Dead Man's Bluff (8 page)

“But…”
the girl stammered.

“You
heard me! Let him inside!”

The
girl sneered, “You’re the devil.  If it were my house I wouldn’t let you come
in. “She pushed the wood door open wider allowing him to squeeze by. Her
shoulder defiantly shoved against his ribcage as he passed. If Clarissa would
have had half the girl’s stubbornness and her radar for detecting a smug
asshole with a world of issues, then they wouldn’t even be in this mess.

Clarissa
never would have said yes to his proposal. 

Mackenzie
leaned down and whispered in the girl’s ear.  “Then, I’m thankful it’s not your
house. How about grabbing me a cold beer from the refrigerator... preferably, a
Lager, if you have it.” He patted the top of the scowling girls head and
sauntered toward the den/kitchen/dining room combo. He didn't have far to go.

First
thing he did was stifle his gag reflex—the house smelled like cat piss, an
ammonia odor so overwhelming it stole his breath.  The dining room table was
covered with stack upon stack of bundled newspapers.  He assumed someone had a
newspaper route. And he had originally thought the couch out on the porch was
the ugliest piece of furniture he’d ever seen, but he was wrong… the couch
Clarissa was sitting on was the ugliest piece of furniture he’d ever seen. It
was pea green with wide gashes in the puffy fabric where its guts were
beginning to spill, a monstrosity.

But
the importance of the house faded as his gaze connected with hers.

“What
the hell do you want, Mack?” She stuck a cigarette in her mouth, and flicked a lapping
flame at the end, tossing the lighter back on the end table amongst the rest of
the junk.  All eighty pounds of her shifted on the couch.  Her skin was
colorless, her hair lifeless, her eyes weak and distant, and the rest of her
just looked…well, old.  She could easily have been in one of those ‘wanted’ mug
shots you see on the counter in convenient stores.  Maybe she was. Hell, he
didn’t know this woman any longer. Her voice was scratchy, “Well? Are you going
to stand there all day rudely staring at me?”

He
sank into a chair angled by the couch with a sigh. The girl sulked into the den
and stuck a bottled beer in his large hand.

“Olivia,
go out in the back yard and play,” Clarissa said.

Mackenzie
twisted the cap off his beer and took a chug his eyes staying on Clarissa the
entire time. He couldn’t believe it. How much she’d changed. “How are you?” He
inquired settling into the chair.

“How
do I look?” The sides of her cheeks sunk in as she took a draw off the
cigarette. Smoke clouded the air. A smile was foreign to her face now. She
sniffed. “No need to answer, the disgusted expression says it all…You appear to
be doing well.” She eyed his expensive well-tailored suit and polished dress shoes.
“You always did take good care of yourself.” Some show of emotion slid over her
face, a face that was otherwise void of any emotion. She avoided looking at him,
snubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray as she asked, “How’s Drew? Did he grow
up to be just like his father?”

“Would
you rather him grow up to be like you?” Another hefty chug.

Her
eyes flashed to his, murky with anger. “You smug bastard, do you think I give a
shit what you think about me? I want to know about my son!” All the anger bled
from her voice, leaving only despair. Regret.  “He’s twenty five now. A man.
He’s not the little boy I used to know. If you have a heart at all… tell me
about him. ”

He
was tired of the little avoidance dance they were doing. Leaning forward,
elbows planted on his knees he leveled her with his intensity.  “You still
using, Clarissa?”  

She
lit another cigarette.  His expression hardened. He added, “I’m not answering
any of your questions until you answer mine!”

“You
always have put yourself first.”

“Let’s
keep the little remarks about my character to a minimum. I really don’t think
you have any room to talk. Are you still using?”

“Occasionally.”

His
eyes narrowed slowly sweeping over her thin body. “Are you still trading sex
for drugs?”

“I
don’t have to. My son pays for what I need.” Mackenzie didn’t shock easily, but
this shocked him.  She continued, “I have AIDS, you coldhearted bastard! The
doctors say I have a year at most!” She shrugged a knobby shoulder, “My son
keeps me
comfortable,
while I wait.”

Mackenzie
gaze traveled around the shitty conditions, the filth. “Is the girl yours or
your piece-of-shit brothers? Or both?”

“Mine,
Olivia is mine!”

He
raised a brow, “She calls you… Auntie C?”

“She
believes she’s too grown-up to call me mommy.”

Or
too ashamed, he thought, but for once he used his filter. “Does she have it?”

“I
didn’t know her father had AIDS when I got pregnant.”

She’d
sidestepped answering the question. What a fucked up life. “You pick some real
winners, C.  Social services allowed you to keep your kids? What the hell were
they thinking? They should have taken away your ability to reproduce.”

That
earned him a smile, “And yours.” She took a long drag. “I might not have my
shit together, but I’m a good mother! I had my father and brothers help. What
the hell did you really come for, Mack! Spit it out or leave, because I can’t
stomach looking at your condescending expression! ”

“The
day I made you leave… you told me the child you were carry wasn’t mine?”

