The Stranger by Mark Ayre (books you need to read TXT) 📗

Bobby was almost afraid to ask the next question. Forced himself to proceed. "Leona's gone too?"

Abbie jerked a thumb back to the hospital.

"Our cheating liar, the one I mentioned earlier, knocked Leona up. Our uncle killer then accidentally put a bullet in her hip. Both she and baby will be okay, but the police are after her for another teen's murder. Leona'll fear going to jail and losing the kid. If she can, she'll flee town ASAP. Hence, I think your debt is gone. But you still haven't answered my question."

They stood side by side in the cold, Bobby processing Abbie's Francis implication. Trying to decide whether to push it further. Eventually, he let it slide.

"I've never rescued a stray dog or saved a kid from a burning building. Don't give much to charity. But I like to think I'm a good person."

"Can you convince me?"

"No," he said without hesitation. "I can offer you only my word."

"Good," said Abbie. "I'd be deeply suspicious of someone who said they could prove they were good on the spot."

From between her feet, Abbie grabbed the bag of money and dumped it into Bobby's hands. He stared at the canvas but made no move to unzip the top.

"I'd like to hire you to do some good deeds."

"Good deeds?" said Bobby. Bemused. A little worried. "What's in the bag?"

Abbie tapped it. "Not padlocked, is it? Why don't you look?"

Bobby moved his hand to the zip. Hesitated. Took a breath and forced himself to peek. When he saw the rolls of cash, he took another deep breath. Abbie thought he might faint.

"How much here?"

"Eighty grand."

Bobby let out a low whistle. Fainting was not yet out of the question.

"And this money belonged to—"

"The money belongs to me," said Abbie. Finders keepers, losers weepers. "I want to give a chunk of it to you. In return, these good deeds I mentioned."

"And they are?"

"Details are in the top of the bag, on that pad of paper," she pointed. "In short, I'd like you to offer to clear a drug addict's debts and try convince her to enter a rehab program; send a small recurring payment into prison for a boy named Michael; and keep an eye on a new mum named Jessica Dean, who's going to need plenty of support. You do all that; the rest of the money is yours. Use it to rebuild your life, give it to charity, or burn it. Whatever you want. I need only believe you'll carry out the tasks on here."

She tapped the pad Bobby had removed from the bag. On it, Abbie had written several pages of detail and specific instructions to ensure Bobby, if he wanted to help, couldn't go wrong.

Bobby stared at the list for a long time. After a while, Abbie removed her hands from the railing and rubbed her arms.

"Alright, it's bloody cold out here; why don't you just give me an answer so I can go?"

Bobby looked from the list to Abbie as though he had forgotten she was there. After a second of adjusting to her presence, he nodded.

"I'll do it. Of course I'll do it. Thank you."

"Great," said Abbie, and suddenly a hateful wave of awkwardness washed over her, and she could do no more than pat Bobby on the arm. "Nice knowing you."

She stepped past him. Walked towards the steps Bobby had come up.

As she went, he said, "It's been amazing knowing you. And I think you're an incredible person."

A couple of paces from the steps, Abbie stopped. There were tears in her eyes again. How pathetic was that?"

"Only a fool could mistake me for incredible."

"Then call me a fool because from what I can see, you've freed this town from the clutches of a monster and, rather than taking eighty grand as payment for the job, you're dishing it out amongst those you feel need it. You don't think that's pretty amazing?"

Still facing away from Bobby, Abbie dried her eyes. She took a deep breath to give herself the strength to walk away, then spun on her heel and returned to Bobby. From his hand, she took the pad, ripping free a sheet of paper, and from her pocket, she took her phone. With a pen from her drawstring bag, Abbie referenced her phone and began to write on the sheet of paper.

"What are you doing?" asked Bobby.

Abbie finished writing, put the pen away, and turned the paper to allow Bobby to see what she had written.

"That's my phone number," he said.

"Nothing gets past you."

"But... why?"

Folding the sheet, Abbie slid it into her pocket. Her phone, she showed to Bobby.

"After I leave town, I'll destroy this phone," she said. "Tomorrow, someone will send me another. New handset, new sim, new number. Any contacts I've accrued over these last couple of days will be gone." She patted her pocket, where she had slid his number. "This won't be."

"You're going to call me?" he asked. Was that hope she heard in his voice?

"Don't know," said Abbie. "I might text. I'll understand if you don't reply. Given what I said about Francis."

"I thought you didn't keep contact with anyone from the towns you left behind?"

"I didn't."

The wind whipped across them, making Abbie shiver. As she went to cover her arms, Bobby did it for her. Leaning in, he kissed her. When he pulled away, he was smiling.

"I'll reply," he said.

Abbie nodded. When standing face to face with a deadly man she was expected to kill, she never blinked, never faltered. Standing opposite Bobby, who posed no threat other than to the wall she had constructed around her heart, she didn't know what to say.

Bobby helped her out.

"Go on then," he said. "Go be someone else's hero."

Abbie smiled. Nodded. Touched his arm then walked towards the steps. As she went, Bobby called after her.

"Just don't forget to text."

Abbie said nothing in response. She waved her hand, smiled, and returned to her car.

Engine running,