Try though she did, there just wasn’t any way to escape the inevitable fact that one of them had to die, and based on Don’s strategy, she was probably going to be able to pick which one.
* * *
Mac began to stir around eight. The hole in Miranda’s heart spoke loudly. She looked at him, innocently sleeping, and wondered if this really would be his last day alive. It just didn’t seem possible. She hoped a shower would help clear her head, but it didn’t. She stared into the mirror at her bloodshot eyes and tried to fathom what she should do, whom she should save, but that didn’t help either. Nothing did.
By the time her hair was done and her makeup was in place, Mac had joined her. “Your eyes are bloodshot. Something wrong?”
“Didn’t sleep too well,” she said. Maybe she could pretend she was an actress in a play, like when she was in high school. Just go through the motions and imagine it was all just make-believe. The final act. Then when the right moment came, she’d let her instincts take over and determine who her life partner would be. It would all just happen naturally.
“I gotta go to the store,” she said, sticking with Don’s plan, “but after I get back, I’m going to show you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for Mickey and me. How would you like to be treated like a king for the entire day?”
He smiled and pulled her to him. “Just being with you goes a long way toward doing that.” He kissed her; she sensed his passion, but had to stay in character, like an actress would. It was all just a charade. The grocery store was waiting.
A half-hour later, Miranda had selected a well-marbled porterhouse, mushrooms, and fresh strawberries and sherbet. Finally she aimed for the liquor department where she picked up two bottles of expensive wine before checking out and returning to Mac’s new home.
“What’s in the bags?” he asked. “The king demands the best, you know?”
“I bought the best of everything. Dinner. Wine. Dessert. The whole works.”
Mac shook his head. “I’m not sure I deserve this.”
“Sure you do. You’ve been stressed out for months.” She pointed toward the garage. “Let’s begin by taking the Beemer to Santa Barbara. Later I’ll put together a nice cozy dinner and we can jump in the hot tub.” She rubbed his forearm. “I bet you can guess what comes after that.”
Mac grinned. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”
In Santa Barbara, they took a very long walk on East Beach, holding hands. Eventually, they passed a little sidewalk café where they decided to get a foot-long hotdog and some fries. As they waited in a short line, Mac slipped his arm around Miranda’s shoulder and pulled her close. He kissed her cheek, then whispered, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“I was going to wait for later,” he said as he reached into his pocket, “but I just can’t wait.” He kneeled. “Miranda. You are so beautiful, and I love you more than you could ever know. I always have. I’m empty when we’re apart. The flowers lose their color. The birds don’t sing, and the sun isn’t bright. But whenever I’m with you everything comes to life; even visiting a hotdog stand is fun. I want you at my side every day from here on out. Will you’ll marry me?” He snagged an incredible diamond ring from his pocket. It glistened like a second sun.
Miranda’s knees grew wobbly. Ever since she was a little girl she’d imagined a moment like this. The right setting. The right time. The right man. Mac was the only one she’d ever known who could make a hotdog seem special.
The warm sun, the sandy beach, the crashing waves and the whiff of hot dogs on the grill all contributed to the mood. It was the moment she needed. She knew exactly who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. A smile washed across her face as she murmured her approval.
Mac rose and slid the ring on her finger. They looked in each other’s eyes as he pulled her toward him. She welcomed his embrace. His arms. His lips. And, in that instant, the anxiety that she’d been carrying for months blew away in the ocean’s breeze. Together they swayed in harmony like the palm trees overhead.
A few strangers in line in front of them who had already turned around applauded. Miranda grinned as a couple of the women said nice things to her. She’d never been so happy. She took Mac’s hand and they kissed again, briefly.
“Hey, you two . . .” A gruff voice from behind the ordering window butted in. “Are you guys going to order, or spend all day playing kissy face?”
They had reached the front of the line. While Mac ordered a foot-long frank, Miranda accepted compliments and warm wishes from the strangers who’d played a minor role in her special day. It was a moment she’d never forget.
