Trust Me (23 page)

    Ricky said, "How'd you get from Syria to Dearborn?"

    "We drive to Damascus," Tariq said, "and then Beirut."

    "How far is that?"

    Tariq looked at Omar and Omar said, "I think is eighteen hundred kilometers, maybe two thousand."

    "And then what?"

    "We take flight to Naples, Italy," Tariq said, "another to Amsterdam. From there, we fly to Toronto, Canada. My cousin drive from Dearborn to pick us up."

    Ricky was impressed. They'd traveled halfway around the world and made it look easy and he'd get lost driving through downtown Detroit. He liked these wacky Iraqis. That's how he thought of them: strange and weirdly formal, but they got the job done.

    Ricky was watching the dark house and thought he saw a light go on in one of the side windows. "Hey, you see that?" he said, looking through the space between the front seats where the console was. Tariq, behind the wheel, looked over his shoulder at Ricky.

    "What is it?"

    When Ricky looked back at the house the light was off. "Someone's in there," he said.

    They got out of the Escalade, Omar had a crowbar in his hand, Tariq had a shotgun. Ricky walked behind them up the driveway to the two-car attached garage that had a glass-paneled entrance door. It was still hot at 10:30. Ricky had soaked through his nylon warm-up pants and tank top. He said, "Be quiet. Try not to make any noise. We'll sneak in and see who's there." He looked both of them in the eye when he said it, and they glanced back at him blank-faced like they didn't understand.

    Omar turned with the crowbar and punched one of the glass panes out of the door, glass shattering on the concrete floor inside the garage. "Hey, what did I just fuckin' tell you? Why don't you ring the doorbell, tell her we're here."

    Omar gave him another blank look and reached his hand through the busted pane and unlocked the door.

    Tariq said, "We go in now?"

    "No," Ricky said. "I thought we'd stand here with our thumbs up our ass."

    The garage was empty except for the usual stuff: garbage cans by the door, rakes, brooms and shovels mounted on a wall, a wheelbarrow, snow blower. Omar stuck the crowbar between the jamb and the lock and popped the inside door open and they went in the kitchen.

    Karen was putting clothes in the suitcase when she heard glass shatter and a loud bang that sounded like it came from the kitchen or family room. She walked into the living room and listened. Now it was quiet, not a sound. Maybe she was hearing things. Or maybe Lou was home. Then she heard hushed voices, and footsteps on the hardwood floor, moving through the house.

    She ran back into the bedroom, glanced at the suitcase on the bed—there was no way—and went in the bathroom and locked the door, her pulse throbbing, heart banging in her chest. She had to get out of the house. The room had a white marble floor and white walls with a cathedral ceiling. There was a big tub in the corner of the room with windows on two sides.

    She heard voices in the bedroom and then something with weight behind it slammed against the bathroom door. She was conscious of her own breathing, taking short quick breaths, trying to get air into her lungs. There was a loud bang as the sharp end of a crowbar punched a hole through one of the wood panels of the door. Karen stood in the tub, her body frozen, like an electric current was going through her, unable to move, unable to think.

    The crowbar came through the door again, and she forced herself to pull the window up, and kick out the screen. She went feet first through the opening, dropped four feet to the ground, landed in a boxwood, lost her balance and fell over. She got up and crouched in the shadows. She could see the deck behind the house. There was no one on it, and she made a run for the lake, heading downslope thirty yards, thinking she could hide in the reeds till they were gone.

    Halfway there she heard them come out of the house and looked over her shoulder and saw three men on the deck, coming down the stairs now as she ran toward the water and disappeared in the reeds that were taller than her, feet sliding in the muck. Karen stepped out of her sandals, squatting at the water's edge, trying to hold her breath, trying not to make a sound as they came toward her, crashing into the reeds. She got down on her stomach and felt the cool water soaking her blouse and shorts and lay there, trying not to move. She couldn't see them but could hear them thrashing around. And then a foot appeared and she looked up and saw a muscular guy in a tank top and dark track pants with white stripes, and recognized Ricky. He moved past her, and she caught a glimpse of a guy with a dark beard she'd never seen before. He looked in her direction, but didn't see her and kept moving. She slid into the water, knee-deep, waist-deep, and then dove down, gliding into cool depths.

    Karen came up for air about twenty yards from shore and saw them on Lou's neighbor's beach. She was treading water, nose and eyes barely above the surface. She moved a few yards closer to shore and felt her toe touch the mucky bottom. She studied Ricky and the other two, who she didn't recognize, looking out at the lake. Karen knew they couldn't see her or they'd be in the water.

    She did the sidestroke; gliding slowly, trying not to ripple the water or make noise. Ricky and his men moved along the beach and then disappeared in the shadows of the neighbor's property.

    Karen could hear music, the Marvelettes doing "Beechwood 4-5789" and saw her neighbors dancing on the Robertses' patio a couple houses over as she came toward shore, body flat in the water, looking around. She came crouching out of the lake and ran barefoot up the lawn to the Robertses' neighbor's, a colonial with the lights on—but didn't see anyone as she went along the side of the house, looking in the windows.

    She made it to the front of the house and could see her Audi parked on the street in a long line of cars that extended in both directions. Ricky wouldn't know the car. She had leased it after she left Samir. She'd earned enough for a down payment after doing a couple of Red Tag Sale commercials for the Metro Chevy Dealers.

