Torched: A Thriller Page 5

  “Katie died, and so did the love between Ryan and Vivian Bowles. He tried to hold it together for the both of them. He’d even talked about starting over—about trying to start another family—but Vivian couldn’t deal with Katie’s loss.

  “Katie had been a once-in-a-lifetime kid, you see? Every parent says that, but for Vivian it was true. She loved her little girl so much that, when she lost her, she lost everything. Everything, Mike.

  “The career went, then the marriage, then the house. Then…”

  The silence hung in the air, sharp as the blade of a guillotine. This was it—the place in the narrative of Vivian’s past that would cleave her from the grief and deliver her into a new identity. She had to confess it.

  Miguel squeezed her hand.

  “Then Vivian did a terrible thing. She had some money, and she used it to find the person that had killed her daughter. Instead of going to the police, she…well, Vivian took matters into her own hands. She did things that made her sick to her stomach, Mike. She…she hurt a lot of people. She…” Vivian looked away.

  “It’s okay, Vivian. What happened, honey? It’s okay to tell me. I won’t judge you.”

  Vivian turned in her chair, her wide eyes locked on his. “I murdered the man that killed my daughter.”

  Miguel nodded, a pained smile on his face. He never released her hand, even as he tried to process her words. This woman that now shared his house was a killer. “What happened, Vivian?”

  She explained all that had transpired in Colorado. By the time she was finished, Miguel’s expression was one of sincere awe. He had a little smile on his face. Wow, it said, you are some kind of woman.

  “You didn’t murder him, Vi. You just…Jesus, you just didn’t, okay? You need to understand that. You gave that man a chance. Much more of a chance than he gave your daughter. Look, I am so sorry about losing Katie. I wish that I could do something to bring her back to you, Vivian. But you need to let it go if you feel bad about this Sheldon James character. I think…I think you did a remarkable thing, honey, and I don’t think you should feel guilty about it.”

  Vivian studied him through a veil of tears. “I wanted to tell you, Mike, but I couldn’t. I feel so bad about what I put those kids through—what I put Terri through! I…I don’t think I deserve forgiveness for what I did, but that’s what those documents feel like to me. Can you see that? They feel like forgiveness, and I’m scared to accept them because that means things might actually be different. And I don’t think I deserve different. Certainly not now, now that I think back on everything I did, and maybe not ever.”

  Miguel stood. He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her, then sat back down with her on his lap. She sobbed against his chest, such a petite figure, and he held her tight and stroked her hair.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, repeating it over and over again. “I’m so sorry for everything, Vivian, but you don’t deserve all of this unhappiness.”

  He put the envelope in his pocket and placed her hand on it.

  “I’ll hold onto these, Vi. When you’re ready, I’ll have them for you.”

  She nodded, her cheeks streaked with tears, and they stayed that way, folded into each other, until fatigue took them inside and pushed them down into sleep.

  TWELVE

  Chaco knew his way around Cerritos. He and Terri climbed out of the truck in the center of town, on the outskirts of a little park, and he pointed down a well-lighted street. “Come on. Let’s see if there’s any room at the inn.”

  She practically clung to him. They passed a few bars and cantinas, the sound of billiards clacking and muted Mexican pop music coming from a couple of open doors. She couldn’t resist the urge to search for El Principe, already wondering what would happen if she somehow ran into Vivian on the streets before she had a chance to put things in motion.

  But she didn’t see Vivian, or Miguel, and everyone was a stranger to her. Mexico was so unlike anyplace she’d ever visited before and, while most folks were kind, smiling at her as she passed, she garnered more than a few predatory glances as well.

  For about the fiftieth time that day, she thanked the Lord for Chaco’s return.

  They covered ten or twelve blocks before he stopped in front of an impressive building. The sandstone walls were the color of faded cream. Two stories, it was an old-fashioned hotel—right down to the cracked wooden sign suspended from a pair of wrought-iron hooks. Hay habitaciones, it read.

  “What do you think?” Chaco said.

