part0013

After jumping from the balcony, Emmelia hit the ground running. She’d grazed the outer branches of a small birch tree, then flopped into the arborvitaes, which didn’t have much to them, but they’d provided enough cushion to break her fall. She rolled from their bitter evergreen scent and took off.

White was a psycho, an absolute savage.

She joined up with the walkway that traced the shore and pulled off her hoodie, shoving it, her sunglasses, hat, and bandana under a pile of driftwood. It wasn’t the best disposal, but even if the collection was found, there wasn’t anything incriminating there. She’d never been arrested. Never had her DNA catalogued. She let her hair down and blended in with the other morning joggers.

She made it all the way to the lift bridge before she figured she had put enough distance between her and Fitger’s Inn. Slowing, she turned down a pier that guided ships into port.

A steady breeze was carrying away the pungent smell of fish and snails that often clouded the pier, and she took several deep breaths. At the end of the pier, she stopped beside a small lighthouse and called Avispón.

He didn’t answer, so she waited a moment, scanning the shoreline for any indication she’d been followed, then called again. It took a third try until he finally picked up.

“Bump was just killed,” she told him.

Avispón snorted. “Figures.”

“Who is this Jacob White guy?” Emmelia asked.

“An absolute shit weasel. What happened?”

“The freak beat him to death with a bottle. Smashed his face in.”

“Sounds about right. Well, get on it.”

“Get on it? I’m not going near the guy.”

“White’s right there on your goddamn doorstep,” Avispón growled. “Kill him.”

“He’s a lunatic.”

“You’ve got people; use them.”

Avispón was right. She did have people, but her people were just chest thumpers. Her people drove seven-year-old Subarus; they got a rush taking marijuana up to Winnipeg; they spray-painted their coffee cup logo around town; they sucker-punched people; they harassed the other fake gangsters; but they never killed. She wasn’t sure some of them had even fired the guns they carried. If she sent them Jacob’s way, the mess he’d make of them was unimaginable.

She stared at the inn across the water. Her eyes weren’t good enough to pick out the balcony where she’d leapt, but the flashing lights of the squad cars around the building were clear. How close had she come to getting a bottle to the face? Jacob had that wild, I’ll-bite-the-head-off-a-rat look in his eyes. When she’d jumped, she’d thought, This is crazy, but not as crazy as what she’d jumped from.

But she couldn’t refuse Avispón based on just that, so she said, “I’ll be lucky if I can even move a kilo of marijuana for the next month, let alone kill someone.” And that was the truth.

“Figure it out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out. The police will be everywhere. I have to shut down.”

“I’m sending ROD, then”

“ROD?” She’d heard the stories. They were messy. They were loud. They were toddlers loose in a candy store. Mixing ROD with Jacob was a massive fuck-up waiting to happen. “Don’t send ROD.”

“So you’ll handle it?”

“What do you want me to do? The man’s a psycho.” She also wasn’t the killer he thought she was. In a way, she was just a chest thumper too.

Avispón pressed, “He’s there. Take care of him.”

“He won’t even be here by tomorrow. He’ll run.”

“Don’t you let him run.” A succession of taps came over the line, then the cartel boss said, “I sent ROD a text. They’ll be there early next week. Either take care of White yourself or keep him around until ROD gets there.”

“You’re not helping. Just send them wherever he pops up next.”

“I want this handled now.” He gave her a phone number, then said, “Keep them updated.”

After a moment, she said, “Fine. I’ll handle it.”

“And I want pictures of White. I want to see what you do to him. Cut him up.”

That was exactly what she didn’t need: the police standing over a mutilated corpse. “Why? Wasn’t Bump just going to shoot him?”

“He was, but he also had those hollow points. Would’ve been a good show.”

I have those too, she thought.

“But I want extra now. Send me pictures. I want to feel his pain.”

“And fix your fentanyl problem,” Avispón added before hanging up.

