Confessions of a Good Mother

  CONFESSIONS OF A GOOD MOTHER

  By

  Ray Daniel

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  *****

  PUBLISHED BY

  Boston Light Press on Smashwords

  Communion

  Copyright © 2012 by Ray Daniel

  *****

  He said, “Baby, take off those pretty shoes. I want to see the mud squish between your toes.”

  That’s when I shot him.

  Truth is, I would have shot him anyway. It was part of my deal with that pus bag, Al. Still, shooting him gave me the same warm feeling I get when I throw cash into the Salvation Army bucket. The world was a better place without him.

  I put my LadySmith revolver back into my purse. I prefer a Glock 26, but I had used the LadySmith in yet another motherly compromise. I didn’t have time to root around the forest floor for shell casings because I needed to pick Monica up at the daycare center. They charge five bucks a minute if you’re late. I left Mr. Toe-jam on the forest floor and walked back to my Acura MDX through the wet leaves. Carl was sitting in the passenger seat waiting for me. He always sat there. His legs didn’t work.

  “Ah, the wood nymph returns,” he said.

  “Shut up, Carl.”

  “Did your buddy enjoy the woods?”

  “Right up until I shot him.”

  “Well at least he died happy.”

  I put the car in gear. “We have to go or we’ll be late picking up Monica. Then, I need to let Al know it’s done.”

  “Do you think Al will let you off the hook?”

  “He’d better.”

  Carl and I drove away from the Boy Scout reservation. The reservation was conveniently located in the middle of suburbia. It was deserted on a rainy day, but some Scout would find the body in a day or two. I hit a pothole and Monica’s car seat base rattled in the back. I wondered if girl scouts camped in those woods.

  We pulled up to the daycare. It was in a strip mall between a dog grooming place called Mr. Pooch and a liquor store. I left Carl and went in.

  The front room of the daycare reminded me of a police station. There was a secure waiting area out front and a high window with glass across it. I had to reach up to see the receptionist.

  “Hi, Dolly.” I stood on tip toe. “I’m here to pick up Monica.”

  “Hi, Lyla.” Dolly was a large girl, twenty something, with soft round cheeks and great skin. “Let me go get her for you.”

  She shoved herself out of the small rolly chair and went into the back room. The chair looked relieved. She spent a minute in the back room and returned with an unnerving urgency. Her face was compressed into a frown. She saw me watching her and gave a quick smile. Then she looked in the sign out book.

  “Lyla, didn’t you take Monica out?”

  “What?”

  “I just started my shift, but the book says you took her out.” She turned the book so I could see it. There was my name printed on the sign out sheet. Next to it was a scrawl that looked like ‘Lyla Black.’ It wasn’t my signature.

  I blinked and looked at Dolly. My heel turned as I caught it on the carpet and I stumbled backward. A small voice welled up in my stomach, “Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.” A moment ago I knew that Monica was in the daycare. Now she wasn’t. I couldn’t catch my breath.

  “Oh God, are you OK?” Dolly surged into the waiting area. “Should we call the police?”

  At the word “police” my world steadied. There was a dead guy in the woods. My revolver was still in my handbag. Someone might have seen us together. The police couldn’t be involved.

  “No,” I said, “I just realized what happened.”

  “What?” Dolly was alarmed. She should be. She’d lost my daughter.

  “My idiot sister must have picked her up. She told me she was coming to town.”

  “Why would she sign your name?”

  “Well, that’s where the idiot part comes in. She knew she couldn’t just take Monica out, so she pretended she was me.”

  “Is she your twin?”

  “No. But she’s small and bossy.”

  Dolly accepted the lie and apologized for the scare. I settled into the role of looking relieved. I told Dolly that I was going to go home and yell at my sister and that I’d only call back if there was a problem.

  I fled the daycare and got back in the car.

  “Where’s Monica?” asked Carl.

  “She wasn’t there.”

  “What are you talking about, where is she?”

  “I think I know.”

  #

  Al Cassini’s body shop looked like a rust factory. He didn’t have enough business to keep the shop going, but it served its purpose as a front and a source of legitimate income. While Al pretended to be fixing cars, he sold drugs and ran prostitutes. He also did some loan sharking on the side. I owed Al money.

  We pulled up to the body shop.

  “Carl, wait for me in the car.”

  “Like I have a choice.”

  “Jerk.”

  I walked into Al’s garage. A car was up on the lift having its guts torn at by some Hispanic kid with a greasy little caterpillar moustache. Al sat in the back of the garage at an old dining room table that served as his desk. Two meatballs in Patriots jackets stood on either side of him. Al’s table was made of chipped and stained cherry wood. He had a sign on the table that said, “In God We Trust. You pay cash.” Funny.

  Al was all smiles.

