing it. Seems like just the occasion to break out this overpriced shit. When am I going to get a knockout like you back to my place again?”
The corners of my lips turn up, but this day has done me in, and I have miles to go before I sleep, so to speak. I push both of our glasses toward him, eyeing the lipstick ring on mine. He moves to retrieve the scotch again, leaning heavily on his cane.
“I came back that night, you know. The night that prick came in at closing.” His back is to me, which is good because I can feel the blood drain from my face.
He snags the bottle from its home in the cupboard. “I never should have left you in there with him in first place.” He tops off his glass and pours me a double. “I knew that guy was no good, but I told myself you could take care of yourself. I didn’t expect he’d bring a friend. Didn’t look like you were expecting that either.”
My throat narrows and it’s almost hard to choke down the fine scotch, but I manage.
“You needed my help. And I couldn’t get my legs to move. My mind said ‘oohrah,’ but my feet were rooted to the sidewalk. Then he came. The other one. The tall one.” Burt downs the rest of his glass and smacks his lips. He finally looks at me, piercing gray eyes so sharp they reveal the man he must have been before, his inner soldier. “And you. You made sure those boys would never pull anything like that again.”
Uncomfortable, I polish off my drink and watch him pour himself another shot. When he raises the bottle as if in question, I shake my head. He empties the remainder of the amber liquid into his glass and carries it to his recliner.
“Your secret’s safe with me, Tash. I’d have cut his balls off before I killed him, if I were you. You missed an opportunity.”
I take my glass into the kitchen and wash it. I’m drying the glass when I hear a splintering crash behind me and a long, stuttering gasp. I wipe it thoroughly, careful not to leave fingerprints, and put it back in the cupboard. I’m tempted to take it with me, but that’d be sloppy.
I cross back in the direction of the door and stop to get a last look at Burt. His eyes are closed as if dreaming peacefully, and the hand clutching his chest goes slack. He could be saluting the flag, if he weren’t flat on his back. The heart pills I took from Marty won’t look suspicious in a tox screen since Burt takes them too. He just happened to have six extra in his scotch today. Not that it’s likely anyone will autopsy a man of his age. The police are far too busy around here for that.
My eyes sting as I watch Burt’s chest to be certain it no longer rises and falls. I wonder if Martha was waiting to meet him on the other side, or if he’s just wandering in the dark.
“Goodbye, old friend.” I put my hood up once more and open the door with my sleeve-covered hand. That’s one less mess for August to clean up.
Once I’m a couple of miles away, I give my coat to a homeless guy and set up an Uber pick-up. I have the driver drop me several blocks away from August’s warehouse flat in the busy commercial district. The brisk, salty air gives me a second wind, and I circle August’s building, trying to decide how to get in.
I’m no cat burglar, but an ex of mine was a total klepto, and he liked to steal me all sorts of flashy bling that I’d hawk the second his back was turned. Bragging was his idea of pillowtalk, and he accidentally taught me a thing or two about a basic smash and grab.
I know August doesn’t have a security system. He doesn’t think he needs one. His vanity is an Achilles’ heel, but to his benefit in this instance. He never disarmed anything when he brought me to his place. I’m circling the building looking for weaknesses when I notice a small terracotta pot with two black daisies sitting on an external sill.
Suspicious, I approach the flowers, half expecting something to jump out of the pot at me like a jack-in-the-box. I pick it up and I’m rewarded with a silver key nestled underneath.
I let myself into the converted warehouse, hurrying up the stairs to August’s bedroom. The box is where he said it would be, but it’s locked.
Think, Atasha. Think like August.
I wander around the room for a bit, checking his underwear drawer, his jewelry box full of cufflinks worth more than the entire contents of my apartment. I’m headed for the kitchen to take a meat tenderizer to it when something catches my eye near the door to the wine cellar.
A picture hangs on the wall, one he kept glancing at the first night I was here for dinner and his proposition. The canvas is a portrait of a young man, pained and bleeding, three arrows protruding from his side. I stare into the eyes of the subject, captivated by the beauty of his agony. Then I shift the moneybox to my hip and remove the picture from the wall. I flip it over, and another silver key, much smaller than the first, is taped to the back.
“Bingo.” I take both the picture and the box to the kitchen island. Removing the tape from the painting, I slip the tiny key into the lock on the metal box.
Flipping the lid open, I stare at stacks upon stacks of bundled cash. It’s more money than I’ve ever seen in person, and the moment has come for me to decide if I’m going to take this windfall and retire to Mexico, or if I’m going to show up at the jail in the morning and take August and Robbie out for brunch.
I count the stacks—mostly because I want to see what it feels like to be flush—when my finger brushes something, and when I investigate, I notice another key nestled in the bottom of the money box. This one is the size of the door key, but it’s gold and in pristine condition. A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach motivates me to close the lid and ignore it.
Shoving all of the cash into my purse, I take a long look at the decanters behind the bar. Burt’s scotch has worn off, and I feel twitchy. After a moment of consideration, I pull one of August’s fancy beers out of the fridge instead.
One more drink and maybe I’ll know where I’ll head in the morning.
It takes less than twenty minutes to get “downtown” and they’ve left us in the back of the squad car for the moment. I’m not sure what the point of it is until the cop that damn near ruptured my kidney comes back and opens the door.
“One at a time,” he warns in an even tone.
I roll my eyes when I see him put one hand on his gun before reaching in to pull me out. I clear my throat and wait for him to retrieve my brother before another officer appears from inside the building and comes to take hold of Robbie. I watch the officer carefully; if he gets too rough with my brother, Robbie won’t hesitate to act out, and fuck knows what kind of mess that’ll add onto the pile of shit we’re already going to have to deal with.
“That hurts,” Robbie grumbles to the officer.
I clear my throat loudly enough to get his attention and when he looks at me, I shake my head slightly. I can tell he took my hint, because he blows out his breath loudly and drops his eyes to the pavement as we’re escorted into the building. I’m curious as to why they’re taking us through the front doors as opposed to the side, but I don’t voice my concern for my brother’s sake.
Once we get inside they lead us down a long hallway, then sit us side by side in tacky orange back chairs, and tell us to wait.
“I wish they would take these damn things off of me,” Robbie mumbles, eyes still on the floor.
“That would be nice. I think it would be nicer not to be in this situation to begin with,” I reply dryly.
“Sorry,” Robbie replies quietly. I glance at him to find him biting his lower lip and looking dangerously close to tears. Reaching over with my elbow, I nudge him and he steals a glance at me. I manage to force a somewhat genuine smile on my face and he lets out a soft, quick laugh in return.
“We’ll be okay, kid. Just try to stay calm, okay?”
He nods his head sharply one time and tears his eyes away from mine to follow the steady stream of official people walking back and forth in the hallway.
