One Year Later . . . 

Dantley headed North towards Reading with Amy riding shotgun as he set his Volvo to cruise. It was the very same midnight blue edition from the Clintonian Era.  Because while he had been living life at the high roller table ever since cashing in on his Ernie Barnes original and selling the house, the truth was, money didn’t really roust his rooster. So while he splurged on a Le Creuset cast iron skillet and a bottle of Fortaleza Blanco, everything else went to his kids Sam and Tyler. He set up college savings plans and a couple high-yield savings accounts as well as some municipal bonds.

Marie took the kids with her to Ellicott City when she married Grant. It was an hour and a half away, and Dantley got them for half the summers and every other holiday. He wasn’t complaining because they loved their stepdad and Grant, as it turned out, was a mensch. The fact that he always had free tickets to Orioles and Ravens games was simply bonus round.

As for Amy and Dantley, they were officially unofficial, and they planned on keeping it that way. After Monica and Dantley decided to keep their relationship professional and Amy decided a jailhouse romance with Nick felt too much like a Lifetime movie of the week, a situationship bloomed. Open, honest, probably not forever.

They were off to Sleepy Hollow, New York for the weekend thanks to their newfound love of ghost stories. It would be a beautiful couple days worth of hiking, kayaking, tavern hopping and late night moon walks. They could pretend to be married, or divorced, or on the lam. Just for fun, they decided to be all three this weekend.

“So you’re not going to marry the serial killer after all,” Dantley smirked.

“Oh stop it. You like Nick!”

“I do, very much so. I’m simply referring to him by the definition Merriam Webster provided me with. Ya kill two or more people, you’re a serial killer,”

“Okay that’s fine, but by that definition, you also dodged a serial killer when you and Monica stopped charging room service to taxpayers,”

“There’s no proof she murdered her husband,”

“Husbands, plural. So let’s look at the box-score Vin Scully . . ”

“Nice baseball reference girl!” Dantley said.

“Thank you,”

“She murdered the first husband Vincent. You, me, Nick, Riggs and every true-crime blogger knows this. The second husband Maury just up and disappeared one day after spending just about his entire life in the same little town and she can only be convicted on a podcast since no evidence was ever found to link her to either murder,”

“Well I do know one thing,” Dantley said.

“What’s that?”

“They were under the mistaken impression they could use her like a punching bag, so I’m not losing any sleep over their whereabouts,”

“You sir, are not wrong . .” Amy agreed.

“Granted, her methods might be considered a tad extreme to some people. But some people never walked in her shoes so there’s that,”

“What was it about you?”

“I had no motives or agendas. I didn’t want anything from her and she knew it. And in our brief time together, I met the young woman she never got to be. And you know what? If they hauled my ass in tomorrow and threatened me with jail time unless I flipped? I’d be bunking with Nick,”

“You’re a good man,” Amy said, placing her hand on his.

“So we’ve both slept with serial killers. Do you think there’s a support group out there for us?”

“We are the support group, handsome . .”

“You know the worst part about dating a serial killer is that you don’t know they’re a serial killer until after the fact. I mean . . I dunno . . it might’ve been even hotter . .”

“Speak for yourself. Personally, I think the conjugal visit is the way to go,”

“That good huh?”

“I’d leave a positive review with the correctional facility if I could,”

“I love that for you,”

“Umm . . not to question your navigational prowess, but this isn’t our exit handsome,”

“Just a slight detour . . promise,” Dantley winked as he pushed into second gear through the winding hills of West Reading until he was parked in front of a big blue house. He got out and Amy joined him.

“Why are we standing here?”

“The blue house you and the boys used to drive by after picking them up from school? You would dream about buying it, remember?”

“Yeah . . . so?”

“It’s yours,”

“What are you talking about?”

“I bought it. I mean, it’s not yours yet but it will be yours, free and clear . .”

“Dantley, what are you talking about?”

“It’s yours Amy,”

“If this is a joke . .”

“No joking,”

“Dantley . . . Dantley . . I . . what is happening right now?” Amy said as tears welled up and her knees went sideways as Dantley held to her.