  “Looks great,” Terri said. She was filled with a sense of relief; a warm shower and a clean bed had never sounded so good, and she was suddenly acutely aware of her exhaustion. How many miles had she covered since waking at 4:30? “Are you…are you staying?”

  He shrugged. “Got no place else here. I know the town, but not the people. Not really.”

  Terri flashed a relieved grin. “Thanks again. For all of this.”

  “No problem.” He opened the door and they stepped into the office. A young man had his nose in a textbook. Probably a college student. He gave them a warm smile, marking his place with a slip of paper. “Hola! Un habitacion?”

  “Si, por favor,” Chaco replied.

  “Bueno! Tenemos un más.”

  A pained expression flashed on Chaco’s face, and he and the innkeeper had a brief conversation. He turned to Terri, his cheeks flushed. “They just have the one room. There’s a festival in town, and he said they’re fortunate to have any vacancies at all. He said we could try another hotel, but he can’t hold the room for us.”

  Terri gave a dismissive wave. “Take the room. I’m not worried about it, Chaco. That’s the last thing on my mind, after the day I’ve had. I’m dead on my feet, and the only thing I need is a decent night’s sleep.”

  He took the room. It was on the second floor, at the far end of the building, and it had a little balcony. Terri stowed her duffle and went out on the terrace. There was a plaza in the distance, and people were dancing in the yellow light cast by dozens of paper lanterns. “This is nice, Chaco. Take a look.”

  He joined her there, his elbow brushing hers. It felt good, that brief human contact.

  “Very pretty,” he agreed. “You want to check it out?”

  “Ugh! I don’t have the energy. Honestly, I haven’t walked that much since I was a teenager, and I’m not in the best shape to begin with. My calves are seriously on fire. I’m just going to grab a shower and hit the hay, I think. Thanks for asking, though. You’re very sweet.”

  Chaco nodded. They’d both noticed the little sleeper couch in the corner of the room. There was just a single queen bed, and they knew the arrangements.

  “Then I’ll run and get some supper in the hotel kitchen. There were still a few people at the bar when we checked in. You hungry for anything in particular?”

  “Something hot. Other than that, the world’s your oyster.”

  His eyebrows bunched in confusion. “What? What does that mean?”

  Terri laughed. She explained the expression, and he joined her in laughter. “I’ve been speaking English for more than ten years. Never heard that one. ‘The world is my oyster.’ Okay, so it is. Be back soon.”

  He left, and Terri sighed a little when the door latched. He had a key, and she went to the bathroom. It was clean and bright. She turned on the water, stripped out of her sweat-stained clothing, and stepped beneath the shower, letting the warm droplets scrub away the layers of salt and grime that had coated her throughout the day. She eased herself down on the tiled floor, letting the scalding water penetrate her sore muscles.

  She tried to concentrate on what she had to do in the morning, but she couldn’t.

  Instead, she thought of Chaco.

  Who was he, and why was he helping her?

  The water buffeted her skin, and it felt good. She briefly wondered what would happen if her new ally met her there in the steaming shower, then banished the thought, embarrassed that her focus could sl
ip so easily.

  She stood and twisted the knob all the way to the left. Jets of icy water prickled her flesh, and she fought the urge to cry out as the water shocked her system.

  She counted to sixty in the frigid water, thinking only of Vivian and Miguel and Sheldon and Mike and Erin, then shut the water off and stepped out to towel herself off. She dressed quickly and stepped into the room, toweling her hair in the humidity.

  Chaco hadn’t returned yet.

  She sat on the bed, opening her duffle and pulling out the manila folder. There was just enough time to go through her notes again before dinner.

  ***

  Chaco returned with three cartons and a bottle of wine. They ate on the terrace, dining on grilled skirt steak, plantains, beans and rice. The wine was tasty, and Terri ate two helpings of everything.

  “Jeez, Chaco. Sorry about the pig out. I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

  He laughed. “Oh, I’m plenty full. It’s refreshing to see a lady that will still eat a real meal. You, uh…you have quite the day ahead of you tomorrow, don’t you?”

