Tree

"It's gonna be okay, Monnie." Little Mel could talk, sort of, but I always had trouble understanding her normally. I heard her perfectly today.

"Thanks, Little Mel," I leaned my head over on top of hers for a couple seconds then kissed her. "Go on and see what your mom is doin'."

She rolled off the pull-out and ran into the kitchen. I reached down for my purse and started rifling through it. I found a business card, but it was for Detective Fillmore. I tucked that into a different pocket and went fishing for the one Kyle handed me.

I pulled it out and my mouth parted in a surprised "O". The card said "Dr Kyle Weber, MFT" and listed a phone number. There was nothing else on the card. I knew that MFT stood for "marriage and family therapist". It surprised me that he was working full time in a liquor store. It made me wonder if he recently lost his license. I decided to head into work since I was scheduled with Rochelle and Kyle. I knew they would need the help as we got awfully busy on weekend evenings and today was Friday, so it would be twice as busy. I could talk to Kyle sometime at work. Plus, I needed the monotony of work to help keep my mind from going crazy. I needed to call the detective and ask when grandpa's body would be released. I needed to call my sisters to tell them what happened, and begin funeral arrangements. All the nuances of a reality I didn't want to face.

I walked into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee as I informed Rochelle I would drive myself into work tonight. She tried to protest, but I had a valid point for going in. I downed my coffee so quickly it burned my throat, but I hardly paid any notice to it. I took a fast shower and dressed quickly I said my goodbyes to Henry and Little Mel then took off for the store.

I had to drive past the front of the store to pull around to the alley behind it where employees parked. The front window had yellow caution tape over it and on the inside I saw plywood had already been installed. The wrought iron bars were missing too, so they were wrenched out with a chain attached to a car or cut with something. I shook my head and parked.

Kyle was just walking in as I got out of my car. He stopped and smiled at me. I knew he hadn't heard my news yet, but he was also called last night about the break-in.

"Hi, Monica," he continued to smile at me. He had a lovely smile, I thought to myself.

"Hey, Kyle. Did you see the bars were missing?" I pulled my purse strap a little higher on my shoulder as we walked inside.

"Yeah. I heard whoever did it pulled them off with a chain wrapped around his differential. The cops found a couple of them down the street with the chain."

"Wow." I dropped my purse in the breakroom and clocked in after Kyle. "I can't wait to see what the store looks like."

"Me neither."

We walked up to the counter and gasped simultaneously. Everything looked normal except the plywood on the window. "I thought they would've destroyed stuff or taken a lot of booze with the till," I said.

"Yeah, me too. Everything looks normal." Kyle looked around and saw the owner, Steve, bent over putting stuff on a lower shelf. "Hey, Steve."

A balding man with black rimmed glasses stood up. "Hey, guys. They broke the front window, tore out the bars, and the register is missing. They took a few bottles of high end liquor, but other than the window and some bourbon, nothing else was damaged. Thankfully, I can trust you guys to put the deposit in the safe at night. It was there this morning, so no money was taken."

"It seems strange that someone would rob this place after we closed. Don't most businesses put their cash in safes before locking up?" I asked.

"Yeah, they do." Steve grunted as he bent over and finished putting Skyy's blue bottles on the shelf. Steve was the vodka drinker of us all and refused to put Skyy on the middle shelf. He said it offended him that such a nasty vodka would occupy the middle shelf. He said it gave him heartburn.

Kyle walked over and picked up the empty cardboard box. "They haven't caught anyone yet, have they?" He asked as he folded the box for recycle.

"Nah. They will soon, though. The cops were in here earlier looking at my saved videos from last night. I'm glad I bought those HD cameras. Clear as a bell and they look down both ways on the street and alley way." Steve stood up and straightened all the bottles on the shelf. I liked that he was OCD because lining up the labels looked really good to me.

Steve continued, "They found the truck that broke in and have pictures of the guy. Lone wolf. It's just a matter of time before he pops up and they nab him."

"Truck?" I asked as I helped straighten some bottles.

"Yeah. Bastard was parked across the street waiting for the lights to go out. No license plate, though."

I looked out and was dismayed that the plywood covered the main window to the street.

"What kind of truck?" I asked.

"A pick up truck. You writing a book, Monica?" Steve laughed a bit. "Just a basic dark colored Ford."