It took Emmelia a moment to realize what he meant by that. She didn’t have a fentanyl problem, but then the recent overdose bubbled to the surface. That wasn’t really a problem, though. More of a curious event. In any case, she couldn’t ignore it now.

The wind died, and the smell of fish and snails rose up from the water. A small boy and his parents were edging down the pier.

She let her phone slip from her fingers and splash into the lake. It was a burner. She only needed it for that one text she’d sent to Jacob.

Emmelia pushed from her spot as the boy hurried past, arms extended, reaching for the railing at the end of the pier.

“Look at the police lights,” he cried to his parents.

Missy and Quincy waited in the lobby alongside the other fourth-floor guests who’d been out while Jacob made hamburger meat out of Bump’s beautiful face. Each time a guest returned from breakfast or their morning stroll, the hotel manager intercepted them and asked that they refrain from going up to their room for the moment. “There’s been an incident,” he would only say.

Jacob had washed the blood from his arms, face, and hair and changed his clothes, but still, as he descended the staircase, everyone eyed him as though they knew what he’d just done.

He went to Missy and hugged her.

“What’s happening?” she asked, inspecting him up and down for any hints to her question.

“Well…” He gave Quincy a light stroke, his fingers still twitching from the adrenaline. “Well. Come over here.” He guided Missy away from the suspicious congregation and told her.

A month ago, Missy would’ve broken into hysterics after hearing such a tale, but given all they’d been through, she merely covered her mouth with her hand and said, “Wow.” Then, “Your pepper spray was on the nightstand.”

Jacob blinked, then shook his head. “I put it in my bag this morning.”

“You didn’t. You forgot it.”

“I wouldn’t forget it.”

“You did. Quincy and I were going to sneak up on you and teach you a lesson. Except that purple dog was out there.” Her eyes widened. “That stupid dog. This wouldn’t’ve happened if it hadn’t been there. I turned around.” She surveyed the lobby (“I need to sit.”) and went to a couch near the fireplace, dropping beside a white-haired couple wearing “I’ve Been To Duluth” T-shirts.

Jacob sat next to her. “It’s fine. I’m okay.” But then he too had a terrible realization and grasped Missy’s leg. “The adoption agency. What’re we going to say?”

“This.” He waved his hand around the room.

Missy sighed. “Does it even matter at this point?”

“Don’t say that.” Jacob buried his face in his hands, thinking: A shooting at the fair, an apartment fire, now a hotel murder. I killed him. And it wasn’t the first time. His body count was getting into serial-killer territory. First the deaths in Mexico—he’d killed Vicente and the twins by collapsing their narco tunnel, and then he’d killed a cop (a crooked cop) by driving a car through his station—and now this in Duluth, where he’d left a guy with a face like a Sloppy Joe. He was the new Jeffrey Dahmer. Just a mass murderer trying to adopt.

Leaning toward Missy, he said, “Should we just pull the application?”

Missy gave him a look that asked if he really wanted her to answer that.

“Forget it.” He planted his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his palms again.

Missy patted him on the back.

The officer who’d handcuffed (and subsequently released) Jacob came down the stairs. He told the Duluth T-shirts they could go to their room while his partner walked through the crowd, spreading the word.

Breeland, according to his badge, looked to be the same age as Jacob and Missy. He took out a notepad and glanced down at Jacob. “Just need to make sure I got everything.” His eyes shifted from Jacob to Missy to Quincy and then back to Jacob.

Across the lobby, the manager behind the front desk yelled, “Don’t you roll that through here. Are you crazy?”

The EMT stopped the gurney halfway across the lobby. He raised his hands. “Where you want me to go?”

“Take it out the service entrance,” the man hollered, pointing.

The EMT slowly did a 180, shaking his head, and radioed his partner to come around the back. As he rolled the black bag out of the lobby, he passed by the guests waiting for the elevator and gave a nod.

