A Shred of Truth

  Then everything changed. Or at least I did.

  I haven’t talked much about this new faith of mine. I’m not one for spouting spiritual slogans. One thing Mom taught me was that actions speak louder.

  There was something wrong, though, about Felicia’s words.

  In the softly lit hotel room, she stretched out atop the comforter and propped herself on an elbow. Blond hair followed the gentle swell of the pillow while her free arm draped along her hip. “Don’t be shy, doll.”

  “I … just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  She moved her hand on her thigh. “Does everything look okay to you?”

  On the nightstand, the paperback was opened facedown beside a wine bottle. There was the phone, the TV remote, hotel stationery. A coffee maker and plastic-wrapped glasses on the vanity. A damp towel was balled at the foot of the bed.

  “I guess so.”

  “You guess?” She pouted. “Is there any chance of us working things out?”

  “Uh. What’re we talking about?”

  “Please don’t be dense. You know I care about you.”

  “That’s why you left me.”

  “Yes. Yes, exactly. Can’t you see? I needed all of you or none at all. When you started drifting away, it broke my heart wide open. You were coked out of your head, unavailable, and I had to talk to someone. But I never meant for anything to happen—you have to believe that.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s done.”

  “Have I lost you?”

  My hand remained frozen on the knob, leaving a slight gap in the doorway. The fresh air made the room’s stale smells more pronounced, as well as the contrasting floral perfume. And yet there was no mistaking the inebriation in Felicia’s eyes and the weariness that went well beyond the wine.

  “I shouldn’t have come up here,” I told her.

  “But you did. Maybe you should let your heart guide you more often.”

  “Our hearts are what got us into trouble before.”

  “It’s my last night here.”

  “I told you. I’ve changed.”

  “Hmm. I’m not so sure.”

  “Nothing like a vote of confidence.”

  “Surely you won’t deny that our kiss at the museum brought back memories. We’re being given a chance to start over.”

  “By some freak’s manipulations,” I noted. “You wanna talk about starting over? This very night there’s a woman here in Nashville, another old flame of mine, who’s sitting behind bars because of what happened last year. Did you know about that?”

  “We all have our sins. Don’t punish me for hers.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’ve punished myself, Felicia, by following my heart and making some really bad choices. Someday I hope to find the one for me, sure. But she’ll have to respect the way love works. She’ll …” My voice trailed off.

  “Is there someone else?”

  “What? No.” My hand flexed around the doorknob. “I’m just … still learning, I guess. Or unlearning.”

  “Wow. Okay, maybe you have changed. What’s happened?”

  “Honestly? I’m trying to follow God.”

  “Aramis Black’s found religion. There’s one for the front pages.”

  “No, it’s not religion. It’s more like … Well, I want to be who he created me to be. Back in Portland, I was destroying myself.”

  “There’s an understatement.”

  My hands fell to my sides, and I leaned back against the door till it latched. “If you can, please forgive me for the junk I put you through. You didn’t deserve any of it. I think you need to hear me say this. I want you to be able to move on.”

  “If only you knew.” She clasped the folds of her robe. “It’s too late for that.”

  “Why?”

  She looked to the ceiling. Closed her eyes with a heavy sigh.

  Footsteps approached on the landing, and a flurry of activity started in my head. I spun to latch the chain. My hands pressed against the metal door. I was an idiot for coming up here. No doubt AX had warned her not to let me in.

  “What is it?” Felicia sat up, alert.

  “Someone’s coming. I need to hide.”

  “Probably just a guest who checked in or someone getting ice.”

  Was she covering?

  “I don’t think so,” I said, slinking past the bed. A loud rap on the door stopped me in my tracks.

  “Oh!” Felicia sat up and looked at me.

  Putting a finger to my lips, I eased into the bathroom. The odor of cigarettes clung to every air particle. I turned to peek through the door, but the angle allowed only a glimpse of an armchair, peeling wallpaper, and a kitschy painting next to the TV.