    Karen took the car key out of the back pocket of her shorts and ran to her car. She was unlocking it when she saw headlights coming at her. She moved around the back of the Audi and ducked down as a black Escalade roared by. It went down to the end of the street and turned around and came back. Karen could see Ricky in the rear driver's side window and wondered how many of Samir's men were looking for her?

    She got in the Audi and waited till people started leaving the party and drove out behind three other cars, passing the black Escalade, which was sitting in Lou's driveway, and let out a breath. Jesus.

    Karen rang the doorbell, waited and rang it again. No answer. She went around to the back of the house to a small patio and saw Schreiner in the window watching TV Karen pounded on the back door and now Schreiner looked over at her. He picked a joint up out of the ashtray, took a hit and got up. She watched him come across the room toward her and open the door.

    He grinned and blew out a cloud of smoke. "How about a toke?"

    "Maybe later," Karen said.

    Now he looked at her and seemed to focus on her wet hair and clothes.

    "Jesus, what the hell happened to you?"

    "I need a place to stay for a night," Karen said, stepping past him into the family room. He swung the door closed and grinned at her, lids swollen, eyes little slits.

    Karen said, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

    "God no," Schreiner said. "Peace in the valley."

    "Can you put me up?"

    "This have something to do with Samir?"

    "Aren't you perceptive," Karen said. "Do you have an extra tee shirt and a pair of shorts I could borrow? I wouldn't mind taking a shower too."

    "Anything I can do to make your stay at the Schreiner Hotel and Spa more comfortable," he said, grinning, powerless to stop it in his stoned-out condition. He held the roach between his thumb and index finger, the skin around his fingertips yellow from excessive toking.

    They went upstairs and he got her a maize and blue University of Michigan tee shirt, and a pair of khaki shorts. The same outfit he was wearing, although his shirt had food stains all over it. "We'll be twins," Karen said.

    "Whoopee," Schreiner said.

    He showed her where the bathroom was and gave her a folded maize and blue University of Michigan towel. Karen took a hot shower behind a maize and blue University of Michigan shower curtain and felt better. Seeing Schreiner helped too, his laid-back hippie attitude and dry-as-kindling sense of humor made her feel more relaxed, less tense.

    After what happened at the Townsend and the Red Roof Inn, there was no way Karen was going to risk staying at a hotel or motel in suburban Detroit. She assumed O'Clair and Ricky would have their people out, checking every place in town. She couldn't go to her mom's or her sister's or her friend Mika's, they were too obvious. So where? And just like that, Schreiner's face popped into her head.

    Karen changed and went downstairs. She put her wet clothes in the dryer and joined him in the family room. They sat on the couch, watching a fifty-inch Sony flat screen, a program about praying mantises on the Discovery Channel. He looked gamey, like he hadn't shaved or taken a shower in a few days. His white-veined legs, the color of travertine marble, were stretched out on the coffee table, his bare feet with yellow toenails. The air was on and it was cold, like being in a meat locker.

    "Know how they get their name?" Schreiner said.

    "Something to do with how they fold their legs," Karen said. "Like they're praying."

    Schreiner said, "You know the female runs the show, right?"

    Karen met his gaze, but wasn't listening.

    "What happens," Schreiner said, "she has sex with the male and then bites his head off."

    Karen was mad at herself for going back to Lou's. She'd have to be a lot smarter if she was going to get out of town.

    Schreiner looked at her and put the roach in an ashtray on the coffee table. "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

    She met his gaze but didn't say anything. On TV a female mantis began to devour the head of her mate, whose body continued to move, gyrating as if he still had all his parts.

    "You want to tell me what's going on?"

    "Do you have anything to drink?" Karen said.

    Schreiner got up and Karen followed him into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and said, "Corona or Bass?"

    "Bass." She glanced in at the leftovers and takeout containers. Schreiner took a bottle of Bass Ale out and popped the top and handed it to her.

    Schreiner looked at her and said, "Do you need legal representation?"

    "We tried that," Karen said. "Remember? All I need is a place to stay." She drank the Bass. It had a bitter taste that she liked and it was ice cold.

    "I can have a restraining order slapped on him," Schreiner said.

    He seemed lucid now, the prospect of a job bringing him out of his marijuana fog.

    "You want to tell me what's going on?"

    She did, most of it, hiring him first and handing him a hundred dollars as a retainer. Then she got his assurance that anything she said was protected by attorney-client confidentiality; a signed document Schreiner drafted on his MacBook Pro attesting to their new relationship.

    It felt good to let it out, get it off her chest. Karen told him how she did it, holding back a few details here and there, but giving him most of it in straightforward sequence. When she finished she felt relieved, like a weight had been lifted off her. She took a swig of ale. Schreiner leaned against the counter and fixed his stoned gaze on her.

    "So you committed armed robbery and you're an accessory to murder and you've got Samir's army looking for you. Did I leave anything out?"

    "No, that sounds about right," Karen said.

    "You seem pretty cool," Schreiner said, "under the circumstances."

    "You ought to see me from the inside," Karen said. "I'm scared out of my mind."

    "I can get you a bodyguard. I know a former Secret Service agent. His name's Ray Pope, formerly on Presidential Protection Detail."