Breeland smirked, then turned to Jacob. Tapping his pen on the pad, he said, “So you don’t recognize the number that texted you?”

“Not at all,” he said. “No clue.”

“Have you shown her?” Breeland waved his pen at Missy.

Jacob nodded but still took out his phone to let Missy look again.

After a glance, she said, “No, sir. I don’t know it either.”

“Can I see that?” Breeland asked. “The phone?”

Jacob handed it over.

Breeland poked and slid his finger across the screen. “Never texted or called you before, did he?”

“Any unusual texts before this?”

“Nothing. It’s the only one.”

Breeland handed him the phone back. “Can you just go over the chain of events once more?”

“Sure.” Jacob started with his walk back from the Coffee Princess, crescendoed with his aerial attack, and finished with the sicario’s escape.

“Could be right out of a movie,” Breeland said as he finished jotting in his notepad.

“I know. Like The Bourne Identity,” Jacob said.

“No. Was thinking more like Snatch, but it doesn’t matter.” He looked at Missy. “Anything to add?”

“Not really.” She asked, “Is our stuff still in the room?”

“Still there,” Breeland answered.

“Could we maybe get it out?”

“That’s the other reason I’m down here. Let’s go.” Breeland looked at Quincy. “He okay?”

“Just an infection.” Missy patted the dog’s head.

“It’s not contagious or anything,” Jacob added.

“Uh…I’m no vet, but that looks horrific. An eye patch or something wouldn’t help?”

“We’ve got a patch,” Missy said.

“Now might be as good a time as any to start using it.” Breeland turned to his partner, who was standing near the front desk. “Clint, can you watch their dog?”

The officer scratched his strawberry stubble and said something to the manager, who nodded, buttoned his jacket, and walked over. “I’d be happy to keep an eye on him for you.” His practiced smile hid any concern he might have had upon confronting Quincy’s red protrusion.

Breeland led Jacob and Missy upstairs to their room. Walking in, they encountered an officer snapping pictures of a dark, slightly glossy puddle that sparkled with bits of broken beer bottle near the foot of the bed.

“That’s a lot of blood,” Missy whispered as she snuck over to the bathroom for her toiletries.

Jacob had no comment. He quickly collected their suitcases from the closet and then his pepper spray from the nightstand, where Missy had said it was.

All together again back in the hall, Jacob asked Breeland, “You need me for anything else?”

“Not this second,” the officer said.

“You might later? I was thinking we’d leave town.”

Breeland gave a few small nods, then crossed his arms. “Well, you’re technically free to do what you want, but I’d prefer it if you stuck around for a day or two. You said there was a second attacker.”

“Yeah. That’s why we should leave.”

Breeland’s eyes flicked back to the room. “Like I said, you’re free to do what you want, but there’s going to be some follow-up questions. And if we arrest someone, it’d be nice if you were around to identify him. And on a more personal level,” Breeland continued, “if you go and I hear something happens to you next week…well, I’d feel responsible.”

“Wouldn’t be your fault,” Jacob said, pressing the call button for the elevator.

“But I could’ve convinced you to stay.” Breeland leaned forward. “Listen, we can watch over you. I’ll even get you a hotel near the station.”

“Kinda just wanna get out of here,” Jacob said, turning to Missy.

She shrugged. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I mean, we left Minneapolis and look what still happened.”

Breeland added, “You run off to Bemidji or Brainerd, those guys won’t know what’s going on. They won’t be watching out for you.”

“We should stay,” Missy said. “It’ll be safer.”

“She’s right,” Breeland said. “As long as you’re here, we’ll be watching.”

Jacob scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, but they know I’m here.”

“And we know they’re here,” Breeland said.

“Where’s the hotel?” Missy asked.

Breeland pointed toward the west. “Ten minutes’ drive. Right off Highway 53. And the station’s just down the road from there. The fire department is literally a stone’s throw from the hotel.”