“So you’re here to arrest me?”
“I wish I could. But the statue of limitations on rape is ten years, even for a disgusting animal like you.”
Now Nick Wood looked confused. “If you don’t want money and you’re not here to arrest me, what are you here for?”
“To kill you.”
Wood jumped like an electric current hit him. He stared at Syd, waiting for her to pull her weapon, but she just stood there.
“But I’ve decided to just destroy you instead.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m going to send a copy of that tape to a friend of mine. Before you can say YouTube, your flabby ass is going to be seen on every computer screen in America. Then I’ll send copies to all the television networks. How will your friends and neighbors feel about you raping a defenseless teenage girl? How many of your clients will want to work with a sexual predator?”
“But that was years ago! I was drunk. I told you before, I’m sorry for the way I used to behave. And now I’m impotent, doesn’t that… I mean…” he tailed off as he realized how empty, how meaningless his excuses sounded.
“I want the world to see what you and those boys did to her. I want the world to understand that Colin, Adam and Blake deserved everything that happened to them. Alice killed them as an object lesson for women everywhere. As a call to fight back. And she did something else you’ll read about in tomorrow’s paper. She cut off the cocks of her attackers so that men everywhere would know there is a price to pay for rape. And just so you know, she was on her way over here to kill you, to slice off your useless cock when she was killed by my partner. I was upset at first; I wanted Alice to finish her revenge. But now that I think about it, I’ve decided your punishment may actually be worse. You’re going to become the most hated man in America. Every woman will know your name. Every woman will know what you’ve done. Wherever you go, whatever you do, you’ll be the scummy bastard who raped that poor high school kid. The press will haunt your every step. Paparazzi will be camped on your front lawn. And once the initial outrage is over, and the media moves on to its next victim, maybe, just maybe, some woman out there will finish what Alice started. I want you to think about that, every day; the next woman you meet, the next corner you turn, the next doorway you walk through may be your last. And I hope that whatever woman finally kills you, cuts your cock off first.”
Syd turned and headed out the door, but then she turned back to a devastated Nick Wood. “Or, you could do us all a favor and take that gun of yours, stick it in your mouth and pull the trigger.”
Syd watched Nick Wood’s reaction to see if her words landed. Nick Wood lifted his head, mulling a seemingly once unthinkable option.
Without another word, Syd left.
FIFTY
Ryan desperately wanted to get a few hours sleep so he took the unusual step of turning his phone off. When his alarm woke him at nine-thirty, he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.
Decision day.
Ryan stood at a crossroad, his life would change forever today and he, and he alone, controlled the outcome.
Heady stuff.
Ryan had made a lot of decisions on the ride home last night and he knew what he wanted to do, but he was going to need some help to pull it off. He grabbed his cell phone off the night table, turned it on and checked his messages. There were four.
Anne’s message was first. She sounded so fucking happy, he thought. Hard to believe it was all an act. Ryan had no intention of calling Anne back. He’d see her soon enough.
Hanrahan called reminding Ryan to schedule his interview with the Force Investigation Division. Whenever an LAPD officer uses deadly force, they are required to get cleared by the FID. Ryan would call them as he drove to the California Lottery office.
Ryan’s stepbrother, Johnny, called suggesting they meet at Santa Anita racetrack next week so Ryan could look at a promising two-year-old filly. Ryan decided he’d call Johnny back, never.
The last call was Newport Police Detective Alex Cortez, offering his congratulations and wanting to schedule a meeting, hopefully at a bar serving cold draft beer, so he could hear the blow by blow. Ryan liked Cortez and would call him as he drove to the lottery, too.
But that was it, just four messages. Not the one he was hoping for. Not the one he was counting on.
Ryan showered and dressed quickly. He put on his blue suit instead of his usual sport coat and slacks. He knew he’d finally have to face all those microphones today and he wanted to look his best.
He thought about his father’s last appearance in front of the press. He stood atop the steps of the Criminal Courts Building declaring his innocence and predicting a jury of his peers would find him not guilty of tax fraud.
It was a marvelous performance that convinced everyone but the jury.
Years later, when his father was dying, Ryan went to visit him in prison.
“Any regrets?” Ryan asked.
“Yes,” his father said recalling that fateful day in court. “I should have worn my blue suit.”
But that was Ryan’s father. Live life and never apologize. “Life is not a dress rehearsal,” he’d tell the young Ryan as one wife would leave and another would move in. “There are no second chances, no do-overs. Savor every day.”
And his father did. Even his time in jail. He never looked back, never second-guessed. He’d come to his crossroad, made a decision and walked proudly to the end of the road.
But Ryan’s father never considered other’s feelings in his calculations. As far as Joseph Magee was concerned, the world revolved around him; he was the star of the show and everyone else was an extra.
It must have been nice to be that emotionally isolated, Ryan thought. It may have been wrong by a lot of people’s standards, but it gave his father comfort every day. Right or wrong, his father knew who he was.
And up until this moment, Ryan thought he had a pretty good idea who Ryan Magee was. He tried to be fair, honest, hard working, not too judgmental (tough when you’re a cop) and a fair arbiter of right and wrong.
But Ryan suddenly realized that a man can’t really define himself until every tenet he thought he believed in is pushed to the limit. Ryan never thought of himself as greedy, but he suddenly understood the value of committing fraud to collect thirty-four million dollars. The hopes and dreams of so many people depended on him taking that Lotto money, and as Anne said, if you don’t take it, no one gets it.
Ryan never thought of himself as naïve, but Anne had manipulated him with ease.
Ryan cherished his integrity, yet he’d slept with Anne, betraying Syd.
Ryan’s carefully constructed self-image had disintegrated under pressure, and he had to accept the fact that life is not black or white. We’re often forced to live in the gray area and our ability to navigate those waters is what really defines you. And so far, he wasn’t doing too well.
Ryan looked in the mirror and straightened his tie. But all that was prologue, Ryan decided. All that mattered now was what he did today.
But he still needed a little help from his friends.
FIFTY-ONE
Lucinda McCarthy, vice-president of the California Lottery, was thrilled. “Just look at all the media,” she said to Anne. “I haven’t seen this much excitement since Raul Hernandez won fifty-four million dollars in 1985.” They were standing in the middle of the Studio City Holiday Inn ballroom as news crews from CBS, NBC, ABC, FOX, Channel 5, Channel 9, CNN and even Univision set up around them. There were also a growing number of well-wishers; uniformed cops, detectives, friends Ryan had made over the years. “Of course, that was only the Lotto’s second year,” Lucinda went on. “And it was our biggest jackpot to date so simply everybody was clamoring for an interview. These days we have to give away handfuls of Scratchers just to get the local channels to show up.”