5 Twists
Short Stories by
Camille LaGuire
First Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Camille LaGuire
Find other books by Camille LaGuire at Smashwords.com .
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5 Twists
Table of Contents:
The Unexpurgated Story of the Baby Shoes Which Were Sold Unused
Bonus: The opening chapter of The Man Who Did Too Much
Burning Bridges
When a young bimbo gets herself in trouble, a cynical older woman has to decide whether to help her out.
THE GIRL WHO walked into the tiny country convenience store was slim, with an angular face and narrow jaw, and sun-washed blond hair that would have fallen into her eyes if she hadn't been wearing silver wrap-around sunglasses. Madge noticed that the glasses didn't quite cover the bruise across her cheek. The color of the bruise matched the jeans which wrapped as tightly as skin around her legs, and the shoes...the shoes were new, just like the bruise.
There was likely a connection between the two. They were, after all, nice shoes, not sexy ones. John was a shit about things like that.
Madge tried to remember the girl's name. Joni, or Jacki. Or Dopi, Sneazi or Grumpi, or...or Bobbi.
"You okay, hon?" said Madge, begrudgingly.
Bobbi looked up, surprised at the almost friendliness. Madge was a bit surprised about it too.
"I...," said Bobbi. She didn't finish. She stood, head slightly ducked, cautious of Madge's deviation from her gossip-born reputation as an unsympathetic bitch.
"Look honey, we aren't rivals," she said with a heavy sigh, leaning on the counter next to the cash register. "I lived with Johnny for a while when I was younger than you, but I didn't look good in blue."
She pointed to the bruise and then down to the jeans, and tried not to sound too cynical. Madge didn't want John any more. Never really wanted him, except that he had that way of carrying anyone off with him on his bursts of mania. John somehow managed to be exciting even when he was mean. Sometimes. He could be wild and mean, or he could be gloomy and mean. Madge had lasted through several bouts of wildness, but not one minute of gloomy.
But this kid was too young, and her breasts and butt too pert and her lower lip too pouty. Madge couldn't help herself but feel a pang of competition. Youth is wasted on the young.
The girl turned, and Madge heard Dave's raised voice outside, as he talked with a customer. John? No, it wasn't that kind of excitement. Madge flipped up the counter and stepped to the door and pushed it open. Dave and two guys were looking off to the west. In the distance was a line of smoke rising in the dry hot air.
"Oh lord," said Bobbi, under her breath, and she sank back. From where Bobbi was standing inside, Madge was sure she couldn't see the fire, just the reaction of the men.
"Brush fire," said Dave, as he pushed past Madge, and into the store.
"Looks like John's place," said Madge, looking at the girl. Bobbi raised her head with effort.
"Yeah," she said. "There were those guys coming over. His...buddies. They were all mad at each other. I left before...."
Dave wasn't listening. He was on the phone talking to the fire dispatch. And then he grabbed his jacket and ran out. He was a volunteer, as were the two men at the pump. In a moment, with sirens and a squeal of wheels, the men were gone, and the two women stood in silence.
Bobbi stepped up to the door, and now stood still, almost frozen, looking across the road and ditch and fields to the hazy column of smoke. It seemed as though she were not breathing, especially when she finally did take a breath and it came in fast, raising her shoulders and making her twitch.
"Oh, Bobbi," said Madge. "Oh, what did you do?"
Bobbi gave another twitch and turned. There was fear and denial in her face, and she looked like a little girl. That kind of innocence seemed to bring out the worst in John, but just now she looked too vulnerable even for him. Then she pulled herself together, with a quick, physical motion. Yes, she'd have to have learned to do that around John. Her shoulders squared as she tried to decide how she should act.
"I bought some shoes," she said. "I...I went and bought some shoes, and he had his friends coming over. His druggie friends."
The kid had remembered her story okay but her delivery was bad. She started shaking, and then she wavered, and looked like she was about to fall right off those hip new shoes. Madge stepped forward and grabbed her by the upper arms, and guided her back to the popsicle freezer to sit down.
"He's dead, isn't he?" said Madge.
