Broken Lies Read online

  BROKEN

  LIES

  ROGER WILLIAMS

  Copyright © 2016 Roger Williams.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  WestBow Press

  A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

  1663 Liberty Drive

  Bloomington, IN 47403

  www.westbowpress.com

  1 (866) 928-1240

  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

  Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

  ISBN: 978-1-5127-4349-4 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-5127-4350-0 (hc)

  ISBN: 978-1-5127-4348-7 (e)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016908214

  WestBow Press rev. date: 7/8/2016

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  CHAPTER 1

  Upstate New York, 1987

  The stillness of the woods screamed danger as he hid behind an old pine. He dared not move, not even to brush the sweat dripping down his nose. Minutes crawled by, the anxious pounding in his chest increasing. Despite growing worry, he would give his buyer, unexpectedly late, just a few more moments. Suddenly he heard footsteps and whispers. His eyes searched the darkness, his body motionless. The sounds drew nearer. Quickly calculating his options, Chase felt for his handgun, pushed himself away from the tree, and exploded down the slope toward an open meadow. Several cops shouted, “Macklin!” He kept running.

  The canvas bag slung over his shoulder bounced awkwardly against his side as he wove through the tall grass and the rough terrain with youthful energy. To his left, he saw his one chance to escape. Darting toward the railroad bridge, he glanced behind him. Plenty of time. When his feet hit the tracks, Chase deftly matched the distance between each rail tie. Headlights struck him from the other side of the bridge. He stopped cold, hand on his gun. A pistol shot rang out in warning with cries for him to freeze. He looked down at the river fifty feet below. Then without a second thought, he pulled out his gun and fired into the air. The next shot left him crumpled on the ground.

  Chase grabbed his left shoulder and crawled to the edge of the bridge. Cops scurried toward him as he hoisted himself up and over the steel railing and fell into the river.

  His face hit the water first, the impact nearly knocking him unconscious. The powerful current pushed him down and away. He reached for the bag. Gone. Frantically searching for it with his feet, one good arm flailing, he reluctantly surrendered to the unforgiving waters.

  Chase surfaced, floating swiftly downriver, gasping and choking, desperate to find a way out. He groped for passing rocks that cut at his hands. Finally, with his last bit of strength, he slammed his body into a large rock and held on. Somehow he managed to quiet his breath long enough to listen for sounds of pursuit. Satisfied, he gingerly dragged himself to shore, held his shoulder, and prepared for what lay ahead.

  As he made his way gingerly to Murphy’s house, barefoot after having lost one of his shoes in the river and tossing away the other, Chase wiped his bloodied nose onto his wet, torn T-shirt.

  Murphy’s home, built in the 1920s, was guarded by four towering maples in the front yard. Their leaves obscured the top half of the house, and thick ivy clung to its brick façade. Brown and white pebbles on the driveway embedded themselves in the bottoms of Chase’s feet before he stepped up to the small porch. With only the entry-hall light visible, he hesitated before tapping softly on the front door. He knocked again more firmly, peeking through the small window until a face appeared, forehead touching the glass.

  “What are ya doin’ here?” bellowed the familiar voice as the door swung open. Murphy towered in the entryway, his bulky frame covered by a black silk robe. His unshaven, deeply lined face revealed a seasoned hardness, and his piercing blue eyes, offset with closely cropped gray hair, matched his imperious nature. Murphy held the door handle with one wizened hand and stretched out the other in front of Chase as if to prevent entry. His speech advertised his Brooklyn upbringing.

  “What’s goin’ on, kid?” Murphy glanced suspiciously into the dark street before pulling Chase inside. “What happened?”

  “I need help.”

  “Ya look terrible. Sit down.”

  Chase slumped in the chair by the door. Above his head hung a painting of a European nobleman, ax in hand with a menacing look in his eyes, defending his home against a band of raiders.

  “Parker!” Murphy shouted. “Parker, get in here! Bring me some water! And a towel! Two of ’em! Hurry up!” He turned back to Chase with a frown. “All right, Mack, I’m gonna clean ya up, but talk fast and tell it to me straight. Parker! What’s takin’ so long?”

  “I’m comin’.” A grizzled man soon appeared and quickly placed a bowl of water and two towels next to Murphy. Parker’s eyes were dark and blank, the deep lines on his nose extending downward past his mouth. He took a step back, glancing inquisitively back and forth between Murphy and Mack, the nickname given Chase a few years earlier.

  “Okay, Mack, talk to me. Parker, gimme a smoke.” A Camel instantly appeared. Murphy lit it, placing it clumsily between his wrinkled lips and yellowed teeth. He tore off Chase’s T-shirt, picked up one of the towels, and began to wipe the blood.

  Chase winced and struggled to sit up a little straighter before answering his boss. “I don’t know, Murphy. I took the quarter pound into the—hey, not so hard!”