  “There’s my girl!” His two meatballs snickered. The one on the left looked me up and down and then let his eyes rest on my crotch. I ignored him.

  “We’re square now, right Al?” I owed Al $20,000 for hospital bills from Monica’s birth. Assassins don’t have health insurance.

  “Is it done?” Al asked.

  “It’s done.”

  “Then we’re square, honey. You done good.”

  I reached into my purse and drew my LadySmith. I pointed it right at Al’s nose. “Then where is she?”

  The Hispanic kid muttered “Dios mio” and bolted. I could hear his sneakers fading away.

  The meatball on the right reached for his gun. I said, “Don’t.”

  He did.

  His jacket billowed as he drew. I shot him in the sternum. He looked surprised and slid to the floor, wheezing. He twitched a few times and then was still as he bled out.

  “Oh no. Too slow,” I said to the dead meatball.

  “Jesus!” said Al, “What the fuck are you doing?”

  I pointed my gun back at Al. “Where is she?”

  Al looked down at his dead bodyguard and back at me. Then he smiled – smug bastard. He knew he had information I wanted. He relaxed and put his feet up on the table. The crotch lover looked from me to Al to the dead guy and back to me. He had no idea what was going on.

  Al kicked his chair onto two legs, “You want to stop pointing that at me?”

  I held it steady, “She’s gone.”

  “Who’s gone?”

  I fired a shot into the wall over Al’s head. He didn’t flinch. He looked me in the eye.

  I said, “Where’s my baby? Where’s Monica? I told you I’d do the job. You didn’t need a hostage.”

  “A hostage? You’re crazy.”

  I aimed the gun at Al’s chest.

  “Did you send that whore Doreen to take her? She looks like me. Did Doreen take my baby?”

  Al jerked his feet off the table and dropped forward. He pounded his fists on the table top and stood. I almost shot him. He leaned forward and said quietly, “What do you think I am?”

  “I think you’re a pus ball, Al.” My arm was tired, but I kept my gun aimed at his chest. I watched the remaining body guard out of the cor
ner of my eye. He didn’t move.

  “I may be a pus ball, but I’m not a baby stealer. I didn’t take her and Doreen is working.”

  “Then who did? Who else would?”

  “Get the hell out of my office.” Al nodded toward the body on the floor. “I’ll spot you dickwad here. He brought it on himself. But I swear. You either leave, shoot me, or get that gun rammed up your ass. I don’t know where your kid is.”

  It didn’t make sense for Al to deny taking Monica. If he had her he’d be using her to threaten me. He didn’t have her. I backed out of the garage. I kept my gun on Al until I was at the door. Then I put it in my purse and ran back to the SUV.

  “Sounded like that went well,” said Carl.

  “Shut up.” My hands were shaking.

  “Where’s Monica?”

  “I don’t know!” I had pinned my hopes on Al. As long as I thought he had Monica I could hold it together. But now I had no idea where she was.

  “He doesn’t have her?”

  “No, you idiot!” I poked at the ignition with a shaking key. Scraped around and finally got the car started. “He doesn’t have her.”

  Carl had nothing to say – finally. Being unable to walk had made him a sarcastic bastard.

  I pulled out of Al’s driveway and into the street. I needed some highway driving. I needed to think. Panic was edging its way around my defenses. This morning I had a daughter. She was five months old. She had just started to sit up. I could put her in front of blocks and she’d amuse herself. That’s what she was doing when I left her at the daycare. All day long, I knew she was in the daycare, but it was a lie. How long had it been a lie? When had someone come and taken her?

  I accelerated onto the highway. Rush hour was starting up so I moved into the commuter lane. The white diamonds slid under my car as I thought.

  “Carl, we need to retrace this,” I said.

  “Sounds good.”

  “When did we drop her off?”

  “Ten o’clock.”

  “And then I called on our buddy. I got him to take me to lunch.”

  “Right. You had lunch at the Indian place that looks like a diner.”

  “Yeah. Then I told him I’d meet him in the woods.”

  “Yup. You said you’d meet him at 3:00. We drove around and waited.”

  “How long was I in the woods?”

  “You were there for an hour. The same time that they took her,” said Carl.

  I froze.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said they took her when you were in the woods.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “It was in the log. You told me.”

  “No I didn’t. I never saw the time in the log. I didn’t tell you anything.”

  Carl stared straight ahead.

  “Carl. Where is she?”

  Carl was silent. He stared at the road as if the white commuter diamonds held the meaning of life.

  My voice rose, “Carl. Why did you take her?”

  Carl swayed slightly. He watched the road. I left the question out there and let the tension rise. He finally cracked.

  “It was for the best.”

  “What?”

  “It was for the best. She couldn’t have you as a mother.”

  I digested his words.

  “Where is she?”

  “I’m not telling you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Monica deserves better.” Carl’s voice was clipped.