Bobbi nodded and started shaking. Madge put a firm hand on the back of her neck and pushed her head down.
"Come on, head between your knees and breathe slow and shallow."
And kiss your ass goodbye, she added mentally. Stupid kid. Hopeless stupid little kid, like a bunny in the headlights.
"What happened?"
The girl took a long shuddering breath. Madge let go of the back of her neck, but the girl didn't raise up.
"I just wanted some nice shoes," she said. "He said I could have them if they had nine inch heels and were made out of straps. I didn't want those. I wanted nice shoes."
"And he hit you?"
She straightened and looked at Madge. Her hand went to her face.
"Well, yeah. Earlier." The girl chewed her lip and began thinking about it. Madge had given her a defense, which was more than Madge owed the stupid kid. She should just drop it now, and call the cops. But....
"What are you going to do now?" said Madge. "Have you thought of that?"
Bobbi looked at her in surprise.
"You aren't going to...?" She stopped, afraid to finish the sentence as if it might give Madge ideas.
"I don't know." Madge pushed aside the other door of the freezer and pulled out a green popsicle and handed it to the girl. "Here, put this on your face to stop the swelling."
Then she went back behind the counter and looked over the array of bottles. She picked a pepper vodka and held it up for Bobbi to see. Bobbi sat up like Madge had offered her a cookie.
"Stoli!" she said, impressed, and she jumped off the freezer, and bellied right up to the counter. A budding lush. Johnny'd found himself a drunk that he could control. Which made him stupid too. The both of them made a good candidates for Darwinism.
Madge pulled down a shot glass gift pack and broke it open. Bobbi'd already opened the booze. She poured two shots, and knocked one back with expertise. But then she stopped and bent in shock as the pepper added the extra burn. She nodded, and then unwrapped the popsicle and sucked on it while Madge poured her another. This time Bobbi dipped the popsicle in the drink first, licked it off, and then drank down the shot.
"I bet Johnny really loved you," she said. Bobbi's head snapped around. She looked at Madge in fear, taking it as criticism. "I mean you were his kind of girl."
"Yeah," said Bobbi, taking a breath.
Madge picked up the other shot glass and held it up in toast.
"Here's to John."
"Yeah," said Bobbi. She poured herself another and drank up. She started to reach for the bottle again, but Madge pulled it back and put the cap back on.
"You've had enough. You've got to think now. What are you going to do?"
"I'm heading for Canada."
Madge let out a slow breath and stared at the counter. Running seemed stupid, but who knew what the police would find? Maybe there wasn't a chance they could be fooled into thinking it was John's drug friends, or even self-defense.
"Do you expect to get that far?" she finally said, running a finger around the shot glass.
"I don't know," said Bobbi lightly. She imitated Madge's move on her own glass, and stared into its tiny depths. "I figure this is my last stand, so I might as well get something out of it. And I've got money to go anywhere I want."
Madge paused, and looked up.
"Money?"
Bobbi nodded slowly with a little girl pout.
"John's money. His secret stash from under the floor boards. Fifty thousand."
"That will get you quite a ways."
"Yeah, and when it's gone, you know, I figure I can find some other guy outside the law--you know, like John--and I can just join up with him and become a non-person and nobody can find me."
She said that as if it were something good. Madge stared at her for a moment.
"Why would you want another one like John?" she said tightly.
Bobbi just shrugged and eased the bottle back toward herself, slyly, like she was just playing with it.
"He could take care of me."
Madge snatched the bottle away and kept hold of it.
"You don't deserve help," she said in exasperation. "You're a waste of fifty thousand dollars and a good pair of shoes."
Bobbi nodded and then her face squinched up, and she started crying, her shoulders shaking. She covered her face with hands that were sticky with popsicle juice. Young and pathetic and stupid and a waste of energy. And she hadn't a chance in hell on her own, even with fifty thousand dollars.
Madge didn't have all that much trouble making up her mind. She lifted the counter and took Bobbi's elbow.
"Come on. If you're getting out of here, you need help. I've got some maps and things in the shed down behind the store. You pull the truck down there, and we'll figure out your best way out."
