Envy the Night

16

__________

Frank tried calling the body shop as soon as he got back to the cabin, where a steady cell signal came through. Voice mail. A second try found the same result. He didn’t have a cell number for her, either, so the trip back to the cabin now seemed to be in vain.

He pulled the boat higher onto the beach and was halfway to the cabin when his phone rang again, an unfamiliar number on the display. He answered, heard Nora’s voice say his name, and was surprised by the strength of the relief he felt.

“Yeah, it’s me. I just tried calling you back at your shop.”

“I just left it,” she said. “Are you at your cabin?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m on my way. I’d like you to come into town, and of course you can’t do that because you have nothing to drive.”

“Something happen?”

“You suggested we leave my car where it is, not bring the police out there, because it might be better for me. Safer. Right?”

“Right.”

“Okay. Now, if I told you that the two from last night were going to be at Kleindorfer’s Tap Room at seven tonight, would you still say I should keep my distance? Or does your advice change at that point?”

“Tell me what happened,” was all he said.

_______

The story she told wasn’t a surprising one, not really, but even before they hung up he knew his response would be different from hers. He was unsettled by Nora’s obvious enthusiasm for bringing the police in. If her body man was honest about the situation, and there really was a meeting scheduled at this bar, yes, he could see the appeal of setting a trap. So would the men who’d set the meeting, though. It went back to what he’d already told her repeatedly: These guys were pros.

He didn’t blame them for recruiting her employee as an ally. That had the touch of professional work, too; why risk a strong-arm move when the tickle of a little cash in the palm accomplished the same thing?

They’d played it both ways, though, and that was what he didn’t understand. Why recruit the body man and attack Nora the same night? Why take a step to avoid a strong-arm move and then still make the strong-arm move?

Because they weren’t together.

No, they hadn’t been together. That was one of the concerns he’d pondered as Nora drove him to the cabin, one of the problems he couldn’t resolve to his own satisfaction. Why had the second man waited until after his buddy was in handcuffs to help? He’d waited because he wasn’t there yet. It hadn’t been a wait at all; he’d arrived at that moment and been forced into action. So that meant that the second guy was the smarter of the two, probably. He’d been at the bar trying to buy off Nora’s employee while his friend had been, what, stationed back at the shop to see if she moved the Lexus outside at closing? That made sense. Only the guy stationed at the shop hadn’t been patient enough. He’d gone into action, and his friend had to pull his ass out of the fire. Now their presence in town was anything but discreet.

Frank walked back to the cabin thinking about that final realization: These two guys, if there were only two, now understood that their situation in Tomahawk had changed. It was a small town, a town where gossip spread fast and strangers stood out, and now everyone would be talking about them, the police looking for them. It added an element of pressure. Would they wait patiently for a meeting with Nora’s employee? He knew his answer to that, and it wasn’t comforting.

He unlocked the cabin door and went inside, washed up, and changed into a clean shirt. Then he put the suitcase aside and pulled a metal case onto the bed, flipped the latches and opened the lid, and withdrew the two holstered and well-oiled handguns beneath.

His father’s guns: a 10 mm Smith & Wesson and a .45-caliber Glock. They should have been the day’s project. He’d thought about taking the boat out to the right spot, Muskie Point, maybe, or somewhere among the stumps of Slaughterhouse Bay, and feeding the guns to the lake. It would be a most heavy-handed gesture, yes, but it was one he still wanted to make. He wanted to hold his father’s violence in his hands, feel the heft of it, and then leave it behind in a place without regrets, a place of clean memories.

They wouldn’t be sinking today. He knew that as he recalled Nora’s voice on the phone, all that excitement because she thought this meeting represented the end of the problem. Frank knew it was anything but that. Jerry was just another loose end, and, sadly, another loose end connected to Nora.

He had the Smith & Wesson in its shoulder holster and concealed under a thin jacket by the time Nora arrived.

Spend enough time around firearms, and they’ll fail to inspire the same sense of terror that might catch a novice, even when the weapon in question is pointed at your heart. Jerry wasn’t thrilled to see it, no, but he wasn’t about to wet his pants or anything, either. Guns were guns. Only thing to worry about was the man who held it. And that man hadn’t shot him yet.

“You don’t look happy to see me, Mr. Dolson,” AJ said, sliding his thumb up and down the stock of the gun the way he’d handled the vodka glass the day before.

