with a fondness he had not expected as Micah took a few
steps to meet the man. They stood roughly a foot apart,
silent and looking at each other expressionlessly. Suddenly, Addison broke into a wide grin, and Micah lunged at him
and picked him up off the ground, laughing as Addison
returned the hug.
Sam laughed softly and turned his head, not wanting to
intrude any more than he had on their reunion.
When they had finally gotten their fill of each other,
Micah set Addison down again and took his jacket from him
as Addison turned to Sam. He stepped up to Sam and smiled
at him, offering his hand in greeting. Sam took it and
grinned lopsidedly.
“Thank you, Detective Walker,” Addison murmured to
him. “You’ve done more for me than you’ll ever know.”
“Welcome to the straight and narrow,” Sam responded
with a smirk.
Addison smiled. He opened up the envelope and reached
in, extracting a small object and holding it out to Sam.
Sam stared at the glass chess piece in bewilderment. It
was a clear knight from Addison’s set. “We should get
together sometime,” Addison drawled cheekily. “Play some
chess.”
Sam laughed and shook his head, refusing to take the
piece. “Tried that once already, remember? You’d own me.”
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Addison merely smiled crookedly at him. Behind him,
Micah was trying very hard not to smile. Addison slipped the piece into his pocket and shrugged. “If you change your
mind,” he offered.
“You’ll be my first call,” Sam assured him.
Several days after buying Addison and Micah lunch,
Sam sat at his desk amidst a pile of files and old Styrofoam coffee cups. A box had come for him, addressed with the
country club’s stationery. Inside Sam found a beautiful
chess board, one similar to the one he’d seen at Brayden
Bainbridge’s home, and a set of pieces that appeared to be
hand-carved marble. The note informed Sam that he was
now a lifetime member of the Country Club of Coral Gables
in gratitude for all he’d done. Addison Satterwight’s elegant signature accompanied the note, as did a postscript
informing Sam that he was very good at the game, but he
still needed to practice.
Sam was chuckling and shaking his head as he read the
note.
“Sir?” a young lab technician greeted tentatively as he
came up to Sam’s desk with a report in his hands.
“What have you got for me?” Sam asked as he set the
note down and pushed aside the paperwork he was diligently
avoiding.
“Results are back on the Bainbridge case,” the tech
answered as he handed the report to Sam. Sam groaned in
irritation. The sooner he could park this case in the file
cabinet the better.
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“The will?” he questioned as he took the report and
looked at it with a sigh.
“And the antifreeze,” the technician nodded. Sam
glanced up at him as he thumbed through the pages.
“Let me guess,” he muttered wryly. “You found Brayden
Bainbridge’s prints on both, right?”
“Yes, sir,” the tech nodded. “But that’s all,” he added
before Sam could dismiss him.
Sam looked back up at him curiously. “What do you
mean?” he asked.
“I mean, that’s all, sir.” The tech shrugged. “Reggie
antifreeze bottle? It had the son’s prints on it, but otherwise it had been wiped clean.”
“What?” Sam whispered as a sinking feeling began to
form in his gut.
“It had been wiped clean. Like he wiped it and then held
it in his bare hand again to leave his prints,” the tech
explained in obvious puzzlement.
Sam stared at the man for a long moment and then
looked back down at the report in stunned silence.
“Like he was trying to set himself up or something,” the
tech mumbled. He shrugged in confusion before giving Sam
one last odd look and walking away.
Sam licked at suddenly dry lips and turned to his
partner, who was staring at him with the same stunned
expression he knew he himself wore.
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“How do you write on a piece of paper without getting
your prints on it?” Morgan asked him in a voice filled with dread.
“You don’t,” Sam murmured in a stunned voice.
He looked back down at the report in his hand and then
at the chess pieces he had been examining. A white pawn sat on top of the note, Addison’s signature peeking out from
under it.
He still needed practice, Addison had written.
“He was a pawn,” Sam whispered to Morgan, who was
already talking heatedly on the phone. “He wanted to be a pawn,” Sam continued dazedly. “It was his game, and he
chose to be a pawn.”
Morgan slammed the phone down and looked up at
Sam.
“Satterwight and his buddy, Parrish?” he said in
disgust. “They’ve disappeared.”
ADDISON sat with his feet in the water, staring at the
endless tropical horizon. Micah sat beside him, twitching his toes and making the impossibly blue water ripple beneath
them.
Addison looked down at the ripples on the surface and
smirked.
“I have an idea.”
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The sound of an engine in the distance drew his
attention away from the water and back up to the horizon.
“You really think we can pull this off?”