Bobbi went gratefully and jumped into the truck. She pulled it around with some spinning of wheels, bumping down the low drive to the shed down the hill, which was behind the store and hidden from view. Madge walked down carrying the vodka and thinking over the details.
"All right, here's your plan," she said, as she led Bobbi into the shed and flattened out the map. "You go west."
"But...if I go west I'll have to go all the way around the lake."
"If they think you're heading for Canada, they'll expect you to try to cross at the Soo. And I'll help by telling them that you told me you had a cousin over there. You go west, and cross over on some little road in Minnesota."
Madge traced a route, and Bobbi looked at it for a long time, but finally nodded.
"I can do that," she said, as if surprised. "I bet fifty thousand American goes a long way in Canada."
They walked back to the truck. Bobbi got in. Madge walked around to the passenger side and opened the door to talk.
"Now, you need to pay me for the shot glasses and vodka, so they don't think I was helping you."
"Oh, yeah," said Bobbi, reaching for a bag on the floor.
"Wait," said Marge. "If John had it stashed, maybe it was marked. You think they can trace it?"
"Nah," said Bobbi. "He used it all the time, and they never tracked him. Nobody even knew what he had." She pulled open the bag. Madge could see money inside, and a gun. Good. She wouldn't have to ask where it was. Bobby pulled the gun out of the way and set it on the seat, while she fumbled out two twenties. "Is that enough?"
"More than," said Madge. She tucked the twenties away, and then held out the bottle. "Look, hon, I'm giving you this bottle, but you are not to get drunk. You are not to get caught after I helped you."
Bobbi started to take the bottle, but Madge let it slip, intentionally spilling it.
"Oh!" said Bobbi, twisting around to avoid the spill.
"Wait, I'll get it," said Madge. She took up a shammy cloth from the dash and started to wipe. Then she picked up the gun as if to move it. The kid just looked down for a napkin, and didn't even notice. She was too easy to fool. She wasn't going to make it to Canada anyway, was she? Madge raised the gun and shot her as she looked at the spill on her lap.
It was an uglier and messier scene than she expected to create, and the noise was louder, but lone gunshots were a common sound out here. It wasn't likely to draw attention, unless she was unlucky.
She used the shammy to place the gun in one limp hand, and placed a lighter in the other, and the bottle in her lap. She glanced up at the road, but no one was there, so she hustled the money into the shed, and hid it. She hurried back to the truck and looked in the back. There were gas cans back there. The stupid kid hadn't got rid of them. Hadn't left them to burn when she set fire to the house.
There was some gas left in one of them. Madge spilled it over some sacking and the shammy, which would make a decent wick. She fed it through the sliding back window into the cab.
Then she went back to the cab and paused at the mess. She glanced down at the shoes the kid had bought in defiance of John's control.
"Well," said Madge. "At least you got to die with your shoes on." They wouldn't have let her keep them in jail, and if she had found some jerk like John again, he'd have taken them away as soon as he knew she wanted them.
Madge took out her own lighter and lit the rag.
Maybe I'm just as stupid, she thought as she headed back into the store. Maybe I'm burning a bridge I need.
THE EXPLOSION WASN'T as loud as she expected, more of a poof then a roar, and no bang. She ran back out of the store, like she would have if she hadn't expected to hear it, and saw the truck half engulfed in flames. Then she went back in and called the police. She had no trouble sounding shaken. She was, a little. She'd tell them bout the girl's strange behavior when they arrived. How Madge had given her a drink, and told her she could go down to the shed and stay until she found out if the fire was at John's. How she heard a shot and ran out to see the fire already started--like she'd lit it and then shot herself.
Madge flipped the closed sign on the store, and went out to the roadside to watch the smoke rise in two directions, and listen for the sirens.
It didn't matter if she burned her bridges, she supposed. When she chose a direction, she never considered going back. That would be a waste. Madge didn't like waste.
Balancing Act
A klutzy woman, a charming man and a the theft of a jewel. The question is whether the fellow was just a bit too charming....
