by Jay Nadal
He got into the passenger seat.
“I’ll stop at the store. Get you some ice and cleaned up some. You can take Rosie on to the hospital.”
“Rosie?”
Charlie tapped the steering wheel proudly. “1978 Ford LTD Crown Victoria. The backbone of our nation’s police departments and a damn fine automobile. Rosie here is the most reliable car you ever saw. I want you taking care of her, y’hear?”
Cade laughed, too loud and long. He forced himself to stop when he realized.
“Don’t worry. I don’t intend to get into any car chases.”
“Not funny. Far as I can see since you came here, the shit has hit the fan. You said this was the Dexters? Was it aimed at you?”
“No. Some environmental campaigner causing a problem for NorEl.”
“You sure?”
“Damn sure, Charlie.”
“So what in the name of hell’s ass does that have to do with the Dexters? What is going on around here?”
Cade explained in curt sentences as though reciting the story to a newsroom editor, just the facts. Charlie’s head rolled from the road to Cade, and his mouth snapped open and shut like a drowning fish. When he had finished, Cade watched Burford roll by while Charlie sputtered and cussed his amazement. How long had he been here? He found that he had to concentrate to recall the days. Three. This was his third day. It felt like a month. Even waking up and finding Beth’s note felt like it had happened a week ago. He was dog tired. For the last few hours, he had been wired awake by the thrill of the chase. Now even that was surrendering to his body’s need for rest.
“Why don’t I just drop you at Beth and Brandon’s place? You look about ready to fall over.”
“No. I haven’t seen Brandon yet. I need to be at the hospital for Beth and Maddie.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No, Charlie.” Cade’s tone held firm.
“Bet you were one of those cops worked overtime unpaid when you were working a case. Weren’t ya,” he challenged.
Cade shrugged. It was true. “Department don’t always have the budget for overtime.”
“Yeah, I figured as much. I knew guys like you in the Air Force. Always pushing, always beating on themselves when it ain’t their fault. Made damn good airmen. Probably made for good cops, too.”
“Couldn’t say.”
“Wanna know what I think?”
“Why ask?”
“I think you love every second.”
Cade’s stare should have bored a hole through the old man’s head. He lifted a hand to placate.
“Hey now. I don’t mean what Beth and Brandon are going through. They’re my friends, and I’ve spent more time with them over the last few years than you have. Meaning no disrespect, but that’s just the truth.”
Cade’s shrug told him he was right. The stare cooled.
“I mean you’ve found yourself a mystery, and you’re wishing you’d never quit the police force. Everyone has something they was just born to do.”
“You think I was born to…to what? Fight crime?”
“Hey. I was being serious. Everything you’ve found out. You think just anyone could have made those connections, huh? If I were you, I’d be looking for my job back.”
“I burned that bridge.”
“Okay, so don’t be a cop. But it’s pretty damn plain to me that’s what you were made to do.”
Cade didn’t reply. The future hadn’t existed for him for so long. There had been a succession of moments. He was out of practice for planning ahead. Charlie had a point. When was the last time he had felt as alive as he had confronting Pa Dexter and seen the truth in the other man’s eyes? Realized he had hit the bull’s-eye? It wasn’t the adrenaline, it was putting all the pieces together. Figuring it out.
He dismissed the thought. Self-indulgence. His priority was Beth, Brandon, and Madison, and getting them out of this town and from under the thumb of the Dexters. Once they were safe, then he would let himself think about how he would burn Pa Dexter and his whole family to the ground.
24
“We go now to our reporter, Trish Schneider, for an exclusive.”
“Thank you, Trent. I am standing here in the town square of the small town of Burford, Flint County. Until now you’ve probably never heard of it, and not much that could be considered newsworthy has happened here. But earlier today, a protest by a group called Americans Against Fracking were holding a demonstration against a proposal by a mining company to use the controversial fracking process here to drill for oil. Governor Lindsay was due to hold a debate between the environmental lobby, led by one Professor Zachary Clarke, and the NorEl corporation. But the protest turned violent when several of the environmental protesters attacked the governor’s car with rocks. What followed can only be described as a riot in which the so-called protesters launched attacks against the governor and, it appears, the people of the town. We witnessed the riot and captured this footage. I should warn you that some viewers may find these scenes distressing.”
