Top Suspense Page 9

  "You are full growed. I'll give you that. Sit with me, child." Vivian put her hand on Lilly's knee, Lilly covering it with her hand. "I brought you to Miss Moore cause I couldn't take care of you like she could. Seeing how pretty you turned out, I know I done the right thing. I was about your age when I left home and it was the mistake of my life except for havin' you. Believe me, Lilly, when I tell you not to make the same mistakes I made. Stay here with Miss Moore. I'll be back when I can."

  "Miss Moore makes me go to school all week and go to church on Sunday. I'm so full of readin' and writin and Jesus, I think I'm gonna explode. I want to be with you. How will I know what to do if you don't teach me?"

  "All I can tell you is not to do what I done."

  Lilly leaned against the bench, arms crossed, pushing her lower lip out. "Like what?"

  Vivian looked away, turning her eyes to the heavens, giving God another chance. The moon had risen, smoke and fire turning it pink.

  "Look it there," Vivian said, pointing to the sky. "The moon is pink. One day, some man is gonna come along and tell you how pretty you are and you're gonna believe it cause it's true and you and him are gonna want to do somethin' about it. That's the way it is with men and women. But that feelin' ain't gonna last any longer than that pink moon. The fire's gonna go out and that man will turn cold as a pale moon. He'll take every bit of you and leave you on the side of the road like a cornshuck."

  A car pulled up in front of Jefferson House, headlights sprayed all over them as it stopped alongside Vivian's coupe. Pighead Hardeman stepped out, leaned over the open driver's door, aiming a gun at them.

  "Goddamn you, Vivian Chase! You no good, thieving, whoring, bitch! Where's my money?"

  # #

  Bobby clung to Elizabeth's hand as they ran out of the locker, stopping in their tracks when they saw what lay in front of them. Lofty tongues of flame shot skyward, wood popping with fiery starbursts, like an artillery battery. Heavy black smoke rolled overhead, a doomsday cloud, as hot, cinder-filled fog choked and scorched their lungs.

  The social contract was the first casualty of the fire, primitive instincts turning the park into a cauldron where survival and conquest were the only imperatives. Boys and men carried off whatever they could grab, the strong turning on the weak. A mother, bent over and shielding her child, wailed, afraid to move. A trio of teenage girls held hands as they ran past, searching for an exit. Behind them, a man cradling his daughter, staggered through the smoke, his face blackened.

  Sirens reverberated as a phalanx of police waded into the crowd, wielding their clubs in a vain effort to corral the rioters. Outnumbered and outmatched, they locked arms and retreated, waiting for reinforcements.

  Across the way, firemen drove their trucks into the middle of the conflagration and unspooled their hoses, turning heavy sprays on the nearest blaze. The fire sucked up the water, spit it back as boiling steam and raged on.

  "Sweet Jesus!" Bobby said.

  "I think he's sitting this one out," Elizabeth said. "Let's go!"

  She was nimble and fearless, dodging the flames, taking him deeper into the park. He kept pace, wondering how she knew where she was going and how they would possibly find Terry. They rounded a corner, stopping at a windowless, one-story stone building; it's heavy oaken door wide open and smoldering.

  "In here!" Elizabeth commanded.

  It was dark and smoky inside but Bobby could make out a dim light on the far side of the room they'd entered.

  "Terry!" Elizabeth said. "Is that you?"

  She'd surprised Bobby again, somehow knowing Terry's name though he'd never told her. He hadn't even told her his name.

  "Over here, babe!" Terry answered. "Talk about luck, huh? The power goes out but, lucky for us, the bean counters had a flashlight."

  "Terry?" Bobby asked as his friend emerged from the smoke carrying a canvass bag over his shoulder.

  "Bobby?" He turned to Elizabeth. "What the hell, Betts?"

  Elizabeth took Terry's arm. "It's okay, honey. He showed up in the locker house while I was changing. Even got a little show," she said, winking at Bobby.

  "And you brought him? Here?"

  "He was worried about you. Besides, you and him are buddies, ain't you? What's the harm?"