"MY GOD, THAT'S gorgeous!" said Minnie. She clutched Lisa's hand hard as she admired the ruby ring. Lisa didn't mind. She hadn't seen Minnie since high school, and it was fun to show off her hard-won success, especially since Minnie had been the one who always seemed to have everything. And now, at the company's charity ball, Lisa could shine a bit. Minnie ogled the ring and kept talking. "It's huge! Where did you get it? A fiancé?"
"No," said Lisa. "No, I've been too busy working to have relationships. I bought it myself, with the bonus I got for saving the company so much money this year."
"Hmm?" said Minnie, unimpressed by Purchasing Agent of the Year. The ring, though, was impressive. "I am so jealous, Lisa."
She looked up from the ring, eyes wide with admiration, but then she saw something beyond Lisa that made her squeeze Lisa's hand.
"Ow!" said Lisa, but Minnie looked beyond her, eyes going wide with even greater admiration.
"Now I'm really jealous over him," she said, lowering her voice.
Lisa turned to see a very good-looking guy across the room, watching them. Minnie clutched her arm and leaned closer.
"Is he yours?"
"No," said Lisa, although frankly she wouldn't have minded if he was. "I've never seen him before."
"He's had his eyes on you ever since you came in." Minnie let go of her arm and gave her a little shove toward the man. "If you don't introduce yourself to him, I'm going to hit you."
Lisa murmured a protest, but she had to admit she was interested. It had been a long time since she had paid attention to her social life, and here she was dressed beautifully, coiffed and bejeweled, and there he was ready and waiting.
He was good looking. Tall, with dark hair and eyes that moved and took in the whole room--not nervously, but intelligently. He looked at her again and caught her looking at him. He gave her a crooked smile. Crooked smiles were her downfall.
She took a breath and headed across the room. Unfortunately she was concentrating so hard on her elegant walk that she didn't see the waiter who was rushing across her path. She stopped short and tried to draw back. The waiter did the same and managed to sidestep her, but she was off balance. She waved her arms, one foot in the air, and tried desperately not to tip into the buffet table.
Luckily Mr. Gorgeous, as she'd come to think of him, dashed forward, nimbly avoiding any accidents of his own, and not even spilling a drop of his drink. He grabbed her hand and pulled her upright.
"Thank you," she said, blushing and closing her eyes in absolute mortification. I look like a complete idiot, she thought.
"Glad to help," he said, crooked grin and all. But before she could actually die of embarrassment, or reply, he tripped. Thank god, she thought, as she reached out a hand to help right him. He weighed more, and it took more effort to steady him, and he ended up almost leaning on her.
"Oh, sorry," he said. "I guess 'Pratfalls Are Us', eh?" They both laughed, and he gestured toward the corner. "Maybe we should sit down before we hurt ourselves." But then his smile went away. "Oh, wait, I...can't. I've got to talk to somebody. I'll be back. I promise."
He headed off across the room, his head raised to look over the crowd, but somehow he seemed to be heading toward the exit. She laughed at herself. I'm not that scary, she thought, even when I do my Daffy Duck impression. She sidled to the buffet and thought if she did see him again, she'd have to flash her ruby at him quick....
She looked at her hand. The ring was gone.
She looked at the ground, but didn't see it on the clean white carpet, but it couldn't have fallen off. It fit too well. It had been stolen--pulled off her hand in a wild grab.
She wheeled and looked across the crowd. He was moving purposefully but not fast, but he was almost to the exit. She dashed across the room, not looking elegant, but she didn't care. She grabbed his arm, and he turned and looked surprised.
"That trip was fake," she said angrily. "I can't believe I fell for it."
"I'm sorry," he said, looking contrite, but the crooked grin was still there. "You looked so embarrassed, I thought it would break the ice if I tripped too."
"And then you took my ring!"
"Ring?" He cocked his head, and looked down at her hands, as if interested. "You weren't wearing a ring. I would have noticed."
"Oh yes I was!"
"Did you shake hands with anyone? Maybe a stranger who claimed to know you?"
"Just you," she said. "And it was on my hand just before that, when I showed the ring to my friend Minnie...."
She could see the realization in his face as he looked up and quickly scanned the crowd.
