"The Drop"
The sound of rain falling against the field of headstones and statues. The sound of thunder as it rumbles high above in the clouds like distant explosions. The faint flash of lightning as it peeks through the dark sky. The sight of people rushing to their cars in the distance, trying to escape the rain. The odd umbrella hovering over a family members grave. It's all there, all happening, but all I can see is the look in her eyes, the look she gave the last time I saw her. The same look she gave me when she found me in a shredded apartment after the funeral. That look that says, louder than anything around me, that she has pity for me. A look that tells me she thinks I'm petty and pathetic and she feels bad for me. After everything that's happened, all the bad and all the confrontation, she isn't angry at me, she just feels bad for me.
She rolls her shoulders and keeps still, huddling in the thick coat against the rain. The bottom of her face hidden in the layers, just her eyes poking out above the collar. How much did she hear? How long did she stand there and listen to me spill my problems to the dead and not to her? She keeps trying to get in, trying to find out and help, but I chose the silent reply of a dead man over her.
"I'm sorry." It's heartfelt, I can hear the sadness in her voice, but the look stays in her eyes.
It would be easier if she just said it, just let it out instead of keeping it hidden like this. And she could say the same thing to me. I have kept so much from her. Even when we were kids I didn't trust her with my problems. I never let her in, never let her help. And I ignored her when she tried to talk to me, treated her like she was just some random person I had to deal with, not my sister. How much has she kept from me over the years? I know my story, the pain and misery, and now she might as well. But what has she kept from me? Has she any dark secrets she wants kept out of the light? If she does, she hides it well. Or maybe I just never bothered to look.
"It's rude to eavesdrop."
She finally looks away, the sarcasm, the attempt to steer her away again, shaking the look from her eyes.
"Sam..."
I scoff at her, rolling my shoulders. That tone, that pity, digging at me.
"Sam what? How long did you stand there? From the look of pity, it must have been a while. Why were you even there in the first place? I said I wanted to be alone. What, no questions? No need to ask anything now that it's in the open?" The snap was a reflex, some base instinct to get defensive and brace for a fight.
But she didn't respond, didn't snap back or press. She just turned away.
"It's just going to get worse, we should get back to the car." She wanted to ignore it, but I couldn't let her.
"NO!" I shouted. She made three steps before she flinched at the sound of my voice, the sound of me shouting. "You keep saying you want to ask me questions, you want to me let you in. Well, here's your chance. Ask away." I make a wide gesture, opening my arms and letting them fall.
She turns slowly, her shoulders falling and looking me in the eye. She doesn't want this.
"If we stay out here we're going to catch a cold." She's scared, doesn't want to push it. She can see me teetering on the edge and doesn't know what will happen if I drop.
"What do you want to know first? Want to hear about how I got guys I considered my family killed? Want to hear the details of how I had to shoot one of them? Want me to describe the sound he made as he burned? No, maybe you want to know why the news said I was in a different part of the country when I was wounded. Want to hear about how I tortured guys, hear about all the horrible things I've done?" Each word a small stab. She takes a deep breath, trying to keep from reacting. "No, wait, you wanted to know why I left, didn't you? Yeah, that was your first question. Well, now you have your answer. I fucked everything up, I made everyone worry about me and kept drifting away because I fell in love with Carly and I was so afraid of what that meant I cut ties and ran. You happy? I realized the only person I ever wanted was someone I couldn't have. I loved her, still love her. But I got scared, Mel, I ran and I ended up doing terrible things because it was what I knew. I was just being myself. I was always a piece of crap, I finally owned up to it."
She tried to take a step forward but stopped when she saw I still had more.
"I should have died a dozen times over, but here I am. I'm here with you and everyone else trying to help me, acting like things haven't changed. But they have, Mel. I'm not some wounded warrior that just needs support, okay? I'm not the shaggy little kid that just needs a shoulder to lean on anymore." My voice rises with every word, close to shouting. And she flinches at every gesture, at every sentence she shrinks a little, but she still doesn't move. "I don't want your help, I don't DESERVE YOUR HELP! I'M JUST A FUCKING KILLER TRYING TO ACT LIKE I'M NOT, SO WHY CAN'T EVERYONE JUST LET ME FUCKING DIE? WHY AM I SO FUCKING IMPORTANT?" I was screaming and pointing at her like this is somehow her fault. She looks like she's shaking, but it could just be the rain.