  “This was a bullet, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, you’re lucky. Coulda been worse.”

  Chase took his first opportunity to look at the wound, relieved that the bullet had apparently just grazed him. He glanced up at Murphy with a grimace, wondering if the luck he mentioned would continue.

  “Go on with your story, Mack … Wait a minute! Where’s the blow?” Murphy stopped cleaning the wound, lowering himself onto one knee to look Chase in the eye.

  “Gone. I lost it.”

  “Lost it! How do ya lose a quarter pound of coke? Are ya stupid or what?”<
br />
  “I went to the woods for the drop, but the guy didn’t show for twenty, twenty-five minutes or so. Somebody set me up. Cops were all over the place. I nearly got killed and ended up in the river.”

  “Where’s the blow, Mack? Ya better not be lyin’ to me!”

  “I almost got wasted, and you’re askin’ me where the blow is?”

  “Yeah, I am! Where is it?” Murphy demanded even more loudly.

  Chase swallowed an angry retort. He was in far too much pain to argue. He had never lashed out at Murphy, but he felt cornered and mistrusted. He didn’t like the feeling. “Look, it got away from me when I fell into the river. I tried to get it back, but there was no way. I can’t believe you don’t believe me! Like I’m gonna lie to you for seven grand? That makes a lot of sense.”

  “None of it makes any sense,” Murphy snarled, rising from his knee. “Now get outta here. I don’t ever wanna see ya again. And if I get word that you’re lyin’ to me, that’ll be the last time ya ever see anybody. Know what I’m sayin’?”

  Chase glared at his boss and formed a fist with his right hand. Murphy noticed. “So ya wanna fight me?”

  “Yeah, maybe I do. I may lie to everybody else but not to you. I just don’t get it. One mistake and all of a—”

  “You’re too hot,” Murphy cut in.

  “What?”

  “You’re too hot, kid. Can’t have ya around. I don’t know if I believe ya or not, but it don’t matter. It’s over. Can’t take the chance. Parker, give him a shirt.”

  “What shirt?”

  “Any shirt! I don’t care!”

  Parker quickly nodded and headed for his room upstairs.

  Bending over again, Murphy took a towel, dipped it into the bowl, and took a few more swipes at Chase’s shoulder. When Parker reappeared, Murphy grabbed the dress shirt he had fetched, draped it over Chase, and stuffed a fresh towel inside. “Here ya go, Mack. This should do for a while. I dunno, maybe we can do somethin’ down the road a ways, just not now. I’ll talk to Jacobs about it, but he ain’t gonna believe me. I dunno, kid. It’s just one of those things that—”

  “I’m done, Murphy.”

  “Done with what?”

  “Done with drugs, done with sellin’, done with this whole kind of life.”

  Murphy laughed mockingly at Chase.

  “No, I’m serious. It’s just not worth it anymore. I’m only twenty-two. Got a lot ahead of me. You can do what you have to do, but I’m done.”

  “Get outta here!” Murphy growled. “I don’t need that kinda talk! Ya got some nerve comin’ here askin’ for help and then throwin’ insults at me. Just get outta here! Don’t even think about showin’ your face around me again.”

  Yanking Chase from the chair, Murphy shoved him toward the door. Then he stopped, pulled Chase close to his chest, and whispered, “Listen, kid, on second thought, I’ll do ya one more favor. I don’t know why, but I will. Walk up the street, go left on Jackson, and wait at the next street. I’ll send a cab to pick ya up. Tell ’em where ya wanna go. Sorry it had to come down like this. You’ve always been my favorite, different from the rest. Anyhow, nice knowin’ ya.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Chase said, sensing finality in Murphy’s words.

  “And one more thing. You’re not really who ya think ya are.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Mack, this business is who ya are. Always will be. So just quit lyin’ to yourself.”

  Chase shook his head and walked backward from the house, dazed from the whirlwind of the last few hours. He couldn’t tell which throbbed harder, his confused mind or his wounded shoulder. Turning from the driveway, he walked cautiously toward Jackson Street, knowing all too well Murphy’s malicious treatment of others in similar situations. Chase knew he had to be careful. At the same time, however, he saw the significance of this night. A major shift had quickly taken place, and Chase sensed that his entire future pivoted on this single evening. Life would be different now that he had broken with Murphy, who, despite his gruff demeanor and his illegal dealings, had become a father figure to him in the past several years.

  Another pivotal moment in Chase’s life had come eight years earlier when his father moved permanently out of the house. For as long as Chase had remembered, his dad had gotten up at five in the morning, driven to Syracuse, put in his eight hours, driven home, eaten dinner in front of the TV, and fallen asleep in his favorite chair. He had spent weekends in the local bars, often not returning home at night.

