One Good Turn (A James Bishop short story) Page 5

  ‘Okay, that’ll do,’ she said. ‘Now delete that file. And slowly. I’m watching everything you do.’

  Lyle glared at her again, then quit the media player. She watched him move the cursor to the highlighted file in the folder, then drag it across and drop it into the trash can icon. He went to the drop-down menu at the top of the screen and clicked ‘Empty Trash’. There was a brief rustling sound and then nothing. He double-clicked on the trash can without being asked, and Sylvia saw that the folder was now empty.

  ‘Good,’ she said.

  Lyle turned in his chair. ‘So what now?’

  Sylvia said nothing, just gave him her best smile. She was really enjoying this.

  ‘Hey, you can’t kill me, Sylvia,’ he said. ‘Not in cold blood.’

  ‘I can do whatever I want,’ she said, raising the gun. She had no intention of killing him. All she wanted was that manila envelope, but she saw no reason to tell him that just yet. She was merely giving him a little taste of what he’d put her through in the basement. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to this moment, Lyle. I really have.’

  She was pulling back the hammer when she saw his eyes flash at something past her shoulder. She was just about to turn when a familiar voice said, ‘You ain’t the only one, precious.’

  ELEVEN

  She knew that voice. She only wished she didn’t. It was Lyle’s nephew, Michael. Which meant he must have been on the property the whole time. How could she have been so stupid?

  ‘Drop the piece on the desk,’ Michael said. ‘And do it slow, ’less you want one in the back of the head.’

  Sylvia glanced down at Lyle, who looked a lot calmer now. And why wouldn’t he? She seriously considered shooting him between the eyes. She’d die, of course, but so would he. And at least Becky would be safe. Because Sylvia knew they’d eventually get her to tell them her daughter’s location. There were all kinds of drugs to make people spill their deepest secrets, and she’d submit given enough time. She wasn’t Supergirl. But she couldn’t pull the trigger and commit suicide like that. Not when there was still a chance, however slim, of getting out of here. That was another one from her mom: If you’re breathing, girl, you got a chance. Always remember that.

  She remembered. After a few beats, she carefully placed the gun on the desk and then took her hand away.

  Lyle wasted no time. He shot out of the chair, grabbed the gun with one hand and backslapped Sylvia hard across the cheek with the other, his school ring ripping into her skin. Her head snapped back with the blow and she yelled out in pain.

  ‘Goddamn bitch,’ he hissed, and stepped forward and punched her just below the right eye.

  The blow sent her back and she fell to the floor, legs akimbo. She quickly put her hand against her eye. The pain was immense; it felt like somebody had let off a flashbulb in her face. Everything was brighter than it should have been and she found it hard to focus.

  ‘You just stay put, sweet thing,’ Michael said, tapping her lightly in the back with his boot. ‘’Sides, you look good down there.’

  Sylvia said nothing. She pressed a palm against the stinging gash on her cheek and wasn’t surprised to see it come away bloody. Probably scarred for life. However long that might be. She wasn’t raising her hopes.

  She looked up at the brutally handsome face of Michael, who was sneering back down at her. He was wearing his usual uniform of denim shirt, black jeans and alligator boots. Past his legs, she saw the open rear door next to the floor-to-ceiling windows. And he hadn’t made a single sound, either. But that was no excuse. She should never have turned her back to the window. Now she was going to pay for her mistake.

  ‘What the hell took you so long?’ Lyle asked. ‘I thought I was horsemeat. Even had to delete that footage of her stealing from me, and I wanted to hold on to that.’

  ‘Hey, I was watching the front, okay? This guy drove her out here really took his time leaving. Wanted to wait till his car was completely gone before I come back here to see what was going on.’

  Sylvia watched them both. Lyle seemed about to say something else, but instead he sighed and looked down at her.

  ‘So. Gonna finish me off, were you?’

  She shook her head. ‘I just wanted to scare you like you scared me. I’m not a killer. All I wanted was my mom’s house deeds back. And my passport. That’s all.’