  Another knock. What had I gotten myself into? The whole purpose in coming here had been Felicia’s safekeeping, but the matching Hyundais had thrown me, and the conversation with Meade had pushed me into breaking my promise to Johnny Ray.

  Knock, knock, knock …

  Felicia’s robe swirled by. “Be there in a moment.”

  No! She had always been too trusting. But before the command could travel from my brain to my mouth, a familiar voice bellowed from the doorway. I recalled pink bicycle shorts and a strained yellow tube top.

  “He’s in there, ain’t he?”

  “Who?”

  “You can’t fool me, missy. I know what I seen.”

  “No one else is here,” I heard Felicia respond.

  “Then why’s you wearin’ that little robe, hmmm? You think I’m blind?” A pause. “I can see through them curtains, you know.”

  I heard the curtain being readjusted.

  “If he’s wantin’ attention—”

  “I’m sorry, but I think there’s been some misunderstanding.”

  “You just watch yourself. You don’t be cuttin’ in on my corner, flashin’ them skinny legs. No man wanna cuddle with no bag o’ bones. You wastin’ your time here.”

  Despite myself, I stifled a chuckle.

  “We’re old friends,” Felicia said, “and I’m leaving in the morning.”

  “Durn straight, you are.”

  “You have a good night, ma’am.”

  I heard the New Orleans woman humphhh and pound away down the landing. As I leaned back and took a breath, my eyes slid to a pile of clothes at my feet. My silent mirth vanished. There, along with the spring dress I’d seen at Cheekwood, a wig of long locks glistened red.

  Johnny Ray’s test last night at Owen Bradley Park. His weakness.

  All along it had been Felicia.

  15

  Here was the proof. Plain as day. She’d cozied up to Johnny and kissed him just to lure him into a trap. His shoulder bore the wounds of that encounter.

  Virescit Vulnere Virtus …

  Was she a helpless accomplice? Or an instigator? Either way, she’d lied to me.

  She was relocking the hotel-room door. “Did that lady know you?”

  “I bought her nephew some bug spray.”

  “Nice of you,” she said. “You can come out now.”

  “Gimme a minute.”

  I closed the door, turned on the light, banged the toilet seat against the porcelain tank. The worry in her voice only fueled my anger. My pulse beat against my eardrums, and the bathroom’s small area felt suddenly claustrophobic—as though someone else were here with me.

  With my right fist cocked, I raked aside the shower curtain. A tiny shampoo bottle rattled into the tub.

  Nothing. No ax-wielding foe.

  “Doll?”

  “Be right out.”

  I could try sneaking the wig out, but lifting fingerprints from it seemed unlikely.

  Wait. My cell phone.

  I snapped a photo of the wig, then sent it to Meade and myself. On my way out, I’d get a shot of the Hyundai’s license plate. It could link Felicia to last night’s events and possibly lead to the true culprit, especially if he’d paid with a credit card.

  I stepped from the b
athroom. Pretended to wash my hands at the sink. In the mirror I could see Felicia’s eyes on me.

  “Everything okay?”

  “You tell me.” I turned toward her. “What’s going on?”

  “Aramis? What’re you talking about?”

  “Oh, I think you know.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “You found the wig, didn’t you?”

  I strode toward her and snatched her arm, eliciting a short gasp, then headed for the exit. The flimsy chain snapped from the wall as I yanked open the door. She followed along, feet scrambling to keep up but giving no resistance.

  My plan was simple. Take her back to our brownstone, let Johnny confirm her identity, then keep her secured until morning, when I would turn her in.

  Her fate would be in Meade’s hands.

  At the top of the stairs, I slowed. Felicia wasn’t dressed for this, and I had no interest in injuring her. I guided her back to the room, gave her a moment to slip into her shoes and a light jacket. From the base of the steps, we crossed the lot to the passenger door of my Honda Civic.

  “Get in.”

  “Let me explain.”

  “You almost got my brother killed. Why?”

