Merchants with Evil Intent (8 page)

*
     
*
     
*

      
Camryn gauged her parent’s expressions.
Whatever was coming up wasn’t good. Her stomach began to churn.

      
Her dad glared at John. “It’s not a good
time for this, John. She’s under enough stress!”

      
“Pattie, I understand what you and Grace
must be feeling now, but she has to know.”

      
“What the hell is it?” Camryn screeched.

      
John sighed, “Cam, I’m your dad. Pattie
and Grace adopted you when I couldn’t raise you myself.”

      
Camryn searched her parent’s eyes and
knew in an instant the truth of his words. Did it hurt? No, not really. It
explained a lot, actually.
 
She took a
deep breath. “Well, thank you for adopting me. I couldn’t have asked for better
parents.”

      
Grace took Camryn’s hands and with tears
in her eyes she softly said, “There’s more.”

      
John nodded. “Aunt Maggie’s your mom.
When she died I tried to raise you myself. I didn’t know how to raise a baby
and I was trying to get over the loss of your mother. Pattie and Grace offered
to care for you until I got my bearings. Eventually I realized they were doing
a better job than I ever could, so I relinquished my parental rights.”

      
Her own father didn’t want her. He was a
coward and took an easy way out.

      
“Way to go, John. Now she’s in shock,”
Patrick scolded.

      
She looked at Patrick and shook her head.
“I’m not
in
shock, just shocked.” She
turned her attention to John and felt the acid rising to her tongue. “You may
be my father, but you’ll
never
be my dad!”
She stood and walked towards the kitchen, grabbing her purse on the way.

      
Patrick and Grace started to go after her
when John grabbed them both by the forearms. “Let her be for a while.”

      
“A lunatic is threatening her and you
want us to let her go? Have you totally lost it?” Patrick growled.

      
“There’s a cop outside that’ll follow her
every movement. She needs time to absorb this,” John replied with a sigh.

      
Tires squealed as Camryn backed out of
the driveway.

*
     
*
     
*

      
She sped away unsure where to go. Rotten
bastard! All these years and he never told her? Why now? Her life suddenly hit
the shit bucket. She tried to block the tears, but the little fuckers came out
anyway.

      
She stopped a few miles away and parked
in a grocery store lot. By now the dam had broken and she was crying
bucketfuls. Not just for the betrayal she felt, but for the loss of a mother
that she’d never know. No wonder she looked like Aunt Maggie! Christ almighty!

      
Who else knows? Was she the only one? She
reached inside the glove compartment and pulled out a few napkins to wipe her
eyes. She hated to cry. It was a weakness that she didn’t often show and now
she was bawling like a baby. That made John a bastard twice!

      
The napkin had traces of half moon shaped
mascara smudges. She lowered the visor and finished wiping off residual make-up
when she noticed a black truck parked several rows behind her.

      
She lifted the visor and put the Camero
in drive and pulled away slowly, watching the truck in the rear-view mirror.
Just as she suspected, it pulled out of the space and kept a fair distance.

      
She pulled onto the street and stomped
the accelerator. Weaving in and out of traffic she tried to put distance
between herself and the wacko in the truck.

      
Unable to go home and have the freak follow
her there she sped up and cut off the driver in the right lane. He or she
beeped the horn at her. They probably flipped her off, too. She accelerated and
took a quick right at a stop light. Her destination was a block away. “I wonder
if the bastard will follow me there,” she said aloud.

      
She glanced at the rear view mirror and
spotted the truck a few car lengths away. She sped up and took another hard
right into the police station parking lot. She pulled into a handicap spot and ran
into the station, afraid to look behind her.

      
When she entered she spotted an old cop
with gray hair sitting behind a desk. By the looks of him he had indulged in
too many donuts and not enough coffee. He looked to be asleep. “Hey, sorry to
wake you, but I’ve got a lunatic following me!” she shrieked.

      
The startled officer jumped at the sound
of her voice. He coughed a few times and growled, “I wasn’t sleeping. What can
I do for you?”

      
“There’s a wacko following me,” she said
icily. “He’s out there in a black pick-up truck.”

      
He stood, not used to such an intrusion
of his time, and walked bow-legged towards her.

      
The door opened and she quickly ran
behind him. If he couldn’t pull the gun fast enough, she’d do it for him. He
glared at her over his shoulder.

      
The guy entered with both hands raised.
He had short sandy blonde hair and the shirt he wore showed how muscular he
was.

      
And she knew him.

      
“Goddammit, Travers! I said
no
body guards!” she shouted.

      
The old cop looked confused and scratched
his head.
“Body guards?
You someone
special?”

      
She shot Travers a glare as she walked
past him and stepped out the door.

      
Camryn
leaned against the door of her car, with her arms crossed. It was a beautiful
night. The stars sparkled brightly in the sky. Moths floated chaotically around
the light fixture against the building. They had it easy. They only had to
avoid getting squished in car windshields. She hardly noticed when Travers
stood in front of her.

