Below Zero (18 page)

For a moment, she was excited. This had turned out to be different than she thought it would be in every way. Now he was giving her a way out.

She said, “I’m not sure where I would go.”

He winced, and she couldn’t tell if it was from his stomach or what she said. He closed his eyes and the thick gel in his eyes squeezed out and pooled on the tops of his cheeks like wet glue. “You think about it, April,” he said. “You think about where you would want to go.”

She thought,
No one should die like this, as if there were a brood of small fevered animals inside him trying to eat and claw their way out.

Robert missed the exchange. As usual he was deep inside his own head, with his own problems. When he spoke his voice was high. “
You
do it,” he said to Stenko. “This isn’t what I do. This is what
you
do. This is what you’ve done your whole life. I’m along just to keep score and try to help you redeem yourself in the eyes of Mother Earth.”

Stenko didn’t respond. He seemed too spent to argue. Instead he turned around again and slunk down in his seat and talked softly to the windshield. “Do you know how to get to the ranch, Robert? On your own without my help?”

Robert nodded. “I can read a goddamned map.”

Stenko raised one pale hand and wriggled his fingers in the air, a way of saying,
I don’t want to battle with you.

“What ranch?” she said.

Robert ignored her as he always did.

Stenko said, “You’ll figure it out, son. Now, when you get there, you need to take that son-of-a-bitch Leo aside and make him give you all the account numbers. You may have to apply pressure because Leo can be real stubborn. There should be twenty-eight million in stocks, bonds, cash, and property. You won’t get access to it all before the feds realize what you’re doing, but if you pick the low-hanging fruit . . .”

Robert went bug-eyed, shouted: “TWENTY-EIGHT MILLION! Jesus Christ, Dad!”

“Yeah, give or take,” Stenko said, waving Robert away. “Now get that money and use it to pay down my debt. It’s the only way because I’m running out of time. How much did you say was left on my balance sheet?”

Robert was frozen for a moment, frozen by $28 million. His mouth was hanging open.

“Robert?” Stenko prompted.

Robert shook his head and dug for his laptop.
Tap-tap-tap.
“Twenty-two million to go on your balance,” he said. “So far, you’ve hardly put a dent in it because you really haven’t done so well.”

“I thought you said eighteen,” Stenko wheezed. “I distinctly remember you saying eighteen after Aspen.”

“I did some recalculating,” Robert said, with a speed-glance toward her. It was what he did when he was lying, she thought.

“I bet you did,” Stenko said without malice, “as soon as you heard what I have.”

“Dad! Those Indian casinos use up a
ton
of energy! The lights, the air-conditioning, all the gambling machines . . . think about it!”

“Sorry, son,” Stenko said, reaching over and putting his hand on Robert’s shoulder. Robert shoved it away.

“Really,” Stenko said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Old suspicious habits die hard. Do you forgive me?”

After a beat, Robert said, “Mmmmmn.”

“Okay then,” Stenko hissed. “Then go get that money and pay down my debt. Use the rest for your cause. Plant entire rain forests or buy wind farms or whatever the hell it is you do.”

It was quiet. She could see Robert thinking, probably shouting “TWENTY-EIGHT MILLION!” over and over to himself in his head.

An old woman with a headscarf pushed a walker out through the door of Buy-Rite and headed slowly for the Taurus. A white prescription bag was clutched in her hand.

Robert said, “Okay, I’ll go in.”

She watched Robert as he slammed the door shut and strode toward the pharmacy dodging tumbleweeds. He jammed the pistol into the back of his pants and made sure it was hidden by the hem of his jacket. At the door, he paused for a moment to rake his fingers through his hair, throw back his shoulders. Then he went in.

She said to Stenko, “Are you all right?”

He half-turned toward her, his face in profile. “Not really.”

“If you give me some of that money, can I use it for something else?”

“Like what?”

She said, “I’d like to rescue my sister. She’s not really my sister, but she’s all I’ve got. She’s still back in that house in Chicago with all the other kids. Can I use the money to get her out of there? To fly her to me?”

Stenko grimaced a smile. “Sure, April. Do anything you want.”

She sat back, satisfied. For the first time in her life, she had a plan of her own and would soon have the means to carry it out. Thanks to Stenko.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

Then Robert was back, throwing open the door against the wind and heaving himself behind the wheel. He entered talking, “. . . We need to find another pharmacy. This one’s no good.”

Stenko said, “You didn’t get the morphine?”

“Hell no,” Robert said. “The pharmacist in there is a redneck. I’m sure he has a gun. And he just
stared
at me all suspicious, as if
daring
me to try something. He knows, Dad. Somehow he knows . . . so I beat it out of there. We need to find another place.”

Stenko looked away. Robert turned the key and started the engine. “These little towns give me the creeps anyway. They all just stare at you like you’re from another planet. They’re all inbred or something.”

“I don’t think there’s another pharmacy,” Stenko said in a near-whisper.

“Maybe not in this town,” Robert said. “But there’s bound to be one in a bigger place.”

“It’s after five,” Stenko said.

She said, “Give me the gun.”

 

 

 

AS SHE MADE HER WAY UP the aisle with the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up and the weight of the gun sagging in her front pocket, she gathered items into a shopping basket. Shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste, hair coloring, a new TracFone since the one she had was low on power. She thought about how Stenko had barked a sharp
“No!”
to her request, but Robert quickly warmed to it, handed over the gun, and said, “Maybe she can finally do something useful.”

The jerk. She cared more about his father than he did.

The aisles were well lit, and they led the way toward a counter at the end of the store. Behind the counter was the pharmacist. He wore a white smock and had slicked-back hair and he pretended to busy himself with some kind of tiny project hidden under the cutout opening, but he was actually watching her closely. Robert was right about that. But she was the only customer—so why
wouldn’t
he keep his eye on her?