Maybe it's her reaction to me screaming at the top of my lungs, to me losing hold of what little sanity remains. She looks me over several times, trying to work out or process what I just threw in her face. After a few moments she either gives up or figures it out and moves towards me with slow, determined steps. She inches closer till she's nose to nose with me, eye to eye.
"I forgot to give you the letter Carmine left you. We both got one and yours has been sitting in a box since the lawyer handed it to me. I thought you would want to say goodbye before I gave it to you. We need to get back to the car before the whole thing falls apart in my pocket." Her voice is calm and quiet, the tone you would give to a wild animal to keep it calm. But I would assume she uses it for calming ER patients that are in a frenzy. "And all that stuff isn't my business. You are my business. You are my sister, and I will do what it takes to make sure you are okay, no matter the problem. If you want to tell me that stuff, want to explain everything and let me in, that's your choice. Until you want to share, I'll let it go." She steps away and starts to leave. The anger collapses, the rage and the confusion leave and I'm left with the urge to pass out and sob at the same time. It's the exhaustion that wins in the end. She stops after a few meters and looks over her shoulder. "If you're done acting like a child, we should get to the car before the rain gets worse. Unless, of course, you just want me to leave you here to die on your own." She didn't look back again. Yeah, she is my sister. A face isn't the only thing we have in common.
We didn't speak on the short walk back to the car. There were no apologies or explanations, just the sound of the rain against the grass and the walkways. By the time we reached the car, the rain was going from bad to worse, and I was soaked to the bone. The dry car was little relief compared to the soaking clothes and chill down my spine. By the time I had settled in there was a simple envelope sitting on the dash. It was damp like everything else and the ink on the front had smudged. She didn't look at me or speak, just peeled off the wet coat and tossed it in the back seat and rested her head on her hand.
It was a long few seconds as I stared at the envelope. Why am I hesitating? Why am I nervous about it? What could it say that would harm me in some way? After a time I managed to pick it up and look it over. My name was written on the front in simple blue ink, now jagged where the damp had got to it. The envelope didn't give much resistance as I tore it open, the piece of folded paper saved from the worst of the rain.
"Asshole." It doesn't matter how much I loved him or how well he treated me, he was still an asshole. The folded sheet of paper wasn't heartfelt note, some piece of last words. It wasn't a confession or anything of the sort. It was a phone number.
"What?" She was calm, doing what she could to live up to her word, to leave it alone and simply be there when I was finally ready to let it all out on purpose.
"It's just a phone number."
"So call it." She turns on the heater and holds her hands in front of the vent.
I grumble and look around for a moment, remembering that I have a phone before realizing it was in my pocket the whole time. And if my clothes are any indicator, it isn't dry. I pull it out and have to shake droplets away. She stares at me, waiting.
"Can I use yours?" I ask, holding up the piece of wet tech.
She shakes her head and reaches over, turning on my phone's screen. "Your phone is water resistant. I thought you might like the practicality of it." She leans back in her seat, trying not to look smug.
"Yeah, because I was going to know that." I felt like a child as I fumbled around with the icons and screens, trying to find the actual phone part of the phone. I was never one for smartphones and I've been out of the tech loop for a long time. Finally, after more struggling than there should have been, including Mel leaning over and hitting things for me, the line started ringing. That same anxiety trickled down the back of my head as I waited.
"Detroit Auto Works. My name is Keith, what can I do for you?" I closed the line and tossed the phone on the dashboard.
"That was quick. Dead line?"
"What happened to Carmine's stuff after he died?"
"Uh." She cocks her head with a confused look. "He didn't really have a complete will so it was just spread around all his cousins and stuff like that."
