by Paul Heatley
“What you think of that?”
“What d’you mean?”
“You spent a lot of time with Anthony, and now he’s responsible for your brother being dead.”
“Well, I’m thinking if we get hold of one of his buddies who’s come to town, then we can make them talk, find out where it is he’s gotten himself to.”
“That ain’t a bad idea.”
“Yeah, well, that happens, you know where to find me. Be sure to send me an invite. I’ll be straight over.”
“Mm.” Harry taps his fingers on the arm of the sofa he sits on. “Why don’t you go get the takings for the week? I might as well take them now, seen as how I’m already here.”
“Sure,” Steve says. He gets to his feet, leaves the room.
Harry glances around, like there’s going to be some clue left out in the open that will answer all his questions. but if Steve knows who’s responsible, he’s doing a good job hiding it.
Steve returns with the cash, hands it over. While Harry is counting it, Steve says, “Listen, I wanna make a request.”
Harry doesn’t respond until he’s finished counting. He pockets the money, says, “Shoot.”
“With Peter dead, with his killers still out there, I wanna step up.”
“How so?”
“On the council. I wanna take his place. It’s what Peter would’ve wanted. He would’ve wanted me to be more proactive, to take his place, to know he left his seat in good hands.”
Harry is surprised by this request. It wasn’t what he expected. Steve has never shown any interest in going beyond his position. “That ain’t up to me,” he eventually manages to say. “I’ll have to run it by the rest of the council. It’ll be put to a vote.”
Steve nods along.
“But once we reach a decision, I’ll let you know.”
“Okay. Great. Thanks. Like I say, it’s what Peter would’ve wanted, and right now all I can do is try to honor his memory and find whoever it is who’s responsible for killing him.”
Harry leaves, goes back to his car, still thrown.
It feels off. It all feels off. It doesn’t sit right with him. Steve’s mourning feels fake, forced, as does his sudden ambition.
Harry doesn’t leave straight away. Puts the keys in the ignition but doesn’t move, just sits in his car, mulling over the conversation they have just had, how Steve was acting. He glances up at the house one more time as he goes to start the engine. He sees a curtain twitch, drawn back into place.
Steve was watching him.
37
Carly is in her apartment. In the kitchen. She makes coffee, though she knows she shouldn’t have another mug. She’s already on edge. Her hands are shaking. It’s a nervous time. She chews her lip.
Her phone rings, and she almost drops what she’s holding. She puts the filter down. It leans to the side, and some of the grains spill out over her counter. She glances at the screen. It’s an unlisted number. There are two people it could be. One of them is Eric. She doesn’t think it’s going to be Eric, not so soon after seeing him.
The first thing the voice says is, “How was your trip?” It sounds smug, condescending, as if it knows exactly how her trip was, exactly what Eric said to her.
“It was fine,” she says, matching the tone. “Thanks for asking. I appreciate your concern.”
There’s a chuckle, then, “I understand you have a new assignment.”
“Yes. Soon.”
“What about the current one?”
He’s referring to Ben. “What about him?”
“What do you think? I’m not interested in his thoughts and feelings, his deepest desires. I want to know how it’s going.”
“Not great. He’s secretive. I’m spending as much time with him as I can, but I’m not getting anything. It’s turning into a waste of time.”
“It’s not a waste. It keeps him distracted.”
“Eric tells me I’m too distracting. In the wrong way.”
The voice chuckles again.
“I think Ben’s running his own private investigation again,” she says, refusing to be patronized in such a manner, determined to have something to show for her efforts.
“How so?”
“I’ve seen him make some private phone calls – not just at home, at the office, too. He leaves the building a lot, goes to his car. Always looks around, makes sure no one’s near.”
“Being furtive is in the job description, Agent Hogan.”
“You know exactly what I mean, so don’t try to piss me off. This is more than that. He’s always distracted.”
“He has a lot on his plate.”
“I get the impression, like last time, that he’s not being totally honest with what he’s doing. He’s going off the books again. I was right the last time around. I don’t see any reason why I should be dismissed now.”
“Have you considered the possibility he’s maybe talking to another woman?”
She can hear the mockery in the voice’s tone. She doesn’t appreciate the quip. “I don’t care if that’s what he’s doing. The only reason I’ve gotten close to him is because that’s what you and Eric told me to do. I’m doing it because it’s my job, and nothing else. You don’t sound like you care he’s potentially running another operation off the books.”
“Of course I care, and of course he is. Tell me something I don’t know. In fact, you know what I don’t know? Who it is he’s got working for him, and how many there are. Tell me that. That’s something that would interest me, interest all of us. Did you hear what happened in Harrow?”
“Of course I did.”
“And I’m sure you suspect he has a hand in it.”
“I’d be a fool not to.”
“Have you mentioned it to him?”
“I’d be a fool to do that, too. We’re not supposed to know about Harrow, remember?”
“We can’t just let him send operatives to run around unchecked in Harrow, Carly. Not now.”
