Broken Lies Page 3

  “Wait a minute, Scott,” interrupted the black man, wiping his brow. “Macklin was hit tonight. The report said his left shoulder. Remember?”

  Scott swung him around. “Take your shirt off.”

  Frank groaned as he lifted his T-shirt over his battered head. Seeing no wound and apparently satisfied, Scott backed away as the black man stepped up. “Where’s your brother?”

  Frank’s anger overtook him, and he fiercely shouted, “If you guys are cops, you’re in a lot of trouble!”

  Upstairs in the apartment, Sadie heard the commotion. Without hesitating, she snatched up the bags, tore a picture off of the wall, crawled inside a long-unused dumbwaiter shaft, and slowly let herself down to the ground floor.

  Entering the abandoned kitchen, Sadie rushed over to the window, pushed out the screen, tossed her bags into the alley, forced herself through the window, and raced out the side gate. She ran all the way to Roselyn Avenue, hid a few steps away from the sidewalk, and tried to catch her breath while she waited for a taxi.

  Fifteen minutes later a cabbie saw her waving and rolled down his window partway. “Where ya headed?”

  “Um, the Midway Motel.”

  “Over on Second Street?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, hop in.”

  Sadie climbed into the back, setting her bag on the floor and Chase’s next to her. She started to shake from adrenaline and the need for cocaine. Setting her eyes straight ahead, she tried not to think about it.

  The cab driver peered at her from his rearview mirror. “Workin’ tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so, with the luggage and all. Kinda warm this early mornin’, don’t ya think?”

  Sadie didn’t answer, so the cabbie went on. “Yeah well, warm, cold, it don’t really matter if ya know what I mean. Did ya hear the news about the earthquake they had over in Africa or Asia somewhere?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah! It was somethin’ else. Killed a buncha those people over there, but the way I figure it, they got plenty to spare. I seen the pictures. Swear to God, kids got bellies down to their knees. I don’t know what you think, but the way I figure it, we oughta forget spendin’ money over here on abortions and start givin’ it to people like that who really need it since they got all those unwanted babies and all.”

  Sadie had no interest in conversation, but the cabbie proved too annoying to ignore. “What makes you think they’re unwanted?”

  She saw his wrinkled brow in the mirror. “Don’t tell me. You’re not one a those, uh … hey, you movin’ into this motel or somethin’?”

  “What?”

  “The Midway. You movin’ in?”

  “Don’t know.” Sadie didn’t care. Her thoughts centered only on the need to stop shaking.

  “You don’t know?” The cabbie turned and frowned at his passenger. “Well that beats the livin’ daylights outta me! Can I ask how old ya are?”

  “Don’t matter. Just get me there.”

  “Oh, I know it don’t matter. I’m just wonderin’ what a young, pretty girl is doin’ out at this time in the mornin’ with travelin’ bags, goin’ to a motel. Not my business a course. Just wonderin’. I seen it all.”

  Sadie’s silence did not deter him.

  “You from ‘round here?”

  “No,” she lied.

  “Well, I just want ya to know, the way I figure it, life is too short to throw it away. Not that ya are. I just know ya probably use drugs, probably wanna make it big somewhere. Just be careful, girl. People are mean. They’ll love ya and then keep ya and use ya and step on ya. That’s just the way the world is, ya know. Everybody’s out to make it. Some try with their good looks. Others try with their sharp minds. Some use the connections they have. Legal or illegal, don’t matter no more. If it’s illegal, they just call it unethical and try their luck. And what are they tryin’ to make? Money. Hah! Ya love it but ya hate it. Ya gotta have it, but the more ya gotta have, the more it has you.”

  The cabbie cleared his throat and continued, glancing periodically at his captive audience from his rearview mirror. “I know what you’re thinkin’. I drive a cab, so who am I? Well I’ll tell ya. I’m nothin’. I’m a nobody. I’ll never make it. But ya know what? It’s okay. Don’t think I didn’t give it a shot when I was young. Ya better believe I did. Why sure. I had my day. But the way I figure it, my days had me more than I had them, if ya know what I mean. Maybe ya don’t. It don’t matter. You’re young. I betcha you even have a good head on your shoulders. But you’re bein’ controlled, maybe even lied to. That’s what I think. Just my opinion.”