The ship grew larger as it got closer, cutting through the
water and producing a massive wake in its stead.
“I’ll do it.”
“No. No, I’m better for it. You’ve been trying to get me into rehab for years anyway, right?”
The waves lapped at the wooden legs of the dock, and
Addison swung his feet in the water as his tanned shins
were splashed.
“Last chance to back out, little brother.”
“Don’t priss out on me now, Brayden. Here, give me the
fucking bottle. I’ll do it.”
The yacht edged closer, and Addison looked back down
at the ripples.
“You are one hell of an actor, kid. I almost believed you were upset today.”
“Well. I did just consign myself to a month or so in prison, you know. Damn, I need a drink.”
Addison glanced at Micah and smiled crookedly.
“You want to bring Micah into this? At this stage? The
three of us killed a man, for Christ’s sake!”
“I trust him.”
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Soon the yacht was coasting up to the dock, and
Addison and Micah hurried to secure it.
As soon as they had tied the yacht up, Addison stepped
back and shielded his eyes from the setting sun. He looked
up at the shadowed outline of the man st
anding on the side
of the boat and looking down at him.
“And you didn’t think it would work,” he drawled to his
brother with a cheeky smirk.
TWO weeks after the murder:
“What are you trying to tell me, Sonny?” Micah asked
softly as they sat in his car. They had left a very unhappy Brayden back on the beach with his envelope of illicit
photographs.
Addison could tell that Micah wasn’t certain if Addison was high and rambling or if he was serious. It was almost cute, the wary way in which Micah was looking at him. Micah had taken care of him for too long, Addison knew that. It was time he got something in return besides sex and drugs. That wasn’t what Micah was really about anyway.
Addison leaned toward him and looked at him earnestly.
The old leather of the Camaro groaned with the movement.
“Do you love me, Micah?” he asked softly.
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Micah looked at him in alarm and swallowed heavily.
“Yes,” he finally answered breathlessly. It was the first time either of them had ever mentioned the word, much less
admitted the feeling.
“Would you come with me if I left?” Addison asked,
holding his breath unconsciously.
“Yes,” Micah answered with a little nod, his green eyes unable to leave Addison’s. He didn’t even ask where they would go or how they would do it. Addison told himself yet again that he was right about Micah; that he’d stick with him through anything.
Addison swallowed nervously all the same, and he
looked at him with a sort of desperate hope. Micah had been the one part of this that he hadn’t planned for.
“I love you, okay? Remember that,” he pleaded as he
reached for Micah’s hand and gripped it urgently.
Micah nodded and looked at him worriedly, seemingly
stunned by Addison’s own admission of love.
“It was me,” Addison said almost inaudibly.
Micah shook his head slightly in confusion. “What was
you, Sonny? What are you talking about?”
“I killed him,” Addison whispered to clarify.
Micah blinked and pulled back slightly, though he didn’t wrench his hand away like Addison had almost expected him to. He stared at Addison in stunned silence, seemingly trying to formulate a response.
“On purpose?” he asked finally.
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Addison couldn’t help but laugh. He lowered his head
and laughed until he was afraid he would begin crying again.
Micah’s other hand on the back of his head made him look back up, and he gasped desperately for air, trying to stop the laughter as he met Micah’s eyes.
Micah wasn’t smiling. “Tell me everything,” he requested grimly.
TEN days after the murder:
“You want to bring Micah Parrish into this?” Daniel asked incredulously. “At this stage? The three of us killed a man, for Christ’s sake!”
“I trust him,” Addison murmured.
“You’re high all the fucking time. How do you even know what trust feels like anymore?”
“And I have to stay that way if this is going to work!”
Addison shot back defensively as Brayden finally stood up and stepped between them. “What have you two sacrificed for this, huh? You can’t be seen in public together? Well, big fucking deal. You barely like each other!” Addison shouted.
“Keep your voice down,” Brayden snapped. Addison
glared balefully at him, and Daniel turned away in disgust.
“Think, Sonny,” Brayden urged quietly. “It took you years to plan this,” he said emphatically. “You went through every 143
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possible scenario, every possible outcome. Did you plan for him?” he asked pointedly.
“No,” Addison answered stubbornly.
“What’s your damn chess tactic say to do about that?”
Daniel asked grudgingly as he sat on the arm of one of the leather club chairs.
Addison shook his head. “Micah’s not a piece in this
game,” he said softly. “I love him, Brayden,” he said as he looked back at his brother pleadingly.
Brayden stared at him in open shock. Even Daniel
appeared surprised by the admission.
