The night before christm.., p.20
The Night Before Christmas, page 20
20
The candles had burned down to little more than colorful bowls of liquid. I blew them out and replaced stereo music for television noise. A storm was coming. The night would start with rain then transition to heavy winds. The sky would be clear Christmas Eve, with a few snowflakes during the day but then it was expected to pick up and drop six to eight inches just after midnight on Christmas morning.
I found myself frequently at the door spying on Mrs. Douglas and discovered that she was doing the same. Between the spiny branches of the trees, I saw the slight shift of light at her upstairs window. It wasn’t just a quick peek. She gazed in my direction for a long time. If my suspicions about her were correct, then she could be as troublesome to me as Tommy Langston. It meant that the sweet little old lady across the way was a ruthless killer or at the very least, she knew the identity of Guthrie’s murderer. Either way, I felt like I was in a fishbowl – waiting for a bullet to split the night.
It took the men until midnight to replace the locks on all the doors. I was grateful for their effort even though it did nothing to make me feel safer. Doors didn’t stop Tommy. He’d blow up this entire neighborhood if it led to me.
"So, where am I sleeping" Marc asked, after we’d watched Vinny cross the yard to Marc’s house.
"Well, I have three bedrooms, two actually have beds. Both are clean with fresh linens. You're welcome to either."
"Which one do you sleep in?" A mischievous light twinkled behind his eyes.
Slipping away from the question, I asked, “I'm curious about something. Why do they call you onion? Is it because you're complex? Is it metaphorical about the different layers that make us human? The good. The bad." Maybe it was a silly question given the circumstances pressing in on us, but it had been needling me since the first day we met on the edge of my lawn.
He gave a side-long glance and turned away as he pressed his lips together. "Metaphorical?" he laughed. "Yeah, you could say that." He cleared his throat and made a herculean effort to wipe the smile off his face. "An onion - when it goes bad - stinks. Around the age of nine something about taking a bath just didn't sit well with me. I'd go for days without one. My grandmother started calling me Onion. The name just stuck." His laughter was infectious. Despite everything dark and foreboding that was rushing toward us, we'd found a place of levity. When our laughter settled, Marc turned toward the den. "I'm happy to sleep right there."
"You mean in the chair?" He was looking toward the recliner that I'd fallen asleep in dozens of times. It was soft and thick, and the fleece blanket I kept draped across the back made snoozing almost impossible to avoid.
"Makes sense that I should be on this level. I'll hear someone trying to come through the door. My favorite holiday movie is about to come on. He paused and looked off in thought. "Geez, I haven't seen any of my favorites this season. I've got a list of ten required holiday movies that I watch every year. All the better if you watch with friends, sharing a big bowl of popcorn and drinking warm apple cider."
"And so, another layer peels off," I laughed. "I never would have pegged you as the sentimental type."
"Meaning?" he asked, turning back with a wide smile.
"Well, it's just, you're not the guy I thought you were. You certainly have a wild side," I said, referring to the biker who showed up on the edge of my lawn weeks earlier. "You're a little edgy, but in a good way.” I found the hard corners sexy. Pointing to his tattoo, "You're a little bawdy. You've built an amazing career. You're a philanthropist and a hero."
"I'm no hero."
"I disagree. Most people would have run away from me as soon as they knew the truth about my past. You and Vinny are putting your lives on the line for someone you don't even know. I say that makes the both of you heroes - my heroes."
"Maybe we see someone who is worth the effort," he leaned forward and teased. "You come from strong stock, woman. You're not letting it stop you. You're determined, though a bit stubborn. But you're tender and caring. Not just running to protect yourself, you're doing it to keep your family safe. I’m smitten.” His gaze was tender and sparked a wave of desire that boiled through me.
"Smitten? Do people actually use that language anymore?"
"She deflects again," he said. "A man, me," he pointed to himself, "tells a beautiful woman, you," he pointed toward me, "that he likes her and instead of sharing the moment you tease me about using a classic colloquialism. You are deflecting.”