Pa Dexter leaned forward in his black leather armchair. He tapped the remote against his chin as he looked up at the sixty-five-inch screen that dominated the wall of his den. It showed punches being thrown, angry faces shouting at the camera. He listened to the slogans that threatened to burn the town hall and string up Bernard Janger. He smiled, slapping the remote into one palm.
“Happy, sweetheart?” said Ma Dexter.
She sashayed into the room on six-inch heels, gliding as though born to them. She carried a crystal tumbler that chimed delicately with the sound of shifting ice. The liquid within was a deep amber. Pa Dexter took a sip and sat back.
“Oh, my,” she said as she looked up at the TV in time to see a cop thrusting out a hand to knock down the camera. “Reminds me of Birmingham, Alabama. Now, when was that?”
Pa Dexter wasn’t listening.
“Get me the phone,” he ordered, taking another sip of bourbon.
“Sure, honey.” She walked across the thick carpet to pick up a slim black cordless phone from a table covered in hunting pictures. Pa Dexter and his rifle standing over his kills. “Say, have you heard from Jimmy or Bobby since yesterday?”
“No. Why should I?”
“I wonder what they’re up to?” She handed over the phone and examined her nails. They were painted iridescent blue. “I’m not so sure I like these now.”
“They better not be up to anything,” Pa growled. “They better be collecting my dues and checking on my businesses. Nothing else. Not today.”
“Sure, honey. I’m sure you’re right. I’ll leave you to your call. Say hi to Mr. Janger from me.”
She flowed out of the room, closing the double doors behind her as she went. Pa Dexter didn’t look back as he punched in a number. He muted the TV.
“Speak,” came the heavily accented voice.
“It’s Dexter.”
“Yes.”
“WEKW has just broken a story on the six-o’clock news of a riot in Burford, linked to Clarke and his green chumps.”
“I know. There has been a statement from the governor’s office deploring the violence and accusing the AAF of being extremists. My lawyers are already in contact with the mayor of Burford and the governor to offer assistance in repairing the damage done.”
“That’s a good idea. Show people how much the NorEl corporation cares.”
“Of course. What about your contractors?”
“Out of town.”
“Police arrested the right people?”
“Yes. So we just need to settle some accounts.”
“Of course. SwiftSure is handling all of our commitments. Our mutual friend over there will handle everything. Any problems I should be aware of?”
“No.” Pa Dexter didn’t hesitate. He never hesitated. But his mind went back to Bobby. Jimmy had better keep him in line and out of trouble.
“Good. I have an appointment with the governor and the State Licensing Board in two days. Ho
w is your property portfolio?”
“Very healthy. There’s a plot that will shortly become available which we should discuss in more detail. It would be useful to you for access.”
Silence.
“You mean you have not yet acquired it.”
“No, but I will shortly. Like I said.”
“I understood your… portfolio was complete. I had your assurance on that matter.”
“It’s practically mine…”
“Practically does not work for me. Either it is yours, or it is not. If I do not own land essential to my projects, then my projects are dead in the water. Understood?”
Pa Dexter’s left hand was white knuckled on the crystal tumbler. He waited a moment to reply, ensuring that he could keep his voice level before trusting himself to speak.
“Of course, I understand. It will be taken care of…”
“It needs to be dealt with before I go before the licensing board.”
The tumbler shattered. Bourbon and blood spattered the black leather.
“Did I just say it will be taken care of? I think I did,” Dexter hissed.
“Do you thinkI am afraid of you, Mr. Hillbilly. I am not. This project is worth more than all the petty rackets you’ve ever run in that shit-hole town. Do not forget where the power lies in this dynamic. It lies with me. You are useful, but not indispensable. Take care of it. Call me when you have the deeds.”