Miranda and her new fiancé pulled into his driveway around 6:30. For the time being, she had to remain focused on Don’s primary plan because hidden in the details was her opportunity to take out Don instead of Mac. If she were correct, there would be a moment when Mac was zonked out and Don would straddle him to get a grip on his neck. She’d have to hold the sledgehammer high in the air as if she was ready to hit Mac if Don needed her, but instead, there should be a brief moment when the back of Don’s head would be exposed. She’d just have to figure out what to do with Don’s body.
“Would you mind turning on some jazz and lighting some candles?” she asked of Mac.
“Sure, but if we make this day anymore romantic, I might have to bypass dinner.”
Miranda kissed him on the cheek. “There will be plenty of time for that, my love. First, you have to let me pamper you like I promised.”
Shortly thereafter, Miranda began the king’s feast with a delicious lemon-avocado salad sprinkled with fresh shredded coconut. She ended her future husband’s meal with a very small dish of lime sherbet covered with strawberries. Afterwards she handed him a bottle of after-dinner wine. “Before we slip into the hot tub, would you open this? I’d like to pour my king’s drink and serve it to him on a silver platter.”
Mac grinned. “I could get used to this.”
When he turned his back, she added a sleeping pill to his glass before she delivered his drink and joined him, naked, in the hot tub.
Before long, both the sleeping pill and the soothing jets were doing their job. Mac yawned. “The king appears ready for bed,” Miranda said. “Wouldst thou allow this maiden to join him?”
An hour later, Miranda called Don to tell him Mac was ready to be finished off.
Chapter Eighty-Four
While Miranda waited for Don, she removed her engagement ring and retrieved the short-handled sledgehammer from the garage. She stared at the grotesque weapon and recalled Don’s plan. How could he be so vicious?
She returned to the bedroom to check on Mac. He was lying in the fetal position, on the right side of the bed, facing the edge. She imagined him lying on his back, and mentally rehearsed the moment she’d finish off Don. If she were lucky, he’d fall to the floor without touching Mac and maybe without bleeding. She shrugged. Even if Mac were awakened he would be too groggy to know what was going on.
Satisfied, Miranda stood back a couple of feet from her lover and wondered what it would be like to live without Don. She replayed the day she first met him, and the time he defended her in the bar fight. She recalled his smile when she made her weekly visits to the prison, especially on conjugal visit days. Then there was the sparkle in his eye when he told her how he could make them both millionaires.
As she anticipated how things would play out she heard a car stop outside. She took a deep breath and went to meet Don. She crossed her fingers, ready to enter the stage. She reminded herself it was all make-believe. That would make it easier.
Don had a small satchel in his hand when she let him in. “Everything okay?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “He’s been asleep for at least an hour.”
“Perfect. Are you ready?”
“The hammer’s in the kitchen.”
Unexpectedly, Don grabbed her and forcefully pulled her toward
him. His lips attacked hers. She found a certain eroticism in his determination. Don pulled back. “Go check on him one more time, while I get ready.”
Miranda’s heart pounded mercilessly as she tiptoed to the bedroom that was destined to become a killing chamber in her little play. Mac had rolled over to his other side, closer to the center of the bed, but he was still in a very deep slumber, and vulnerable, just as Don wanted. She frowned as she noted that Don would be a little further away than she would have liked.
When she rejoined Don in the kitchen, he had a sinister, intense look in his eye, like a boxer just before a title bout. There was something shiny in his hand. A large carving knife. Her eyes widened. “There’s been a slight change of plans,” he said. “I’m gonna wake him up just long enough for him to watch me slit his throat.”
Her mind flashed to the day he’d done the same thing to a dog. “God, no, Donnie,” she whispered. “Too bloody. We have to stick with our earlier idea.”
Don looked her in the eyes and paused for a fairly long time before he finally nodded and set down the knife. “All right then. You just stay close by, in case I need you.”
She took a deep breath and exhaled. “You know I will.”
“Let’s do this.”
Miranda bobbed her head in approval and grabbed the sledge. It seemed heavier now.