  “To tell the truth, I’m relieved that you know.”

  “The truth.” My fingers tightened around her wrist. “Okay, let’s start there.”

  “Yes, I drew Johnny away from the party, but I had no idea he was planning to attack him. And honestly, my main hope at the party was to bump into you. I saw you once through the crowd, and I—”

  “Enough. Just tell me why.”

  “Why do you think? He said he’d hurt me if I didn’t. It didn’t sound like an idle threat.”

  “Right. And where is this mysterious Axman? Can you tell me that?”

  “Next door. Across town. I don’t know, but probably not far. If he finds out I told you anything—”

  “He’d probably kill you anyway.”

  “Aramis!”

  “You don’t think so?”

  Her eyes blinked back tears. “I hate him, I really do.”

  The parking lot was a maze of shadows capable of concealing a watcher. My scan over the tops of vehicles revealed nothing. No movement. Nobody in sight.

  “Get in,” I repeated. “We’ll talk in the car.”

  I shut her door, then crossed to her Hyundai. After snapping photos of its plates and the other rental’s too, I slipped the phone into my pocket and heard it clack against the empty brass casing.

  She cheated the grave …

  It was a lie. A tiny seed. Growing, twining through my head.

  If you help me, you’ll get to see her again …

  Time to shut off these thoughts. I’d had more than I could handle already. A myopic determination took over, driving my actions. In the last year I’d been tested by ugly, painful events, and I wondered if I’d ever escape from the consequences. Whatever this new test was, I wanted to pass it quickly and leave behind my past once and for all.

  I marched back to the car and dropped into the driver’s seat beside Felicia.

  “I’m sorry we had to end this way,” I said, turning the ignition.

  Before I could move my hand to the e-brake, a wiry arm snaked around my neck. I grabbed at it, craning my head to catch a glimpse of the hooded figure in a black ski mask. Suddenly my chin was shoved forward, and a razor blade skimmed along my stubbled face. My eyes darted to the rearview for a better view of my assailant, but the mirror had been snapped from its mounting and tossed to the floor.

  “Tell me what you want.” I forced the words from my throat.

  “He wants you to drive,” Felicia said.

  “Where?”

  “I’m supposed to give you the details as we go.”

  I tried to turn again, but the press of sharp metal against my cheekbone made my decision clear. So this was my buddy, the axman. How nice of him to make an appearance. But who was he? Had he been watching me this whole time?

  “Show yourself, you twisted freak!”

  My mind raced through options, evaluating and discarding. There was a slim possibility of deflecting the razor long enough to rip free of the stranglehold, but my escape would leave Felicia alone with this terrorist. Of course, she could be his wicked little partner.

  “He can’t talk for himself?” I growled.

  “You’re not supposed to know who he is. Please don’t cause any trouble.”

  “Me?” I laughed. Choked. “I make trouble.”

  “Aramis, I beg of you.”

  My laughter kept coming, rough stones rumbling from my chest, each new burst knocking my Adam’s apple against the man’s arm. Yeah, bad timing. No joking matter. Blah-de-blah. I couldn’t stop any more than I could hold back a rockslide.

  “Tell him,” I said.

  “What?”

  “The way I deal with thugs like him.”

  “Please, let’s just do as he says so we can end this.”

  “End it. That’s right.” I shifted my words to the back. “But I don’t even know what you’re after. You wanna play it this way, throwing out lies about my mother and attacking my brother. Big mistake. I’ll come after you and take you down hard.”

  The arm flexed against my throat.

  “You’re in deep now,” I coughed out. “The cops followed me here, and they’re watching us right now. Best bet’s to take off now before they get too suspicious. Otherwise, you’re toast.” A desperate ploy. Most likely this guy had been out here long enough to inspect the area.

  Felicia fidgeted, looking back for instructions. An unwilling accomplice?

  “But hey,” I laughed. “Why believe a thing I say?”

  She turned back to me, her eyes animated by the flicker of the hotel’s neon sign. “He wants you to drive.”