“I think I need him,” Addison continued. “I’m right about him, I know I am. Please,” he begged.
“You bring Micah in,” Brayden murmured as he looked at
his brother in concern.
Daniel stood up quickly in outrage, but Brayden held his hand up to silence him before he could voice his opinion.
“But you keep us out of it,” Brayden went on without
looking away from Addison. “If he takes it wrong, you’re the only name he knows to turn in. We won’t go down with you, kiddo. Agreed?” he asked grimly.
“Agreed,” Addison responded eagerly.
“When?” Brayden inquired softly.
“As soon as I can get him somewhere I’m sure we’re not
being bugged,” Addison responded readily. “I’ll tell him then.
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I’m certain about him, Brayden, just like everything else. I’ll bet my life on him.”
“God help you if you’re wrong,” Brayden murmured.
FIVE days after the murder:
“You are one hell of an actor, kid,” Daniel laughed with a shake of his head. “I almost believed you were upset today.”
“Well. I did just consign myself to a month or so in prison, you know,” Addison huffed haughtily. “Damn, I need a drink,”
he muttered as he thought about the coming weeks.
He went over to his father’s wet bar and began
rummaging through the liquors. He picked up a bottle of bourbon and looked at it askance. “No,” he crooned to it and then tossed it over his shoulder. The glass shattered, and the bourbon laced with antifreeze began to ooze across the
Oriental rug.
Behind him, Brayden groaned, and Daniel snickered
quietly.
“We have to be picture perfect from here on out,” Addison told them seriously as he poured himself some scotch and turned back around to look at them, oblivious to their reaction to his antics with the tainted bourbon. “If we miss a step, we’re done for.”
“You sure they’ll tap the phones at the club too?”
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couch beside Daniel. “If they miss my call to you then they’ll never move.”
“I’m positive,” Addison assured him with a nod. “They’ll hear every word from the time Daniel makes his call to you.
Just make sure you stick to the script. Practice in the shower or something.”
THE night of the murder:
“Last chance to back out, little brother,” Brayden
breathed as they stood together in the cramped recesses of the winding stairwell.
“Don’t priss out on me now, Brayden,” Addison
murmured in exhaustion. “Here, give me the fucking bottle. I’ll do it,” he grumbled as he took the bottle of antifreeze and handed Brayden the tray. “Hold it still,” he hissed as
Brayden’s hands shook and the glass of pineapple juice
rattled on the tray. Brayden grabbed the glass and breathed out slowly to calm himself.
Addison poured, looking up into Brayden’s eyes in the
darkness as the bottle made an obscene glug-glug sound.
“You’re okay,” Addison murmured to his older brother.
Brayden nodded and licked his lips as Addison replaced
the cap on the
bottle of antifreeze and then set it down.
“Don’t forget to place the will,” Addison whispered as he cracked open the hidden door and peered out.
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“I know,” Brayden assured him as he handed him the
tray carefully, and then he removed the gloves he wore and bent to wipe the antifreeze bottle free of anyone’s prints. He then shoved the gloves in his back pocket and gripped the bottle with both hands as he stood.
He and Addison locked eyes for a long moment. They
were about to kill their father. Neither man said a word as Addison dropped a handful of maraschino cherries into the glass, and they merely nodded at each other and parted.
Brayden took the stairs two at a time as he headed to his father’s office on his mission to hide the antifreeze jug and plant the fake will, and Addison slipped through the secret door into the lobby of the club.
Addison was accustomed to slipping through crowds
without being noticed or touched, and only one person saw him slide the silver tray with its name plate onto the bar.
Addison removed his gloves discreetly as he walked away.
He turned and caught Daniel’s eye. The wiry blond nodded in return and leaned against the wall, taking up his station to follow the poisoned drink as it made its way to Reginald Bainbridge.
He was to intervene if the drink found its way into some innocent bystander’s hands.
Five minutes later, Addison’s black, dilated eyes watched from a dark corner as his father took the drink from the waiter without so much as a glance at the servant and laughed
boisterously at an off-color joke and emptied the glass in one gulp.
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Hours later, Addison and Brayden stood in the
antechamber of their father’s office. Their father had stumbled up to his office and called them, panicking and desperate for help.
“Boys,” Reggie gasped as he held his stomach and
looked up at them pleadingly.
“The ambulance is on the way,” Addison murmured to
him as the man lay on the sofa, writhing in pain.
“Try not to panic,” Brayden added grimly.
The temptation to tell him what they had done to him was strong. But they had agreed not to take the chance that he might live to tell someone, and they stuck to their plan and remained silent.