  "What's going on, Terry?" Bobby asked. "Where are we?"

  "We're in the park's business office, where they keep the money that they collected today. Me and Betts, we're gettin' out. Just like I told you."

  "How? What's in that bag?"

  Terry grinned. "Enough money to make it happen. I'm guessin' at least three grand, maybe more."

  Recognition dawned slowly but when it did, Bobby shook his head like he'd taken a punch.

  "You did this? You started the fire so you could rob the park?"

  "Short-circuited a transformer in the Bug House. Been figuring out how to do it all summer. Goddamn thing blew up just like I thought it would."

  "But the fire?"

  Terry shrugged. "Can't plan on everything that happens. Just got to go with it. We figured the bean counters would have to get out and they'd leave the cash lying around waiting for us to take it. And that's what happened. Didn't figure on the fire being so bad, though. Can't do nothin' about that now." He turned to Betts. "You ready?"

  She threw her arms around him and kissed his soot-stained face. "I was born ready!"

  "All right, then," Terry said. He pulled away from Elizabeth and put his hand on Bobby's shoulder. "I won't be seein' you for awhile. Might be I'll never see you again. I'm countin' on you not tellin' no one about this. I'd take you with us, but you ain't cut out for the life me and Betts got ahead of us. So you best get on home. You grow a pair, you come lookin' for us. We'll have us a time. I promise you that."

  # #

  Bobby took the streetcar home, walking the last six blocks. He turned onto his street as a car passed him, burning rubber in the turn, jolting to a stop in the middle of the block next to a Plymouth convertible coupe, headlights flooding Jefferson House. A man jumped out of the car and cursed at someone on the porch.

  "Goddamn you, Vivian Chase! You no good, thieving, whoring, bitch! Where's my money?"

  Vivian turned to her daughter. "Go in the house."

  Miss Moore swung the door open, grabbed Lilly and pulled her inside. Vivian reached in her purse for her Smith & Wesson and stepped off the porch.

  Bobby hid behind a thick oak in the front yard of his house, afraid his father would hear the commotion, find him in the yard and order him inside before he could watch what was about to happen. A woman walked down the steps from Jefferson House, the headlights making her a silhouette.

  "You wait right there, Pighead. I got something for you," she said.

  Bobby bit his lip when she raised her right hand and leveled a revolver at the man she called Pighead, bursts of flame erupting from the short barrel. The man screamed and flinched, returning fire before ducking into his car, jamming the gears in reverse, spinning around and racing off in a drunken zigzag. The woman staggered to the coupe, slumping to her knees, one hand on the door handle.

  Bobby ran to the woman. Blood oozed from a wound in her side. Her color was gone and her breathing was faint. He heard a shout from Jefferson House and looked up to see Miss Moore flying down the steps, a girl trailing her, wearing nothing but a nightshirt. He knew Miss Moore to say hello and had seen the girl around but never talked to her, heeding his father's demand that he stay away from the Jefferson House girls, calling them trash.

  "Oh, dear God," Miss Moore said, cradling the woman. "Dear, sweet Jesus."

  "Lilly," the woman said, her voice faint.

  "I'm here, momma," the girl said, kneeling next to her mother.

  Miss Moore gripped Bobby's arm. "She's hurt bad, Bobby. You've got to get her to the hospital."

  "Me?"

  "There's no one else. I can't leave the girls and no one can know that she was here or who she is. You'll have to leave her with the doctors and get out of
there before anyone asks you questions. Now help me get her in her car."

  They eased Vivian onto the front passenger seat and Bobby got behind the wheel. He had no trouble working the Plymouth's clutch and gearshift. As he was about to pull away, Lilly grabbed the side of the car, tears streaming down her face.

  "Please," she said. "Save her."

  Moonlight shone in her eyes, dancing across her face. She stood straight, her shoulders square, her pain and beauty so raw and clear to Bobby that he fell in love for the second time that night. She let loose of the car and wrapped her arms around her middle, as Miss Moore laid a protective arm across her shoulders. Bobby glanced at his passenger. Her chin lay on her chest and her face was slack.

