For the First Time: Twenty-One Brand New Stories of First Love (41 page)

He smirked. “That’s better. Invite me in?”

“State your business,” I said, brandishing the pistol, making certain he could see it. “And then get the hell away from me and my son.”

“I can’t do that, Dolly. You steal that from Clayton?” he asked, glancing at the gun. Beauregard didn’t seem intimidated or even concerned about the weapon. He also hadn’t drawn his, and he was always armed.

“Yes,” I said, notching my chin. No point in trying to hide it.

Beauregard laughed, blue eyes sparkling with wicked wit. “Who knew you had it in you? Invite me in,” he repeated, not a question this time.

“No. Tell me what you want and then leave.”

“I’d love to elaborate. But we can’t have this particular conversation in the hall.” He looked left and then right down the dingy hallway with the sputtering fluorescent lights, as if to illustrate his point. I’m sure my neighbors had seen all sorts of hair-raising things. It was the sort of neighborhood with bars on the windows and where everyone pretended they didn’t see or hear a damn thing.

I started to slam the door in his face, when his hand shot out, pressing against the groaning wood. I shoved it with all my strength, but I couldn’t make the door budge.

We stared at one another. If it came down to brute strength, I wouldn’t win. We both knew it. He had a half a foot and fifty pounds on me. I’d have to use guile. “Okay, but to unlatch the door, I have to close it,” I said.

He stared at me and I licked my lips nervously. His eyes followed the movement.

After what felt like forever, Beauregard nodded.

I started to close the door, deciding to take my chances with the fire escape, but he shoved his way inside, snapping the chain.

“Get away from me!” I hissed, mindful of Sam sleeping in the next room. I backed away, still holding the pistol, putting myself between Beauregard and my son. “Don’t make me use this.”

“If you were going to use it, you’d would’ve already shot me,” he said flatly.

And he was right. Unlike my husband and Beauregard, I wasn’t a murderer. Not yet. Not unless he pushed me. “If you hurt my son, I’ll kill you.” I meant every word.

He offered me a little salute. “Yes, ma’am. I got the message and, for the record, I believe you.” Beauregard cocked his head to the side, studying me. “You really love your son, don’t you?”

Love didn’t cover what I felt for Sam. He was the light of my life, the only good thing to come out of my marriage. And the mere thought of something happening to him caused me physical pain. That’s why I’d ultimately left my husband. Clayton had threatened our son one night. He’d come home drunk and angry and took it out on me as usual. It’d almost become a routine. We fought, screaming at each other. And then he’d gotten physical. He shoved me into a wall and blackened my eyes. I told him I wasn’t going to take it anymore. I was leaving and taking Sam with me. That’s when Clayton snapped. He said if I tried to leave, he’d seek sole custody. I feared he’d probably get it, too. Since I’d quit my job as a seamstress after I had Sam, I hadn’t worked for years. And I wouldn’t have a place to live either. He’d use a custody suit to punish me.

I focused on Beauregard. “Of course I do!” But that probably sounded crazy to him. I’d learned that his father, Buckley, had killed his mother, Loretta, after he’d discovered her plan to run away with another man. She was going to leave everything – her home, her children, and her husband. In my mind, it was the kind of horrible childhood that would lead someone to become a mafia hit man.

He scratched his skin thoughtfully.

I kept the Glock pointed at his mid-section. “What’s it to you?”

Beauregard held his hands up. “Easy now. I meant it, I’m only here to talk. I haven’t pulled on you and I don’t intend to.” He waved a hand at the couch and my abandoned bourbon on the coffee table. “Let’s sit a spell and have a drink. Keep your pistol trained on me if it makes you feel better.”

“You’re
only
here to talk?” I asked. I knew he was guilty of killing, but did he lie, too?

He raised a blond brow. “Didn’t I just say that? In the business I’m in, I don’t knock on anyone’s front door.”

His calm admission sent a chill up my spine. But that actually made a lot of sense. He hadn’t tried to overpower me either. Call me crazy, but I believed him. With a shuddering breath, I lowered the gun. “Fine, but Sam is asleep. Keep your voice down.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled.