She hoped no one else came into the store. Robert had agreed to tap on the horn outside if anyone showed up, but she didn’t trust him to do it. If a police car turned into the lot, she was sure Robert would drive away and leave her in there.

She could hardly feel her legs and the shopping basket seemed weightless. She tried not to keep glancing at the pharmacist as she worked her way toward him, but she couldn’t help it. There was a distinct ache in her chest that got worse as she got closer to him.

He said something to her that didn’t register.

“What?”

“I said, can I help you find anything?”

What an opening. She knew she needed to decide right then whether or not to go through with it. Her instincts screamed at her to turn and run. But the image of Stenko’s tortured face was stronger.

“Do you have morphine?” She could barely meet his eyes.

“Why yes!” the pharmacist said with sarcastic enthusiasm. “And would you like some other narcotics along with it? We have those, too!” And he grinned wolfishly, his eyes sparkling.

She was confused.

Then he reached across the counter and grabbed her wrist, squeezing it hard.

“Why do you have your hood up?” he said. “Is it so I can’t see your face? Who are you and why do you want morphine?”

She struggled and pulled back but he gripped harder.

“Please, mister . . .”

He reached for her face with his other hand to peel the hood back but she ducked under his arm. The shopping basket fell to the linoleum but didn’t spill.

Then she noted that the pharmacist hesitated, that something or someone had diverted his attention. Suddenly her sweatshirt was lighter because the weight of the gun had been removed. Robert shot the pharmacist four times in his neck and chest. She screamed as his grip released on her wrist and she ripped her hand back. The pharmacist sagged out of view behind the counter, leaving a snail’s track of blood on the wall behind him.

Robert said to her, “Shut the hell up and help me find the morphine.”

 

 

JOE AND MARYBETH WERE IN BED BUT NOT SLEEPING. HE’D arrived home after nine to find—pleasantly—that she’d saved him the last of the spaghetti and garlic bread they’d had earlier for dinner. While he ate, he’d outlined his day with Nate, the governor, and Coon. She nodded as he talked, seeing where it was going and becoming frightened by the inevitability of the situation ahead. Sheridan had already packed a Saddlestring Lady Wranglers duffel bag with clothes and placed it near the front door.

After they’d cleaned up the dishes, they’d continued the discussion about involving Sheridan, in his office with the door closed. He’d thought about the situation over and over while driving home, and each time he came to the same conclusion. He was more than willing to be talked out of the idea and hoped Marybeth could come up with a better way.

If another text came in while Joe was out in the field looking for April, it would be impossible for him to coach Sheridan into getting her foster sister to reveal her whereabouts. And even if Sheridan was able to get solid information, she’d have to relay that to Joe at a distance—providing he could be reached and was not himself out of range of a cell tower—and hope he was in the vicinity of where the call came in. If those were the only obstacles, though, they could try to get around them. Marybeth could be there with Sheridan if a call came in, for example. She’d probably do a better job of coaching than Joe could do anyway.

But the fact was April had chosen to contact Sheridan. Not Joe, not Marybeth. And if April agreed to meet somewhere, it would be with Sheridan.

Marybeth talked it out, which is what she did. Joe listened. His wife came to the same conclusion he had, and they looked at each other with trepidation.

They went to bed before eleven but it was perfunctory.

 

 

 

OUTSIDE, A COLD WIND
rattled the bedroom window. Dried leaves that had been hanging from the cottonwood branches broke loose and ticked against the glass.

Marybeth rolled over and propped her head up by folding her pillow over on itself. She said, “I wish I could think of another way than to let Sheridan go with you, but I can’t.”

Joe grunted. While he welcomed the idea of his oldest daughter’s companionship, he was terrified by the possibility that he couldn’t keep her safe. This was his dilemma. This had always been his dilemma: keeping his family safe. Although there had been some horrific events and even more close calls, for the most part he’d been successful. Except once: April.

Joe turned to his wife in bed. “The last time she saw me, I was standing across the road with the local cops and the FBI who attacked the compound. I’m sure I looked like I was on their side. What is she supposed to think of me?”

“Your actions can be explained,” Marybeth said, “but not without gaining back her trust. And that won’t be easy, I don’t think. Not after all this time. And I’m sure I’m painted with same brush as far as she’s concerned. It makes my heart ache to think of that poor girl being out there for six years thinking that the family that took her in betrayed her in the end. It just makes me want to
wail.

“Our only hope is she trusts Sheridan to at least listen to her, and later to us. I can see from April’s perspective that she assumes we chose not to try and find her after the fire. She probably doesn’t even know we were convinced she was dead.”

Joe stared at the ceiling, listened to the wind pound the window.

“If we somehow get through this,” Joe said, “if everything falls into place somehow and we can talk to her . . . would you want to take her back?”

“In a heartbeat, Joe.”

He smiled.

“But of course it would be up to her.”

After a long silence, Marybeth said, “Lucy wants to go, too.”

Joe groaned.

“I’m not letting her, no matter how angry she gets. I know I’ll hear plenty of, ‘She’s my sister, too,’ but she’ll just have to live with it.”

Marybeth turned over on her back as well to stare at the same ceiling. Joe hoped she could gain more wisdom from the view than he had been able to get.

Joe said, finally, “How could April get caught up with a Chicago mobster? How could it even be April?”

There was a light knock on the door before it opened. Sheridan stood in profile from a hall night-light. Her phone glowed blue in the dark. She whispered, “It’s her.”

Sheridan was sitting at her desk in her bedroom. Joe and Marybeth hovered behind her, reading the screen of her phone as Sheridan typed and scrolled. Tube had taken to sleeping in Sheridan’s room, and he curled at her feet.