  ‘And it didn’t occur to you I mighta changed the combination since you last used it?’ Lyle chuckled and half sat on the desk. ‘That’s a hoot and a half. Not as hilarious as what I changed it to, but still pretty good.’

  ‘She ain’t the smartest gal around, is she, Uncle Lyle?’ Michael said.

  ‘No, she sure ain’t,’ Lyle said. ‘In fact I’d say she’s almost as dumb as Viv. Maybe even dumber.’

  ‘Could be right there,’ Michael said, laughing. ‘Good ol’ Viv, huh?’

  Lyle looked down at Sylvia again. ‘Never got around to telling you about my ex-wife, Vivien, did I? She was another bitch who thought she could get one over on me. But she learned the truth the hard way.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. You killed her.’

  ‘Oh, Viv ain’t dead,’ Lyle said, looking surprised. ‘She’s perfectly fine, in point of fact. I go see her whenever I’m in the mood. Usually a coupla times a week. Sometimes more. And Mikey, too. We have a fine old time, don’t we, boy?’

  ‘Sure do,’ Michael said. ‘Viv’s a helluva good sport.’

  Lyle nodded. ‘But then it ain’t like she got any choice in the matter.’ He looked down at Sylvia again. ‘See, Viv thought when she divorced me she was gonna come out of it smelling of green. Dumb whore didn’t realize she’d already signed a prenup in front of a judge and two lawyers. Course, she was kinda medicated at the time, so I guess it’s hard to remember things like that. Plus the judge and lawyers were good friends of mine, which always helps.’

  ‘By the time your lawyers were finished with her,’ Michael said, ‘she ended up owing you money, ain’t that right?’

  ‘Close enough. So the divorce went through in my favour, but to show there weren’t no hard feelings I bought a little ol’ trailer over in Louisville so Viv wouldn’t end up on the streets. And now we go visit her whenever we feel like partying. She don’t even dare leave that town any more, neither. Not after what happened the last time she tried. Took her a while to learn the rules, but she got there in the end. Now she stays where I tell her to stay and does what I tell her to do.’

  ‘Like a good little dog,’ Sylvia said.

  ‘That’s right. A good little dog. ’Cept I don’t have to feed Viv. I let her do that much herself.’

  ‘Nice of you.’

  ‘Hey, I’m a nice guy. Or I can be. Problem is, people try and take advantage of me, and that’s when I turn mean. Like you, for example. You share my house for almost three months, and I even let your little girl stay, too. I was actually starting to like you. Then you go and show your true colours by trying to steal from me. That ain’t nice at all.’

  Michael tapped her butt with his boot. ‘What we gonna do with her, Uncle Lyle?’

  Lyle turned to his nephew and sighed. ‘What we shoulda done before. No more screwing around. I want you to bury her in the back. You know where. If I can’t have her, nobody else will, you can be sure of that.’

  ‘Aw, shit. You mean I gotta dig again?’

  ‘Let her do the digging. And if she gives you any shit, kneecap her.’

  Michael smiled as he nodded his head. ‘Yeah, okay. I can do that.’

  ‘And Mikey? I want her still breathing when you put her in that hole. I want her to get the full effect, you understand?’

  Michael’s smile grew wider. ‘I hear you, Uncle Lyle. Loud and clear.’

  Sylvia closed her eyes, unable to believe what she was hearing. They were actually going to bury her alive. And she’d thought she might walk out of this. Oh, Jesus.

  Michael kicked her in the butt again. ‘Up you get, girl. We got work to do.’ Whe
n she didn’t move, he kicked her hard in the small of her back. She yelled out in pain and slowly got to her knees before rising to her full height. Michael came round behind her and used the barrel of the gun to push her towards the open rear door.

  Sylvia trudged forward like an automaton, shoulders slumped. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. She’d had plans. And now she was an hour or two away from lying with the worms. Dead and forgotten. Although not straight away. It wouldn’t be that easy for her. And then there was her little Becky, who for the rest of her life would wonder why her mother had deserted her.

  My poor baby. If only I could see you again one last time.