The phone purred into Pa Dexter’s ear as Janger hung up. Dexter roared as he hurled it across the room to shatter against a wall. The door opened quietly behind him. His wife stood there holding a cell phone.
“Get out!” Dexter didn’t even turn around.
He strode toward the nearest wall and hit it. A small crater appeared in the plaster. He hit it again, opening a hole.
“Honey. Instead of destroying our lovely home, why don’t you call Jimmy.” She entered the room holding out the phone. “With Collins in the hospital, it won’t be difficult to force his wife to sign over the business to you. She’s a mother, after all.”
In her lilting Southern accent, Ma Dexter could have been discussing a recipe for cornbread. Pa Dexter ripped free a piece of plaster from the wall, hurling it across the room. He crossed to his wife and snatched the phone out of her hands.
“You were listening.”
“Yes, I was.”
He slapped her face. She wavered on her high heels, then turned her face back toward him as though offering it. He slapped her again.
“Clean up that mess.” Dexter walked out of the room.
It was dark enough for streetlights when Cade pulled Charlie’s car into the driveway of Beth’s house. The house was dark, its driveway empty. He had tried Beth’s cell several times, and it had just rung and gone to voicemail. He tried one more time as he sat in the growing darkness. Nothing. She had been there for a few hours now. Surely it had been too long for a visit, especially with Maddie there. Maybe Brandon had come out of his coma. For a moment he felt an urge to pray to God.
He stopped himself before the words could form in his head. It had been a very long time since he had believed. Even longer since he had asked for anything. God hadn’t helped his Momma. It hadn’t been the Lord who had driven the old man out of town. That had been Sheriff Pino.
A flat face that never seemed to show any emotion. Dark eyes, black in the shadow cast by the wide-brimmed hat he always wore. The stark lights of Jody’s bar reflected from the star on his chest, made it blaze like fire. His grip on Tommy was frighteningly implacable. It made Tommy think of tree roots. He heard the old man’s car cough into life. Tommy knew that sound beyond anything else. It had been the bringer of violence and terror for so long.
He tried to struggle, squirming to break free and chase His car. Fire off a few shots, make him stop. Then… Pino’s grip on his wrist tightened. Tommy’s hand tingled, and he cried out against the calloused palm against his mouth.
“Boy, I ain’t going to let you put yourself into the penitentiary over Donnie Martins.”
Tommy bit Pino’s hand. Bit hard. He felt wetness against his mouth, a rusty tang. Pino didn’t move. That stony face didn’t so much as twitch. He let go of Tommy’s hand and sank a punch into his stomach. It was like being hit by a car. Tommy curled up in the ditch, coughing and spitting when he wasn’t wheezing to get the air back into his lungs. Something clamped onto the back of his T-shirt and lifted him. Tommy’s feet dragged in the dust, kicking up stones. When he found the strength to struggle, an open-handed slap across the head left his ears ringing.
Pino threw him onto the backseat of his car and then got into the front. Tommy fought through a fog of breathless pain and disorientation. He sat upright.
“Where are you takin’ me?” he demanded, well aware of his rights.
“Shut up,” was the only reply.
Tommy lost his balance as Pino swung the police cruiser out of Jody’s parking lot at speed. He tore off down the highway, engine snarling.
“Boy, your background and your upbringin’ ain’t your fault. And no man who’s worth a damn is going to judge you because of who your father was. But if you turn into your daddy, then they got a right to judge you, and they will. I don’ intend to see another Donnie Martins walkin’ the streets of my town. I watched him grow up, and I saw him make the same mistakes you are. I don’ intend to let it happen again. You understand me, son?”
“I ain’t your son,” Tommy replied sullenly.
“No, you ain’t. But you live in my town. And that makes me responsible for you. ’Specially if your dad ain’t up to it. It’s my job to look after this town, and you’re part of that, y’hear?”