I went into the postage-stamp of a kitchen off the living room to retrieve the bottle and another glass. I kept a wary eye on Beauregard through the doorway. He’d seated himself on the threadbare couch, as I chucked some ice into a high ball glass and grabbed the Jim Beam Single Barrel bourbon. I’d also stolen the glasses and the bourbon from my husband as well. Clayton Perkins only bought top-shelf liquor. Lord knows, I couldn’t afford it now.

I studied Beauregard, trying to figure him out. After I found out my husband worked for the Dixie Mafia, it’s like a lightbulb went off. Everything started to make sense and I wondered how I could’ve possibly missed it before. Particularly Clayton’s association with Beauregard–a friendship between the two hadn’t make sense. With his expensive suit and million dollar smile, Beauregard didn’t belong in this dilapidated place with the yellowed curtains and peeling wallpaper. He’d always been something of an enigma. I positioned myself on the end of the sofa with a good foot or two between us. I had the gun on my lap, within easy reach. Now that I had the opportunity to observe him, I noticed something was
off
. When I’d seen Beauregard at my husband’s parties, he was always self-assured. However, tonight there was a small crack in his armor. His gaze leapt from place to place around the room and his right knee bounced. Something was clearly on his mind.

But I didn’t care what was going on with him. I had one priority, getting him out of my apartment as soon as possible.

“Why are you here?” It was nearly two in the morning and my boisterous four year old would be awake at first light. Not that I’d been getting much sleep these days, but I needed a couple of hours to function. And today, I had to figure out a new place for us to stay.

“Is that any way for a Southern lady to speak to a gentleman?” he asked.

From what I heard, Beauregard came from a wealthy family. He was probably used to women with designer clothing and genteel manners. During prohibition days, his family had made a killing in the bootlegging business and then formed a partnership with the Dixie Mafia. But the mob didn’t believe in nepotism and he’d been forced to work his way up the ranks. I wondered just how high Beauregard would go. Would he eventually become the big boss?

“I can’t take anymore cat and mouse games tonight,” I said. “Why are you here?”

“Funny. I was enjoying myself.”

Or pretending to enjoy himself?
I imagine in his line of work any sign of weakness could get you killed. “Please get on with it.” I nervously tugged at the edges of my robe, as if I could make it longer. I knew he hadn’t come to kill me, but I was perturbed about being half-dressed. It left me feeling more vulnerable. The few items of clothes I had were tucked in Sam’s closet and I couldn’t grab anything else to wear without risking waking him up.

He checked the Rolex around his wrist. “You’re right, the hour is late. Now, I’m about to reach in my pocket and pull out an envelope and you’re gonna reign in that twitchy trigger finger of yours. Okay?”

I nodded, watching him very carefully, my hand resting on the pistol in my lap. Sure enough, he only pulled out a thick manila envelope. “This is for you.”

“What’s that?” I asked, staring at the envelope warily. I didn’t want to accept anything coming from him. It was bound to be tainted in some way.

“Open it and find out,” he said, handing it to me.

Reluctantly, I unfastened the metal clasp. Inside was a treasure trove: details for two offshore bank accounts belonging to Clayton, three stacks of thousand dollar bills, and keys to a safety deposit box. In short, Sam and I had just been saved. I almost felt like crying. There was enough here for us to start over. It would tide us over while I searched for a job and found a better place to live. “Why are you giving this to me?”

“Consider it your divorce settlement,” he said.

“My divorce settlement?”

He stared at me meaningfully. And understanding dawned.

Clayton was gone, in the permeant sense of the word. “My husband…”

“Has been
taken care
of,” Beauregard supplied. “Earlier this evening, as a matter of fact.” Beauregard splashed more bourbon into his glass and took another lengthy swallow. His hand shook a little as he brought it to his mouth. Despite all of his bluster, he seemed to be having a bad night.

Maybe that was going around.

I processed his news for a moment, waiting for a rush of some emotion, but curiously I felt nothing. I set the envelope down and grabbed a cigarette from my pack on the coffee table and lit it with the Zippo. I inhaled deep, before blowing out a ring of smoke. I didn’t feel a twinge of grief for the man I’d once loved enough to marry. No joy over his death either. After a minute or two, I realized that I only felt relieved.