"Did you get anything? Did he actually leave anything or was it just spread around randomly?"
She huffs and looks at the ceiling of the car, for a moment the sound of the rain mixes with the warm air from the heater.
"Most of his stuff wasn't mentioned in the will, just that he left me a small package. It was really just the two letters. The rest of the stuff was intestate and spread around or seized because some of it was illegal contraband." She scratched at her temple and pulled back a strand of wet hair from her forehead.
"Was I mentioned in the will?"
It hits her like it never occurred to her.
"No, and now that you mention it he altered the will after he got out of prison. You'd think he'd just leave everything to you."
I hold up the slip of paper with the phone number. All those years gave me some insight into the man. He was a criminal. no changing that. Even when he quit, the habits stayed.
"I think he did. He just didn't want the lawyers involved. Carmine wasn't very fond of lawyers or the legal system. Go figure. I think he wrote this letter after I left just to make sure the things he wanted me to have were kept by somebody he trusted. The number was for an auto shop here in town, and I think Carmine was friends with the owner. It'll be south when we cross the bridge, I don't remember exactly where."
She slipped the car into gear and backed out the parking space. "Okay, so, what did he leave you?" she asked as we pulled away. It was a good question that I don't know the answer to.
"No idea. But whatever it is, it's not anything he wanted people to know about. And that usually isn't a good sign from a career criminal." That was the end of the conversation. She didn't want to push any buttons and I was simply to far gone to try and hold conversation. At least this time we had the radio on as we drove in silence. Things aren't going to get any easier.
I was able to get us close before I was lost in the sprawl of the city. In the end, it was a simple search on the GPS to find it, something Melanie had huffed about the whole time. Eventually, we made it to the parking lot of the clean white buildings of the auto shop. She parked near the office, close to the covered fence hiding a sizable scrap yard and various garages in the back. The sound of metal work was hanging in the damp air now that the rain had stopped. Melanie shut off the car and started rummaging behind my seat for her purse.
"So, what are we doing here?" She finally pulled it free and idly checked her phone.
"I was eleven the last time I was here, so don't hold me to this, but I think Carmine used to work with the guy who owns this place."
She slid her phone back into her purse and climbed out of the car. I was slow to follow, my whole side aching from the rain and my outburst, but at least it was getting easier to ignore the sensation. She closed the door and looked at me over the roof of the car.
"I never knew Carmine worked as a mechanic."
I pulled my coat free from the back seat and started towards the door as I slid it on.
"I don't think he did. He didn't have a single honest job after his mid-twenties." I barely heard her whisper out a great as I made my way inside. At least she realized what that meant.
The front office was a small room with low, white walls and a simple counter in front of a door leading to the back offices. There was a large window covering the back wall looking into one of the garages with a sign hanging in the middle with company name written on it. The rest of the room was filled with chairs and a TV in the corner, a place for people to wait while quick repairs or oil changes were done. The walls were covered in old photos and plaques, a small reminder of where this place came from. Luckily it was empty.
It was a few short steps to the counter as a young guy, no more than twenty with a few grease stains on his shirt and a head of short black hair to match the square jaw, came out of the back. He definitely gave the impression that he would know a thing or two about engines. Always the right impression for a place you trust with fixing your car. He had a big smile as he rested his hands on the counter.
"Hello, My name is Keith. What can I help you ladies with today? Oil change, new tires or maybe a check engine light that won't go away?" He wiped his hands on a piece of cloth hidden behind the front of the counter. "I only ask because your car seemed to work fine as you pulled up." The smile was genuine. He likes his job, likes to help people and work on cars. And from the way his eyes lingered on Mel, he likes to be the hero as well.
"Hi, Keith, I'm looking for Niko. He still run this place?" I can't remember his last name or what the guy actually looked like, but his name was the first that came to mind.
"Uh, yes he does." Keith just kept on smiling, switching between a professional look and a glance behind me. "But I don't know if Mr. Orlovsky is in today and I'm afraid I can't just pull him here on a whim. Do you want me to leave a message for him?"