As they moved toward the bedroom, her heart thumped against her ribs. Within minutes she would carry out a slightly different version of the scheme they’d been planning for months. The anxiety of her ambivalence was finally going to end.
Her fingers trembled. That familiar doubt that she’d felt so many times before returned to the deep recesses of her mind. Go away. Her lower lip quivered. If only it were merely stage fright.
A few steps more and her hands shook and her knees had gone weak. She glanced at Don. He appeared calm and confident. If only she shared his ease. He took her hand in his and gently squeezed. “Relax,” he whispered.
That was one of the things she’d always liked about Don. Whenever things got the stickiest, whenever they had to make a tough choice, whenever the stakes were the highest, he always knew what to do. In some ways, he deserved to live, too. No, stop it. There was no more room for second-guessing. She’d already made up her mind how this was going to end.
Don tugged on her hand. When they were a single pace from the bedroom, he paused and whispered, “Open the door and step aside. I’ll take the position I want. You stand right next to the edge of the bed by his head, in case I need you.”
By his head? “But wouldn’t it be better if I stood right next to you,” she whispered, “so I can get a better swing?”
“No. I need you to see me, so I can signal you without waking him.”
“But I can see better if I’m back by your side.”
Don glared at her like he did the day he scared her. She’d have to do it his way, even though his head would be a little farther away. She’d just have to reach a little further. Extend her arms all the way.
She nodded, slowly opened the door. Mac remained in the exact same position, near the center of the bed. Don quietly slid past her and into the room. He stopped and stared at the body in the bed. Miranda knew it was the first time he’d seen Mac up close in nearly ten years. With the stealth of a combat solider, Don slowly and cautiously moved around to the other side of the bed. Oh, my God. Stay calm. It’s a play. Make-believe. Watch for an opening to his head. Any opening.
Don inched onto the other side of the bed and moved closer and closer to Mac. Miranda dug her knees into her side of the mattress to get a fraction of an inch closer to where Don’s head should be when he pounced on Mac and went for his throat. She gripped the sledgehammer tightly, rested it on her shoulder and waited for him to move closer.
Slowly Don progressed across the bed, to within a foot of Mac’s body and stopped. If he didn’t come closer, there was no way Miranda could get to him, but he would still need to lean forward and reach out. She needed him to come closer. She needed a little luck. He held up his hands to signal he was ready. Miranda stalled. He wasn’t close enough. Don mouthed for her to hurry. She stalled again, hoping he’d lunge closer, but he didn’t. Saliva oozed from the corners of his mouth. He waved his arms wildly and mouthed “C’mon.” She couldn’t delay much more. She raised the hammer. The adrenalin in her system made it lighter than before. Lean in. She needed him to lean in. Her heart pounded.
Don moved the final foot, extended his hands slowly toward his brother, but he remained to the far side of Mac’s body. Too far away. Lean in. LEAN IN. Her eyes darted around the room and back. Lean in. Get closer.
Don’s powerful, determined hands shot forward with the precision of a rattler’s strike. “Asshole,” he screamed as he took the grip on Mac’s neck. Oh my God, he was too far away. Mac’s hands instinctively rose to his throat, but he was too slow and too weak to put up a good fight. Don stayed back out of the reach of Mac’s flailing arms, and more importantly, out of Miranda’s reach. Don thrust his thumbs deep into Mac’s throat. Groggy and helpless, Mac gurgled. His eyes opened slightly. She raised a knee to the top of the bed but it was too high to get up there without putting the sledge down.
“Goodbye, brother,” Don screamed, saliva dripping down his chin.
All of Miranda’s nerve endings drew her into the moment. The play. The incredible drama. Her eyes bounced back and forth between the brothers like crazed windshield wipers. These were the final seconds of her moment onstage. She entered a trance, no longer driven by logic or past plans. No longer connected to the men in the room. They, too, were play actors.
“This will teach you, you asshole,” the standing-up actor yelled. “You always thought you were better than me—but not this time, you son-of a bitch. Not this time.”