A Ford pick up. I wondered if it could've been Jack. He's been gone since yesterday morning. I didn't think Jack was stupid enough to hit a store after they've closed. At least not mine. He knew we put the deposit in the safe every night for Steve or the manager to take to the bank.

"I was just wondering, that's all." I turned and walked behind the counter. I saw Steve had installed a temporary solution to the missing cash register. A tablet with a credit card square sat on a stand. He had printed up some signs already that said we were accepting credit and debit cards only, no cash. It was going to be a long night.

We remained steady except for a rush about 20 minutes before we closed at midnight. We were the only liquor store on this side of town that stayed open this late on Fridays. A few customers had a problem with us not accepting cash, but they were our regulars and fished out credit cards to use, and only grumbled about how the world was going to shit.

I was preoccupied all night thinking about the pick up truck and chain around the differential. If it was Jack, he could've looped a chain around the tailgate since he always kept a Reese hitch on his truck. I was always running my shins into that damn thing when I got our groceries out of the bed. Looping it around the differential would be too much work. I wanted to call Detective Fillmore and tell her my suspicions.

As Kyle and Rochelle ran the paperwork for the books, I excused myself and stepped outside. We had a wooden picnic table that we shared with the Asian owned nail salon next door. I sat down and opened my phone. I dialed the number on Detective Fillmore's card. I expected to get a voicemail, but she answered.

"Hello, Detective Fillmore?" I asked quietly.

"Yes, this is Detective Fillmore. Who is this, please?" She was polite on the phone just as she was with me in person.

"This is Monica Waters."

A beat passed. "Hello, Miss Waters. Are you doing okay?"

"I'm at work." As if that explained how I was doing, but I didn't want to face my feelings right now. "I talked to Steve earlier. Uh, our owner, about the break in."

"Uh huh," the detective responded. I heard some noise on her end and figured she was getting her pad out and a pen.

"He said the video showed a pick up sitting across the street waiting for us to leave."

"Yes, that's correct."

"I think it was Jack." I lit a cigarette and looked around. I was still alone. Kyle and Rochelle were still finishing up the closing. Good.

"Why do you think it was Jack? The truck had no license plate on it and we couldn't see his face on the video."

I remembered what Steve said about the cameras being HD and they could see the guy's face. "Lone wolf" Steve had said.

"Steve said you guys could see his face clearly."

"We did capture a face," Detective Fillmore said, "but it was a mask."

"Like a second skin mask?" I asked. I heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Do you know something, Miss Waters?"

"Jack had one of those second skin type masks like they use in Hollywood. He wore it a couple times when he worked at a haunted house a buddy of his ran a few years ago. It was like 'White Chicks', you know, the movie." I could swear I heard Detective Fillmore nodding. "Only it was, like, cut up. Like the face had been in a car accident or something." I took a drag and exhaled. I didn't hear the footsteps come up on me as I kept talking. "He used to brag how it would fool any of those facial recognition softwares the government uses."

"Miss Waters, what you describe is exactly what we saw on the video. Do you know where Jack is?"

I couldn't answer the detective because I had something slammed down on my head. All I felt was a moment of sharp pain and then I was out.

Chapter 5

My mouth was dry and my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. As I came to, I realized I was in the bed of a truck. The bedliner was old and torn up in places. I didn't recognize it as Jack's pick up truck because his bed liner was in perfect condition since he had it sprayed on a couple years ago and rarely hauled anything more than groceries in it.

I tried to open my eyes, but realized that I had a cloth tied around them. There was nothing in my mouth, but I didn't bother to make a sound. I was suffering a horrific headache from whatever had hit me and I was focusing on not pissing myself. I felt something cutting into my wrists behind me, too.

The truck eventually slowed and I heard the engine shut off. The driver door opened and shut. I heard the tailgate come down and someone roughly grabbed my ankles and hauled me towards them. I still didn't say a word. My hands were tied, but my legs were not. I was thrown over someone's shoulder, a man's shoulder, and was carried up some steps. A door opened and then I heard Jack's voice.

"What the fuck, man?" He shouted as I was set down on the ground. I luckily remained standing, but I was swaying. My blood was rushing up and down inside my head. I felt really strange.

"You wanted to see her, so I got her." A voice came from my right side. It was gravelly and rough like Tom Waits. It made me think of what some critic had said of it, "like it was soaked in a vat of bourbon, left hanging in a smokehouse for a few months, and then taken outside and run over with a car". Although, it wasn't Tom Waits and I was scared of it. He sounded callous and cold. He sounded like Roger.