“I know you’re feeling it because you never call me Dantley,” He smiled.

“Why? Why did you do this?”

“Because I was busy doubting everything and then a very wise woman told me something that stuck with me,”

“What was that?” Amy said as she brushed the tears away to make room for new ones.

“Cynicism is a copout,”

“You . . are the fucking worst you know that?”

“I love you too girl,”

Oh . . that little black bag? And that favor Monica asked of Dantley over French Toast and coffee! I didn’t forget, nope. How do you think our man Dantley was able to afford Amy’s new crib, after all?

With two black bags left in the free world, both containing the exact same dollar amounts, the woman had to divvy. She had been funneling seed money to Nick for his burgeoning media empire. He ran a podcast and a blog and even received a mention from Oprah.

Monica’s bag . . .her talisman . . Yeah, it was time to let go of that burning house for once and for all.

Two million dollars got cleaned. And in the doing, Jess got a healthy college fund and her mom got a cute little house in town. Josh and Emie didn’t really need anything so they got two weeks in Disney because yes, they are those people. Lisa got an advance on her book and Trudy? She got a boat, which she named, appropriately enough, Wavy Gravy.

The rest of the money went to various charities and organizations near and dear to Monica Green. She wasn’t asking the universe for a free pass. She was too busy searching for better outcomes to worry about that. It had taken her a lifetime, but she’d learned a valuable lesson about the best laid plans. Sometimes you make them, and sometimes? If you’re really lucky, they make you.

Somewhere in the Atlantic, but not too deep . . .

“How long will it take us to get to Key West Trudy?” Lisa asked.

“A day? . . . Six weeks? I’m not sure,”

“But you’ve done this before right?”

“Sailed yeah. To Key West? Never. But I mean, how hard can it be? And I’m sure if we get stuck, there’s gotta be a YouTube video that’ll fix it,”

“How did Dantley talk me into this shit?!” Lisa screamed.

“Oh relax, I’m fucking with you, God you’re so easy . .”

“Listen, I took a vow of celibacy until I finish this book. All I have in my life right now is porn, alcohol and regret and I plan on hitting all three of those bitches really hard, okay?”

“I’m gonna have to ask that you refrain from any porn while on board, sorry about that. Alcohol however . . . that I got. Liquor down below, and wine too,”

“And that’s another thing. What’s with these wine boxes?” Lisa asked.

“You never had boxed wine?”

“I didn’t even know Home Depot sold wine!”

“My God you’re serious,” Trudy smirked.

“Is it any good?”

“Oh yes, and it gets better with each new dip,” Trudy said as she poured each of them a glass.

“Sold,”

“So tell me about this book you’re writing about Janis Joplin,”

“Oh yeah no, I scrapped that idea. The original idea was Joplin and Morrison on a sailboat but I figured my audience wouldn’t have the slightest clue who they were,”

“That’s a depressing thought,”

“So I decided to go with an escaped convict and the prosecutor who put her away. The plot twist is that they had been lovers at one time, so yanno . . emotional complexities up the wazoo with this one . . .”

“Well, does it have a happy ending at least?” Trudy asked as she sipped.

“Everybody dies,”

“I think we’re gonna need a bigger wine box,”

Long Way Home- Supertramp 

 

The two-car garage that served as a storage shed located on the west side of the farmhouse was dying slowly, one freckled piece of fire and smoke at a time. A lit cigarette and a gas can was all it took to provide the tenants on Euclid Drive with an impromptu popcorn outing. Dantley fixed up his posse- Josh, Emie, Jess and her special friend Alanna- with a couple buckets of the salty treat as they sat on blankets and watched heat, fuel and oxygen provide a free concert on a lazy Saturday evening.

“This is better than streaming,” Josh observed as the cinders snapped, crackled and popped for a rapt audience.

“You need a hobby,” Emie smiled.

“Sex doesn’t count?”

“Fucking kids,” Detective Riggs spit as he joined the gang while the fire department soaked up the flames. “A couple little assholes from down the block decided to sneak a smoke in the garage . . they didn’t kill the ash and well . .”