  "If she can be saved, I'll do it," Bobby said.

  Fifteen minutes later, he wheeled the coupe to a stop outside the emergency room entrance to General Hospital off of Twenty-Second and Holmes and was about to open his door when Vivian murmured.

  "Wait," she said.

  "Can't wait, m'am. You're hurt too bad."

  "Necklace. Give my necklace to Lilly."

  "Yes, m'am," Bobby said, lifting her chin until her head lay back against the seat, hoping no one was watching or he'd surely be accused of murder and stealing.

  He pocketed the necklace and tore into the emergency room.

  "There's a woman in a car outside! She's been shot!"

  Two nurses and a doctor rushed out the door, picked Vivian up and carried her inside, disappearing behind swinging double doors. Though Miss Moore had told him to leave as soon as possible, he couldn't without knowing what happened. It didn't take long before one of the nurses came out, shoulders slumped, taking her time because time didn't matter and called the morgue. Bobby ducked out before they thought to ask him any questions.

  He drove away, pulling over on a side street a mile away, his mind churning. Terry was gone and he'd never felt so alone. He couldn't believe what Terry and Elizabeth had done, setting fire to Electric Park so they could steal the day's receipts and start a new life. It was awful, terrible and thrilling all at the same time. Awful for the people at the park, terrible for all the destruction, but he had to hand it to Terry. He'd done what he always said he'd do.

  He thought about what Terry had said, how he couldn't take him with them because he wasn't cut out for that kind of life. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe he was doomed to a life on the unemployment line, a thought that made him feel even worse until he heard a voice inside his head calling bullshit on him.

  He took Vivian's necklace from his pocket, absently tossing it in the air, his eyes lost in a distant space, the necklace falling to the floor of the car on his third toss. He reached down, feeling for the necklace and found Vivian's carpetbag. He hoisted the heavy bag onto his lap, opened it and whistled.

  "Holy Mother!"

  He counted the money twice to be sure he had the count right, his hands trembling. He closed the bag and put it back under his seat, holding Vivian's necklace up to the moonlight. He studied the cameo, deciding with sudden clarity what he would do. Terry Martin wouldn't tell him to grow a pair ever again. No one would.

  Electric power had been restored when he pulled up in front of Jefferson House. Lilly Chase was sitting by herself on the front porch. She'd changed out of her nightshirt into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Bobby parked the car at the curb, considering his next move when Lilly rose from the porch bench and walked slowly toward him. His stomach did flips, knowing he'd be the one to tell her that her mother was dead. The next thing he knew, she was standing at the driver's door, her eyes full, her lip quivering.

  "She didn't make it, did she?"

  Bobby shook his head. "I'm sorry. She wanted you to have this." He handed her the necklace.

  She slipped it on, running her fingers along the chain and the cameo.

  "That's my momma's car."

  "I don't reckon she's gonna have much use for it now."

  She wiped her eyes. "You figurin' on keepin' it?"

  Bobby looked deep into her eyes and saw something he hadn't seen in anyone else. His future.

  "Maybe. Depends on a couple of things."

  "What?"

  "Well, first thing is if you don't mind me keepin' it and the second thing is if you get in so we can get out of here."

  She smiled, splitting her face ear to ear, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.

  "I don't mind," she said, opening the door and sliding alongside him.

  Bobby fired up the engine and pulled away, pointing to the sky.

  "I'll be damned! Look at that will you? The moon is pink."

  In the future being the best includes having the right kind of family. This story first appeared in Noir 13, Perfect Crime Books, 2010.

  THE BABY STORE

  By Ed Gorman

  "You know how sorry we all are, Kevin," Miles Green said, sliding his arm around Kevin McKay's shoulder and taking his right hand for a manly shake. "It's going to be rough and we know it. So any time you need some time away, take it. No questions asked. You know?"

  "I really appreciate it, Miles. And so does Jen. Everybody here has just been so helpful to us."