I stood rooted to where I was set down.

"Did you have to hurt her?" Jack sounded concerned. That surprised me because I hadn't heard compassion from Jack since before he had gotten fired from his bartending job.

"I did what I wanted to do."

Jack didn't respond to that and never came towards me, either. I felt a small trickle on my temple and assumed it was blood from where I had been hit.

"Can I use the bathroom?" I asked. My voice was rough from being so dry.

"Yeah." The gravelly voice spoke. "Go right ahead."

Nothing happened. I stood there waiting to be led or the blindfold to come off. Something. But nothing happened.

"I need to see where I'm going," I said. My voice was flat. I felt as disconnected as I did last night when I learned of my grandfather's violent death.

"If ya gotta go, then go."

"C'mon man, help her out." Jack sounded cold and far away.

"Just go, if you gotta pee." I felt a hand cup my genitals and I cringed. I started to back away, but the man's hands shot out and grabbed where my wrists were tied. It hurt a lot because whatever he used was cutting into my skin.

"I wanna see you piss, sweetheart." I felt a hot, acrid breath in my mouth. It smelled like he had just vomited. Then a fat wet tongue was suddenly in my mouth. I involuntarily moved backwards before head-butting Roger.

"Fuckin whore-bitch!" He hollered and I felt his open hand smack into my face. I fell then and as I lost my balance I urinated. I was too scared to feel humiliated and embarrassed. Most of all I wanted some mouthwash to get that nasty taste out of my mouth.

"Fuck you, asshole!" I spat as I crawled up on my knees in a puddle of my urine. "Fuck you both!" I worked myself into a standing position once more. "You better make sure you kill me as good as my grandpa or so help me I'll murder you." I was scared and angry. I wanted to claw my fingernails down their faces. I wanted to stab them both like Grandpa had been. I wanted revenge. I wanted retribution. I wanted an end to all this fuckery.

I heard Jack yelling at Roger and suddenly my blindfold was yanked off. I blinked a few times, but the room was dim enough that I adjusted quickly to it. I spotted Jack sitting at a bare wooden table with a cigarette dangling from his fingers and a half drunk fifth of Maker's Mark in front of him. I looked over to Roger standing near me. His teeth were rotted, his cheeks had old and fresh scabs, and the look on his face chilled me to the bone. He looked vacant yet demonic.

I had only met him once when he had come over for dinner, but he hadn't changed. His hair was unwashed and greasy. He had dirt in the wrinkles of his neck and the collar of the t-shirt he wore had a sweat ring around it. His pupils were huge.

I eyeballed them both. I hated Roger, but I found I hated Jack more. I knew he had gotten mixed up into something bad, but didn't know how bad.

I glared at Jack. "What did you do?"

He stared at me as he took a drag and stubbed out his cigarette on the table. He exhaled then took a swig of bourbon.

Roger answered for him. "Well, baby," he sneered. "Ol' Jack here has got himself a nice little business goin' on."

"You're a drug dealer now or you using too?"

Jack finally answered me. "Monica, you don't understand what this last year has been like for me." He spread his hands open.

"Enlighten me."

"Untie her, Dynamite."

I scowled as I heard him use Roger's nickname. Roger flicked out a box cutter and I shied away from him, but he cut the binds off my wrists. I looked down and saw he had used zip ties. No wonder they cut into my skin so badly. I rubbed my wrists, but stopped when I realized I was better off not touching them.

"Tell me." I demanded.

Jack got a cigarette out of his pack and handed it to me. "Have a seat, Monica."

"I'm good." I held the cigarette out indicating I needed it lit. Jack slid a Bic over to me.

I lit up and took a deep drag as he began. "When I was still at the bar, we had a guy come in who wanted to start selling coke."

I watched as Roger moved around me and sat at the table. He shook out a cigarette from his crumpled soft pack and flick his lighter. I quickly looked away as he made eye contact with me and smiled maliciously.

"I thought it was a great way to make some extra money. I'd let him sell while I was working and I'd get a small cut. Well, it worked for a couple months. Then I started snorting it." He took another swig and cleared his throat. "It was great shit, but before I knew it I had wracked up a huge bill with this guy. I owed him a few hundred bucks."

"A few hundred? That's why you took the money?" I quickly finished my smoke and motioned for a new one. Jack handed me another.

