Out of the Dark

41 Customer Service

Terrance DeGraw lived in Chatsworth off a winding canyon road on an isolated patch of land that might’ve once passed for a ranch. Yellow weeds covered the earth, and one of the walls of the stable had rotted away, revealing the empty stalls. The house was falling apart, windows shattered, screen door rusting on its hinges.

Evan parked and crossed through the front gate, dead leaves crunching underfoot. He didn’t get halfway up the front walk before the door opened and two men came out.

Evan identified Terrance immediately from Trevon’s description. Raw One certainly earned his sobriquet. Skin stretched taut across high, hard cheekbones. Lips pulled thin in a permanent scowl. He wore a T-shirt with the sleeves torn off, showing bony shoulders, and when the breeze picked up the hem, his ribs came visible, ridging the pale white skin.

The man at his side was more filled out, hefty and jittery, with an Amish fringe of beard hanging off his jawline. He held what looked like a Colt .45, the barrel pointed at the ground beside him.

“Can we help you?” Terrance said.

Evan said, “I hope so.”

They met halfway up the walk, the closed gate hanging crookedly behind Evan, the house looming beyond in all its Texas Chainsaw glory.

Evan jerked a chin at the front door. “You the only two here?”

“Why would you ask a thing like that?” Terrance said.

“Trying to figure out how many of you I have to kill today.”

Terrance coughed out a note of disbelief. “You hear that, Darren? He wants to know how many of us he has to kill today.”

Darren lifted the Colt and aimed it at Evan’s chest, his wrist loose, the pistol lolling lazily to one side. “Just us two.”

Evan’s ARES remained in his Kydex high-guard hip holster. There’d be no need for it.

“Mind telling us who you are, friend?” Terrance said.

“I’m the guy who killed Bo Clague.”

“Bo’s not dead.”

“When’s the last time you talked to him?”

Terrance licked his cracked lips but didn’t say anything.

“Wanna give him a try?” Evan said. “I can lend you my phone.”

Darren bunched his mouth a few times, as if he were working tobacco.

Terrance squinted at Evan. “You the one who called the chief earlier? We got word to be on alert.”

“Is that why Darren’s here? Buddy system?” Evan shook his head. “It won’t help.”

Darren took a step forward, jabbing the .45 at Evan. “We should just do him here.”

Terrance held up a hand. “You heard the chief. He wants to talk to him.” He smiled. “The chief likes to take his time with folks. Give ’em his full attention.”

Darren said, “Doesn’t mean I won’t pistol-whip your ass into submission first.” The muzzle swung slightly right. “Or put a round through your shoulder.”

“Darren,” Evan said. “There are two of you and one of me. You have your pistol drawn, aimed at my critical mass from three feet away. We’re on secluded land far enough from the nearest neighbors that no one’ll hear a gunshot, and even if they do, they won’t think much of it. You’ve got the drop on me in every conceivable way. But I want you to look at me. Look into my eyes. And ask yourself: Do I look scared?”

“Yeah, actually. You do look—”

Evan’s hands blurred. He caught the barrel of the Colt in the thumb webbing of his right hand, shoving the pistol upward as his left hand chopped Darren’s elbow, forcing the arm to bend. The Colt .45 snapped vertical just as Darren tugged the trigger, the round blowing off his face.

Darren swayed on his feet, the pistol tumbling free, the front of his head little more than a bubbling sheet of red. He collapsed to his knees, clawing at himself, and then his weight tugged him forward and deposited him flat on his chest. He twitched on the weeds pushing through the cracked concrete of the walkway and then was still.

A moment of perfect silence followed, Terrance staring down at his friend, chin wobbling, mouth ajar as if trying to produce sound.

Evan stood calmly, as he had an instant before. The breeze was pleasant, scented of sage and rosemary.

Terrance gave a cry and lunged for the fallen Colt. Evan heel-hammered him, breaking the wrist.

Terrance rolled on the ground, gripping his hand, choking down howls.

Evan said, “Get up.”

Terrance obeyed and stood stooped, the Hunchback of Chatsworth. “The fuck, man. Who do you work for?”

“Trevon Gaines.”

