Bottom Feeder (36 page)

“
Ewwwww, Maddy!” she
shouts, sticking her finger in her mouth for the universal signal
of
that’s nasty.
“Boys have germs. Maybe if someone invents antibacterial soap
for the mouth, I will kiss a boy. But until then,
nuh-uh!”

I thought Dom was going to choke from
laughing so hard.

Cecilia rolls her eyes.
“Boys.”

Dom hops in the shower while I work on
a few makeup touchups before dinner. I am on immediate alert once
again when there is a knock at my door. I open the door cautiously,
the Taser at the ready in my left hand.

The messenger presents a certified
letter, postmarked South Korea six days ago. From the unreturned
phone calls and deleted email address, I assumed Cordell never
wanted contact with me again. I was more than happy to oblige his
request.

My stomach flips as I slowly open the
envelope.

Dear Madelyn,

I know you must hate me. The package
containing the disks was a plea for help. For the sake of my
daughter, I could not turn the package over myself. I knew you
would do the right thing. The man sitting in the chair on the first
disk was my husband. The man on the second is your Granddaddy. The
third is your real daddy. He had my first husband killed. He
covered up the murder by placing him on a boat and setting fire to
it. Your daddy and granddaddy were also killed. The details are
sketchy. I am writing this letter as a warning. At the very least,
I owe you that.

HE KNOWS ABOUT THE
BREAK-IN.

LD will visit Thursday. His orders are
to get rid of you by any means necessary. If LD fails, he will come
for you himself.

Thank you for the extra tips. The
money is aiding in my attempt to escape here.

CC

CC?

I slump against the counter and think
of my short, barely-there history with the waitress from
Hettie’s.

CC was friendly to everyone who came
through the doors of Hettie’s, including the people who did not
return the kindness. She began working there at nineteen, a few
months before Mama died. I remember this because she stopped going
with Cordell and me on our weekly trips to Hettie's

He and I continued to go like
clockwork twice each week until shortly after Mama died.

One night a few years ago, CC stopped
a group of seniors from jumping Dixon. We stepped outside after
closing to find a guy sitting on Dixon’s bicycle. As we approached,
a few of the guy’s friends came into view, throwing a string of
profanities at a shocked and pissed off Dixon.

Mama taught me to stand up for others
and what I believe in. She lived by this rule
faithfully.

“
Mind your religion,
Madelyn Faith,”
she would say,
“
But help those you can help and fight for
those who need to be fought for.”

I prepared myself to fight with Dixon
that night. By that time I was so used to taking punches, a few
more were not going to matter.

In two fell swoops, I slipped off my
earrings and began pulling my ponytail into a twist. Before I could
kick off my flip flops—trust me, they do not have good traction for
a fight—CC came out and ran them off with her purse swinging and
threats to call their mothers. At the mention of getting their
mothers involved, the guys fled in every direction.

I’m not going to say that the next day
I purchased thinly sliced raw salmon and stuck it between the pages
of magazines and snuck said magazines into each of their cars and
the bottom of their lockers. However, if they happened to start
smelling something foul in their vehicles and lockers, then that
was probably the reason. The stench never wavered. I still give
myself a pat on the back for that one. They were all douche
nozzles.

Anyway, I owed CC. I was unsure how,
but I had to find a way to repay her for saving us from a fight—one
in which we would have lost, I’m sure. I received my answer a few
weeks later when I was alone at Hettie’s, eating a bowl of fried
okra and working on homework.

I overheard a conversation between CC
and an older lady in a snazzy business suit. The woman asked her
endless questions about her childhood, her family and why she came
to Tybee Island.

I learned that her husband, a tug boat
captain, had been killed in a boating accident the same year Mama
died. His death was a mystery because he was not supposed to be on
the water that day. The police did not investigate.

I also learned that CC was pregnant at
the time he died. She talked to the lady about working three jobs
in order to keep up with the mounting bills.

I thought about asking Cordell to help
CC, but decided against it. Even back then I knew he was
calculating and vindictive. After that night I began leaving larger
than appropriate tips, hoping the money would help in some
way.

I guess now I know the baby she was
pregnant with was Cordell’s and she was one of the other women that
Mama cried over in her room at night.

I file that away for another
time.

On to CC’s warning about “LD” coming
here and not succeeding in his assignment.

So this really is the reason why
Cordell sent me to New York. If I disappeared in Georgia, people
would have pointed fingers, asked too many questions. Violet would
have initiated her own investigation. At least now if Cordell comes
after me, no one else will be involved.

I
should
be shocked by the content of
this letter. I’m not.

I’ve been preparing for this. This is
why I took a chunk of the money Mama left and hired a lawyer who
will handle my bank accounts and safety deposit box if I were to
ever disappear. Part of our agreement was that I will check in with
her by noon on Wednesday of every week. If I do not, she knows to
wait six months and then discreetly transfer everything to Violet
without further examination of why I disappeared.

“
What’s that?” Dom walks
into the living room with a towel wrapped around his
waist.

If I weren’t so stunned
from the letter, I would be gawking at the water droplets on his
chest and the way his damp hair curls on the ends. Okay okay, I’m
stunned
and
gawking. Multi-tasking is obviously my strong
point.

“
Oh, uh, nothing. Just a
letter from . . . just a letter.”

“
You look sick.” His eyes
cut to the envelope. “South Korea? Who do you know in
Korea?”