“I’m not. We had an agreement, and this ain’t part of it. Why don’t you go on down to Kleindorfer’s and wait for me, like we planned?”

“You were down here with the girl,” AJ said. “Your boss. She have anything to tell you?”

“Nope.”

“You’re a bad liar, Mr. Dolson.”

Jerry worked his tongue over his teeth and steeled his eyes against the other man’s empty gaze.

“And you’re a Grade A piece of shit, buddy. Coming in here and beating up a woman.”

“I didn’t lay hands on anyone.”

“Then your buddy did. Which makes you both Grade A pieces of shit, all right? Now you get the damn gun out of my face and get on your way.”

“We had an agreement.”

“I don’t make agreements with people who beat up women.”

“All the same, one was made. And I’m going to need that tracking device.”

“Don’t have it.”

“Who does?”

He started to say Nora’s name, then stopped. It was wrong both ways; first of all, it might send these assholes back after her, and, second, she didn’t even have it. Thing was still sitting in his locker, waiting to go to the police.

“Put that gun down,” Jerry said.

“That will make you comfortable? Maybe then we can talk this through, work something out?”

Jerry wasn’t about to talk anything through, and any chance of working something out had ended the minute he heard what happened to Nora. He didn’t like staring into that tiny muzzle, though, so he nodded.

“Maybe we can.”

AJ pistol-whipped him in the face. Jerry had time to lean backward maybe six inches and half-lift the wrench in his hand before the gun caught him just under his right eye and knocked him back into the Lexus. His ribs slammed against the grille, the wrench fell from his hands, and then he took another blow from the gun, this one across the back of his head, right near the top of his neck. It brought him down almost to his knees, hanging on to the car to keep from hitting the floor. All wasted effort, though; the third swing was harder than the first two, and it took all the resistance out of him, left him stretched on his back with one leg hooked over the creeper, looking at the corrugated metal ceiling that now bloomed with a dozen colors.

Jerry watched the colors dance and bit down on the tip of his tongue, trying to clear his head. It didn’t work. He bit harder and tasted blood but still the room reeled, and when he felt someone moving his hands he could make only the slightest resistance. A cord bit into the flesh of one wrist, then the other. AJ was tying his hands.

“Is the girl coming back?”

Jerry didn’t say anything. When he tried to pull his hands forward, he felt unyielding resistance. He was tied to something. Maybe the Lexus. He heard AJ walking away, blinked hard, strained to lift his head. The gun was out of sight now, but AJ was at Jerry’s toolbox, had the drawers open, was lifting a ten-pound maul out. No, no, no. Put that thing down. Please put that thing down.

“Is the girl coming back?” AJ repeated, his back to Jerry as he hefted the maul, took a practice swing.

“Yeah.” Jerry’s head was clearing fast now, and the pain was no longer a presence in his mind.

“How long till she does?”

“Maybe an hour.”

“She go to the cops?” AJ was standing over Jerry, the maul held down against his thigh.

How to answer that? Instinct said to tell him no, but why? If the guy thought cops were on the way, maybe he’d cut this short. Was that a good thing, though?

“Mr. Dolson? Jerry, buddy? You want to give me an answer.”

Split the difference, maybe. Tell him she was planning to go the cops, but hadn’t yet. Was that good?

“She went to pick up that kid. I think they’re . . . could be they’ll go to the cops. But that ain’t my fault. That’s your buddy’s, man. You hit a woman, then knock a cop around like that, you’ve got to expect—”

“What kid?”

“One who jacked up your friend last night.”

“Why’s he involved?”

The pain was coming back now, but so was his sense of guilt. He shouldn’t be giving this asshole so much information. Shouldn’t be rolling over like this.

“Don’t know.”

There was a whistle of metal through air as the maul came down, and Jerry had just enough time to tense before it caught him square in the hip. A hellfire shot of pain cut through his leg and into his stomach, filled his chest. He arched his back and hissed through clenched teeth.

“Want to answer that one again?” AJ said.

“He thinks he knows something about you.”

“About me? How does he know something about me?”

“I’m not sure, man.” He had his eyes squeezed shut against the pain but still sensed the maul being lifted again, yelled out, “I don’t know, okay? She didn’t say. Just told me that she needed to talk to him to decide what to tell the cops. The kid thinks he understands something more than the police, and he thinks he knows where your boy went, the one drove this car.”