  “What do you mean she deserves better? I love her!” I was having trouble keeping the car in the lane. We were doing 70.

  “You don’t even want her.”

  “Of course I want her!”

  “Why is it that the one life you couldn’t snuff out was hers?”

  “You mean I should have gotten an abortion?”

  “Look at how you treated her!”

  “She’s my baby!”

  “You can barely stand her! You yelled at her when she kept you up nights. One time, you almost shook her. You know just how close you came to shaking her.”

  “She wouldn’t stop crying. I hate it!”

  “They never stop crying! That’s why mothers are supposed to love them. Because if they don’t love them, they’ll kill them.”

  “I would never have hurt her!”

  “You left her in the car the day you killed Bobby Wilton.”

  “It was for fifteen minutes.”

  “It was for two hours. Two hours in the car while you sidled up to Bobby so you could get him alone. Did you kill him before or after you screwed him?”

  “I love her!” My voice cracked and strained against my vocal cords. My eyes started to fill. My breath shortened and I sucked air in short raspy gasps. I looked at Carl with a new understanding of just how terrible he’d become. My hand slipped into my bag.

  Carl must have seen my movement. “Oh, are you going to kill me too?”

  I knew what I needed to do. I took the revolver out of the bag.

  “I’m not going to kill you. How would I find Monica if I killed you?” I aimed the gun at his leg.

  “You’re a terrible mother.”

  “Goddamn you, where is she?”

  “You don’t care about her.”

  “I swear. I will put a bullet right through your frigging kneecap. Where is she?”

  “I gave her to an orphanage.”

  “You bastard!” My voice hurt my ears. Carl’s kneecap would certainly hit the glove box before it fell to the floor. I was going to love his screams. My finger tightened on the trigger just as flashing sirens filled my vision. There was a police car behind me. I swore and hid my gun.

  “You keep quiet, Carl, or I swear you’ll pay.” Then I pulled over.

  The cop pulled up behind me, his lights flashing. He was a state trooper, young and big and full of his own power. He pulled his cap down tight over his closely cropped hair. I sat in the car with my hands on the wheel, willing Carl to keep his mouth shut.

  He stood right next to my driver side window and looked in. Obviously he didn’t think I was a threat. I could have shot him. Crappy training.

  “You OK, ma’am?”

  I flinched a bit at “ma’am.” I hated the term.

  “Yes, officer, I’m fine.”

  “You were swerving a bit back there.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He looked at Carl who didn’t meet his gaze. Then he looked back at me, “License and registration, please.”

  I gave him the fake license that matched the registration. Now we’d see how good my forger was. As the cop went back to his car, I opened my bag and took out my LadySmith. The damn thing was getting a lot of use today. I was starting to like it. Maybe I’d switch from the Glock.

  If the ID didn’t work, he’d be back. He’d ask me to step out of the car. I’d have to shoot him. I’d keep the gun in my coat and shoot him when he asked me to lean against the car. It was a shame. He was a handsome kid. In other circumstances I might make a pass at him. Let him know that I’d be having coffee down the road at the end of his shift.

  But I’d probably have to shoot him and run. I should probably run anyway. There were two bodies in town. They could both be linked to me. I’d take Monica and we’d run.

  “Would you step out of the car, ma’am?” This was it. I stepped down from my SUV and kept the gun in my coat. Now he’d want to frisk me.

  “Ma’am, who’s your friend?”

  “That’s just Carl.” Maybe I wouldn’t have to shoot the kid after all.

  “Why is he in your front seat?”

  “He’s there for security.”

  “OK, ma’am. I understand having one of those inflatable guys in your car. A woman your size shouldn’t be seen traveling alone. I get that. But, you can’t use the commuter lane because you have a fake guy next to you. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, officer.”

  He handed me my license and registration.

  “You lo
ok like you’ve had a tough day, ma’am. Why don’t you go home and get some rest.”

  “Thank you, officer.”

  I sat back in the car and looked at Carl. He swayed softly in the breeze and his seams and plastic sheen caught the flashing lights from the police car. His frozen, implacable, face stared through eyes painted in place.

  My memories flooded back. Leaving Monica at the front door of the orphange. Kissing her goodbye. Running back to the car and not looking back.

  I started driving. Sobs punched me in the gut. The job today had been sloppy. Al would sic the cops on me. He’d be pissed that I pulled a gun on him. The tears blinded me. I found a rest area. I got out of the car. I couldn’t stay in this town anymore. I ran among the picnic tables and screamed into rain. I staggered to the tree line, threw myself onto the wet pine needles and sobbed.

  Monica would be safe at the Sisters of Mercy. She’d be given a real home. She might not even know she was adopted. Without me, she’d have a good mother.

 

 

  Ray Daniel, Confessions of a Good Mother

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