“Oh, no. C’mon, man. That was just … that was just orders. What do you want?”

“I want to issue a complaint about Russell Gadds’s business practices. You’re customer service. I want to see the CEO. Right now.”

Terrance blinked the sweat off his eyelashes. “But he’s gone. Had to fly down to Lima and Paramaribo, straighten some shit out. I swear, man. I swear. But he’s back next week. Sunday night.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Evan said. “Tell me where.”

“Where what?” Terrance stared at the Colt on the ground by his feet, just out of reach.

“The place you took Trevon. The operation center.”

Terrance cradled his arm. “You’ll never get in there. Place is a fucking fortress. Especially after this clusterfuck with the … with the missing shipment. Competitors are smelling blood. Gadds has the office on high alert. It’s crawling with men. All of them tougher than you are.”

Evan shifted toward Terrance, and Terrance cowered, hugging his broken wrist.

Evan said, “I’ll take my chances.”

“Okay, man. Okay.”

“Where?”

Terrance gave him an address in the wholesale district downtown.

Evan crouched and picked up the Colt .45.

“C’mon, man. Please. I got … I got people.”

The gunshot lifted a murder of crows from the ancient oak tree by the porch.

Evan dropped the .45 next to the bodies and walked back to his pickup.

The canyon was a rare out-of-service spot for his RoamZone, so he waited to drive out of the canyon before turning it back on.

It showed twenty-three missed calls.

“I’m sorry I called you so much,” Trevon said.

Evan sat across from him at the small kitchen table, the clock between them counting down to Kiara’s arrival. Darkness turned the windows opaque, the night sounds of East L.A. filtering through, a man bellowing drunkenly, someone laying on the horn with gusto, Mexipop blaring from a radio.

Trevon continued to jerk in shallow breaths so rapidly that he seemed at risk of hyperventilating. A Band-Aid still secured his glasses at one temple.

Evan said, “That’s okay.”

“She gets home on the twenty-ninth.”

“Then we’ll have to solve the problem before then.”

“Can you?”

Evan said, “Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

Russell Gadds would get back from his trip to Paramaribo and Lima in one week, which gave Evan a four-day window to eliminate him and his operation before Kiara hit U.S. soil.

Cat-Cat rubbed up against Evan’s calf, and he leaned over to scratch him. The cat hissed, clawed his knuckles, and then scuttled away.

Charming.

Trevon didn’t seem to take note. “I have no Mama no more. No relatives. I’m a orphan now. All by myself.”

Evan stared at him.

“If they kill Kiara,” Trevon said, “I’ll be all alone in the world.”

“I won’t let that happen to you.”

Trevon’s chest shuddered with each inhalation. Evan rested a hand on his shoulder for a few minutes until his breathing slowed. “Will you stay just till I fall asleep?” Trevon finally said.

“Sure.”

Evan followed him to the bedroom, and Trevon climbed heavily into bed. He adjusted the stuffed frog beside him and lay in the darkness. “Will you turn the TV on, please, sir? It’s good to have a house full of voices.”

Evan clicked on the television and sat in the same spot on the floor, his back to the wall. It was quiet for a long time, just the Channel Five sports anchor running down scores and Mexipop pumping from up the block.

Trevon said sleepily, “We don’t cry and we don’t feel sorry for ourself.”

Evan wasn’t sure if Trevon was talking to himself or to Evan, so he said nothing. A few moments later, Trevon’s breathing grew regular and took on that familiar rasp.

As Evan rose to sneak out, a breaking-news update cut in on the television. “—confirmed that President Bennett will appear before the Committee on Oversight and Government Reform this Friday to respond to long-standing questions about improper relationships with defense contractors before he assumed office, one of a host of scandals that have plagued Bennett since he’s taken office. The press secretary stressed that this is a voluntary appearance, that Bennett is devoted to full transparency, and that he is eager to set the record straight.”

Evan paused in the doorway before easing out of the room. He had the sense that another stopwatch had begun, another clock counting down the days and minutes. But he felt excitement also, a quickening of the blood.

At last he had a time and place. A When and Where.

Now he just had to nail down the How.