“He knows where to find him?”

“I think so.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re a lying piece of shit. Where?” The maul was drawn back again, and as much as Jerry wanted to look strong, he couldn’t help but cower.

“She didn’t tell me.”

“But she knows.”

“Yes. Maybe. I mean, the kid says he knows.”

“And she went to get the kid. Where was she going to pick him up?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying again. Where did she go?”

AJ’s voice had intensified, and this time Jerry knew he had to shut up. Had to. If he told this asshole, the guy was going to leave immediately, chase after Nora. Jerry wasn’t about to do that to her. No chance.

“Where did she go?” AJ repeated.

“Tell you where you can go. Straight to—”

This time the maul was swung with far greater force, straight into Jerry’s thigh. He heard the bone snap a tenth of a second before he felt it, and this time he couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t have screamed if he wanted to. The pain slid into his brain like a fast-moving storm cloud and he faded beneath it. AJ’s voice was somewhere outside the cloud, questioning him, maybe the same question or maybe another; he no longer could translate the words of his own language.

“You’re going to die.”

He got that sentence, held it for a second, figured it out. Yes, the man was telling the truth. Jerry was going to die.

“One more chance, Mr. Dolson.”

So maybe he was not going to die? One more chance. That meant a chance to live, right? Had to. Jerry tried to look at his leg, expecting to see bone and blood. There was nothing of the sort. Just his jeans going down to a foot that he could no longer move. Could he? He tried and nothing happened. Or was he even trying? So hard to tell. So hard to know what to do.

There was something between his eyes and that immovable foot now, swinging in the air. What was it? Oh, shit, the maul. He remembered the maul. It was what had caused all of this. Thing shouldn’t even be in the body shop. It was for splitting wood, but he’d brought it down because it was heavier than the hammers and easier to use than a sledge, a good all-purpose pounder. He hadn’t considered this purpose.

“Where did she go?”

Where did she go. That question again. Asking about Nora. Don’t tell him. Remember that, Jerry. Don’t tell him. The pain’s going to come back soon, going to make you forget some things, but don’t forget this.

“You’ve got to start talking again,” AJ said. “Does she have the tracking device? I don’t think she does. You said it was in your locker yesterday. I bet you still have it. You wanted that money.”

AJ moved away and the pain moved back in. Jerry took in a long breath and choked on it. There was so much spit in his throat. Or was it blood? You wouldn’t bleed in your throat from a broken leg, would you? No. No, that didn’t seem to make sense. His leg was in two pieces. That didn’t make any sense, either.

“Thatta boy,” AJ said, and a locker slammed shut. What was he so happy about? Oh, right, the tracking device.

“You got it,” Jerry said. Tried to say, at least. The words were tough to form. AJ had the tracking device now, so he would leave, right? He would leave now, go away and let Jerry alone.

“Yes,” AJ said. “I got it. But that’s not the only thing I need. Where did he go, Jerry, old buddy? Where is the guy who goes with the car?”

Jerry didn’t know. Nora hadn’t told him. Maybe Nora didn’t know. He couldn’t remember anymore. Wait—AJ had the tracking device, and that meant Jerry had failed. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Not to give him the tracking device. No, the point was Nora. Not to tell him where Nora had gone. Where had Nora gone? The Willow, that was it. She’d gone after the kid at the Willow.

“What’s that?” AJ was standing above him now. “What are you saying?”

He’d been talking. No good. Don’t talk, Jerry. Keep your damn mouth shut, for once in your life.

“Willow?” AJ said. “Is that what you said? Keep going. Keep talking.”

Don’t keep talking. Don’t say a word. You almost made a mistake, a bad mistake. Don’t say anything, Jerry. Bite down on your tongue. Is that your tongue? Doesn’t matter. Bite it. Bite it and hold it and don’t say a word.

“Okay,” AJ said. “I think you’re running out of usefulness. Good news is, you’re not going to feel that leg anymore.”

The maul was gone, discarded in favor of a knife with a small blade. Good. Jerry didn’t know if he could take another swing from the maul. Snapped that bone, probably the thickest bone in his body, like it was a piece of rust. No, he couldn’t take another one like that. But the knife wasn’t good, either, was it? Not in AJ’s hand. He should ask AJ to stop. Just stop and go away. Jerry was hurt. Couldn’t he see that Jerry was hurt?