“I understand that, but I don’t know what you expect me to do, damn it. Listen to me, he’s paranoid, he doesn’t trust anyone in the department, and I think his trust in me is starting to slip, too. With this new unofficial investigation he’s running, he could find out about me.”
The voice is silent for a moment.
“You hear me?”
“If that happens, Carly, then you know what to do. We can’t let him ruin this. We’re too close.”
She sighs. “Are we done here?”
“For now. I’ll check in again soon.”
“I can hardly wait.” Carly hangs up the phone. Her hands are shaking worse now. She finishes making the coffee. She knows drinking so many cups of it isn’t good for her, but it’s the only thing that calms her down.
38
Tom goes to the reception to meet Beth when she finishes her shift. They stroll back to his car; then she directs him to the diner. They take a booth in the back, away from the windows, and Tom wonders if it’s so she avoids being seen with him. By Harry, or someone who would report back to Harry. They order their food – a burger and fries for him, a tuna melt for her – and while they wait, Tom leads the conversation into questions about the town, just a curious tourist passing through.
“So, I heard something about the bar that burned down,” he says.
Beth sips on her soda. “Oh yeah? You sure hear a lot, don’t you?” She winks at him.
“I like to talk to people. It comes with the job.”
“What is it you do? I don’t think you’ve said.”
“You haven’t asked. I’m a salesman.”
“A travelling salesman, huh? You go door to door?”
He laughs. “No, no, nothing so archaic. I sell to businesses. Office supplies, mostly. Paper, pens, all that basic kind of stuff.”
“You don’t look like the idea I have in my head of a travelling salesman.”
“No? What should I look like?”
“Well, I mean, you’re just
more in shape than I would’ve guessed. I’d expect someone who travels so much to be overweight from eating junk from fast-food restaurants.”
“I work out in my room.”
“That’s commendable. But also, don’t take this the wrong way, but with the shaved head and the stubble, you don’t look like you’re making an effort to impress anyone.”
“I scrub up well. When I have to.”
“I’m sure. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think you look really –” she cringes, backing herself up into a corner “– nice.” She looks like she wants to kick herself.
“Nice, huh? Well, thank you; I appreciate that. You look very nice yourself.”
“Anyway,” Beth says, eager to move the conversation along, “you like it? Sales, I mean.”
“It’s all right. It gets me out. I see the country. And I get to meet a lot of interesting new people.” He smiles at her, like he’s talking about her and only her.
She smiles back, then realizes something. “Oh, we were talking about something else, weren’t we? You said you’d heard something about the bar that burned down?”
“Yeah. Kinda troubling, I’ve gotta admit.”
“Oh?”
“I heard it was a Nazi bar?”
Beth sucks air through her teeth, stretches her arms out in front of her. “Well, I ain’t gonna sugarcoat it. That’s exactly what it was.”
While she talks, Tom checks the few tattoos he can see on her. Checks for Nazi imagery, symbols. He doesn’t spot any. There’s a small bird, a swallow, on the inside of her left wrist. A black rose on her upper right arm, poking out under her sleeve.
He goes on: “And people were …” He leans closer, glances around, acting conspiratorial, like he’s being careful not to upset anyone nearby who might overhear. “People were okay with that? It didn’t bother them?”
“Honestly, there’s people I went to school with have grown up and joined Nazi cells, or run off with white militias. Y’know, like living on those communes out in the woods, that sort of thing. Doomsday preppers, that kind of shit.”
“I don’t think all those kinds of communities are solely for whites.” He knows for a fact they’re not. The one his father lives in, for instance.
“Yeah, but the ones I’m talking about are.”
“You still in touch with any of those people?” He thinks about Harry. Seeing her going in and out of his house.
“Yeah, sure, I see them around. It’s hard not to. Harrow’s a big town, but it ain’t that big.”
Their conversation takes a pause as their food is brought over. After the waitress leaves, Tom says, “I’ve seen a lot of black people around, though. Seen some Latinos, too.” He thinks of Alejandra. “It’s not like they’re being chased off, right?”
“Not exactly, but they know where they’re not supposed to go.” She sticks her fork in the melt, raises some to her mouth. “How come you’re so interested, anyway?”
Tom shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Guess I’ve just never been to a place like this before where people knew there was a Nazi group, that’s all. I’m just wondering what it’s like.”
He leaves it at that for the moment, starts eating his burger.
“How much longer you in town for?” Beth says.
“I’m not sure yet,” Tom says. “Just until I get a call from head office and they tell me to move on, and to where.”
“That how it works?”
He has no idea how it works, but he’s guessing neither does Beth. “Sometimes,” he says. “In this instance, yes. Sometimes I’m waiting around for them to call me for up to two weeks. I don’t mind so much, though. It gives me some time to myself, to come to diners and eat with pretty ladies.”
“You pick up that charm on the road?”
“No, it comes naturally.”
“I guess some cynical people would say it’s part of the job.”