  Sadie kept to herself, trembling anxiously, attempting to focus on anything other than the mindless chatter. She speculated on what could have happened to Chase and how the scuffle in the hallway figured into it all. Though concerned, she cared more about her next fix. The ride went on, as did the cabbie, for another five minutes or so.

  “Okay, girl,” he said with a smile, “here we are. Lemme help ya with your bags.”

  “No, I got ‘em.”

  “Okay, but do me a favor, will ya?”

  “What?”

  “Try to remember what I told ya. All the fightin’ and scratchin’ and strivin’ and pushin’ for more and more of whatever’s out there isn’t worth it. Believe me, when ya get there, wherever there is, ya probably won’t even know it. And if ya do, it won’t mean nothin’ ‘cause you’ll just want more and you’ll go to any lengths to get it, and once you get it … well, ya know what I mean.”

  Sadie got out, handed him some money, and without a word, shrugged and walked away.

  She found Chase and Allie waiting for her as she opened the door to the small, dank motel lobby. Allie immediately jumped to her feet. “Where’s Frank?”

  “I don’t know what happened.” She set the bags down and looked pleadingly at Chase. “I’m needin’ somethin’ bad, babe.”

  Allie frantically grabbed her arms. “Sadie, I asked you where Frank is!”

  “Well Chase said Frank was pickin’ me up, so I guess he gets there and I hear some noises. I don’t know, like fightin’ or somethin’—”

  “What?” Allie cried out. “Did you see him?”

  “No, just heard his voice. I don’t know who was down there with him. I just grabbed my stuff and took off.”

  “I gotta go!” Allie shouted as she ran out the door.

  “Allie, wait!” Chase called out, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Sorry, Chase,” Sadie whined. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “I got a room. Come on.”

  He led her into the dark hallway. Sadie began to tremble again. “I need a line,” she whispered.

  Chase ignored her plea, searched for the room number, and unlocked the door. When he flipped on the lights, they revealed a well-used double bed, a small nightstand, a nondescript dresser, and two straight-backed chairs. The heavy drapes, drawn closed, reeked from years of cigarette smoke. Dropping their bags on the floor, Chase glanced into the tiny bathroom. Just a shower, a sink, and a toilet.

  “Chase, I need a line. You have some, right?”

  Without a word or even an expression, Chase worked his right hand into the left pocket of his jeans, slowly producing a piece of glossy magazine paper folded over several times into a four-inch square.

  “There you go,” he said, tossing it onto the dresser.

  Sadie quickly leaned over to unfold it. “What’s this? It’s all caked up! Looks like it got wet!”

  “Yeah, probably did. Hey, don’t worry so much. Just work with it a little bit. It’s dry enough. Wait a minute.”

  Chase again reached gingerly into his pocket, this time producing an inkless pen. Sadie had already formed her line. He watched her head move back and forth, inches from the top of the dresser. She finished t
he line and then raised her head, sniffling, eyes watering.

  “Go ahead, babe,” she said, offering him the tube.

  Chase felt fatigued, disoriented, and completely unprepared for this temptation. His shoulder throbbed as he looked at Sadie waiting for him to take his share. He stared at the blow; he could almost taste it, feeling the sensation wash over him. For the past year and a half, ever since he had met Sadie, he’d rarely missed a day. Though he wasn’t a heavy user compared with others, he felt the addiction. Suddenly he jerked himself away, frustrated and angry. “You toot it all,” he said forcefully, pushing Sadie between him and the coke. “I don’t want any.”

  “Whatever,” she said indifferently. Chase plopped on the bed and within minutes fell asleep. He thought he remembered Sadie trying to wake him, prodding and kissing him, but he wasn’t sure.

  **

  Allie burst through the front door of their home, saw her husband resting in his chair, and rushed to his side. “Frank! Are you all right?”