“Who sneaks smokes in the garage anymore, I mean seriously?” Dantley observed.

“Thankfully the space was pretty much empty save for a couple boxes and a painting,” Riggs claimed.

“Oh shit! The Dunk!”

“Say what?” Riggs asked.

“That’s what it’s called. It’s a print by the artist Ernie Barnes . .” Dantley began.

“The cat who did all that funky art for the show Good Times?”

“Yeah, I was selling it to Monica for a benefit auction she’ll be hosting,”

One of the firemen delivered the canvas wrapped work to Riggs, who began to unwrap it. Unbelievably, neither the canvas wrap nor the print had sustained any damage, at all.

“Everything in that garage? Blacker than yours truly . . but this canvas and the print? It’s as if they was watching the fire from these damn blankets you got laid out here, I ain’t ever seen anything like it . . .” Riggs said, shaking his head in amazement.

“How?”

“It was Alice, Theodore and Mildred!” Jess squealed.

“Wait, there were other kids besides those two knuckleheads?” Riggs asked, his ears perking up enough to show his hand. He was going to miss cop life, more than a little.

“Chill, Mr. Retirement. She’s talking about the dead people we tried to dial up on our séance nights,” Dantley chimed in.

“Huh?”

“Jess sees dead people,” Josh added.

“Okay then please explain how your print looks as if you just pulled it off the wall upstairs,” Jess challenged the men.

“I don’t know . .” Dantley replied sheepishly.

While the gang contemplated the possibility of a paranormal intervention, Monica crashed the party now. She went right for the artwork, inspecting it as Riggs and the firemen watched her from a safe distance. Dantley marveled at how she could silence grown men so easily.

“Dantley left it in the garage for you to pick up. In case he wasn’t home when you came by . .” Jess smiled, diming out her part-time pal.

“Thanks kid,”

“What? You left this in there?” Monica said, gesturing at the bonfire.

“I scored another painting and I didn’t have the space for this one upstairs. But hey . . it’s like it never even happened! Amazing, right?” Dantley said as Monica simply shook her head.

Kyra’s car pulled up along the side of the road and she made her way over to the fire party as Dantley closed his eyes tight in the hopes she was simply a mirage. And then she spoke.

“Dantley, were you sneaking smokes in the garage?” She asked.

“Oh shit, you caught me. Riggs, take me in. For the love of God?” Dantley said as he held his cuff-ready hands out in a mock gesture of desperation.

“I’ll let you handle this on your own, my boy . .” Riggs smiled as he wished the gang a good night.

“I missed the part where you were invited to this party,” Monica glared, turning her attention away from the matter at hand for now.

“Excuse me?” Kyra replied.

“Were you invited?”

“I just got back into town,”

“Let me guess, you’re fresh off a bad breakup,” Monica said.

“How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess,”

“Well I was just passing by and . .” Kyra stuttered, suddenly at a loss for words.

“It’s funny but you’re always passing by. Uninvited. And so now? You can leave,” Monica said in a straight razor voice.

“Umm . . okay?”

“That means now,” Monica said as Kyra rose from the blanket. “Oh . . and you owe my man Dantley a bottle of tequila, which you can leave on his doorstep. Thanks and buh bye . .”

“I’m voting for you next time,” Josh told Monica as Kyra slinked away into the night.

“Next time huh?” Monica smiled.

“Well, I’ve been playing the conscientious objector in the past few elections, truth be told,” Josh blushed.

“It’s alright. Want me to let you guys in on a little secret? The first time I ever voted in any election at all? I voted for myself,” Monica confessed.

“That is gangster shit right there. You have two votes now,” Emie said.

“And how about you two cuties?” Monica asked Jess and Alanna.

“We’re too young to vote,” Jess frowned.

“Forget voting. I’m talking a full fledged dance party with your names on the marquee. Dantley told me about how that asshole principal at Alanna’s school wouldn’t let you two attend Junior Prom together . . so I started making phone calls and . . how does the Trust Performance Arts Center sound?”

“No . . . WAY!” Jess and Alanna squealed in unison.