"Minnie the Moocher," he said, almost to himself. He reached into his jacket for something. It was only then that she noticed the lump under his dinner jacket--a shoulder holster.
"You're a cop," she said.
"Yeah," he replied. He pulled his identification from his pocket and flipped it open, still looking for Minnie. He was a cop all right. And Minnie.... Minnie had grabbed her hand and then distracted her. Minnie who had always seemed so rich, because she always had everything the other girls admired. But there were other ways to have everything.
SORTING IT OUT took forever. Minnie was caught with a purse full of jewelry that didn't belong to her, and there were statements to be made. At least Lisa got his business card and name--Detective Brian O'Brian--and he had her phone number on her statement. Still she waited around until he had a moment so she could apologize for calling him a thief.
"Okay," he said, before she could speak. "I tripped so you wouldn't be embarrassed about your fall. Now what can I do to balance out you calling me a thief?"
"Maybe you shouldn't," she said. "We have too much trouble with balance. Take me out instead?"
Deadmen Don't Eat Fruitcake
It's a Noir Christmas when tough guys get their stolen jewels mixed up with fruitcake and on tough old lady.
IT WASN'T A dark night on account of the snow, which reflected the light of the two street lamps from every available surface, except the bloody patch under Tig Arbuckle. That is, under Tig's body. There wasn't anything left of Tig inside there. His life had leaked out faster than his blood, which stained the snow around him.
Phil stuck his gun back in his pocket and knelt down as Bud came running up.
"Geeze," said Bud, his breath puffing out in a wreath around his face. He paused as Phil pulled off his gloves in the freezing air and quickly searched the body. "He got the fruitcake?"
"No," said Phil, rising and heading back toward the car.
"It wasn't in the car, neither," said Bud, looking back and forth from Phil to the body.
"He must have left it with old lady," said Phil. Four hundred thousand dollars worth of hot jewels, and Tig had to hide them in a fruitcake. It made him want to spit, but the freezing air was too dry.
THERE WAS A police car outside the Arbuckle Bakery when they pulled to a stop across the street. They sat a moment and watched. A cop came out--a young woman huddled in her short thick jacket. She adjusted her belt, and paused to warm her hand over the small bag she carried, which steamed slightly in the frigid air. Then she got in the car and left. Just a customer. Phil considered.
"You know anything about the old lady?"
"Tig always said she was a right guy," said Bud.
"A what?" said Phil, turning to look at Bud. Bud shrugged and shrunk a little.
"That's what he said. She's like one of the guys. Tough. A regular wise guy, he said."
"A wise guy baking fruitcakes," said Phil with a sneer. He shoved open the door and got out.
THE OLD LADY was shoveling cookies off a sheet and onto a rack when Phil and Bud entered. She paused to look them over, but she didn't say anything.
"We're friends of Tig...," began Phil.
"I know." She kept shoveling the cookies. She put away the sheet and started on another one without looking up. "He was here a few minutes ago. You just missed him."
"We're gonna meet him later," said Phil with a reassuring smile. "We're just here for the fruitcake."
She turned to look more closely at them, and her eyes were sharp with suspicion, like a teacher. Phil was immune to that kind of look, but Bud's shoulders twitched. Bud chafed his hands and looked over his shoulder.
"What were the cops doing here?" he said. "You been robbed?"
She put the spatula down and came up to the counter, wiping her hands slowly.
"You know cops and donuts," she said.
"You don't sell donuts," said Phil.
"My niece happens to like cookies instead."
"Niece?" said Bud. Bud shuffled nervously and looked at Phil. Phil wasn't sweating.
"Yeah, my niece, Maggie," said the old lady. "She stopped by for a present for her boss...a fruitcake."
"We're here for fruitcake too," interrupted Phil. "Tig said you had one for him. Special for him. We're here to pick it up."
The old lady narrowed her eyes and looked them both over, then she leaned forward and set her hands on the counter.
"Yeah," she said slowly, like she'd just remembered something, "he did have one picked out. Stupid kid messed with the dough. Ruined it." She nodded to herself, and then jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "I threw it out."
"Where?" said Phil.
