The Love You Crave

32.

Maybe and Hailey are standing in the front hallway. There’s a spiral staircase to the right of the front door. From her vantage point, Maybe can see up the staircase, and, leaning over the railing now, can see the stairs below.

In the lower level there’s a rumbling noise that sounds like a clothes dryer working overtime. Straight ahead is the empty living room. To the right is the empty kitchen. There appears to be a bedroom off the living room on this floor, and now that Maybe has entered the kitchen, she sees there’s a dining room on the other side of it that faces the ocean. The dining room has a sliding glass door that leads to a deck. The door is open, but there’s a screen door to keep the bugs out. On the deck is a table with four chairs. Two men are sitting at the table, facing the ocean. They’re smoking cigars. Maybe slowly walks to the screen door and shoots them both in the back of the head.

Neither of them falls down. The table appears to be holding them up, though they’re slouching against it. Maybe turns to Hailey and motions her to go downstairs. She does. When Maybe turns back, one of the men starts sliding sideways, and falls to the floor. His chair overturns and makes a loud, crashing noise.

The woman sneaking a cigarette directly below the deck, out of view, calls up to ask if everything’s okay. Getting no response, she takes several steps toward the beach, turns and looks back onto the deck. At that moment, one of the men raises his hand. The woman comes running inside, yelling, and Maybe can only hope Hailey is standing ready to shoot her. She opens the screen and carefully places another bullet into each man’s head. Back in the condo now, the house is quiet, which means Hailey did her part.

Maybe heads toward the master bedroom, turns the door handle, hears a shower running. She enters the bathroom, pulls the glass shower door open, and shoots a heavily tattooed woman-shit!-in the arm. She turned just as Maybe shot. Now she’s screaming bloody murder. Maybe fires a second shot right into the center of her mouth. The force of the shot slams her against the back of the shower, and she crashes to the floor, moaning loudly. Maybe puts one more in her temple, then heads back to the staircase. She hears someone coming up the steps.

Hailey.

Maybe motions her to stand guard, and quickly makes her way up the steps. When she gets to the top, there’s a landing with yet another deck. Horrified, Maybe realizes this deck overlooks the one below it. If someone had been on it, they would’ve seen the men get shot. Maybe and Hailey checked the back of the condo earlier, but from their angle, this deck hadn’t been visible. It’s a lesson learned, and lucky for Maybe, no one was there. She makes a mental note to circle the entire house the next time she finds herself in this situation.

Off the landing there’s a door that almost certainly leads to a second master bedroom. Maybe tests the door. It’s locked.

On TV and in the movies, this is the part where the hero kicks the door open. Maybe knows you’re supposed to aim just left of the door knob. She lifts her foot, then pauses. If she kicks and it doesn’t open, whoever’s inside will hear.

She lowers her foot, and knocks on the door.

A man’s voice says, “Yes?”

Maybe assumes the most adult voice she can, and says, “I’m the owner of this condo. Can I ask what you’re doing here?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not supposed to be here this week.”

“Just a minute,” the man says. “I’m not dressed.

“I’ll wait.”

When he opens the door Maybe blows him away before realizing how young he is.

Was.

Twenty-two? Something like that. Obviously one of the aides.

Her eyes dart around the room, seeking the last hooker. She glances once more at the corpse and smiles, remembering how the bullet’s impact lifted him off his feet a few seconds ago. One minute he’s full of life. The next, he’s on the floor, a crimson stain spreading across his chest.

Maybe enters the bedroom, sees clothes strewn all over the place. She enters the bathroom.

No one in the tub.

Separate shower. Opens the door.

No one in the shower.

Toilet door closed. She knocks.

“I’m still in here,” a woman’s voice says. “Be right out!”

Maybe walks over to the shower and gets the water running, so the woman will think her friend is taking a shower.

Maybe exits the bathroom, walks through the bedroom, steps over the dead guy’s body, walks half-way down the stairs and whispers to Hailey, “Did you lock the lower level door?”

Hailey whispers, “Yes. What’s going on?”

“Last woman’s using the toilet.”

“What should we do?”

“Search the men for wallets so we can make a positive ID. I’ll go back upstairs and wait.”

She goes back into the bathroom and removes the extra clip from her back pocket, sits on the floor, her gun aimed just above the door knob…

Wondering how many bullets she’s fired.

She does a mental count.

Eight.

Her weapon holds nine.

Should she replace the clip?

No. Having just one bullet intensifies the high.

Finally, the toilet flushes. A moment later, the woman comes out, does a double-take as she sees Maybe shooting at her, but falls dead before her brain can process what she’s seen.

Maybe ejects the clip, replaces it, and heads down the stairs. Hailey’s waiting for her, proudly waving the two wallets in the air.

“It’s the mayor!” she says.

“Cool,” Maybe says. She shoots Hailey in the throat. Hailey’s gun clatters as it hits the ceramic tile. Her hands instinctively go to her throat as she staggers a few steps, spewing blood.

“Oops!” Maybe says.

Hailey hits the floor like she’d been dropped from a high place.

“Wh-why?” she whispers.

“You were right. I was jealous!”

“H-help me!” Hailey whispers. Her throat is flooded with blood. It’s oozing through her fingers, spilling down her chest.

“I’ll help you,” Maybe says, “if you tell me his name.”

Hailey tries to say something, but her words are garbled.

“You’ll have to do better.”

Hailey gathers all her strength, tries to shout. Her words come out in a loud, raspy whisper, but they’re clear.

The name Maybe hears means nothing to her. And why should it? She doesn’t know anyone outside her little circle of acquaintances. She repeats the name to Hailey.

“Sam Case?”

Hailey nods. Then whispers, “P-please h-help me.”

Maybe puts one in Hailey’s forehead to end her suffering. Then she picks up Hailey’s gun, removes the silencer, and drops both pieces into her tote. She repeats the process with her own gun. Then she picks up Hailey’s tote bag and removes Hailey’s wallet and car keys before stuffing the rest of Hailey’s gear, and the bag, into her own tote.

Then she walks out the front door and heads down the two-lane highway all the way to the public beach where Hailey’s car is parked. Once there, she drives to the country club, puts the totes and her suitcase in the trunk of her rental car, then drives Hailey’s car to a convenience store. She buys the type of wet wipes that contain bleach, uses half of them to remove fingerprints and DNA residue from the interior and exterior of Hailey’s car. Then she drives to the airport and turns it over to the guy at the rental car agency, being sure to wipe the steering wheel, gear shift, interior door handle, and the keys with a wet wipe before climbing out.

She walks into the airport, takes the escalator up two floors, and hails a cab to take her back to the country club to retrieve her own car. Before returning it, she goes through the same procedure of wiping down all the surfaces. After returning her rental car, she walks to the airport’s long-term parking garage, climbs into her own car, and drives back to Jacksonville.

On the way, she calls Sam Case.