The lying-down actor’s face was deep red. His desperate eyes searched the darkened room until he found Miranda. He played his role perfectly. She watched closely and without emotion as the swollen veins rose in his temples and he made another weak attempt to shake loose. Then the standing-up man glanced at Miranda. “Hit him,” he screamed. “Hit him.”
Miranda looked at the lying-down actor. She’d rehearsed her role plenty of times but all she could remember was that she had to hit somebody.
“Hit him, Baby. Hit him.”
Dazed, she turned her head to the standing-up actor.
“Do it! Do it! Do it!”
Her eyes dropped to the lying-down man. His head had to be a prop. She raised the sledgehammer as high as she could. “Do it! Do it! Do it!”
With all the force she could muster, she pulled the handle down and slammed the now lighter sledge into the waiting head below her. Its skull cracked and the forehead caved a half-inch. A gusher of red instantly shot out its nostrils as its body went limp.
The standing-up actor stepped back. “Hit him again. Again.”
She raised the hammer just as high as before. This time she aimed for the offensive nostrils that gushed red stuff everywhere. Three pounds of deadly cold steel exploded into the mannequin-like head once again. This time a deep grunt and a swoosh of air escaped the lying-down man’s body and more red liquid splattered all over the stage. She felt an orgasmic surge of power. Her legs were strong, her breaths deep and hard like those of an Olympic sprinter.
The standing-up actor grabbed her, picked her up off her feet, and spun her around. The sledgehammer dropped to the floor, just as it did in rehearsal. The standing-up actor squeezed her and her benumbed brain began to tingle, to focus, to return to the present. It was as if she’d just driven a dozen miles in a fog without remembering any of it. She slowly recollected where she was, who she was with, what they were doing. She glared at the pool of redness that was spread all around her.
Without understanding how it all happened, she’d finally arrived at the crossroads of Excitement Street and Romance Boulevard and somehow decided which road to take. Mac was no more—and she was the recipient of
Don’s one-man standing ovation.
Chapter Eighty-Five
The man who became the new Mac marched back and forth across the room. His hands flailed wildly. “You did it, Baby, you did it. That was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. I’ll never doubt you again.”
Miranda looked his way. As she was still not completely out of her trance, his words weren’t much more than background noise. Devoid of emotion, she noted the sledge-gnarled skull on the lifeless body before her. She scowled and twisted her head. Her mind tried to put some of the pieces together, but it was as if part of her brain had shorted out.
New Mac wrapped her in his arms and kissed her.
At first, her arms dangled limply at her sides, but the passion in his kiss was an unexpected elixir. Her hands rose mechanically to his shoulders and then around them. She closed her eyes. The embrace felt good.
New Mac grinned, “Why don’t I cut him into pieces and bury him out back, like an old dog?”
She shook her head, reached down and nonchalantly pulled the sheet over the mangled man on the bed. “No, the body would be too easy to find,” she said in a matter-of-fact monotone. “We have to get rid of him altogether. I know where there is a dumpster, near the edge of town.”
“Okay. But, that won’t be as much fun for me.”
“I’ll open the back of my vehicle. You get one of the wooden appliance crates from the garage and line it with plastic.”
New Mac completed his task and laid the crate on its side in the back of the SUV. Then together, they pulled Mac’s corpse toward the edge of the bed and let it fall on top of a throw rug as if he never mattered at all. They dragged him to the garage and together lifted his body into the crate.
Back in the bedroom, Miranda pointed at the blood splatters on New Mac’s shirt and pants. She unbuttoned her blouse. “We have to get rid of our clothes,” she said. She calmly bent over and grabbed the blood-drenched bedding. “This stuff, too.” They both stripped naked and New Mac moved toward the closet.
“No clothes, yet,” she said as she motioned toward the wall where blood and bits of Mac’s skin speckled the headboard. “We have to clean all of this up first. You pack the bedding and clothes around the body, I’ll get a bucket and sponge.”