  Terri sipped her wine. She sighed. “I don’t know. Yes, I mean. But now that I’m here, I just…I’m kind of confused, to be honest with you. I came here because I wanted to hurt somebody—I wanted to hurt somebody as bad as she hurt me. But now I’m not so sure.”

  Chaco’s eyebrows spiked. “Why the uncertainty?”

  “Well, I know where they are—I mean, his house is plotted on my GPS. I have the things I need. All that’s left is to rent a car, and I even made arrangements to take care of that.”

  “So what’s the issue, Terri?”

  “I’m not sure that I’m strong enough to go through with it. I’m still furious, and when I think of her…I just, my vision goes red. You ever get like that? My children, Chaco! She hurt my children.”

  “Then it sounds like you have serious justification for being here. A mother’s love is a powerful force.”

  Terri stared at her hands. “Maybe. Maybe not. Can I…can I talk to you about what happened? Maybe ask for a little advice?”

  He nodded, and Terri launched into her tale. By the time she’d told him about Devil’s Head Campground, and the frostbite, and the amputations, and Sheldon’s funeral, the wine had been long gone and her fury had returned in full.

  “Just talking about it makes me feel like I’m supposed to be here. Like I’m—like I’m the one that’s setting things back in balance.”

  “But, Terri…you said your husband killed her daughter. Can’t you, and forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn here, but can’t you understand the nature of this woman’s grief? I’m not saying what she did was okay, but can you also understand her anger and sadness?”

  “Of course I can, Chaco. She took my husband! Sheldon was a major league shit, but he was also the father of my children. He was a pretty damned fine father at that. And now, looking back, I know that I would have divorced him. When I reflect on our life together, I really doubt that bitch Vivian was the first time he stepped out on me. And that just breaks my heart, Chaco. It breaks my heart.

  “But I should have been able to divorce him. He should still be able to see Erin and Mike. He was an ass, but he didn’t deserve to die any more than my little girl deserved to have her fingers amputated.”

  Chaco sighed. They were quiet for a long time—the distant revelry lilting faintly on the still night air. Kids lit bottle rockets in the hotel courtyard.

  “Can I help you?” he finally volunteered. “I mean, if you don’t mean to take this all the way, that is. I won’t be a party to a murder, Terri. But I’d like to help…that is, if you’ll let me.”

  Her eyes shimmered with gratitude. She reached over and slipped her hand into his, and he gave it a squeeze.

  “Thank you, Chaco. It’s a lot to ask, I know, but I really appreciate the help. I’m—I’m in over my head here by myself.”

  They listened to the dance in the plaza winding down. Terri nodded off in her chair, and Chaco lifted her and placed her beneath the covers. She snored a little, but did not stir until a few minutes after 3:00, when she woke with a start. Her hair was plastered to her temple, and she was disoriented.

  “Chaco?”

  “I’m here,” he called in the darkness. “It’s okay, Terri.

  “Can you…would you sleep over here? Please?”

  He crossed the room in silence, lifting the covers and matching his form to hers. He held her in his arms, kissing the back of her neck as he shared her pillow, and they fell into a deep and contented sleep, just like that.

  THIRTEEN

  They rose at dawn.

  After a quick breakfast of coffee, fruit and buttered tortillas, they were moving through the streets of Cerritos. The last of Benny Hines’s contacts was expecting them.

  The body shop stood at the end of a long alley; the lane serviced the backs of a series of dilapidated pastel apartment buildings. A few children sat on fruit crates, studying them with hungry eyes. Chaco handed out coins, earning guarded grins in exchange.

  He whistled their arrival at the chain-link fence and a half dozen dogs of various shapes and sizes—all of them mutts—barked up a frenzy, skittering back and forth on the other side.

  After a long minute, a large man with a prodigious Buddha belly and a panama hat sauntered out of a little single-wide trailer. He took his time crossing the garbage-strewn lot.

  “Yeah?” he grunted.

  Chaco spoke to him briefly in Spanish. The man turned to Terri. A thick pink scar lanced down across his eye (clearly a glass prosthetic) and onto his stubbled cheek.