A burden had been lifted from my shoulders, just like that. I’d intended to run from Clayton. And if he caught up with me, I’d have to face the law. Maybe a custody charge and a long, drawn out custody suit. Now, Sam and I wouldn’t be forced to hide from him. Nor would I have to fight Clayton in court for custody of my son. He’d been surgically removed from my life, like the obstacle he’d become.

“Say something,” Beauregard said. Was that why he seemed so jittery? He’d come here after killing Clayton. That’s when I noticed a splotch of red on his wrist. Not even the size of a dime. Blood.

I forced myself to answer his question. “I’m not sure what to say,” I answered truthfully. “I’m not sorry I’m a widow.”

He sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Good.”

Had Beauregard been expecting an emotional scene with a tearful widow? Is that why he’d brought the money with him? As a bribe? “How did this…come about?”

“The less you know, the better off you’ll be,” he said, raising his brows.

“Tell me something. Anything,” I said. For my own sanity, I had to make sense of this.

“The order came from above my pay grade.”

So, the Dixie Mafia had eliminated Clayton. “Why?”

Beauregard took another long drink of the bourbon, then swirled his glass in his hand, clinking the ice together. “I wasn’t given a reason.”

And he’d killed Clayton anyway? A man he’d known for years. His association with Clayton had lasted longer than our marriage. I couldn’t imagine being that cold-blooded. But underneath it all maybe he wasn’t, maybe that’s why he was so edgy tonight.

“I can hazard a guess,” he said. “His behavior was…erratic. He left evidence at a scene once, which required a large police bribe. And he’s had a string of mistresses. All of them young and stupid. Likely to blab.” He glanced at me sharply after he said that.

“I know about the affairs,” I said, meeting his stare without blinking.

He nodded as though impressed. “They’re afraid he might be telling tales, calling attention to himself. And my employers like to fly under the radar.”

“Is he…” I hesitated, unsure if I should give in to my curiosity. “Is he the first person you’ve…taken care of…that you knew?”

His features became shuttered, completely blank. “Where did that come from?” he asked.

“I notice things. People.” I had a lot of practice. During all of these parties where Clayton had shown off for his friends, I had the opportunity to observe. It’d given me a lot of insight. “Is he the first?” I asked.

He took another drink and a muscle worked in his jaw. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

Since, he didn’t answer, I tried another question. I raised the envelope. “Why are you giving this to me? I assumed his bosses would take everything Clayton had.”

He laughed without humor. “Oh, they’ll take what they consider their due. The house here in Dallas. As well as his vacation home in Corpus Christi. His domestic bank accounts, his cars, and everything else they find is forfeit.”

“So, why give me any of it?” I’d assumed Beauregard had come to demand what little I’d managed to steal.

“I…” he paused. Then shook his head, as if he was as flummoxed as me. “I just did.” He shrugged. “I took a hefty fee for myself. My…boss is a tightfisted bastard and I didn’t get nearly enough for this job. So, don’t be lookin’ at me, like I’m a good man underneath it all. I’m not.”

“You just did? That’s not a reason.” I got the impression he was lying.

Beauregard nodded to my pair of healing black eyes. The skin was still a mottled mixture of purple and yellow. “
That
might have something to do with it, Dolly. I didn’t know he beat on you.” Something in his tone told me if he thought that was the case, he might’ve
taken care
of the problem sooner.

“This was the first time,” I said, self-consciously raising a hand to my face. Clayton had been verbally and emotionally abusive. Not to mention controlling. Once he’d refused to speak to me for a week, all because I’d taken Sam to see the latest Disney movie without his “permission.”

“It’ll be the last,” Beauregard huffed. “And maybe I did it because…because you took Sam with you. You didn’t leave him behind.”

I glanced down the hall at the doorway to the bedroom where my son slept peacefully, unware any of this had happened. He was so innocent. God, I hoped I got out of this life soon enough to keep him from becoming his father. Suddenly, I felt like crying. For Sam. For me. For how messed up our lives were. And maybe a little for Beauregard, the reluctant hit man. I must need my head examined. I was starting to feel sorry for Beauregard–sympathy for the devil. He was handsome as sin, he’d been born with a sparkling silver spoon tucked in his smart mouth. The man killed for a living, for a pity’s sake. He certainly didn’t need or deserve my compassion.

“I’m sorry.” And I was. Maybe if he’d had a different upbringing, he wouldn’t have become a killer.