"Out back, in the dumpster." She watched while Phil considered. "If he wants another one, he has to wait. I gave the rest of the batch to my niece."
Phil headed for the door. Bud followed, grumbling.
"What's Tig doing with a cop in his family anyway?"
"Every family's got a black sheep," said the old lady. She came around the counter and followed him to the door. She turned the lock as he went out, and stood and watched.
THE DUMPSTER WAS full of cartons and garbage and dough, all blending into a sickening cement in the cold. Phil stood on his toes to look in, and he wrinkled his nose.
"That idiot," he said. "What did he hide the jewels in a fruitcake for anyway?" He reached in reluctantly to pull a couple cartons out. He poked at them with a stick, and then at the garbage still inside. No sign of a fruitcake, but maybe it had blended in to the rest. He tried to reach for some bags in the back, as Bud climbed up on the edge. But then Bud hesitated.
"Say, Phil," he said. "Your ma ever make fruitcake?"
"No," said Phil shortly.
"How long you think it takes to bake a fruitcake?"
"I don't know and I don't care." But he looked up at Bud anyway.
"Try an hour and a half," said Bud. "That's at least what it took my ma to bake it. And then it had to cool for a while."
Phil dropped the stick. "So if he dropped those jewels in the fruitcake dough...."
"They're still in the oven, or maybe just coming out now. They weren't in the batch she threw away or gave to the cop."
Phil was already headed back up to the street. Bud jumped down and scrambled after him. The lights at the front of the store were already off, and the sign said closed. Phil pounded on the glass, and then pulled the pistol out of his pocket and pounded the glass with the butt of the gun.
"Freakin' old ladies," he said. "Freaking Tig!"
"Hey, Phil, cool it," said Bud, looking around nervously.
Phil shoved him back and took aim at the glass of the door. It was shatter resistant, but not really bullet proof. Three shots cracked it up enough to break. He knocked the rest in with the butt, and reached in to turn the lock. Bud stayed back and craned his neck to keep watch. Phil didn't bother. He was gonna get that old lady. She was just like Tig. A cheat.
He yanked open the door and charged in.
He was met at the counter by a shotgun blast. Buddy, who had rushed in after, didn't have time to back pedal. The second barrel got him.
FLASHING LIGHTS DECORATED the front of the bakery, as officers milled, and the CSI unit worked over the mess in the front room. In back, in the kitchen, a detective and two officers accepted slices of fruitcake from Granny Arbuckle.
"Granny," said one of the officers, the niece, Maggie. "Why don't you stay with Ma and me tonight?"
"No, no. I'll settle down better in my own home."
"Well, then, let me stay with you."
"No," said the old woman firmly. "I'll be fine."
"Let me do something!" said Maggie. "I feel awful. I saw them out there casing the place, and I didn't even notice."
"They're friends of Tig," said Granny, patting her on the arm. "You recognized them."
"Yeah, and that itself should have put me on alert."
"Eat your fruitcake, Maggie," said Granny, and then she waved a finger at the detective who was attempting to slip the uneaten bit of cake back on to the plate. "You too young man."
She turned back to the racks of slightly burned fruitcakes, and pulled a sheet from the big box of tin foil.
"You young people don't appreciate something good," she rattled on. She picked up a fruitcake and set it in the center of the foil. "I remember when I was a girl, I always thought it was a treasure. All those little colorful pieces. Like jewels...."
Maggie pointed at the cake in Granny's hands.
"Granny, that one's all messed up."
"That's all right...."
"You won't be open tomorrow, so there's no point in saving the good ones for customers. Take the best one home."
Granny stopped and looked down at the little misshapen cake and smiled at it.
"This is the best one, dear. Trust me, I know fruitcakes, and it may be ugly on the outside, but it's the best on the inside." She finished wrapping it in tin-foil. "A little jewel chest just for me."
Power Is Greater Than Love
A dictator knows only power, a simple woman knows only love. Which is stronger?
"YOUR PEOPLE LOVE you," said the First Advisor to the Dictator. "It must be wonderful to have the love of your people."
The Dictator laughed. He knew, of course that the advisor was full of it.
