The Man In Number 7 Read online

  After drying her tears, Bernadette pulled herself up off the bathroom floor and approached the bay window in the living room. She stood at the edge of window and peeked around to see if the frightening man was still out there.

  He was. He hugged the fence, smoking his cigarette, laughing to himself. He terrified her.

  “Vicki, where are you?” Bernadette called up the open stairwell in a shaky voice. “It’s time to come home, I need you down here now,” she waited, worried, in the doorway. “Vicki?”

  “Coming Mommy,” the little girl called over the top railing of the stairs. “But can I play a little more?”

  “No honey, I need you home now,” Bernadette’s voice broke as she called. She felt sick again. The light tapping of her daughter’s footsteps coming down the stairs helped calmed her nerves a bit. “Lizzy can come and play with you here, but I want you inside the apartment.”

  Her daughter reached the bottom of the stairs and glanced back up. “No, Lizzy says she has to stay upstairs,” she jumped off the last step and skipped up to her mother. “Can I have a sandwich? I’m hungry.”

  “Of course,” Bernadette sighed nervously and ushered her daughter into the apartment. She pulled the safety chain across the door and turned the deadbolt. “Why does Lizzy have to stay upstairs?”

  “I think David told her to.”

  “Are you sure he’s imaginary? What if…”

  “Can I have a cookie too?” the six-year old’s innocent eyes glimmered.

  “Yes, one sandwich and one cookie coming right up,” Bernadette eased into the kitchenette and pulled a loaf of bread out of the breadbox. What if Lizzy’s friend wasn’t imaginary? Why would he want her to stay upstairs? She’d heard rumors that apartment 7 was haunted. What if David was not nice? Her hands trembled so violently she dropped the jar of peanut butter on the floor. The glass jar rolled on the worn linoleum.

  “Who’s the man outside? The one that keeps staring at our window?” Vicki asked.

  Bernadette gulped and her head swung around to look. He had moved to the front of the building. Still leaning on the fence, he lit a new cigarette with his steely eyes fixed on her front window.

  “Go eat your sandwich in your room. I need to make a call,” Bernadette huffed. She waited until her daughter was out of sight and picked up the phone to dial. She stepped over far enough to keep her eyes fixed on the strange man outside.

  “LeRoy, who is he?...You know damn well who, the man you’ve hired to spy on me. Don’t play stupid. I know you don’t trust…shut up. No, it’s not just hormones…no it’s not. He’s right outside.” Bernadette closed her eyes as she listened to her husband. “You’ve never trusted me, and I know it,” her voice rose in anger and frustration. “You always have to go, and where does that leave me? Stuck here alone.” Bernadette felt exhausted, rubbed her belly, and slammed the phone back in its cradle. “I don’t like being alone,” she murmured as she walked over to the bay window in the front and gazed out.

  The man was gone. But not her fears and doubts. They remained.

  Chapter 14

  Boise, Idaho

  The sun was just cresting over the mountain top. The air had a coolness to it that would soon leave with the darkness. Late June was hot and dry. Carlos wished for rain. He wished for a lot of things as he punched in his time card at Murray’s and pulled on his clean apron. Being a bus boy wasn’t the best job in the world, but it was a step in creating a new life for himself. His father had always emphasized the importance of each step. Doing them in order, accurately, and to the best of your ability. Carlos wasn’t even his real name. But no one could know that. No one could know who he really was, or where he really came from. If his family found him, he would be dead. The Cartel didn’t care about the law. In his homeland, they were the law.

  The only way to flee the life of drugs and prostitution was to die. So he killed himself, fled, and was reborn as Carlos Perez. In Columbia, the land of his birth, no one gave you a second chance. So he gave himself one.

  Boise, Idaho. A small town, a quiet state, where he prayed to God nightly, that no one would find him. Here, he was Carlos. Here he had a future.

  Carlos poured a cup of coffee and sat down in the employee break room. The back door for staff banged open and shut as other employees arrived.

  “Mornin’ Carlos,” Betty punched her time card and donned a clean waitress apron.