"Yes. But I didn't know that the owners had installed new cameras because Peter was caught stealing booze. So, I got caught and was fired. I still owed the guy. Then I started with dad and met Roger. We decided cooking meth would be a quick way to make some money. It worked for awhile, but I fuckin' loved coke, man." Jack smiled.

"The meth was a money maker, but it wasn't bringing in enough, so we began improvising." Roger reached into his pocket and pulled out a little baggie of brown powder. He tossed it on the table.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Fentanyl," Jack replied. "That little bag is worth a couple thousand."

I vaguely remembered an article about fentanyl being prescribed in micrograms because it was so potent. "Where did it come from?"

"Ah, here's where it gets good." Roger laughed.

Jack spoke up. "Roger has a doctor who loves the shit he cooks up. It's all part of a network. The doc foils sometimes when he needs the energy to stay up. Get this," Jack started laughing. "This old doctor is a swinger and does these swing parties all the time. I guess he loads up on meth and spends the weekend fucking anyone. So," Jack lit up a smoke. "The good doctor gets Roger fentanyl to sell on the side so long as we keep quiet about his activities. You know, keep his reputation safe and all." Jack laughed again.

"But you asked Grandpa for a lot of money," I said. I dropped my cigarette butt and put it out with my toe.

"Well, yeah. I needed some quick money for my coke guy. The meth brings in steady cash, but we just started dealing fentanyl and it is taking awhile. My dealer was breathing down my neck and I needed some quick cash to tide me over."

"So that's why you broke into the liquor store? You thought you could get quick money that way?"

"That was not me," Jack leaned back in his chair.

"Nah, that was me." Roger spoke up. "We needed some booze and I figured I'd see if there was anything else to take while I was there."

"You drive a Ford too?" I asked.

"I used Jack's truck," Roger said. "It's gonna be replaced soon anyway. We will both have so much cash we can get new trucks and quit the cement plant."

"And the mask you used, too." I shook my head in disbelief.

"Yeah. That was just for fun, though." Roger laughed. "I could hardly breathe in that damn thing. It smelled nasty, too."

Jack laughed again. I noticed his pupils were large and figured he must've used just before I was brought here.

"Do you use meth too?" I asked Jack.

"I do sometimes," he admitted. "I love it all. Between that and the coke I'm like pure energy."

"Where are we?"

"You're at my house," Roger said. "My aunt lives here, too, but she's dead."

I looked at them both stone faced. "Just like Grandpa. You stabbed him to death."

Jack glanced at Roger then me. "That was an unfortunate accident."

"Bullshit!" I launched myself across the table and grabbed the bottle of booze. I swung it like a baseball bat at Jack's face, but Roger had reached up and caught it. He yanked it out of my hand, spilling bourbon everywhere. "Fuck you, asshole! I hope you die!"

Roger and Jack both started to laugh at me and what I said. "Nah, if anyone dies tonight it'll be you." Jack said in a deadpan voice.

I was at a loss for words. I had righted myself and stood looking at them. Roger had set the bottle back on the table and had a lit cigarette in his hand. Jack flipped open his box of menthols and took out two smokes. He offered one to me which I didn't take.

"Why, Jack? Why all this? Because you don't want to stop taking drugs?" My voice began to crack.

I looked down when I felt a slight movement along my ankle and saw a tree branch. It appeared to be moving. I didn't look behind me. I didn't care. Maybe I was hallucinating. I felt even more betrayed that Jack would choose drugs over me, but that he was so uncaring about murdering an innocent man. My grandfather shouldn't have died the way he did.

"I love the feeling it gives me, babe." Jack set the extra cigarette down on the table and lit the one in his hand. I watched the cherry glow as he inhaled. "I love the rush. It keeps me going like the energizer rabbit."

Roger nodded. "It's great, man. Fuckin' great."

"Why did you keep me around then?" I asked Jack.

"Simple. It was an experiment."

"A...what?" My jaw hit the ground.

"I made a bet with Roger, you see. He said you would leave soon as I smacked you around a bit and then I could get some hot girls. I said you would stick around because you loved me." Jack laughed and I felt movement again by my feet. I looked down and gasped. There was indeed a tree branch snaking past me towards the table where they both sat. Jack had tipped his chair back on its two rear legs and was rocking. "Yeah," he started to snort because he was laughing so hard.