Bella

By Douglas Egan

Bella Anapolis leaves the restaurant where she works and steps out into a snowy night. Not ten feet from the exit door a man roars out of the shadows and drags her to a truck, snapping handcuffs on her wrists. He’s a huge, red-headed monster, and he’s not afraid to show his face. They drive off into the storm, the truck slipping and sliding.
Confident and relaxed he explains her husband wants her gone. She’s worth more to him that way, and the kidnapper laughs, finding the situation funny. Until he gets into a skid and slams the truck into a bridge.
Bella gets hold of the kidnapper’s handgun. A police cruiser stops, red lights flashing as the storm rages, and the cop starts over to investigate. The kidnapper is resigned to going back to jail. Then Bella makes him an offer; she asks if he will continue with the murder, just switch sides?
The kidnapper doesn’t hesitate
“Hell, yes,” he says.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Douglas Egan
• Release date: Jan 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311815552

Douglas Egan

Douglas Egan is a west Coast writer

Book preview

B E L L A

By Douglas Egan

Copyright 2014 Douglas Egan

Smashwords Edition

ISBN 9781311815552

1. Fenview, Ontario, Canada - December

The husband said: All you gotta do, walk up behind her and bang, it's all over.

Roland Dunne could see it. The husband's wife would be the last one out, locking the restaurant for the night. He'd step out of the shadows as she opened the car door - a bullet in the back of the head. She'll never see it coming.

Shit, man, I need a gun.

I can handle it, said the husband. So you gonna do it ?

Let me think about it, Roland told the Greek. All the following week he did just that, climbing ladders and installing aluminum storm windows on the homes of old people who could afford the storm windows because of a government grant. And all that week thought about this thing, this murder. So simple, so clean.

By the time next Sunday rolled around Roland had figured out what was wrong with the plan.

What you mean it's stupid ? asked Nick Anapolis.

Parked across the street from an abandoned Drive-In theater and Centennial Park where mothers pushed their kids on swings Roland turned and glared at the Greek. Mid December, the guy sitting there nothing but a shirt on, open at the neck showing all these goddamned gold chains. Then again, a guy this fat was pretty well insulated against the cold. When he climbed into Roland's Ford the whole truck leaned to the side, springs squeaking. The Greek was three hundred. Probably more. All that restaurant food.

First, said Roland, the way we met is all wrong. There's a third party involved, he grinned. Third party, real lawyer talk there, show this Greek he wasn't dealing with no idiot off the street. And he could be trouble he ever figures out why you wanted to talk with me.

He's an idiot.

He asked me to meet with you 'cause you asked him to set it up so he knows something is going on. Your wife suddenly shows up with a bullet in her and the guy might put it all together, call the cops or something stupid like that.

In the park a kid screamed on the ground after slipping off the swing and crashing. Red mitts clawing at his teary eyes, mother all concerned rushing over to check her baby, brush the tears off its cheeks, the sand off its pants. Roland could see the mother's breath in the chilly air and he waited for her to lose her temper, get mad and shake the kid, give it a good goddamn slap in the mouth.

Don't worry about it, said Nick.

The mother picked the kid up and held it. Smart bitch, would probably wait until she got home, take the kid over, show it the element on the stove. Wait until it glowed like a cherry in the darkened kitchen, tell the kid, go on, pick it up ...

I worry, Roland said.

He checked the rear-view mirror and Nick's BMW parked behind. Nice car. Restaurant business must be good. But the Greeks were good in restaurants, like the chinks, they had the knack

Roland sighed and sat back, stretched his arms out over the Ford's steering wheel. This whole deal had begun to sound bad. Killing this fat man's old lady for five grand. Not a whole lot for murder, but more than Roland was making installing storm windows for that old fart. The guy laughing when Roland had a hard time figuring out the tape measure. Twenty-seven and three quarters, the old fart said. You mean you don't know what that is? Roland figured it out. Didn't take that long. Now he was installing aluminum windows in mid-December. The goddamned ladder frosty and slippery as hell. If he didn't fall and break his neck it'd be a miracle. And cold. Christ. Couldn't wear gloves 'cause you had to handle the screens and the screw driver and then your hands freeze and the old fart standing inside nice and warm telling Roland hurry up, trying to make a buck here, and this old lady bringing him yet another cup of tea, maybe some biscuits to go with it or a slice of pie, and afterwards going home in the dark the old fart complaining the pie hard as a rock, old bitch couldn't bake worth a shit.

Yeah. Five grand. Head South for the winter. And maybe before leaving go over visit that old fart, drop a baseball bat across his skull.

Nick was yapping about his wife now. The bitch this and the bitch that. After doing time you learned how to tune the shit out. Still, he wished the Greek would close his yap. Roland could just imagine these two slobbering hefty bags, the Greek and his wife, rolling around in bed with each other. Jesus, a horror story.

So why you want to get rid of her ? he asked. Why not just put her on a bus outta town ? Watching the kids on the swings in the park; running around, chasing each other, squealing. A couple of crows sitting on the fence posts watching patiently, black eyes glinting. One of the mothers had a lunch bag sitting beside her. Beside the lunch bag a half eaten sandwich sitting on wax paper. Roland couldn't tell what kind of sandwich. Maybe bologna. Matter of fact he was getting hungry himself.

That's my business, the Greek said

Roland smiled to himself. Knew damn well the Greek wouldn't