  “Good morning, Betty,” he replied as he scanned the morning newspaper.

  “Morning, Carlos,” Apolline was right behind Betty.

  “No!” Carlos slammed the coffee cup on the table almost spilling it and zeroed in on an article in the newspaper.

  “What is it?” Apolline asked as she tied her apron in the back, and slid pens and pads in the pockets.

  “It’s Agatha Pierce. She lives in apartment 2 of our building,” he read on.

  “Oh yeah, the cute bubbly gal. I have not seen her in a few days,” Apolline said.

  “And you won’t,” Carlos remarked. “Her body was pulled out of the Boise River yesterday.” Carlos crossed his chest and forehead in reverence of his Catholic upbringing.

  “Agatha is…dead?” Apolline’s smile disappeared. “But how, when?”

  “Don’t know. It just says they found her yesterday and notified the family. It does say a homicide investigation is pending,” he set the paper down and stared up at Apolline. “Are you okay?” he asked. A paleness had washed over Apolline’s skin as she clasped a hand over her mouth.

  “That means they’ll be coming around, questioning all of us. The police,” Apolline’s voice trembled along with her hands.

  Taking a sip of his coffee, Carlos got up and assembled his cart with grey plastic tubs for stacking dirty dishes, and clean rags for washing the tables. He glanced over at Apolline, unsure why this news affected her so much.

  Positioning his cart next to the kitchen doorway, Carlos worried about the implications of Agatha’s death. Had his family learned that he wasn’t dead, and that he was living here under an assumed identity? His brother was especially fond of this kind of torture.

  First, kill off people around you to send a message. Make you sweat. Make you run out of a sinking ship like the rat that you were. When everyone else around him was dead, that’s when he would strike the final victim. Carlos’ brother always saved the intended victim for last, to watch him squirm. Pedro loved the squirm. Carlos hated it. He didn’t have the stomach for the family business. He knew his options, die by his brother’s hand or his own.

  He glanced back at Apolline as she unlocked the front door and turned the Open sign outward. She was so beautiful. Was she in danger too? Was Pedro eliminating the people around him one by one? Who would be next? He pushed the cart out into the dining room, wiping down the tables one more time before the customers entered.

  The morning sun’s rays pierced the blinds on the restaurant windows, and strips of light fell into the room. Betty checked the condiment trays on each table. Carlos thought about his family. If they had truly found him out, even this restaurant was in danger. He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined the entire building going up in flames. It’s the kind of thing Pedro would do. Carlos could easily picture his brother standing back laughing as fire trucks raced to the scene. He shoved his cart into the kitchen.

  “Mr. Crump,” Carlos pulled off his apron. “I’m sorry, but an emergency has come up and I must leave, right now.”

  “What kind of emergency? Who’s going to bus tables?” Steve Crump wiped his hand on the apron that spread across his large belly. “Now? You have to leave right now?”

  “I’m so sorry Mr. Crump. But I have to go to my family, my father is dying,” he hoped the lie would suffice, give him time to figure out what to do. After all, Carlos’ life was one big lie. One more wouldn’t hurt.

  The bell over the door dinged as customers entered the restaurant. Steve Crump nodded and waved his hand. “Of course, I’m sorry Carlos. God speed,
son,” he sat down at a small desk at the back of the kitchen and dialed the black table phone. “Don’t worry, I’ll call Charlie or Jim in.”

  “Carlos, I am so sorry. Is there something I can do?” Apolline smiled at him sympathetically.

  “Thank you, Apolline. Just take care of yourself and your beautiful daughter. I have to leave town for a bit. But I hope to be back soon,” he quickly looked away and dashed out the back door.

  The sidewalk was already radiating heat from the morning sun as Carlos marched back to the apartment building. He smelled roses as he passed them, listened to traffic and the splash of sprinklers in the yards. Children laughed and played. Childhood was never like this for him. It was dark, military trucks and jeeps, men in camouflage clothes carrying weapons. He hated the guns and the men who sported them. He hated the life he left behind. Had it truly caught up with him? He shook his head in worry as he crossed the street to the apartment house. This place was his home, a place of hope and new life. He ignored a stranger leaning against the fence, as he grabbed the gate and opened it.