"I have power," said the Dictator. "I can demand love from anyone. Is that not so, Aline?"
A quiet woman from among the cadre of concubines, looked up at him fondly.
"I don't know, Dictator," she said. "I don't anything about power. I only know about love."
The Dictator sighed, and then turned back to the Advisor.
"She is a simpleton," he said. "But everyone else here loves me because it's good for them to love me."
The advisor nodded in hasty agreement. "That is the nature of love," he said. "Love is good for us."
"Loving me is good for you," said the Dictator.
ALINE WAS A puzzle to the Dictator. She alone among his followers and sycophants never asked him for anything. She never tried to advise him. She never tried to gain advantage. He was sensitive to the most subtle manipulations, but she never tried any of it. When he was in a generous mood, she stayed firmly at his side while the others fought ever his gifts. When he was dangerous and angry and unfair, she stayed as his side no matter what. She kept her head down, but she never cringed, and she never stepped back.
WHEN THE NEIGHBORING country cast a jealous eye on the Dictator's holdings, and saw itself as stronger, the Dictator found himself in a terrible war. Some of his people defected, and he shot several others -- killing them with his own hand in front of the others. His people got back in line quickly, and they fought valiantly, because the knew he could do much worse to his enemies, so they were not his enemies.
But there were some hairy moments, and when the foreign troops came close to the city, the Dictator was persuaded to send the women to a safer location. The other women packed and fled, but Aline didn't even look up. She stayed near the Dictator.
"You may go," he said to her. "You do not have to fear my displeasure." When she didn't go, he added, "It is not safe here."
"I don't know anything about safety," she said. "I only know about love. I will stay with you."
"And if their troops crash through the gates? And the bombs bring down the building?"
"I will stay with you to the very end."
THE WAR CAME to an end, but part of the Dictator's territory was in enemy hands, and threats to his safety and power continued.
Even when the neighboring country's government fell, it brought no relief, because their people only incited the Dictator's people to rebel. He did not have the power to command their love, or their labor or their loyalty. Not all of them. Not any more.
Through it all, Aline stayed at his side. When he made an appearance, and there was fear of assassination, she went with him though she didn't have to. And when he went to rally his troops at the front lines, though it was dangerous, she stuck to him even closer.
It seemed to him that the more dangerous it was, the closer she came. There were even times he felt like sending her away because whenever she came closer, he would look over his shoulder.
And in all of it, she never asked for favors, never objected if he grew paranoid and insisted that everyone be searched and everyone be tested. She only looked at him with quiet energy that he came to understand was passion. Adoration. Even as his power faded, he had power over her, and that was a consolation.
AT THE VERY end, when the guards abandoned their posts, and the rebels were celebrating in his outer courtyard. He gave her a last chance to flee, but she said again:
"I will stay with you to the end."
"Then we shall die together?"
"If that is the end."
He smiled at that answer because though she accepted death, she also left the outcome open to hope.
He led her down to the bunker, where he revealed that he had kept one secret from everyone. There was a tunnel for escape. They had somewhere to go, just the two of them. He had been moving his money for years into an off-shore account. He'd put the money in her name, and the World Court would not find it to seize it.
He pulled back the covering from the escape tunnel, and she looked into it...
And then she pulled away his gun and shot him in the belly. It made a horrible wound, and pierced his spine, so that he lay helpless on the floor, dying as his heart and lungs still yet worked.
"Power," he said, "is stronger than love. You see, I knew it!"
"You know power," she agreed. "But I don't know anything about that."
He choked and laughed. "You think you will be rich? The accounts are in your name? That's nothing. You must have the number and the password."
"I don't know about money," she said.
"And you will never escape through that tunnel. You have to know where to go. You are trapped."
"I don't know about escape," she said. "I only know about love. I loved my mother. I loved my family. They had no power, and you killed them all. So perhaps power is better than love. I don't know. Is it? Can you tell me?"
He could not speak now and so she continued.
"I have stayed with you so that I could one day see you die, because I have no power to do anything else, only the power to love my family. But I don't know about power, only love, so perhaps I should let you should die alone."