I was totally mixed up inside. Delighted. Anxious. My mind was a jumble of thoughts. Yes, no. Stop, go. Confusion spun me around until he kissed me, and I melted into the slow, languid deliciousness. I tingled from the tip of my toes to the top of my head. His arms circled me. One hand traced the path of my spine and slid beneath my hair then cradled the sides of my face. The other hand claimed my derriere, sending fire racing through my veins.
I pulled away from him, needing a moment to compose myself. My breathing came in short burst and my nerves were on edge. There was something that I wanted to ask.
"My bedroom is upstairs, down the hall on the back side of the house. Would you like to sleep there with me tonight?"
21
Marc's breathing was slow and measured. I tucked into the curve of his arm, my nude body warmed by his. I thought sex with him would be wild and fervid. To my surprise, he was a deliciously patient and gracious. Every touch, every movement, every caress was about my satisfaction. He'd take me to the brink of orgasm then pull back, driving me crazy with every new stroke. I came with a scream on my lips and tears in my eyes. As if I'd free-jumped from a plane, my body seemed to lift out of itself, sparks of light burst behind my eyes and I experienced a euphoria that rushed through my body like raging water.
Carefully, I untangled myself from his embrace. He moved, then just as quickly, settled. Slipping from the bed, I started rummaging through the collection of clothes we'd so hastily discarded on the floor.
"What's wrong?"
The sound of his voice sent me leaping into the air. When my heart restarted, and my feet found the ground again I wheezed, "You scared me! I thought you were asleep."
"I was asleep until I realized you were missing."
"I didn't mean to wake you," I whispered, as if we weren't the only two people in the room. Giving up on the pile on the floor, I grabbed for the robe I kept on the back of the bedroom door and shrugged into it.
"What's wrong?" he asked again.
"Nothing," I insisted.
"Then come back to bed," he tapped the spot where I'd been laying.
"I'd love to."
“But…” He waited for my answer.
“I can't sleep. My mind won't stop racing.”
He raised himself and settled against the headboard. "You're worried about the meeting with the FBI."
The ethereal glow of moonlight bathed his face. Even with tussled hair and a sleepy gaze, he was sexy.
"Come back to me. When I was on the phone with Graham earlier, I heard him dismiss Agent Clayton’s call. As far as the cops are concerned, there's no one fitting your description living in Centre City. Clayton has probably moved on by now."
Crawling back on the bed and kneeling beside him, I said, "There's no point in deluding ourselves. Clayton knows I'm in the mid-west. Something drew him to Centre City. He got close once before.”
Marc laced his fingers through mine and pulled me down beside him. We lay quietly for a moment. The rain outside had stopped leaving behind an inky black sky.
Softly, he asked, "Did he hurt you?"
It took me a moment to grapple with his question.
"My life with Tommy can be cut into two sections of a single book. The first part was bliss. Tommy was funny, attentive, smart, caring. He's the guy who will stand at the base of a tree for hours just to coax down a kitten. Part two of my life with him was hell. I saw a side of that man that I didn’t think existed in humans. Cruel. Brutal. If one of his men got out of line, they died. There are no second chances with Tommy.
“He never put his hands on me in anger but there was his control. I didn't notice how manipulative he was until I left. He'd whisked me off to Paris or New York for dinner even though I already had plans. It's hard to say no when all your lover wants is your time. It became easy to ignore the things that were important to me like family, my education, my career. Tommy overshadowed everything - even logic."
The mirage was shattered the day he decided to show me just how evil he can be.
I slipped my hand away from Marc's and knotted my fingers into fists. "The things Tommy told me in Venice left me raw. I couldn't look at him without feeling sick. Do you remember me tell you about how arranged for my Mother and sister to visit?”
“Yes.”