  “Not really. I think my rib’s broken. It’s really painful, hard to breathe. Maybe I should see a doctor.”

  Allie gently touched his shoulder. “Yes, definitely. Who did this to you? Sadie mentioned a fight. What happened?”

  “They were looking for Chase, thought I was him, and beat me up.”

  “That’s horrible! Who were they?”

  “I have no idea. They acted like cops, but maybe Murphy’s guys.”

  “Do they know where we live?”

  “Don’t know,” Frank said, wincing. “I don’t think we’re a target if that’s what you’re worrying about. They’re looking for Chase, not us. Anyway, hopefully they believed me that I didn’t know anything. How are Chase and Sadie?”

  “They’re okay. We met her at the motel, and then I ran to the car as soon as I heard about you.”

  “Good.”

  “We need to get you to emergency. Here, let me help you up. Hold on. Take it slowly.”

  “Sure. Listen, Allie, don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

  **

  Chase finally awoke, the room still dark, Sadie asleep at his side. Quietly, so as not to wake her, he scooted off the bed, went to the window, moved the drapes slightly, and peeked outside. A sliver of daylight fell across the bed. He quickly closed the drapes. Checking on Sadie, Chase noticed a dimly lit alarm clock on the nightstand. Ten o’clock in the morning.

  He stealthily crossed the room and unzipped his bag, stealing another look at Sadie before searching through the stack of papers. Relieved when he touched the rough fibers of the brown envelope, he opened it and stared at his bank book. Last deposit, June 3, $1,500. Balance, $29,200. Chase smiled. He found a sheet of paper and without another thought, sat down to write a letter.

  Sadie,

  None of what I’m about to write will make much sense to you, but it has to be this way, at least for now. It shouldn’t be hard for you to figure out that the cops are after me and Murphy too. If I’m caught, I either go to jail or get killed, so I have to leave. I’m done with dealing and need to start all over again. I can’t take you with me. I don’t even think you’d want to go, not if you knew the options. I’m going to fly to Miami and then on to somewhere else. I hate to do this to you, but I gotta take a different road and live a different life. If anything changes, I’ll be in contact. Sadie, try to understand. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, but I know this will. Take care of yourself. I’ll miss you.

  Chase

  Not at all pleased with his lie about Miami, he nevertheless understood the necessity of protecting himself. Chase stood and placed the letter on the dresser along with three crumpled hundred-dollar bills. Reaching for his bag, he glanced once more at Sadie and gently closed the door behind him.

  Walking as briskly down the hallway as his body allowed, Chase had no idea what his future held. Right now he had to take one step at a time and get to the bank and then to the airport. A tall reception counter nearly hid the disheveled man reading a magazine behind it.

  “Hey, can you call me a cab?”

  “Sure,” the man answered, obviously annoyed by the interruption.

  The taxi ride proved uneventful, as did Chase’s large cash withdrawal at the bank. There were no questions or comments; it was surprisingly easy. Chase tucked the envelopes filled with hundreds into his small duffle bag and nodded thanks to the teller.

  When he stepped back into the cab, his confidence grew. “Take me to the Syracuse airport.”

  Chase wondered what had happened to Frank. It was likely that either Murphy’s guys or the cops had accosted him, and Chase hoped his brother hadn’t been hurt. He couldn’t believe he had gotten Frank and Allie so involved. Everything in him wanted to call them from a pay phone, but he couldn’t take the time. He had to leave now. He’d make contact as soon he arrived in California. Chase reached up to touch his shoulder, flinching a bit from the pain. He forced himself to believe that everything would turn out for the better. “So far, so good,” he whispered to himself.

  The cab driver pulled up to the airport and stopped alongside the curb. “That’ll be thirty-four dollars.”

  Chase handed him one of the hundreds from his pocket. “Just give me fifty.”

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  With no one in front of him as he walked up to the ticket counter, Chase managed a meek grin. “I need to take the next flight to Los Angeles, one way only.”