“They can say that, but for me, it just helps me in what I do. I’ve always been this way. I find someone interesting, I talk to them. I see a pretty face, I tell them so. I find someone who’s a combination of both, well, that’s someone I wanna get to know.”
Beth chews, grins. She shakes her head at him.
“You got a boyfriend, Beth?”
She doesn’t answer straight away. Thinks about what she’s going to say. “I wouldn’t exactly call him a boyfriend,” she says. She hesitates, and Tom picks up on this, feels like there’s more to the story than she’s willing to tell. “It’s one of those things where it’s easier to just spend some time together rather than trying to find someone new in a town with such minimal prospects. We’ve known each other a long, long time – most of our lives, in fact – but to be honest, by now we don’t have all that much in common anymore.”
“How come?”
“He runs with a crowd that I don’t want any part of.”
Tom raises his eyebrows. “Nazis?” he says, almost a whisper.
Beth looks like she doesn’t want to affirm, but she finally nods. “Try not to hold that against me. Like I said, some of the people I grew up with in this town, that’s what they’re like now. I know how that makes us sound, but it ain’t like that. Harrow ain’t all bad. It just takes a few rotten apples to spoil the barrel, right? And some of those apples, I still talk to them, y’know? It’s hard not to. Like with – with him. I’ve known him forever. Since … before.”
“Do they do bad things?”
“I … I don’t know. I don’t ask. I don’t want to know.”
“What’s he do for a living?”
“He’s … he’s out of work right now.”
Tom figures this is a polite way of saying that however Harry makes his money, it ain’t legal, and she’s not going to ask him about it.
He believes her when she says she doesn’t ask because she doesn’t want to know. She may be aware of his affiliations, what he does, what he believes, but that is not her life. She’s not one of them. Unlike Linda, Michael’s wife, who Tom is fairly certain knows everything going on with her husband, and more than likely is an active participant in parts of it.
“You wanna talk about something else?” Beth says.
“Sure,” Tom says, his tone still light, sprightly, his smile still warm, making it look like this hasn’t put him off her, like he’s still interested. “Of course. Tell you what, so far I’ve been leading the conversation, asking all the questions. Why don’t we talk about something you wanna talk about.”
“Sure. Great. That sounds good.” She swallows some melt. “Where do you come from? Tell me about that. Tell me about your hometown, seeing as how you’ve already got a good look at mine.”
Tom takes a bite of his burger and prepares to tell her the lies he already has invented for just such a question.
39
Harry is at home, pacing the floors, bored. He’s tried calling Beth, but there was no answer. She hasn’t called him back, either. He’s getting annoyed. She always answers. When she misses his calls, she always calls him back soon after. She knows better than to ignore him. It’s longer now than she usually takes.
He’s getting suspicious now. It’s in his nature. He tries calling her one more time, still gets nothing. He takes a seat, though he can’t settle. Gives her a chance to phone him back. When she doesn’t respond in an acceptable amount of time, he snatches the phone up, puts it in his pocket, leaves the house. He drives over to her place to see if she’s there.
As he arrives, Beth is just getting back. She gets out of her car, is on her way up to the front door. Harry cuts across the grass to intercept her. “Where the hell have you been?” he says, taking her roughly by the elbow. “Your shift ended hours ago.”
Beth snatches her arm back from him. “Jesus Christ, Harry, that hurt.” She glares at him. “And so what? I got something to eat. That’s none of your business.”
Harry doesn’t care for the way she looks at him, nor for her belligerent tone. “I tried calling you.”
“Where were you?” Harry says. “Who were you with?”
She doesn’t answer him. She unlocks her front door, steps inside. Harry follows after her, pushing his way in. “I don’t have to come to your place every night,” Beth says. “We were clear on that. That was the agreement we reached. Remember?”
“I remember,” Harry says. “Every other night. But I was bored and lonely, and I wanted to call you. You forget that Peter has just fucking died? I wanted to talk to you.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to come storming over here, demanding to know where I’ve been. This isn’t your night. It’s mine. You know it’s mine.”
“Damn it, Beth!” He’s getting annoyed. Getting that feeling in his hands, that itch, like he wants to grab her or hit her, to make her shut up and just listen.
She flinches at his rising volume. He’s glad to see it.
“If I call you, I expect a damn response,” he says. “Where were you?”
“I already told you, I went for something to eat.”
“Where?”
“I was at the diner. It’s no big deal.”
“With who?”
“No one. I was alone.”
He looks at her, feeling the same way he did when he spoke to Steve. “You sure about that?”
“Of course I’m sure. Who else would I be with? No one wants to be near me because of you. All my friends, they all stay away. They’re all scared of you.”
“If I find out you were with someone, and you ain’t admitting to it right now –”
“I was alone!”
“Hmm.” He won’t tell her he believes her, because he doesn’t, but he leaves it at that.
“Are we done here?” Beth says. “Are you satisfied? Will you leave now?”
“I told you, I want to see you.”
“Then you’ll have to wait until tomorrow, when it’s your night.”
“I don’t want to wait.”