Bonus Coyote
My night has gone to shit. I’m in Reno, a city I vowed never to come back to, robbing a house, that based on the intel I received, would be worth the risk ten-times over. I was assured that there’d be enough of a cash haul to allow me and mine to take a long vacation somewhere in Europe, even with the cut for my source. But Anthony’s information stinks. Sure, there’s a fucking safe, but when I open it, there’s nothing but air inside.
I don’t immediately blame Anthony, my cousin on my mother’s side and just as fucked up as I am. Other than Rinna, my friend and saviour, Anthony is the only other link to my past. Until now, he hasn’t led me astray.
The only hesitation I had when he passed me the intel was where the job would be. Reno. The worst time of my life was spent in this city, and it’s taken years to overcome the trauma. Not overcome, but carefully locked up in my brain alongside shame, grief, and guilt.
But Anthony, who knows little of my past, doesn’t know the secrets I hide. He called me from Las Vegas and talked me into this job. He assured me that the house would be empty and not alarmed. He even told me where the window was that I could slip through. Easy, he said, but that was an exaggeration. I tore the ass of my catsuit as I wriggled through the narrow opening.
The safe is where he said it would be and is easy enough to crack, but the bloody thing is empty. I can’t wait to tell my cousin that his 20% is blowing air.
I close the safe, move into the living room, my balaclava in my hand, deciding what to do. Search for another safe, or go on my way, which is what I should be doing. Then my mental acuity shuts down as the roar of motorcycles startles me. They’re not on a midnight ride, don’t drive past. Instead, they pull up to the house that I am unsuccessfully robbing.
My suspicions about Anthony start to take root. I always do my homework before a job. I know who this house belongs to, so I know, without having to peek out a window, that it’s Blackbeard bikers in the driveway.
It’s not the first time I’ve tangled with bikers, but I’ve approached with caution after a run-in with a one-percenter club in Montreal. It was a misunderstanding, but their president didn’t see it that way. I got off with a warning to leave Canada and never come back. I’m surprisingly compliant when there’s a gun to my head.
After I explained to Anthony why I was reluctant to rob a bike gang, he assured me that the Blackbeards rarely used the house, convinced me that his information was solid. Yet here they are, three men by my ears, unless they’re riding double. And they’re dropping by after midnight. For what? Sure, bikers keep odd hours, but this house has an air of desertion. It hasn’t been occupied for a long time.
Maybe it’s a coincidence? Me, robbing their house at the same time three goons drop by for tea. Problem is I don’t believe in coincidences. Not really. Not this kind. I’m almost certain I’ve been set up by my cousin-in-crime. The only thing I don’t know is why.
I decide Anthony’s betrayal is something to contemplate later as there are far more pressing matters to attend. At least three Blackbeard bikers are about to enter the house and I’m defenceless. Heading upstairs would only trap me and strolling out the front door doesn’t seem like a feasible option for escape. Neither does the back door as I hear the rattle of a key from that direction. The window I came through won’t work unless I can find a ladder in 10 seconds. Unlike the exterior wall, which is covered in rough stucco, the interior is too smooth for me sprint my way up.
Besides, who knows if one of the men isn’t lingering under it waiting to break my fall.
I curl up behind an armchair as I hear the creak of the front door. Even before light floods the house, I know my hiding spot is not going to save me. This night is about to get longer.
One of the guys, short and husky in that steroid kind of way, saunters into the room, his eyes searching. Any doubts I had about Anthony setting me up are gone. They know I’m here. They know I’m trapped. The next time I see Anthony, I’m going to wring his neck.
The guy with the muscles walks to the centre of the living room, his head swivelling from right to left, stopping dead when he spies me. His lip curls as he starts to say something, but before he can utter a word, he drops like a rock, his body hitting the floor, his head bouncing off the hardwood.
Behind him is a man dressed in black. Not a catsuit like mine. Jeans, black biker boots, balaclava. Also, he’s holding a gun, which I am not. He locks eyes with me and puts a finger to his lips, a warning to keep my mouth shut. That’s not a hardship. I know how to be silent and motionless. It’s why I’m still alive.
The guy with the gun is tall and lean, graceful as he steals towards the arch of the living room, just beyond my sight. A few seconds later, I hear a grunt and then a thud. Blackbeard number two is down, and I let out a premature breath of relief. One left to go.
I’m not afraid. I do get scared at times because fear is a natural response, but long ago, I realized that it’s irrelevant to the outcome. Therefore, it serves no purpose. Thus, my heart rate is steady, my breathing normal as I stand to run out the back door.
I’m partway across the living room, when the third guy materializes in front of me, pointing a gun. We stare at each other for a long couple of seconds before he breaks the contact. He looks over my shoulder, then crumples. The noise from the gun behind me isn’t explosive, just a loud pop, the sound a silencer would make.
I stare at the dead biker as a bloody hole blooms in the centre of his forehead, then slowly turn toward my unknown saviour… or future murderer. He’s pointing the gun towards me.