  “Oh well. Your call, buddy.”

  “Just follow my instructions.”

  I turned on my headlights, revved the motor. “To where exactly?”

  The arm cranked back against my windpipe, and shards of color speared the corners of my vision. Okay, so he wasn’t in the mood for questions.

  “Soon as we start moving,” I gasped, “the cops’ll be onto you.”

  The razor’s edge moved across my cheek. Pressure. A slice of heat.

  “Nooo,” Felicia protested.

  The cut was clean, nearly painless, releasing drops of blood that spilled along my jaw line and landed in the lap of my jeans. Sticky warmth seeped through the material and oozed onto my leg.

  “All right. We’ll go.” At least I’d have some control at the steering wheel. “But don’t forget, we’re being watched the whole way.”

  “Don’t do anything else to provoke him,” Felicia begged.

  “Hey. I always like a nice, close shave.”

  Slice number two. Slower, more deliberate. X marks the spot.

  “Courage grows strong at a wound,” I said through clenched jaws.

  “Please, Aramis. Drop the macho act and just drive.”

  I drove.

  Drip, drip …

  Blood forged trails down my neck, beneath my shirt. One branched off over my right pectoral muscle while another pooled in the cleft of my collarbone.

  Drip …

  None of this concerned me. I’d been cut before, hit, kicked, bludgeoned. In most cases, pain was a temporary thing. The real problem was the powerful organ of the mind that turned traitorous, elevating the fear of pain into something worse than the pain itself.

  Superficial wounds—that’s all these were. I’d be lucky to get scars out it.

  The dash said it was just past ten. Most of the evening’s full-bellied diners had already headed home, and Vanderbilt kids were still gassing up their SUVs to go clubbing on Second Avenue. A lull had settled over the streets, and my Honda zipped along unimpeded. Despite my bluster, nobody was following us. Nobody knew where we were headed.

  I tried to throw out a silent prayer, but it felt more like an act of surrender, as though I wa
s conceding victory too soon. That just went against my nature.

  A primal urge began welling in my belly and surging through my limbs in a chemical cocktail of nerves and epinephrine—a call to arms, a slide back into the familiar survival mechanisms of rage and revenge.

  BEAR …

  Pinned in the driver’s seat by my captor’s locked arm, I breathed and evaluated. I considered ramming down on the brakes to loosen his hold, but that could send Felicia’s face into the window. What about a backward head butt? No, my headrest was in the way.

  The razor blade. It was still in my pocket, wrapped in the envelope.

  Yes, that was it. Two could play this game, I decided.

  16

  Game on.

  At the corner of Elm Hill Pike and Murfreesboro, we passed the darkened Purity Dairy plant—source of award-winning ice cream and all things milky—and I slipped into a playful tone. “Cold snacks anyone?”

  Silence.

  I hoped the goofy comment would divert attention from my left hand easing into my jeans pocket. With a little patience and a couple more minutes, I just might get to go blade to blade with Mr. Axman.

  Chop, chop, you sicko!

  My throat worked for oxygen against his arm. His razor angled toward the corner of my eye, scraping past a small mole. Though there was no break in the skin, I made a conscious effort not to flinch.

  We continued past the walled entry of Trevecca Nazarene University toward blocks of industrial buildings. On the north end of Lafayette Street, square brick structures housed hundreds of low-income families. Over the project lawns, darkness accentuated erratic sparks of light, which I’d mistaken for flicked cigarette embers when I first moved here from Oregon.

  I gestured with my elbow for Felicia’s benefit. “See that?”

  “Are those fireflies?”

  “They’re called lightning bugs here.”

  Another moment. Another diversion. My fingers were now creeping into my pocket, touching the edge of the folded envelope.

  Felicia said, “He wants you take a left up here.”

  How was he communicating this stuff to her? He had on a stinkin’ ski mask. If he was whispering, it was too quiet for me to hear. Had he given her instructions back in the parking lot?