“He wanted to go away for a day trip, but my Mom and sister were still in town. So, he filled their day with appointments at the spa and private boutiques where he’d opened lines of credit for them. My mother’s opinion was starting to turn about Tommy. It had nothing to do with the gifts that he gave her, she could care less about that stuff. She’d fallen for his charms and decided that Tommy was just a hopeless romantic, a little clingy but she thought he loved me. She didn’t balk when he asked to spend one day alone with me even though it was in the middle of their visit. Tommy and I left early that morning on a chartered flight.”
“Where’d you go?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. I’d been mute after the trip to Venice. Tommy told me not to talk to anyone. Not to show emotion, no matter what I saw – do what I was told and stay close to him. We landed in some remote field. We weren’t in the United States anymore, I know that, and we’d been in the air for more than five hours but to this day I have no idea where we were. There was a huge, white tent - the heavy canvas kind with the plastic windows and scalloped awnings. Like they use for weddings. Half a dozen men were standing around with guns. The big assault, military kind.
“When Tommy and I entered the tent, a man in a black suit stepped forward and took one of the head chairs at a long table in the middle of the floor. He pointed for us to sit at the opposite end. His eyes were cold. Soulless. The man wore an expensive white suit and a ten-thousand-dollar watch but his nails were uneven and soiled. Odd how I noticed those little details.
“One-by-one, the seats filled around us but Tommy and the man sitting at the other end of the table spoke. Tommy, as it turned out, is fluent in Spanish." With a slight chuckle, I added, "I been with him for two years and I didn't know.”
The flap on the opposite end of the tent opened. Dozens of people were crowded outside. They weren’t there when we landed but in the short time that we'd been inside, young and old had been gathered and stood mute like ghosts that had slipped silently from the dense woods that surrounded us. They’re eyes were dull and lifeless; there was no hope inside.
“A long black car cut between the crowd and stopped in front of the tent. A naked woman and a man were pulled from the trunk. She was covered in bruises, filth was caked between her legs. Blood poured from the man’s mouth. I could see the empty black spaces where his teeth had been. He couldn't even stand on his own. His mid-section was, sort of, distorted like it had been beaten out of shape.
A long wooden box was placed on the table." In my head, I could still hear the yawn of the metal hinges as the box was opened. "There were two huge knives inside like the ones Sylvester Stallone carried in that movie, Rambo. Tommy and the other man each took one. They rose, almost in unison, coordinated like they'd practice the movement a million times before." Speaking through the memory of that day was unbearable and my words got tangled. This was the first time I’d ever spoken about what I'd seen. "Tommy push his knife inside that woman running it down the length of her torso as if he was opening a package of frozen meat." Her screams still rang in my ears. "They slashed that man until there was almost nothing left.
“The couple had been working for Tommy and his partner as mules. They would store drugs in their luggage then fly into the U. S. Their mistake was thinking they could steal from Tommy. I’m sure that what they stole was nothing compared to the volume Tommy was probably moving. The couple lost their lives because they’d violated the rules. You don't steal from Thomas Langston. He made an example of them." Gently, Marc took my hand and held it inside his own. A part of me wanted to stop - to end the story but I couldn't. For the first time in three years I could finally talk about my ordeal. Shifting away from Marc, I said, "We lived an extravagant life. The clothes, the jewelry, the homes, the jets, the cars, it all came from blood money. How many people died from drug overdoses or by Tommy's gun for me to eat a $3,000 can of beluga caviar? How many people lost their lives so that I could wear diamond earrings or have a day at the spa?" I tried to find a calming breath.
"You are as much a victim as those people in that field. Langston lied to you then put you in a cage after you found out the truth. There's no guilt for you. Use what you know to bring him down. Tell the FBI everything you just told me. That's how you give those people justice."
22
The snow that had been predicted was starting and I couldn't be happier. I wanted to see a winter wonderland. Most of the city was still asleep when we left the house. A few lights burned defiantly behind drawn shades or curtains. With Christmas just a day away, I was starting to regret my decision not to celebrate. I wish I'd gotten my own tree - something small for my living room. I didn't need fancy decorations. I could string popcorn or cut out colorful bells from construction paper. Give me a glue gun and I become dangerous. I became - hopeful.