  Miles smiled. "If you're not careful, you're going to give us lawyers a good reputation, Kevin." He checked the top of his left hand where the holo was embedded. "Time for me to head out for LA. The rocket leaves in three hours."

  The Miles incident had occurred at the top of the day, just as Kevin had been about to settle himself into his desk chair for the first time in two months. The firm of Green, Hannigan & Storz had been generous indeed with one of its youngest and most aggressive lawyers.

  By day's end Kevin had been consoled by fourteen different members of the staff, from the paralegals to the executive secretaries to the firm's reigning asshole, Frank Hannigan himself.

  Hannigan said: "I know Miles told you to take all the time you need. But if you want my advice, Kevin, you'll get back in the game and start kicking some ass. And not just for the sake of your bonus this December. But for your mental health. You're a gladiator the same as I am. The battle is what keeps you sane." Hannigan frequently spoke in ways this embarrassing.

  As Kevin was leaving the office, he heard a brief burst of applause coming from one of the conference rooms. As he passed the open door, David Storz waved him in. "C'mon in and celebrate with us, Kevin. My son just graduated at the top of his class at his prep school."

  Reluctant as he was to listen to even ten minutes of Storz's bragging, Kevin stepped into he room and took a seat.

  Storz, a balding enthusiastic man with dark eyes that never smiled, said, "This is quite a week for this firm, I'd say. Phil's son jumped from second grade to fourth after taking a special test. Irene's daughter wrote a paper on George Gershwin that's going to be published. And now my boy is at the top of his class."

  The people Storz had cited were sitting around the conference table, pleased to be congratulated by one of the firm's founders.

  No one seemed to understand that inviting Kevin in to hear people bragging on their children was a bit insensitive given what had happened to him and his wife. But then nothing ever seemed to deter the lawyers here from bragging on their kids.

  More than winning cases, more than accruing wealth, more than performing as talking heads on the vidd networks, the greatest pleasure for these men and women came from congratulating themselves on how well they'd designed their children at Generations or what the populist press disdainfully called "The Baby Store." Of course it wasn't just this law firm. Designer children had become status symbols for the upper classes. An attractive, bright child obviously destined to become an important citizen was now the most important possession you could boast of.

  These parents were unfazed by the media criticism that insisted that the wealthy and powerful were creating a master race by genetically engineering their progeny. After all, as Miles had once said, "You design the child yourself. And it's no sure thing. Every once in a while somebody designs
a dud."

  Kevin was able to leave before the liquor appeared. It would be a long one. Six fathers and mothers bragging on their children took some time.

  # #

  "May I help you, Sir?"

  Only up close did the woman show even vague evidence of her actual age. The plastic surgery, probably multiple surgeries in fact, had been masterful. In her emerald-colored, form-fitting dress, with her perfectly fraudulent red hair, she looked both erotic and efficient.

  "Just looking, really."

  "Some very nice ones. And feel free to read their biographies. Some of them are pretty amazing."

  "I don't have much time today. I think I'll just look at the holos."

  "Fine." A smile that would have seduced a eunuch. "I'll just let you look. If there's anything you need, just let me know."

  He spent equal time with male and female holos. They were all so perfect they began to lose individuality after a time. As Storz said, people did, of course, design duds. The looks didn't turn out quite right; the intelligence wasn't impressive or even, sometimes, adequate; and then there were personality flaws, sometimes profound. Most of these problems resulted from parents who wouldn't listen to the advice of the scientists and programmers. But their arrogance could be tragic.

  Given what had happened, he settled on looking at the girls. These were finished products, used to guide the buyer in creating their own girls. He was particularly taken with a dark-haired girl of sixteen whose fetching face was as imposing as the amused intelligence that played in her blue-eyed gaze. Yes, good looks—and intelligence. Requisites for a leadership role later on.

  He doted on the girl, imagining the kind of boasting you could do in a session like the one he'd just left. Even up against the likes of Storz and the others, this girl would undoubtedly triumph. Whoever had designed her obviously known exactly what they were doing.