I keep eye contact as I let out a sigh. He's lying, I can see it in his eyes. Niko is here, but I'm sure he doesn't like strangers asking for him.
"Okay, I have had a really shitty... life... and I need to talk to Niko. So, if you could just go get him or call him or do whatever it is you need to do, that would be a lot easier than me doing anything."
"I'm sorry." His smile fades and he pulls back from the counter. "I can't just go grab him for nothing."
Well, at least he admitted he was here.
"Keith," I said it quietly as I leaned over the counter. "Get your boss."
His smile finally leaves and his eyes harden. He squares up, making himself bigger. He must have to do this sort of thing more than he would like, dealing with the get your manager type or the odd thug looking for an old hand in the business.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, ma'am." He points a finger over my shoulder and keeps a stern look on his face.
"I tried to be nice."
He only had a second to look confused before I gripped his wrist, twisted it and pulled him chest first into the counter with a hard thud and held him there. I reached next to him and pulled the phone from the receiver, knocking over various decorative items and pushing a monitor out of the way. A cup full of pens fell to the floor and clattered.
"Okay. What button calls his office?"
He tries to jerk free and groans when I twist his wrist tighter. He struggles to reach over and hit a button on the phone and nods quickly.
"There, it should be ringing. Let go, please."
I loosen the grip but don't let him pull away. I put the phone to his ear and lean down to look him in the eye. He's huffing and mouthing curses under his breath.
"Let him know there is a Puckett here to see him."
A moment passes before a faint voice comes over the line. It's muffled and doesn't sound happy. Keith looks at me and I twist his hand again.
"Ow, ow. Okay. Uh, boss, there's some lady that wants to talk to you. In person." I twist again. "Ow ow ow. She says her name is Puckett."
The line goes dead. I let him go and he falls back against the wall, rubbing his wrist.
"You could have avoided that. Now we wait," I say and he gives me an angry look but doesn't try anything, probably told to wait. I think he gets it. I turn around and Melanie just has her arms crossed with that look in her eyes. I don't think she does it on purpose. Does she remember that night? Has it stuck in her mind? "Nothing to say?"
She scoffs and gives a small chuckle.
"After earlier? No. I like my hands right where they are. It was impossible to talk back to you when you were nice," she says with a voice dripping with sarcasm. Yeah, she remembers the last time she gave me that look. And I wish she didn't.
"Do you want me to apologize?"
She tugs at the strap on her shoulder and moves to one of the waiting chairs.
"Would you mean it?" She gives an expecting look after she settles into the chair.
I shove my hands in my pockets and look out to the street.
"I don't know. But I would like to think so." she purses her lips into a thin line.
"Until you know for sure that you mean it, just keep it to yourself."
I nod and look at the TV in the corner. It's some half-assed show with bad acting and worse lighting as the wannabe actors read their lines from cue cards just off-screen. Just something playing on whatever channel it was left on. I can hear Keith straightening up the counter and hanging up the phone behind me. He's still grumbling when the back office door swings open and I turn to see who it is.
It's an old man, probably in his seventies with a head of short white hair and large gut. Thick rimmed glasses sit on the bridge of his nose and he looks at me and Keith, obviously disappointed. He pats Keith on the shoulder and shushes him before he can protest with a hard squeeze with his beefy hand. The man had probably shrunk some with age, but he still has thick arms and a hell of a grip from the look of it. I think back to when I was a kid, to when Carmine brought me here and who he saw. He had aged a bit since I last saw him, more than a bit, but that is definitely Niko Orlovsky. He finishes his chat with Keith and looks me over.
"You should have called ahead." He turns and opens the office door to the back. He looks me over again and glances at Melanie. "Are you coming or not. I swear you fucking Pucketts all have problems." He keeps mumbling as he passes through the door. Melanie shoots me a look and follows a few steps behind me.
"You know the best people. Really, very interesting."
Boy, is she going to be happy when she finds out what he and Carmine worked together on. Bonds forged in blood and fire are very strong and always last. The question is only how much blood and fire did it take.