Deep Down Dead Read online

  ‘Was due?’

  The big guy nodded. ‘Drayton Millard died in hospital the night before the court date. Your husband must have heard and figured he’d be up for worse than assault. Could have been manslaughter, or maybe the prosecutor would’ve pushed for homicide. Guess he decided not to find out. He never showed. That made his bondsman real pissed. He called me, asked me to find Thomas Ford and bring him in.’

  I frowned. ‘What the hell are you, some kind of bounty hunter?’

  The big guy nodded.

  Well shit. It didn’t seem real. My husband worked as a hired thug, and was now a fugitive, with a bounty hunter on his tail? ‘You’re shitting me, right?’

  ‘I need you to tell me where your husband would have run.’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You sure about that?’

  I stared at my coffee. Didn’t speak. Tommy was a slacker for sure. He gambled and drank more than most, and no doubt cheated on me, though he’d always denied it. But homicide? I struggled to process what I’d learned.

  ‘He killed a man. You think he should walk free?’

  I glanced at the photos. Shuddered. ‘Oftentimes he drinks at the Twisted Wheel, or you could try the poker room over at the Redwood Lounge.’

  The big guy shook his head. ‘I’ve been to both, no one’s seen him.’

  ‘I can’t help you then.’ I’d known for a long while that Tommy wasn’t a good man, but I’d never have believed he was truly this bad. I touched the bruise on my forehead, reminded myself of his temper. ‘Who does he work for?’

  ‘No one you would want to know.’ He held my gaze for a beat, then picked the photographs off the table and put them back into his pocket, all apart from the picture of Tommy and the baseball bat. ‘I’ve been tracking your husband for two weeks. He’s acted smart, not left much of a trail, kept me a half-step behind him. The thing is, from the pattern he’s taken across state, I believe he’s coming home.’

  My heartbeat accelerated. ‘He hasn’t been home in weeks.’

  ‘I think he will soon, and when that happens, I need for you to call me.’

  ‘What makes you think I’d do that?’

  He held my gaze. ‘The way your expression changed when you looked at these pictures. You know what’s right, and you know that it isn’t your husband.’

  I stared at the photo, at the rage on Tommy’s face, the bat in his hand smashing into the old guy’s head. How could he have changed so much, and how had I not even known? Till death do us part, I’d promised in my vows, but how could I live with him, cover for him, knowing what he’d done, and what he might do again?

  The big guy looked at me all soulful. ‘You can see the kind of man he is now. And that,’ he pointed at my bruise, ‘is all part of it. Why would you stay with a man like that? What’s holding you?’

  Good question, one that Sal had asked many times, and my answer had always been the same: I’m married. But there was more to it than that. See, things weren’t always this way. The first few years we were together my Tommy didn’t drink all that much, and he didn’t ever gamble. But when our Ethan was taken from us, he changed. Numb with grief, I guess I’d stayed with him out of habit and, perhaps, in the hope that one day Tommy would stop blaming me for Ethan’s death and things would go back to how they’d been before. They never did.

  I shook my head. ‘I’m not sure anymore.’

  He pushed the photo a little closer to me, tapped it with his finger. ‘This gives you the chance to do the right thing.’

  I don’t know how long we sat there; me staring at the photo, the big guy watching me. I was vaguely aware that the waitress came over to offer us refills, and that the first time the big guy, this bounty hunter, took one, and the second time he said no.

  The more I looked at the photo and thought about what Tommy had done, the more convinced I became that I should help. Now I’d learnt the truth of what Tommy had been doing, what he’d become, I could not unlearn it, no matter how much I wanted to. But could I act on this knowledge? Of that I wasn’t rightly sure.

  Finally, I looked up at the big guy. ‘What’s your name?’

  He smiled. It made him look younger, less world-weary. ‘Folks call me JT.’

  I nodded. I knew staying with Tommy would never bring back Ethan. I’d known it a long time, really. My baby son was gone, dead in his crib before he was a month old. He’d been buried in the cemetery deep down beneath the white tombstone with the carved teddy bear and the inscription: Ethan Ford. Blessed this world for twenty-seven days. Taken too soon.

