3
The first class is in the glasshouse propagating leafy, tropical plants, and usually, I’d be in heaven, but today, I’m on edge. My ears listen out for every voice spoken and every squeak of a door, waiting apprehensively for someone to mention or react to the murder. It’s eerily quiet, likely because the students in this plant biology class wouldn’t know famous coach Lyons if he fell over them. But it doesn’t help my concentration much, expecting a policeman to walk in and tap me on the shoulder while retracing my footsteps this morning. I didn’t touch Lyons so that I wouldn’t have left DNA, and I was covered head to toe in disguise, but where my plan is flawed is my getaway car is registered to me and is now parked outside my apartment building. If I wasn’t so upset about what Lyons did to Lucy, I would’ve bought a cheap car from someone out of town and dumped it somewhere once the deed was done.
Oh well, what’s done is done, and I’ll learn for next time when I barbeque the pig on a spit. But it’s probably wise to let the dust settle with this murder before I move on to the next.
I check my phone for the tenth time in the last half an hour, hoping Blake or Cormac would communicate to remind me that I am not alone. However, it’s weird how I initially wanted to do this alone. Now, I’ve given everything to them, and my fate is in their hands. This is a dangerous place to be, and it’s been forced onto me, but will I be coping this well if I was alone during this?
My skin crawls, and naturally, I want to start scratching my arm until it’s raw, but I have a rubber plant to propagate and an assignment to write, so I pull myself together. The end of the class finally arrives, and I move on to the next class, Botany, in a nearby building. This time, I’m seated closely with other students, and my ears prick every time someone speaks, hunting for the words Lyons, swim coach, murder, shooting, drive-by. Again, no one says a thing, probably because they don’t even know who Lyons is, nor do they care. Or maybe the news hasn’t hit the mainstream side of the university outside of the swim team.
Time travels damn slow when you’re eager for the bubble to burst and silence turns into noise. The waiting is the hardest part. But once word gets around, and rumors start, I can breathe a little easier because the scab has been knocked off the wound, and the pressure subsides a little. But I doubt this side of uni is that interested in the death of a man they never knew.
I forgot to turn my phone off when I entered the class, and it beeped loudly halfway through, making me jump in fright. Immediately, I switched to silence, apologized to my botany tutor, and discreetly checked the message under my desk.
Cormac: Fancy catching up for a coffee and sandwich?
Me: Yes. Where and when?
Cormac: The Kiosk where we had our first date (:
Me: Lol. It wasn’t a date. It was a casual meeting.
Cormac: Nah, it was a date. You just hadn’t realized it.
It’s a lonely life being a murderer because you are terrified someone is going to read your thoughts and see into your past. Therefore, keeping a distance from people is imperative. So, it’s a soothing relief to have the three men there as support, even when I know it’s wise to keep my wits about me, never drop my guard, and keep an eye on them as much as they’re keeping an eye on me.
“Can I trust you one hundred percent?” I ask Cormac when I spot that striking body leaning against the iron fence lined with agapanthus in bloom near the Kiosk.
“Of course,” he replies smoothly, “but that question is a problem within itself.”
“Is it?” I question curiously as we line up at the Kiosk, and again, my ears listen out for talk about the murder. So far, it’s as if it didn’t happen, and maybe it didn’t happen, and it was nothing but a dream.
“Yeah,” he replies, brushing the back of his fingers so lightly along my forearm as a comfort, even though it’s adding to my nervousness. “Because even thieves and liars will answer yes to that question. So, it’s a matter of figuring it out for yourself – who you should and shouldn’t trust based on actions, not words.”
“Again, your depth is profound,” I say, a little sarcastically, as we step up to the counter and order our coffees.
“Thanks,’ he smiles, not picking up on the sarcasm as usual, then orders two chocolate fudge cookies and two cream cheese bagels. “That’s not our only house, you know.”
“Romano Terrace?” I ask, aware that people surround us, so I can’t talk about what I really want to talk about, so small talk governs the mood of the moment.
“Yeah, we have another house on the coast that remains empty most of the year. But we go there to surf and dive…” He’s so good at pretending everything is normal, and the girl standing next to him hadn’t just shot his coach in the head only a few hours ago. There must be things he’s dying to tell me, but he can’t until we are entirely alone.
“Oh wow, I grew up on the coast. My parents still live there, and my brothers,” my throat tightened at the thought of Gavin the Pig, ex-cop and business partner of my brothers and my next target, who also lives there. When I discovered he was now involved with my family, I thought this was a deliberate move to keep me silent. But it will be him that will be silenced soon, very soon.
“Yeah, I know,” he says casually as we move aside with the food and wait for our coffees to be made.
“You know?” I ask suspiciously because I’m suspicious of everyone and everything these days.
“Yeah, you told me,” he states, “when you said you were going home for your father’s birthday.”
“Oh, that’s right,” I reply. The suspension is killing me. I know he has information about this morning, and it’s challenging to think about anything else.