  “Well let’s see. Hmm. It’s going to depart in three-and-a-half hours with one connection.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Any bags to check in?”

  “No. I’ve just got this one here.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Glendora, California, 2000

  Chase sat alone in a meticulously decorated waiting room, sinking wearily into one of four high-backed leather chairs, clammy hands moving nervously up and down his khaki slacks while he stared blankly at two framed Ansel Adams photographs. He struggled with the idea that a successful, happily married thirty-five-year-old man found himself seeking answers from a psychologist chosen randomly from the Yellow Pages.

  Two nights before, Chase couldn’t sleep, tortured with an unidentifiable knot in his stomach. A little after two in the morning, he got up and went to the bathroom. “This is messed up,” he told the baggy-eyed guy in the mirror. “Something’s going on.”

  Back in bed, sleep still evading him, Chase looked over at his wife, studying her face, examining her breathing patterns, hoping he could somehow find a solution in her peaceful slumber. But was it really peaceful? What if his concerns proved to be true? Chase could no longer ignore the jealousy that had intermittently gripped him over the last few weeks. Though he felt guilty for having such emotions, Linda’s behavior seemed highly unusual. Frustrated with his inability to pinpoint anything, and not wanting to bring up the subject and look like a suspicious fool, Chase felt trapped in the nightmare of possibilities.

  Closing his eyes in a futile attempt to sleep, he soon found himself leaning on his elbow, staring at his wife for help, knowing his search was hopeless but searching nevertheless.

  When Linda rose with the morning alarm, Chase observed every hurried move. She would often drop off their children at school and then meet her girlfriends at a coffee shop. Chase lay in bed, wondering if she had made such plans today. He thought about driving past the shop to check on her car. Or maybe he could call her and listen for background noises. He hated feeling so suspicious; it reminded him too much of the past.

  Out of desperation, he made his way to the kitchen, thumbed through the phone book, and noticed a listing for Dr. Wesley Rhinegold, a psychologist in Pasadena, about twenty minutes away. Chase quickly dialed the number before he could change his mind. The woman who answered told him the doctor could see him on Wednesday at three-thirty.

  The next night proved even more
torturous. Chase carefully analyzed every word Linda spoke, every inflection in her voice, every gesture, as if he were building a case against her. During dinner, the two said little to each other but kept the conversation centered on their children. Amy, a very bright girl, recently turned nine. The tiny curls in her light-brown hair matched her mother’s. She loved school, playing dress-up, and dolls—everything most parents would deem normal for a daughter her age. Ryan, two years younger, typically kept to himself and was content to stay in his room for long periods, his collection of video games apparently providing enough entertainment.

  Watching his children, Chase looked for signs that they were bothered by or even curious about the chill between Linda and him, but they seemed oblivious. He wondered if they appeared unruffled because they were accustomed to their parents’ disconnect. He hoped they sensed nothing wrong. Perhaps no chill existed. Maybe his imagination had simply conquered his sanity.

  After putting Amy and Ryan to bed, Linda retreated to their room while Chase languished in his chair, deflated and melancholic as he stared at the Lakers gliding almost effortlessly across the basketball court. A classic film, The Godfather, followed the game—a good excuse to stay up even longer since he knew sleep would be impossible.

  But this wasn’t like him, Chase mused. Never easily overcome by depression, he had always demonstrated a carefree, playful, unpredictable, and even somewhat reckless nature, qualities that attracted Linda to him in the first place, and he to her. Though much more predictable and never reckless, Linda too was carefree and playful. He loved her sense of humor, her stable nature, her compassionate heart. What had happened?

  Chase quietly wept. He knew his wife to be a wonderful mother—nurturing, thoughtful, considerate. Everything she did exemplified a caring heart for Amy and Ryan. Himself? He was probably much too selfish. Maybe that’s it, he thought wearily, brushing away the tears. Maybe I’ve become far too self-centered in this relationship. Perhaps Linda has had enough of me and my attitude. Chase moved restlessly in his chair, frustrated at such a possibility and having no idea what to do if this proved to be true. Finally he fell asleep.