  “Ms. James?”

  “Yes, sir. Ben Hines sent me.”

  Buddha belly grinned. “Ben Hines is good man. Come.”

  He shouted at the dogs and they scampered away from the gate, which he swung open before locking it behind them. They followed him inside. Two young men sat at a table, playing cards and drinking coffee. The news was on in the corner of the room. Neither of them looked up from their game.

  “La oficina,” he said, pointing to a dim room in back.

  Chaco led the way, holding Terri’s hand. Buddha belly (Benny had provided only an address and a nickname; he called him “Tuna,” and nothing else) sat behind the desk. He opened a drawer and threw a pair of keys up on the grease-stained blotter.

  “Gracias, Senor Atún. Muchas gracias,” Chaco said.

  They bantered in Spanish for a time, and then Chaco turned to Terri. “He wants $600—U.S. dollars. That sound right?”

  Terri shook her head. “Benny’s quote was three. What do you think?”

  The silence was interrupted by the sound of a hammer being cocked on a pistol. Chaco and Terri turned. There, in the doorway, arms crossed over their chests, stood the young men. They watched the negotiations with boredom in their eyes—seemingly pissed to have their card game interrupted.

  Chaco turned to Terri, a plea in his eyes. She saw, horrified, that his hand was inching toward his waistband.

  “$600 is fine, Mr. Tuna,” she blurted. “Thank you for your help.”

  His grin widened, and Chaco’s shoulders relaxed as Terri handed over six crisp bills. Buddha belly made them disappear and, just as quickly, the two young men were no longer in the doorway.

  “Come. This way,” Buddha belly said, and then they were back outside. He led them to an impound yard. There were dozens of cars there, the majority with their innards strewn about in haphazard piles.

  “Works good,” Buddha belly said, stopping at maroon Chevy Beretta. He kicked a bald tire and Terri winced. She sincerely doubted the engine would turn over. It was dented halfway to hell and had a sagging bumper held in place with bungee cords. A constellation of cracks clouded the passenger side of the windshield. She could only speculate on how that perfect little indentation had happened, but every scenario she could conjure included a human body flying over the car’s hood.

  She looked at Chaco.

  He took
the keys from Buddha belly. “Gracias, amigo.”

  “De nada. Three days, friend. Three days, sí?”

  “Yes. Three days,” Chaco said. He pulled the passenger door open and Terri slid inside. It smelled like dust and cigarettes.

  Chaco tipped Buddha belly a final salute before climbing behind the wheel and turning the key. The Beretta coughed a few times before belching a cloud of blue smoke. Chaco goosed the gas pedal and cleared the muffler before inching it toward the front gate, where the two young men now waited to secure it behind them.

  “Jesus, Benny,” Chaco muttered of their mutual acquaintance, “how the hell do you know these people?”

  He tried the blinkers and the brakes; he tested the acceleration.

  “What do you think?” Terri said.

  He shrugged. “What are our options? It’ll have to do.” He tapped his watch. “We have three days, and these guys don’t play. This piece of shit isn’t worth a hundred bucks, but they’ll kill us if we don’t get it back here in that time. Come on. Let’s go make our pick-up.”

  Terri nodded, suddenly nauseous as her body filled with adrenaline.

  It was time.

  They cleared Cerritos quickly before nosing the Beretta onto a dusty country road, the iPad in her lap guiding them ever closer to their destination.

  FOURTEEN

  Vivian felt so much better to have unburdened herself. Rather than hurry the day along, she and Miguel were content to relax in bed, sipping their coffee. She read from her Coelho novel while he paged through a catalog of kitchen equipment.

  “Thank you,” he finally said, placing the catalog on the nightstand. He leaned over and hit her with that smile that melted her a little bit more each time.

  “For what?”

  “For being honest with me. It couldn’t have been easy, and I’m glad to have your trust, Vivian. It means a lot to me.”

  She shifted her weight, draping her thigh over his. “Oh, yeah? Care to show your gratitude another way?”

  His hands played over her skin, and he kissed her gently. “Shower?”