  “Ya’ll live here?” the strange man with sunken eyes and greasy hair asked. “Up dere wit all dem beautiful ladies? Ya’ll live here, don’t ya’?”

  “Who are you?” Carlos didn’t recognize the man. He wasn’t from Columbia or Mexico. Had Pedro tried to out-smart him? Catch him off guard?

  “I’s nobody, man. Just a ghost, ya’ know?” he swayed as if listening to some music, smiled, and lit up a cigarette. “I just wanna’ see one of dem pretty ladies. I likes dem ladies. Don’t ya’ll?”

  “I don’t know who sent you, or what you’re doing here, but you need to leave. I’ll call the police if you don’t leave now,” Carlos panted heavier with every word. Was his brother watching from somewhere close? Waiting for Carlos to crack under the pressure?

  “Don’t nobody need to call da po po, we just havin’ a simple convasation,” Julien smiled and licked his lips. “I wanna’ know where da little girl is. Ya’ll know de one, wit dark hair like mine? She my famly, I just want to see her, dat’s all,” Julien raised an eyebrow at Carlos.

  “You and Pedro don’t fool me,” Carlos shuffled backwards up to the porch not wanting to take his eyes off of the dangerous-looking man. He hurried inside and up the stairs. When he got to the top of the stairs, he turned left and rushed to the end of the hall and peered out the window. The strange man was still leaning against the fence.

  This called for drastic action. What was Pedro thinking? This was a new tactic. Carlos would have to lure the hitman away from the apartment house and away from the restaurant. He couldn’t allow anyone else to be in danger on account of him. If the man was sent to track down Carlos, then he would lead him away from this place. He pulled out a knap sack and filled it with a few clothes and essentials. He brought the Saint Christopher up to his lips, kissed it, and let the chain drop back to his chest.

  It was important that the man saw Carlos leave, but he didn’t want to make it too obvious either. He wasn’t sure what to do. He paced the hallway then skipped down the stairs. He barreled out of the building to the gate where Julien stood.

  “You want a piece of me? Then come and get it, but you have to catch me first, because I run faster than anyone you ever seen,” Carlos snarled at the man. He punched Julien in the jaw knocking him down, then sprinted away toward the railroad tracks. He would hop a train and pull his brother’s men as far away from these innocent people as he could. Agatha had become a casualty of war, a type of war Carlos had grown up with.

  No more. Not here. He looked over his shoulder once and saw Julien racing after him. Good, he thought. The wolf is pulled away from the rabbit hole.

  A train moved east on the tracks, and Carlos hopped onto an empty rail car. He poked his head out and waved at Julien as the train rumbled through town and out of sight. Carlos dropped his sack in the corner of the dark box car and laid his head on it. He prayed again to God to save the innocent ones left behind. They did not deserve to die because of him. If nothing else, perhaps it was time for Carlos to face his brother. He could not keep living constantly looking over his shoulder.

  The lie was over. Time for truth.

  Chapter 15

  Boise, Idaho

  Murray’s Restaurant was a regular hornet’s nest, busy and buzzing with activity with a hint of danger dangling at the edges. Sounds of feasting customers, family conversations, clanging dishes smells of broasted chicken and sizzling hamburger aromas wafted through the building. Apolline felt uneasiness all day, something she couldn’t explain, but couldn’t deny either. It was mid-afternoon and she was glad her shift was done. She’d been there since opening, her feet ached, her neck was sore, and she was exhausted. She punched out, tossed her dirty apron in the large laundry basket, and said good-bye to her boss. She stepped out the back door and lit a cigarette as she pulled her sunglasses out of her small purse. She worried about Carlos, where did he really go? And why?

  “See you tomorrow,” Betty said as she passed Apolline at the rear of the building. “You want a ride home?”