  ‘Move, girl,’ Michael said, and jabbed her in the back again.

  Sylvia took a few more steps and passed through the doorway. She paused on the patio outside, feeling the night air hit her. She sensed that Michael was close behind her, about to jab her in the back again, but she didn’t care. She took a deep breath of the fresh air, savouring it. Maybe for the last time.

  There was a sudden blur of movement to her right and she saw an arm sweep past her head. From behind her she heard a muffled thump, and she turned to see Michael still standing with his back against the window, a knife sticking out of his forehead. The blade had gone in at least halfway, and a thin trickle of blood ran down the side of his nose.

  He stared at Sylvia. ‘Bu . . . bu . . . bu . . . bu . . . bu . . .’ He sounded like a stuck CD, and for one crazy second, Sylvia thought she might laugh out loud.

  The man in the denim jacket moved into the light and calmly plucked the gun from Michael’s hand. Then he stepped through the doorway and pointed it at Lyle.

  ‘Don’t move,’ he said.

  TWELVE

  Lyle was still perched half on the desk, his right hand inches away from Sylvia’s gun. He stared at the man, then looked down at the revolver.

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ the driver said. The hand holding Michael’s gun was perfectly steady.

  Sylvia was trying to take everything in at the same time. Her heart was pounding at a rate of knots. Michael had gone silent and was slowly sliding down the glass until he crumpled on to the patio, his head lying almost at a right angle on his shoulder. The driver’s arm hadn’t moved at all. The gun was still pointed at Lyle’s head. Lyle was still looking down at his own gun on the desk. Weighing the possibilities.

  Pick up the gun, she willed him silently. Please. Just pick it up and then I’ll be finally rid of you.

  ‘Down on the floor,’ the driver said. ‘You’ve got three seconds. One.’

  Lyle raised his eyes and studied the man before him. The hand holding the gun didn’t move a millimetre. The driver could have been a statue. Sylvia was holding her breath.

  ‘Two.’

  There was no three. Lyle’s right hand moved and he snatched up the revolver by its handle. He’d only raised it an inch off the desk when there was a sound like thunder and a large hole appeared in his right cheek. His body was thrown backwards from the impact and he fell to the floor somewhere behind the desk. The driver ran over to him, still gripping his gun with both hands.

  Sylvia exhaled and looked down at Michael at her feet. He was still slumped in the same awkward position. There were no signs of movement. None at all. He was clearly dead.

  Raising her head, she saw the driver standing behind the desk. He was looking down at the floor as he placed his gun in his waistband. He turned to her and motioned for her to come inside. Which immediately told her that Lyle was now out of commission. One way or another. She stepped through the doorway and walked over to the desk, making sure to keep the body out of her eyeline.

  ‘Is he . . .?’ she began.

  The man nodded. She noticed he was wearing black gloves. ‘He made his choice,’ he said. ‘I did warn him.’

  ‘I know.’ She’d wanted Lyle dead, and now he was. She thought she might feel some remorse, but she only felt glad. ‘How much did you hear?’

  ‘Most of it, I’d say.’

  ‘Well, I’m really grateful you came back. But why did you?’

  ‘Coming up the driveway before, I thought I spotted somebody standing at the other side of the house, watching us. That puzzled me. And then there was that story of yours, which wasn’t entirely convincing.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You said that after escaping from that basement, you ran for miles across the fields to reach Hartsville, when it would have made far more sense to run straight here instead. It might have taken longer, but you would have been on home ground again. Which I figure would have been infinitely preferable. If your story had been completely true. There were a few other indicators, like your damp palm when we shook, but it was mostly that first one that stuck with me. So I stalled at the bottom of the driveway for a while, watching that Michael guy in the rear-view, before finally pulling out on to the main road and driving off. Then I came back with my lights off, parked up and made my way round the back of the house to see what was going on. And there you all were.’

  Sylvia puffed out her cheeks and immediately wished she hadn’t. She winced at the throbbing pain and said, ‘So what do we do now?’