      
He took a policeman stance. Arms crossed
over his chest and legs slightly spread apart. “Where do you get off driving so
recklessly?” he admonished.

      
“That wasn’t reckless,” she snorted.

      
He leaned so closely to her that she
smelled mint on his breath. “It was extremely reckless. Don’t. Do.
It. Again.”

      
She waved her hands up in front of his
face.
“Eww big scary cop!
Why don’t you quit lecturing
and buy me a drink.”
  

      
“Can’t.
I’m on
duty.”

      
“Duty schmuty.
Fine, I’ll go without you.”

      
Greg Travers sighed resignedly. “Fine,
but don’t drive like an ass this time.”

*
     
*
     
*

      
Greg sipped his beer while Camryn chugged
hers. He shook his head. “Take it easy, Cam.”

      
She put the Corona on the table and
looked around the place. It was a decent bar, as far as bars go. A mish-mash of
antique items decorated the walls along with various pictures of Chicago
figures, most notably, Al Capone. The place hopped with young executives
unwinding after a stressful day of work.

      
“So, how well do you know John?” she
asked.

      
Greg shrugged. “I guess it’s been almost
eight years. Why?”

      
She pulled a strand of hair away from her
face. “Did you know that he has a daughter?”

      
Greg was bringing a bottle of Becks up to
his lips when he stopped. “Well that old son of a bitch! No doubt she’s as
ornery as he is!” he laughed.

      
Camryn nodded.
“Yep.”

      
“Did she just turn up and say ‘hey
daddy’?”

      
“Nope.
He turned
up and said, ‘Hey Camryn, I’m your dad’.”

      
Travers eyebrows lifted. “No shit?
You?”

      
“No shit. Me.”

      
“When did he tell you?”

      
She twirled a strand of hair around her
finger.
“Tonight.
Out of all the times he could’ve
told me, he tells me tonight when my life is already effed up.”

      
Greg took a long pull from his beer,
unsure what to say. He wanted to comfort her but was afraid of what her
response would be.

      
Cindee, as her name tag read, placed another
bottle of Corona in front of Camryn. “A guy at the bar wanted you to have
this,” she grinned.

      
Camryn peered around Cindee.
“Which one?”

      
Cindee turned, scanned the area and
frowned. “He’s not there now.”

      
“What did he look like?” Greg asked, ready
to pounce.

      
“Short, spiky blonde
hair.
Brown eyes.
He had a small scar under his
left eye,” Cindee shrugged.

      
Greg pulled her close, “If you see this
guy again, let me know.”

      
“Hey, is this safe to drink?” Camryn
asked.

      
Cindee frowned.
“Of
course!
The bartender just opened it.”

      
Camryn polished off her bottle and picked
up the freebie. “Good enough answer for me!” she laughed and took a swig.

      
“I don’t like this. Come on, we’re
leaving,” Greg stated firmly.

      
“Aw! We just got here!” Camryn whined.

      
“Yeah and a scar faced bastard is buying
you drinks. I don’t like it. Let’s go.” He took her upper arm and walked
towards the exit, as his eyes scanned the bar.

      
When they got to her car she stood
defiantly. “I’m not done wallowing.”

      
“Do you know where Frisco’s is?” he
asked.

      
“The bar on Blackhawk?”

      
He nodded.
“Yeah.
Let’s head over there.”

      
She wrinkled her nose. “That place looks
seedy.”

      
“It’s a cop hang out.
Don’t
drive
like a maniac, either. This guy may be following you,” he warned.

*
     
*
     
*

      
It surprised Camryn to see so many
familiar faces when she entered the bar. The cops greeted her with hugs and
words of support that they’d find the person stalking her.

      
She started doing shots of tequila with
Mark, Don and Theresa, all veterans who had worked closely with her uncle. She
lost count after three shots. It felt good to be numb.

      
Greg sat next to her, drinking soda and
eyed her with weariness. She’d have one hell of a hangover in the morning.

      
“Come on Craig, I mean Greg. Lighten up!”
she slurred.

      
“I think you’ve had more than enough,” he
scolded.

      
She waved her hand at the six empty
bottles of Corona’s she’d lined up in two imperfect rows. “This? This is
nothin’.”

      
He checked his watch and dug his ringing
phone from his pocket. “Travers. Nope, she’s fine.
Drunk, but
fine.
I’ll bring her home soon. Someone will need to get her car.”
Camryn shot him an icy glare as he rattled off their location.

      
“Traitor,” she accused.

*
     
*
     
*

      
Valik followed the girl to the next bar.
He didn’t expect the man to be with her. It’d make his task much harder.

      
He sauntered to the bar, not attracting
attention. He was a normal looking guy with cropped blonde hair dressed in blue
jeans and a t-shirt with an American flag. He blended nicely with the crowd.
The scar on his face was a minor of distraction but his wife thought it made
him look tough, sexy even.

      
He spotted the girl immediately. She
taunted the man next to her by saying he was a sissy for drinking soda and
chiding him for not doing shots.