  There was nothing anyone could have done, they’d said. Crib death was like that. But it didn’t stop Tommy blaming me, hating me because of it. The anger had twisted the man I’d once loved into someone different. The things Tommy had done – to me, to others, like the man in the photo – meant he’d travelled a long road away from the man, the boy, I’d married back when we were still kids fooling around at life.

  I met the big guy, JT’s, gaze and said, ‘Okay.’

  ‘Appreciate it. All you need do is call me if he comes back home. It’s a long shot, but, given the direction he’s heading, it’s likely he’ll visit with you, especially if he thinks you don’t know about the charges. If he does show, don’t be doing anything yourself. Don’t challenge him or provoke him. Just call me.’

  I nodded. Glanced at the photo once more. Shivered.

  JT reached out, took the photo, and put it into his pocket, his expression all serious. ‘Who your husband works for, they’re bad people. Things could turn real nasty. You need to be ready to protect yourself.’

  I held his gaze. Wondered precisely what it was that he meant by ‘turn nasty’. Hoped I would not have to find out. ‘Sure.’

  That’s when he gave me the gun.

  8

  A week had gone by since my meeting in the diner with JT, and there’d been no sight or sound of my husband. I’d stored that wooden-handled gun in the top-left drawer of my dresser, and tried to forget it was even there. But, no matter how hard I tried, I never could get it out of my mind, just like I couldn’t rid myself of the image in the last photo, the one of Tommy dragging a beaten old man into the street like he was a piece of garbage. That image gave me nightmares. The sort that wake you in the dead of night, have you burning hot yet feeling cold, screaming.

  So Sal came to stay. She’d said I looked like crap, and she was right. Even my thick stage make-up couldn’t hide the dark circles beneath my eyes. Sal told me she’d take care of me, and although I protested a little at first, in the end I agreed. My one condition was that she took the bed. I’d not slept in it since the big guy had shown me the photographs, and, besides, the couch was a better lookout spot.

  The night it happened, we made dinner, drank wine and talked about the club. Then, with a laugh and a grin, Sal told me her news. Daryl had proposed. He’d taken her to dinner at a fancy seafood place and ordered the most expensive champagne. She said she’d gone to the bathroom, and when she’d come back and finished her drink, there, in the bottom, was a gorgeous diamond ring. It might have been only a few dates, but she was getting married.

  We hugged, and I told her I was happy for her. Still, deep down I couldn’t shake off the irony that she was so excited about starting a life with a husband, just as I was helping get mine locked away.

  She asked me to be her maid of honour.

  It was almost midnight when I heard him. I hadn’t been sleeping, so when I heard the key easing into the front door lock and turning real slow I knew that it was Tommy. It had to be. No one else had a key.

  Heart thumping against my chest, I fought the instinct to sink lower into the couch, pull the blankets higher and pretend I wasn’t home. It wouldn’t help none. I had to make good my promise, call the bounty hunter, have Tommy face his crime.

  I heard the lock click, and knew I had to be quick. Sliding off the couch, I padded barefoot across the rug towards the kitchen.


  Not fast enough. The door closed, and I heard footsteps in the hallway; work-boots on tile.

  I kept going, hurried into the kitchen.

  The footsteps stopped. ‘Lori, what the hell you doing creeping ’bout in the dark?’

  I froze, my butt pressed up against the old oak dresser, my bare legs cold beneath the flimsy cotton of my nightdress. Less than three yards away, I could see the telephone sat on the countertop; JT’s cell number was written on the pad beside it.

  If I hurried maybe I could reach it before Tommy. My heart rate accelerated, my legs felt weak, unstable. Still, I forced myself to step forward. Had to get to the phone.

  Fingers closed around my wrist, yanking me to a halt. ‘Damn you, woman, what you up to?’

  The light switched on. Tommy pulled me closer to him. He was unshaven. His crumpled shirt was torn across the right shoulder; a dark-red stain spread over one knee of his cargo pants. He looked terrifying. Not because of his unkempt appearance, but because of the expression on his face. I’d seen that look far too many times before. I knew what happened next.

  I felt sick. Knew I had to get to the phone. I forced a laugh. ‘You had me scared, Tommy. I thought you were someone coming to rob me.’