  “No thanks, I can walk,” Apolline adjusted her sunglasses, and took another drag off of her cigarette. She strolled through the small parking lot and headed toward home. All she could think about right now was getting Elizabeth home safe. She felt the presence of danger around every corner, behind every door. The danger had a name, and it was Jules.

  What if Jules killed Agatha? Did he have something to do with Carlos’ disappearance? She shook the thoughts from her head with a little shiver. Maybe she should leave town. She could go back to Petra, see if there was some place else the Basque people could hide her. She picked up the pace with each step and her heart rate kept cadence with her feet. Her walk turned into a jog, then a flat out run. Elizabeth couldn’t end up in the river. Not her daughter.

  She ran faster.

  When she reached the corner of the apartment house, Apolline noticed the front gate on the fence was standing open. She stopped cold. Everyone was always so good to keep the gate closed. Especially with the two little girls living in the house.

  Breathe, Apolline told herself as she gasped in air. She felt like she was drowning in fear. What if he was up there…in her apartment? She didn’t have anything to defend herself. Was he waiting in the shadows? If she could get to the kitchen, she could get a knife. The thought of gripping a blade made her hands tremble and her stomach turn.

  Apolline bit her lip and stepped into the yard, marching into the building.

  Taking the stairs two at a time Apolline raced up to her apartment. Her door was shut. That was a good sign.

  Apolline stopped as her hand reached out to her door knob. Everything went silent except the beating of her heart. A cold chill crept up behind her with invisible fingers that reached out and touched her back. She shivered. Hesitated. Then turned ever so slowly.

  The door to apartment number 7 was standing open. Her whole body went numb.

  Apolline fumbled the keys in her hands. Dropped them on the floor. She heard a soft whimpering from the vacant apartment. She grabbed her keys and got them in the lock, opened her door and slid in quickly pulling the door shut behind her. Her chest heaved. Her eyes looked wildly around the apartment. She slipped her shoes off and tiptoed through the living room. She saw nothing out of place. She held her breath not wanting to make a sound. She tiptoed into the bedroom, the walk-through dining area and the narrow kitchenette. No one was there. She grabbed a kitchen knife and slid it into her skirt pocket.

  Sitting down in the small dining booth, Apolline dropped her face into her hands. She inhaled a large breath. Elizabeth. She needed to get her daughter from Petra’s. She leaned her head back against the wall for a moment to let her breathing slow to a normal rate. Her daughter couldn’t see her like this. She needed to gather what little strength she had.

  Maybe she had made all this up. Maybe Apolline was imagining things. It could have been her guilt that created the image of Jul
es across the street. Anyone could have killed Agatha. Carlos went home for a family emergency. Nothing was wrong. Of course, it was all in her head. But she still wasn’t going to take the knife out of her pocket.

  Glancing around the apartment once more, Apolline put a pair of slippers on, paced her breathing, and edged her way into the hall. She locked the door and stood with her back against it staring at the door to apartment 7, which was now shut. She wasn’t imagining that.

  “Is…anyone…there?” Apolline uttered the words barely over a whisper.

  No one answered.

  The hallway was empty. She gulped and tiptoed past apartment 7 holding her breath. When she passed the corner and reached the top of the stairs, she let out a heavy sigh, hurried down the stairway and out the door as quickly as her dainty feet would take her. She ran around the house and down the alley with fear knotted in her stomach and tears in her eyes.

  Knocking on Petra’s front door, Apolline panted holding a trembling hand to her chest.

  “Apolline, come in,” Petra opened the door and pulled her in with a worried look on her face. “Are you alright?”

  “Yes, I just ran,” Apolline sat down on the end of the couch.

  “Elizabeth,” Petra called up the stairs, “your Mama is here. Come down now,” she smiled at Apolline. “She was taking a nap, but she just woke up a minute ago. Can I get you some coffee or something to drink? I have some ice tea.”

  “No, thank you. But Petra, I was wondering…” Apolline stopped. She couldn’t have Petra hide her again. She couldn’t keep running, this was crazy. Running from her imagination made no sense. And if it was true, if it was Jules, he would find her one way or another, and he would punish her. She couldn’t live a life in constant fear.