“Way. Next Saturday night . . save the date,”

“Oh Em GEEE. Monica, you are a superstar!” Jess said as she jumped into her arms with Alanna right behind her.

“Yeah well, you can thank Dantley too . .”

When the girls finished hugging it out with Monica, they moved to Dantley as he flashed his favorite politician a loving wink. Then they went running back to the house to tell mom.

“We have some business to attend to upstairs mister. Good night people,” Monica said as Dantley followed along.

“Yeah uh huh . . business,” Josh laughed.

“You’re a doll,” Monica told Josh as she climbed the stairs.

“You hear that? Our state representative thinks I’m a doll,”

“Uh no, dolls don’t have this much facial hair,” Emie countered.

“Teddy bears do,”

“For the last time, Teddy bears aren’t dolls Josh,”

“You’re wrong, you’re so wrong about this . . .”

Back upstairs, Monica and Dantley talked business.

“You might just be the luckiest sonofabitch I’ve ever met,” Monica said as she looked over the framed artwork.

“Don’t I know it,”

“And don’t take this the wrong way, but wrapping it in canvas? I mean, I get that you had it insured but still,”

“Why would I insure it?” Dantley asked.

“Umm, because that’s what people usually do when they have high-value original artwork?”

“Good one,”

“We’ll have to go to the bank first thing Monday morning to complete this transaction. You good with that?” Monica asked.

“Yeah right, the bank. Just take it. I think you’re good for a hundred and fifty bucks,” Dantley winked.

“What?”

“That’s what we agreed to. Right? A hundred and fifty dollars for the print?”

“Dantley. We agreed to a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. For an Ernie Barnes original,”

“What? No!’

“Yes! How do you not know this?!”

“What? No!”

“Don’t you remember when I took it to an appraiser?”

“Oh, you were serious about that?”

“You buy and sell vintage crap!”

“Not art!”

“Holy shit you didn’t know!” Monica laughed as she embraced him.

“It’s real?!”

“Oh it’s real baby. And to think . . I could have taken advantage of you,”

“You still can,” Dantley said as they kissed.

“Before we get to that, I have a favor to ask,” Monica said.

“What’s that?”

“Be right back,”

Monica peeked through the blinds to make sure Riggs was gone before going downstairs to her car that was parked around back. When she returned, Dantley was constructing Martinis in the kitchen.

“I just figured we owed ourselves a celebratory drink,” Dantley said as he toted a shaker and two glasses to the coffee table. Thankfully he had set them down before he saw what else resided on the very same coffee table now. The black bag.

“What in the blessed fuck is going on here,”

“That’s the one,” Monica confessed.

“But . . . it . . that . . the police . . it’s . . the Godamn thing is in the property room downtown Monica!”

“Yes, one of the black bags is in the property room. Just not this black bag,”

“I don’t understand,”

“After . . . Vincent, I got to working this thing into more and more. I turned one black bag containing two million dollars into three black bags containing two million dollars. It took a lot of money making, and a lot of years but I got there. So I made three black bags,”

“Why?”

“To throw off anyone looking for the thing,”

“Three bags huh? One for you and one for each of the boys,”

“Yes,”

“And the one found with David?”

“Was his,”

“How’d he get his hands on it?”

“I’m still trying to figure out how he found my hiding spot for it, but rest assured neither of the boys was ever going to find the original,”

“They didn’t know? That there were three of these?”

Monica shook her head. “They couldn’t. David would’ve burned through his in no time and so I couldn’t tell him,”

“Which meant you couldn’t tell either one of them,” Dantley finished as Monica fell into his arms.

“I was playing the long game, what with Riggs up my ass for all those years and David moving from one bad habit to the next. Now I wonder if I was wrong about all of this. Maybe if I had told them, David would still be here,”

“Don’t do that. Nick killed his brother because he was afraid David was going to turn on you once he ran out of second chances. Nick didn’t give a damn about the money but he was never going to let anything happen to you,”

“Well, this is the bag. The real one,”

“Can you do me a favor and hold off on asking me whatever you’re gonna ask me until breakfast?”

“Only if you’re making French toast,”

“Deal,”

Cam- Burning House