  He came round the desk. ‘I need you to leave me to clean up. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. I left the car in the place I dropped you off. Wait for me there, okay?’

  She paused.

  ‘We don’t have much time,’ he said. ‘The others could come back at any second.’

  Sylvia nodded. ‘Okay.’ Then she turned and left the room.

  THIRTEEN

  Sylvia was halfway across the darkened living room when she remembered the safe. She turned and looked at the framed poster on the wall. Behind that poster lay the ownership deeds to her childhood home in North Carolina. Mom had never moved from her roots and had always wanted Sylvia to take the house once she was gone. And Becky, too, of course. She’d loved her little grandchild as much as she loved Sylvia. But the deeds might as well have been in Australia for all the good they’d do her now. Sylvia had no way of guessing the new safe combination and was too tired to even try.

  Downcast, she turned away and followed the same route as before, letting herself out via the kitchen door. The Toyota was exactly where he’d said it would be, facing outwards. She opened the front passenger door and got in, then closed the door, sank her head back against the headrest and shut her eyes.

  She went through the events of the past few days again, amazed that she’d survived them. She’d had a little help, of course. And while she desperately wanted to rest for a few moments, her mind kept turning over the possible outcomes of tonight’s events. None of them were good. Once the police became involved, that safe would be opened and her documents would be discovered. Then the questions would start. Maybe she’d even be arrested. After all, she’d been living with the guy for three months, which automatically made her the prime suspect.

  Somehow she couldn’t see this ending well for her. Not well at all.

  The sound of the other door opening jolted her from her thoughts. The driver threw a bag in the back and got in the driver’s seat. He stuck the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine sprang into life and he let out the handbrake, put the vehicle into gear and pressed down on the gas. They moved slowly across the asphalt with the headlights off.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  She sighed. ‘Not really. They’ll be after me now. Braddock’s people. They’ll suspect it was me.’

  ‘I don’t see why. If the police believe that those two were killed by some masked burglar, then so will everyone else.’

  She brought her brows together. ‘Why would the police think that?’

  ‘Because that’s who they’ll see when they check the living room security footage.’

  Sylvia opened her mouth, then closed it. Still frowning, she turned to look in the back. The bag that he’d thrown there was actually a small knapsack. And it looked full. There was a piece of material hanging partway out o
f the front flap. She reached over and pulled it free. It was a black cotton ski mask.

  Smiling, she replaced it and faced front again. They were passing the garage and were about to reach the fork. ‘You emptied the living room safe,’ she said.

  ‘It was easy once I had the combination.’

  ‘And what was it?’

  ‘795842.’

  ‘How could you possibly know that?’

  He shrugged. ‘Braddock said he’d reset the combination and that you’d probably find it hilarious. I had a hunch it could only be one thing.’

  ‘Don’t tell me: “Sylvia”.’

  ‘And the numerical equivalent of Sylvia on a keypad . . .’

  ‘. . . is 795842,’ she finished for him.

  He smiled. ‘Open the bag if you want. There’s a manila envelope on the top containing a passport and some deeds that belong to you.’

  She turned again and carefully unzipped the knapsack. There it was. The envelope she’d wanted so desperately. She pulled it out and was comforted by the solid feel of it in her hand. Although she could have reported the passport lost and applied for a new one, the property deeds were irreplaceable. Thanks to this stranger, she and Becky had a home again. Her old home. A place all their own.

  She found herself staring at the wads of used bills that took up the rest of the knapsack. There were so many. Far more than she’d glimpsed the other night.

  ‘How much is in here?’ she asked.

  ‘At a guess, I’d say about three quarters of a million, give or take.’

  ‘Jesus. Really? That much?’ Sylvia shook her head and zipped up the bag again. She faced front and placed the envelope on her lap. ‘I thought there was a couple of hundred thousand in there, but I never dreamed . . . Wow.’

  They continued down the driveway towards the road.

  ‘And what’ll happen to that money now?’

  ‘How does a fifty-fifty split sound?’

  Sylvia raised both eyebrows and turned to him. ‘Are you serious?’