This is where it all stops, I think. In Reno, in a house I shouldn’t be in, shot by a man I don’t know. It’s ironic. I’ve come full circle. I’m back where I started. Where I almost died, and now, where I’ll take my last breath.
I tear up because every action in my life has brought me here to my death. I think of Sean, my son, and Autumn, my sister. My best friend, Rinna, who saved my life and has kept my family safe. They’ll all grieve for me. Then of cousin Anthony, who betrayed me, the smug smile on his face that I’ll never get the chance to wipe off.
I wait for the guy to pull the trigger. If he’s expecting me to beg, he’ll be disappointed. Begging rarely influences the result, especially when it comes to violence.
Instead of the bullet I’ve braced myself for, he walks up to me, presses the gun into my ribs, then rips off my balaclava. “You’ve really fucked up my night,” he says in a dead voice that slides through my veins like ice water. His intense blue eyes stare into mine, cold and unforgiving. I realize I was wrong about my ability to suppress fear.
I swallow, then clear my throat. “Sorry about that.”
His lips tip up, but he’s not amused. His gaze doesn’t waver from mine as he reaches out and takes a lock of my hair, pulls it towards him and inhales.
Everything inside me freezes as demons try to claw their way out from the box that I’ve locked down tight. If they escape, they’ll destroy my soul and I’ll lose the woman I’ve so carefully constructed.
“Don’t,” I demand as I knock his hand away.
He doesn’t react as he hands me the balaclava. “Put it back on.”
It’s a life vest for me, the safety of darkness, and I cover my head, feeling secure inside it. Stupidly.
Then he does something that outrages me. He fucking turns his back on me as if I have no power to hurt him. I hold my breath as he walks across the room and yanks a cord attached to a floor lamp out of its socket.
I tense, getting ready to run.
“Don’t.” His back is still turned, but the warning in his voice promises death.
I freeze as he snaps the cord from the lamp, then returns to me. “Turn around.”
I blow out a breath as I think about what to do. I’m fully aware my fight or flight response is one bad idea away from defending myself.
I’ve hesitated too long as he lightly grips my shoulder and turns me so I’m facing away. He wraps the cord around my wrists and then yanks me backwards into his hard chest. “We’re going outside.” His words slide over me like melting ice. “You’re going to walk in front of me without speaking, without struggling or trying to run away.”
It’s an expectation, not a warning or command.
“And then?” I whisper.
“I’m going to lock you in my van and come back to clean up your fucking mess. Keep your mouth shut and be grateful you’re still breathing.”
An unsettling thought invades me; serial killers have vans. I decide to try begging on for size. Experiment with it. I turn enough that I can see his face. “Please don’t hurt me,” I whimper.
If Autumn could hear me now, she’d vomit.
He tilts his head as if he knows I’m full of shit. “Okay.”
I raise my eyebrows at him and his lips quirk.
He leads me out the back door and we walk in the shadows, our breaths heavy in the oppressive silence of the night, our footsteps barely a whisper. Two blocks down we get to the van. It’s seemingly innocuous parked next to a curb under a broken streetlight. He opens the back doors and picks me up like I’m a six-pack and places me inside, then forces me further into the interior as he climbs in behind me.
The van is spacious, but he fills it with his presence. It smells like it has been freshly laundered and despite the summer heat, it’s cool. Under the dim interior lights, I see monitoring equipment, screens, headphones, all sitting on a desk-like table that seems to be bolted to the wall.
“Who are you?” I say, my heart leaping at the idea that maybe he isn’t a serial killer. Maybe he’s a cop.
He doesn’t respond as he sets me in a corner, forcing me down on my belly. The soft, thick foam under me causes my stomach to drop. He probably is a serial killer. He bends my legs at the knees and binds my ankles with the remaining electrical cord, then attaches it to my wrists, tightening it enough to make me grunt in pain. Then he pulls it tighter.
“I think you’re good at getting out of tight spots, and I’d like you to stick around a while so we can talk.” His soft sinister voice makes my pulse jump. As he tests the knots, ignoring my protesting squeak, I tell myself to settle down.
He’s right. I can get out of most situations, but I may have met my match tonight.
He sits back on his heels and admires his handiwork, then pulls my balaclava off my head. “Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
I roll awkwardly onto my side so I can watch him as he moves around the van. He flicks a switch on his control panel and slides earbuds into his ears. Then he picks up a small rectangular kit and a backpack.
He turns to me again, taps on one of the earphones. “It’s going to take a couple of hours to clean the house.”
My heart falls at his words. “You’re kidding, right? You’ll be there for hours cleaning up the bodies.”
He holds my eyes until I drop mine. “I don’t give a shit about the bodies.” He checks the time on the flashing panel and frowns. “Should be back by 3:00 AM.”
The lights fade, then he’s gone, and I’m tied up like a pretzel alone in the dark.