"I’ve been thinking,” Marc said. “Maybe you should stay underground until we get you to the FBI."
Once the decision had been made to meet with the authorities, confidence had started to bloom inside me, something like a flower that forced its way out of the ground, twisting until its stems stood over the earth. I was alive. I had a choice. No more running - no more hiding. And, I wanted Marc. Not just one night, either. I wanted my bakery. I wanted it even if that came with notoriety. I wanted my name to be known as Faith Tate, because that is who I am. I wanted my family back. God, to see my father. To throw my arms around my mother's neck. To joke with my brothers and tease my sisters - the life in front of me was endless.
"I made commitments to customers. We're closing the shop at noon. I'll hang around a little longer just to work on a few weekend orders then I'll go home," I said.
He eased his car into the alley which ran behind the bakery. He gazed back-and-forth, as if worried someone would jump out of the darkness. "I'm sticking around for a while. Vinny will be here at noon. He'll stay until you're ready to leave then bring you to my place. You'll spend the night with me."
"Ah, I see. You want to play bodyguard again," I teased.
Though a thread of tension ran beneath his surface, Marc nodded freely and smiled, "Exactly. I enjoyed guarding your body last night."
"And I'm exhausted because of it." I couldn't complain without smiling back. The memory made me feel all tingly.
"You're spending Christmas Day with me as well. I'm having a few friends over."
"Whoa. I don't think that's smart." My emotional upswing shifted down to apprehension. The next forty-eight hours was all dark speculation. There was no guarantee any of us would live to make the meeting with the Feds. Marc and Vinny, as much as I adored them for their courage, had no idea what was coming. Tommy was just an illusion to them. A myth. A fable. I was the only one who knew how maniacal he was. Whether it was just the three of us or a house full of people, nothing would stop Tommy if he was coming for me. “I don’t think you want to draw anyone else into my troubles.”
Marc leaned over the console that divided us and took my hand. "Thomas Langston hasn't stayed free by making stupid moves. Blowing up a house full of people on Christmas Day will change that. He'll become the most wanted man in the country. He won’t take that kind of risk. So, I think the best thing to do is go on as planned. By the time the sun starts to rise on the 26th, you, Vinny and I will be sitting in an FBI office."
I looked down the length of the alley. Wooden crates and trash bins were stacked neatly against the buildings. The placement of the crates was an agreement of sorts between the shop owners to keep the lane clean to discourage vagrants. During the day, the narrow strip bustled with activity. Now, in the early hours the place looked desolate, even scary as shadows stretched out of hidden spaces. Marc's words sounded so promising and confident but inside, my mind swirled between a crazy mix of hope and fear.
Jordan got to the shop early. I'd barely pushed the door closed behind myself when I heard her keys jingling in the lock.
"Hi,” I called to her.
"Hey," was all she offered in return. She walked past me, threw her coat on a hook in the back room, jammed her head through the opening in her apron, washed her hands and started pulling bowls of batter from the refrigerator. She didn't even clock in for the day, which was unusual because she was steady about things like that. Something was still worrying her.
The sun had barely started its march across the sky when ragged line of customers started to form outside. Folks cloistered together with their hats pulled low and their chins tucked inside their scarves as the first powdery drifts of snow began to fall. I swung open the door, laughing as a burst of cold air came in with the crowd. Jordan passed out free cups of hot chocolate and we pumped up the holiday music. We were going to be cheerful, even if we had to fake it.
Despite our careful planning we ran out of almost everything. With more than a half-hour left to go, I told Jordon to lock the door. We'd spend the rest of our time cleaning up and maybe I could get her out of the bakery early. Give her back some time to spend with the family. Perhaps I could even draw her out of that gloomy fog that seemed to have wrapped around her.