  He looked at me real suspicious, kept a tight hold on my wrist. ‘This is my home.’

  I ignored the sour taste in my mouth, tried to act like I was pissed he’d been gone, that I’d missed him. ‘That right? So how come you’ve not been here for near on a month then?’

  ‘Jesus, woman.’ He shook his head, but his tone was softer, his expression less angry. ‘Here now aren’t I?’

  I forced a smile. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Good.’ He relaxed his grip on my wrist. I turned to the phone. Knew I had to make my move. Do it fast, before he saw the number.

  That’s when I heard the creak of the top stair, the one with the busted plank. The one I’d not warned Sal about. Shit.

  Tommy wrenched me back to face him. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  I didn’t speak, didn’t move.

  He took a step towards me. ‘You cheating fucking bitch. You got a man here?’

  ‘No. It’s—’

  The first punch knocked me sideways. The second shoved me back against the wall. I tasted blood in my mouth, swallowed, tried to speak, to tell him it was Sal.

  He didn’t let me. His hand was around my throat, squeezing. I couldn’t breathe.

  Tommy didn’t care. He forced my legs apart with his knee, his free hand tearing at my panties, yelling, ‘… bitch. Always knew you were a goddamn whore … you best remember how a real man feels…’

  I tried to shake my head, to tell him he was wrong, but I couldn’t. I heard him unbuckle his belt, smelt stale sweat as he pressed himself against me. Felt the pain as he forced himself inside.

  He rammed me harder into the wall. I tried to push him away, but my arms felt heavy, my strength gone. I was stuck, unable to fight back, unable to tell the truth. Helpless.

  He hit me again.

  My vision blurred, my breath sounded tornado-loud in my ears. I could hardly hear Tommy’s shouting, but I heard the scream. Could just make out Sal, make-upless, her pink nightshirt swamping her skinny body, standing in the doorway. I felt Tommy’s fingers loosen a fraction around my throat. Took a rapid breath.

  Heard Sal say, ‘Let her go.’

  The room was still hazy. I blinked, trying to re-focus.

  Tommy didn’t move. He smiled, looked amused. ‘What, you whores been getting busy? How’s about you give me a show. A nice bit of girl-on-girl to—’

  ‘Let her go, or I’m calling the cops.’ Sal had her cell phone in her hand. ‘I mean it.’

  Tommy’s expression changed. Not amused any longer, furious. ‘Don’t you fucking—’

  ‘I’m dialling now,’ she said, pressing three numbers – 911. ‘It’s on speaker.’

  ‘You little bitch.’ Tommy let me go.

  I collapsed against the wall, gasping for air. And saw Tommy reach beneath his jacket.

  He pulled out a gun.

  Sal’s eyes widened.

  I froze, slid halfway down to the floor, still breathless.

  Tommy pointed the gun at Sal. ‘Hang up.’

  She shook her head. Bravest thing I ever saw.

  ‘Don’t do this Tommy,’ I said, my voice croaky, weak. I took a wobbly step towards him, reached out.

  He shrugged me away. Kept staring at Sal. ‘Fucking bitch.’

  I grabbed his arm, trying to pull his gun hand down. ‘Please, don’t.’

  For a brief moment he glanced at me. Anger had contorted his features into the exact same expression he’d had in the photo the big guy had shown me. Tommy raised the gun, smacked me on the side of the head. I felt myself falling.

  On Sal’s cell phone speaker, the ringing stopped. A nasal voice bounced off the kitchen walls. ‘Nine one one, can you tell me the nature of your emergency?’

  The gun fired. My eyes closed. Everything faded to black.

  9

  Blood. Sticky, hot, blood. That’s the thing I remember most.

  As I blinked back into consciousness I saw Sal. She lay on her back, arms outstretched, broken cell phone beside her, her eyes staring at me, unfocused.

  ‘Sal?’ My voice rasped in my throat. ‘Oh Jesus.’

  My head throbbed. My vision was blurred, still hazy. I remember crawling over to her. Those few yards felt like a hundred miles.