  Chase couldn’t recall the first time his father cheated on his mom. His father said it never happened, but all the kids knew better. Mom would cry, and Dad would yell. Dad even hit Mom once. After that, Chase vowed never to be like his father. Finally, his mom had had enough.

  “You’re leaving us, Robert!” she commanded one night in desperation and anger.

  “I’m not leavin’!” he roared in return. “This is my house! These are my kids! There’s no way I’m leavin’!”

  “Either you leave, or I file for divorce. Take your pick.”

  His dad moved out two weeks later. His mother couldn’t stop weeping for days, apparently still in love with the man but unable to tolerate his drinking and cheating. Chase missed his father’s presence but despised him even more. Still, the loss gnawed at him for several years until he discovered that getting high eased his pain and calmed his anger. One time after that unforgettable day, he may have seen his dad at an intersection, a blonde seated next to him, but Chase couldn’t be certain. Later that year, he met Murphy through a friend.

  Nearing his destination, Chase considered the sudden and radical change in his relationship with Murphy. It made no sense. Murphy had always spoken of his team as a family and had said he would never turn his back on any member, especially his right-hand man Mack. Chase had made both of them lots of money. He guessed that didn’t matter anymore. But what would he do now? He couldn’t go to his mom’s. He couldn’t go to his place. Okay, he thought, that’s it. Maybe that’ll work.

  Chase noticed a yellow cab pulling up to the sidewalk. Must be his. He waved it down and climbed inside. Before he could give the driver an address, fear gripped him and his mind began racing. This doesn’t seem right, he told himself. It has to be a set-up. Murphy said something about doing me one more favor. Why? And what did he mean by ‘nice knowin’ ya?’

  “Where to, bud?”

  As soon as the driver turned his head, Chase bolted from the cab and ran. He heard the squeal of tires and looked back to see the cab turning around in pursuit. Ducking between two houses and vaulting over a short wooden fence, he found the backyard barrier much higher. The towel on his shoulder slipped down to his waist, and blood came through his shirt as he pulled himself over five or six more fences, clawing his way out of the neighborhood.

  Sprawled out behind a liquor store, Chase felt exhausted, confused, and angry. He worked to reposition the towel over his wound. Slowly he pulled himself over to the store wall, close to a trash bin, his indignation increasing as he considered ways to go after Murphy. No, he had to stick to his plan and see Frank first. Maybe after that he’d figure out how to retaliate. Still conflicted, Chase reached for his gun. Lost in the river, he remembered. Annoyed that vengeance would have to wait for a more opportune time, he resolved that getting safely to Frank’s had to be his priority at this point. Frank and Allie were the only ones he could trust, the only ones who wouldn’t judge him, and perhaps the only ones who would help him.

  Chase stared at the stars. God, why did you do this to me? I don’t deserve it, he thought. But maybe I do. Maybe it’s some sort of payback. Everything seemed to be crashing in upon his life. No, he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d win in the end, no matter what.

  Spotting the cab drive slowly down the street and then back again, he waited for about ten minutes before stumbling down the d
imly lit sidewalk, his eyes carefully trained in all directions.

  CHAPTER 2

  Chase didn’t reach Frank’s place until nearly one in the morning. He stood at the door, hesitated, and then rapped firmly with his knuckles. His brother was the middle son, three years older than Chase, married with no children. His wife, Allie, loquacious and full of energy, worked alongside Frank in their accounting business.

  Chase knocked again and heard Allie’s muffled voice through the locked door. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Chase.”

  The door opened. Allie took a look at Chase and her gentle features registered alarm. “Chase! You’re hurt! Here, let’s get your shirt off. Sit down first.”

  Slumping onto the sofa, Chase closed his eyes and let Allie work on the buttons of his borrowed shirt. He drank in the subtle aroma of her perfume as she questioned him, but her words didn’t register. Entranced by the fragrance, Chase found himself drifting in and out of consciousness, his head tilted back in a stupor and his eyes shut.

  A deep voice startled him. “Chase, what happened? Chase!”

  He opened his eyes and saw Frank squatting in his boxers, staring wide-eyed. Frank was a little bigger than Chase and had a square jaw with a sloping nose. While Chase never let a whisker remain on his face, his older brother had sported a closely cropped beard for the last few years.

  “I’ll be okay,” Chase said unconvincingly.

  Ignoring the reply, Frank looked at Allie. “He’s going to need some bandaging. Do you mind getting some from upstairs?”

  “That’s where I was headed. Be right back.”

  “And bring that bottle of Johnnie Red as well. Chase, who got you? Was it Murphy?”

  “Not really.”

  “I’ve never trusted Murphy. Looks like he got you good.”

  “Well it wasn’t him. The cops got me.”

  “The cops?”

  “Yeah. It all came after a drug deal gone bad. So then I went to Murphy’s, and he didn’t believe what happened. Thinks I stole from him. So now he’s out to get me too. He actually tried to kill me.”