Finally, our coffees are ready, and we find a spot on the grass away from crowds of students. I flick my sneakers off, dig my toes into the luscious grass, and wait impatiently for Cormac to begin. He lies down on his side, propped up by an elbow, takes a bite of his bagel, chews, and swallows, and I’m just about dying by the time he says quietly, “I forgot to tell you that I received a text to tell me that training has been canceled today and I wasn’t given a reason why.”
Two girls walk closely by, and their oblong shadows stretch over us as they block out the sun's warm glow, and a shiver claims the base of my spine. He pauses to let them pass before continuing, “Rumors are circulating in class that he’s been murdered, but no one has actual evidence of that yet. All they have to go on is one of the pool staff found Lyons slumped over his steering wheel in the parking lot, and he called the police.”
“That’s a big leap to go from ‘slumped over steering wheel’ to being murdered,” I argue, then realize that I must sound mad since it was me who shot him.
“They’re putting two and two together and coming up with their own conclusions,” he clarifies. “Eliminating a heart attack or suicide for an array of reasons which leaves a random murder, perhaps a robbery gone wrong.” He shrugs. “It was early in the morning, so anything is possible until we hear back from the police about what happened.”
I grunt, “Exactly,” I agree. “Have you heard from your father?”
He shakes his head. “It’s still early, Rae, and the officers on the case will be busy analyzing collected data.”
“Yeah, but it’s pretty obvious what happened to him,” I chuckle under my breath. “And he is one hundred percent dead?”
“That’s the rumor,” he answers precariously. “Why are you worried you didn’t do the job properly?”
“It’s something Blake said,” I sigh, finding my appetite has waned, not that I had much of one in the first place.
“Ah, he’s checking to see if you left a paper trail or, in your case, a blood trail,” he says far too calmly, and I can’t help but feel uneasy about his attitude.
“Why are you so relaxed over this?” I ask, breathing over a brick in my stomach.
“People die all the time,” he says flippantly, taking another bite of his bagel and pointing his big finger at mine. “You don’t want that?”
“I’ll eat it later, and I’m just…my stomach is tied in knots. I guess it’s got nothing to do with you, so you have nothing to worry about,” is the conclusion I come to as to why he’s chilling out so easily.
“Hardly, we’re accomplices to your crime, harbored a criminal and about to tamper with evidence,” he replies, still unbelievably calm, which makes me even more nervous.
“Tampering with evidence?” I ask, trying to figure in my mind when they did that.
“Not yet. Maybe soon it will have to be done,” he replies. “Anyway, it’s imperative that you just act normal.” He waits for another group of students to walk by before adding, “Blake has it all sorted. He got rid of your car and that weird costume you wore…” he cringes. “What is the deal with that? Why a lion mask?”
“It’s Simba,” I correct him, and he still doesn’t get it, so I explain, “From the Lion King.” I’m about to protest about my car being dumped, but I know it’s the right thing to do. Boy, I’m going to miss my little yellow speedster.
“Yeah? And?” He frowns, mystified.
“Lyons. Lion. Jeez, Cormac, I can’t believe I have to spell it out to you,” I say impatiently, tensing up so much that an ache penetrates my skull from behind my eyes.
“Got it,” he replies. “I swear I saw an eagle head or something.”
“Crow. It’s a Looney Tunes crow. The Crow is one of the codenames of the men to dehumanize them. The Lion, the Pig, the Crow…” My hands turn suddenly cold when I think of the last one, the evilest man on earth. He will be the hardest man to kill, not because I have an emotional attachment to him, but because he’s rarely alone, always surrounded by security and sycophants.
“And the fourth man?” he asks the question I don’t want to answer.
I swallow, “The Snake.”
He falls quiet to reflect as his narrowed blue eyes are glued to my face. “So, if Simba the Lion represents Lyons, does The Pig represent someone called Porky or…wait, Kevin Bacon? Jeez, Rae, assassinating Kevin Bacon is not a good idea, no matter how much you hate Footloose.”
I snort, assuming he’s joking, although it’s hard to tell with that unanimated face. “No,” I clear my throat before whispering, “he used to be a cop.”
He grinds his teeth, making his square jaw pulsate. “You’re planning to kill a cop?” His tone has turned stern and nerve-racking. “Rae, that’s on a different level-”
“No. He used to be a cop. He quit…” I stop myself from adding more information about Gavin the Pig.
“Okay,” he relaxes again, sipping his coffee from the cardboard cup. “That’s alright then.”
“You know I’m not going to stop at Lyons?” I tell him quietly, part warning, part promise.
He nods. “We know.” His hand finds my face as he brushes a stray blond hair from my eyes. “We’ve got this covered, Rae. There’s no need for you to worry about a thing.”
I lick my bottom lip as the back of his fist brushes along my cheeks, and I lean into his comforting hand. “Why do I get the sneaky suspicion that you’ve done this before?” I challenge, staring at him directly, and he drops his hand away.
“Which part?” he answers my question with a question. “The having a coffee with the hottest chick I’ve ever seen part. Or the covering your back after you killed my coach part?” He sips his coffee, not expecting an answer.
“All of it,” I reply, watching him closely as he finishes off his coffee, and it occurs to me how organized and efficient these three men are, as if…they’ve done it before and maybe, just maybe, they’ve killed before as well.