  The blood pooled on the tiled floor, slippery beneath my hands and knees. I watched it gush from her chest, the crimson stain spreading across the pink fabric of her nightshirt. There was so much, too much, impossible to stop or replace. I had to try though, and I tried real hard. Pressed my fists against the wound. ‘Sal? Say something. Please, honey…’

  She looked real pale, eyes darting side to side.

  I kept the pressure on her wound, watched the blood oozing through my fingers. I think I was crying, but all I can remember hearing was that sound, the wheezing, gurgling.

  She tried to talk but failed. Tried to breathe. Failed.

  I stared at her. She was so still, unnaturally so. I knew that she was gone. Felt the panic building in my chest, like I was suffocating.

  ‘Sal? You can’t—’

  ‘Lori, get up.’ Not Sal’s voice, but a man. Tommy.

  I turned. Saw the gun in his hand. That’s when I remembered. ‘You did this.’

  He pointed the gun at my head. ‘Get up, and fetch me those savings you got stashed.’

  I looked away. Stared at Sal, her beautiful face lifeless. At my hands, pressed into the hole in her chest, her blood staining my fingers red. ‘Tommy? I … Sal’s…’

  ‘Leave that whore, and get me the cash.’ Cussing, he stepped around the pool of blood, grabbed my hair with one hand and pressed the muzzle of the gun against my cheek. ‘Don’t make me shoot you too.’

  I didn’t move. Couldn’t. Kept staring at Sal, willing her to breathe again, for her eyelids to flutter, for any sign that she wasn’t dead.

  ‘Fucking bitch.’ Tommy yanked my hair, pulling me to my feet. ‘Get the fucking money.’

  I shoved him away with my bloodied hands.

  He stepped back, surprised. Hadn’t reckoned on me standing up to him. His free hand curled into a fist.

  I didn’t cower this time, I held my ground, even though my legs were like jello, and my head felt as if it were splitting in two. My whole body was shaking, so was my voice. ‘She’s just gotten engaged, and you…’ I looked back at Sal. ‘You, killed her. For what?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ He lunged forward, grabbed me. ‘The money. Now.’

  I heard sirens. Guessed that the neighbours had heard the gunshot, called 911.

  ‘Fuck.’ Tommy glanced at the window. Blue-and-white lights danced across the glass. He flung me away from him, moved towards the kitchen door.

  I tried to stop him. Lost my balance, fell, landed heavy on my knees. Pain vibrated through
my bones. Glared up at him. ‘You’ll never get away with this.’

  He kept the gun pointed at me. Opened the door. ‘You stupid, disobedient bitch, this isn’t over.’

  I watched him disappear out into the night. ‘No,’ I whispered. ‘It ain’t.’

  10

  Tommy killing Sal hadn’t been the end. The cops might not have found him, but it wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. I made damn sure of that.

  After the crying and the burying I knew what had to get done. I’d spent every moment of the funeral replaying Sal’s death in my mind: the gunshot, the blood, Tommy. It was curse-to-hell wrong. Sickeningly, agonisingly wrong. I had to get her some justice.

  I left the service as dirt started falling on her coffin. Couldn’t look at her Daryl’s grief-stricken face, or listen to her momma’s wailing for a moment longer. I’d taken all that I could of the hymns and prayers and bullshit about Sal being at peace. How could she be, with Tommy still free? I needed to move, to act, to do something. So I left them at the graveside and hurried towards the exit.

  JT stood smoking under the stone archway that framed the gates to the cemetery.

  I wanted to say something, but the still intensity of his expression stopped me. He was concentrating – on what I wasn’t sure. Perhaps a memory, a puzzle, a plan? Whatever it was, it made him look real unreachable. He might have been standing just ten yards away, but the distance felt more like ten hundred miles.

  Then he looked my way, and smiled. ‘You doing okay?’

  I stared into those vivid blue eyes of his. ‘What do you think? She’s dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He took another drag on his cigarette, then threw it on the ground, crushing it beneath his heel. ‘She seemed like a good kid.’

  I looked away, pissed at his understatement, furious at the tears in my eyes. Across the cemetery I could see the mourners moving away from Sal’s grave, heading towards the parking lot. I turned back to JT. ‘She was my friend. Now she’s dead and that bastard’s still out there. It’s my fault. She had a life, y’know? She could’ve—’