Her
frail body shook with laughter until she started coughing.  She covered her
coughing fit with a closed fist, reaching for a glass of ice water on the end
table.  She took a couple of soothing sips, and then replied, “I love how you word
it
I made you leave
”.  It sounds so tame. You used me and kicked my ass
to the curb the first chance you got just like my parents predicted you would…
did you really expect me to tell you the baby was yours? You just would have
stolen him from me like you did Drew!” She stretched for the pack of Salem
Menthol Lights on the table. “Besides… you wanted to believe he wasn’t yours.
You hated the idea of me shooting up Heroine while I was pregnant.  What a
CATASTROPHE that would have been… if Jonathan Mackenzie would have had a child
that was less than perfect! ”

Mackenzie
stood to his full intimidating height. His grin was wicked as he informed his
ex-wife that, “You know, Drew has been staying at a ranch that is no more than
ten minutes from you TWICE now, and he has absolutely no idea how close you are
to him, nor do I think he’d care if he did. If he ever found out where his
mother crawled off to, he’d take one look at how pathetic you’ve become, AND
THANK ME for running you out of his life.”

Clarissa
wiped tears that had finally sprung loose slipping down her cheeks; her gaze
focused on the ceiling, a corner of the room, the floor, anywhere, but at him. He
always had had a connert for making people feel like shit. “You get off on playing
with people’s emotions and their heads… I’m assuming Drew didn’t accidently
wind up where he is, did he?”

A
gleaming smile spread, so many white teeth showing. “Oh no my dear… it was no
accident.”

She
picked up the glass full of ice water and hurled it at him.  He ducked, the glass
smacking the wall adjacent him. She yelled, “I wish I’d never met you!” Next a
magazine sailed at him, fluttering to the floor, then another. “Get the hell
out of my house! I thought MAYBE you’d come here to apologize. TO MAKE AMENDS!
BUT YOU DON”T HAVE IT IN YOU!”

He
chuckled, being herded towards the front door, his arms blocking things flying
at him. “Why would I ever apologize to WHORE?”

“GET
OUT ! GET OUT AND STAY OUT!” Clarissa, out of breath and panting, her cheeks burning
crimson shoved him over the threshold of the front door, which the little girl
was gladly holding open for him, and the wood door SLAMMED in his face, shaking
the glass in the windows across the front of the house!

He
laughed, backing his way down the front steps as the two peered out one of those
windows at him. The little girl had the audacity to flash him the middle finger.

Mackenzie
backed right in an unshakeable barrier, a firm body, evenly matched with his
strength.

“What’s
so funny?” was asked, in a deep voice.

He
turned to see Blackwell studying him with intense narrowed eyes that mirrored
his own. Mack chuckled, and held his hands up in an innocent gesture. “I was
just being introduced to your little sister that’s all. She’s a spitfire! Quite
the personality.”

Blackwell’s
head pivoted in the direction of the cab waiting by the curb on standby, and
then his suspicious gaze slid back to Mackenzie. Mackenzie eyed Blackwell in
the same fashion. Blackwell’s hands were buried in the pockets of his navy coveralls
stained with grease and grime and he was wearing black work boots. A name tag
was pinned to the coveralls. “Oh this is unbelievable!” Mack flicked the name
tag as if it were a pesky bug. “Clay Miller… you’re a fucking auto mechanic!
You are as deceitful and cunning as your old man, you know that!” He cocked a
brow, truly impressed. “How the hell do you afford all of those expensive
clothes you wear, son?”

Clay/Christopher,
whatever his name was tensed his jaw working under the surface as he snarled, “Don’t
call me son! I’m not your son!”

“You’re
right… you’re the garbage that I threw out.”

Whack!
Blackwell’s fist landed in the dead center of Mackenzie’s face snapping his
head back. The man took a couple of staggering steps, laughing, cupping his
nose with a hand. He smeared the blood gushing from a nostril. “Damn, that made
my eyes water… there still might be hope for you yet.”

“One
question!” Blackwell growled, his chest rising and falling with his quick
breaths. “Why did you hire me to break up Drew and Megan two years ago if you
already knew who I was? Is this all part of some sick game you’re playing?”

Mackenzie’s
grin deepened and he shrugged off any lingering pain. “I was curious and
wondered what you were like. Am I not allowed?”

“I
think that’s the first normal thing you’ve ever said.”

“Yeah,
well, I guess I need to work on that… I sure as hell don’t want to be categorized
as normal or
common
,
Clay
.” Mack smirked at the name tag. He reached
into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a pen and his check book…

“What
are you doing?”

The
pen danced, and a check was ripped from its place and passed to Blackwell. He
glanced down, speechless, his brows lowered in confusion. Three hundred
thousand dollars was scribbled across the check. “Is this your way of easing
your guilty conscience? Because, if it is… ”

“Before
you tell me to shove it up my ass… I’d take some time to think about it.” Mack
nodded at the house. “I’m sure your mother needs things.”

“Is
this embezzled money?”

“Does
it matter? It’s money. ” Mack buried the check book and pen inside of his
jacket and headed towards the cab, chuckling. “You definitely deserve
compensation for living in those conditions … I’m impressed that you managed to
turn out halfway
normal
. I applauded you.”

“Have
done everything I’ve asked?” Christopher/Clay shouted.

Mackenzie
gave a sarcastic two thumbs up, before sliding into the back of the cab.

After
the cab gone, he climbed the steps to find his mother waiting by the door. She
embraced him, tiny in his arms, sobbing, “He’s here, Clay! Your brothers here!”

He
stiffened. She pulled back, searching his face as she asked, “What are you not
telling me?” ♠

Nine

Birdie smiled, her blue-veined hands clutching the
glass of ice tea in front of her. She’d lost weight, quite a bit and Megan
found herself wondering if it had anything to do with Tink’s death. Birdie
closed her eyes as if to collect her thoughts then spoke, “You seem happy,
Megan. It’s good to see.”