I force a smile and cup my hand over
his cheek. “Family. You about ready to go?”

He leans in for a kiss; a distraction
to playfully snatch the letter from my hands.

“
You really don’t want me
to know?”

I shrug. “Go ahead.”

He reads through the letter. Twice.
“Who is Cordell? I thought the guy’s name is Larry.” This
conversation is not happening. Not now. Not ever. “Maddy? No more
secrets.”

“
Cordell is my father.
Sort of.”

“
Your
‘sort of’
father will come for you
himself? I don’t understand what that means.”

“
It’s not about
understanding. Anyone that knows anything about this is in danger.
I’m not shoving you any further into that position. Last night was
enough.”

“
Tell me.”

“
No.”

“
Tell me.”

“
No.” I stand to look out
the window. “None of this is a coincidence. Everything Cordell does
is strategically planned. A messenger brought the letter to me,
Dom. There are two problems here that lead to one conclusion. The
first: no one is allowed up here without someone letting them
inside. Two: since this letter was certified and given to me by
a
bike messenger
who did not ask me to sign, it was first intercepted by
someone here. This means that someone in the building is working
for Cordell. That same someone knew you were coming yesterday.
Larry wanted you to be here. He wanted you to see me hurt. Last
night was part of his show.”

“
Cordell has connections
here, in New York?” Dom shakes his head. “Who is he? Don Corleone
or some shit?”

I turn to him, but remain
silent.

Comprehension crosses his face.
“Please tell me what else is going on. You trust me,
remember?”

“
It’s not about trusting
you. It’s about sparing your life.” I study his beautiful face, a
face full of concern and confusion. Guilt washes over me. He left
one lifestyle to better himself and his family, and here I am
handing him my crap life on a silver platter.

“
As of two months ago,
Maddy, you
are
my
life. Please?”

I’m sick of the secrets. The constant
lying to cover up for everyone else, then lying to cover up those
lies. It is a vicious, infinite cycle.

So I tell him everything from Mama’s
death/suicide, the DVDs, the FBI, and the whole scene that went
down in Jackson’s room. Within a twenty-four hour period, I have
told every secret I’ve kept hidden all these years. I feel sick and
oddly lighter.

After a long silence, Dom raises his
eyes to mine. “You have to leave.”

“
I plan on it.”

“
I mean soon. I mean
now.”

“
Do you have any special
plans for tomorrow?” The plan formulating in my head is stupid and
reckless. Foolproof.

“
No?” he slowly answers
with a question.

“
Good.” Before entering
the bedroom I say, “I have someone that wants to meet
you.”

“
Army strong, Sergeant
Davis speaking,” he answers after the first ring.

“
Sergeant Davis, this is
Maddy Carrington.”

“
Hey, G-A! You havin’ a
good time with the boyfriend?”

“
Loads of fun, Sergeant.
Are you working tomorrow morning?”

“
I work every day.” Pause.
“You okay, G-A? You don’t sound so good.”

“
Do I need to make an
appointment?”

He laughs. “Only if you’re trying to
join the Army.”

“
Good. What time do you
have available?”

Silence.

“
Have you taken the
ASVAB?”

“
I took the ASVAB in
March; they offered food and a day out of class. I don’t remember
my score, but can you look it up? What should I bring with me? How
soon can I leave? How quietly can we do this?”

“
You’re
serious?”

“
Very.”

“
We’ll answer everything
tomorrow. Eight a.m.”

Jackson

The email was a stupid idea. I know
she knows I know Beraz was with her this weekend.

I’m sorry. Please forgive
me
.

The only words that sum up everything.
Can they fix what I broke?

My mind is wandering so much that I
can’t get the patches on my uniform straight. I rip them off for
the fourth time and start again from the beginning.

Knock knock
knock

Who is at my door at midnight on a
Sunday? I toss the patches aside.

“
Bring me back a souvenir,
Beraz?”

I’m thinking he’s about to tear into
me for sending his girlfriend an email. “Can I come in for a
minute?”

I open the door wider. He slithers
past me to sit on the desk chair.

“
Make yourself at home.
Would you like a beverage?”

“
You’ve known Maddy for a
long time?”

No. “Yes.”

“
I’ve got a name.” Beraz
places his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “I want
you to tell me if it means anything to you. If it doesn’t, we drop
it. If it does, I want you to tell me everything you
know.”

I shrug and start working on my
uniform again.

“
Larry Duvall.”

I shudder in disgust. “She told
you?”

“
What do you
know?”

“
She doesn’t tell
anyone.”

“
I had the pleasure of
meeting him before she told me.”

“
What
happened?”

Snapshots of the creepy bastard flow
through my head like a slideshow as Beraz recounts a story of
having to break into the apartment, where he found Larry straddled
on top of Maddy, punching and slapping her.

“
She doesn’t know I took
these while she slept. I thought she might need evidence someday.”
He pulls out his phone and scrolls through photos of Maddy’s
bruised and swollen face. The last picture shows ugly finger
indentations on her neck.

“
He had some cuts on his
face,” Beraz finishes, “Her clothes were being ripped off when I
finally got inside the apartment, but she held her own.”

I think of the line of devastation
Cordell has drawn. Lamont, Jeremiah and Chris were part of the
destruction. Since Lamont was driving Mama’s car, I can’t help but
wonder if she was the intended target.