“I don’t need anyone lookin’ out for me.”
“I disagree, son. And I’m the one in charge. Don’t matter what you think.”
“Just let me out of this fucking car!”
“No. You’re going to see what happens when you become the kind of man Donnie Martins is.”
It was then that Tommy realized there was another car in the distance, a set of taillights that had been getting steadily closer. Pino slowed as they caught up to the car, which Tommy recognized as His. Then the lights came on, and the siren. The car in front pulled over. There were trailers off to one side of the road, set back at the end of a dirt track. On the other side was darkness, dirt, and rocks. The sporadic streetlights valiantly tried to light up that stretch of desert, but their orange glow was cut off by the looming darkness.
Tommy saw Him getting out of His car, slamming the door and striding towardPino.
“Stay in the car. And watch,” said Pino before removing his hat and his gun belt and getting out.
The old man stopped in the pool of light cast by the sheriff’s headlights. He raised his arm in front of his face and squinted. Pino walked to the front of the car, letting the lights fully illuminate him.
“Donnie. Be grateful for a minute or two of your time” was all he said.
Tommy leaned forward between the seats and saw His eyes grow wide. He had seen that Pino wasn’t wearing a gun. Tommy didn’t understand why this seemed to strike terror into Him. But it did. He turned and tried to run for his car. Pino caught Him at the door and hauled Him back. Donnie had twenty years on the sheriff, but Tommy had known no one as tough as Pino.
With one contemptuous movement, he threw Donnie against the front of the cruiser.
“Now, Donnie. This has gone far enough. You and I have talked about the way you treat your wife, and you agreed it was going to stop.”
“I… I’ll do better, Sheriff. I’ll lay off the booze. I swear it.”
“Too late. You put that woman in the hospital. I’ve tried to help you, ’cause I think a family needs a mother and a father. I’ve tried to help you be the man you should be, but it seems you’re determined not to be.”
“I…”
“You’ll nothin’. Interrupt me again and I’ll just plain kill you, son.”
Tommy moved back, shrinking into
the backseat. Pino was lit up by his car, no detail escaping that searing light. His face was like the face of God in the bible classes Tommy had to sit through in Sunday school. The God who brought down vengeance against anyone who dared speak against him. The God who destroyed whole cities, an entire world, because it displeased him. Now there he was, his face terrible and mighty, utterly devoid of pity.
“If you stick around, that woman will be dead and that boy of yours will turn out just like you. That ain’t going to happen. Not in my town.”
Tommy’s father gasped like a dying fish. Tommy saw one hand raised above the hood of the car, reaching and imploring. He was begging, but his pleas were falling on deaf ears.
“Soon you’re going to follow me back to your house. You’re going to pack your bags, and I’m going to escort you to the town limits. And if I see you back here, I’ll kill you.”
Then it began. Without warning, God’s wrath rained down. Pino took one step forward and raised his fist. The beating seemed to go on for eternity. The fist was lifted and came down like a piston. Then boots. The car rocked as Donnie’s body was crashed into the grill again and again by the blows. Then it was over. Pino knelt, and when he stood, Tommy saw his father standing, too. He swayed and was hunched, but he stood. He didn’t look around, and Tommy couldn’t see his face. He watched his father sway and stagger back to his car and fumble his way into the driver’s seat.
Pino took the lead, and the other car followed. Tommy looked behind several times, but all he could see was the silhouette of a head and shoulders. That night was the last time he saw his father. When they arrived outside Tommy’s home, Pino turned to him again.
“What you saw tonight was wrong. I ain’t perfect. But it ain’t a perfect world. Sometimes with men like Donnie Martins, you’re going to beat the right way into him, ’cause no amount of words will ever get through the badness. But he didn’ start off bad. Somethin’ made him that way. It’s too late for him, but it ain’t for you. Or your sister. You hear me, boy?”
“I hear ya,” Cade whispered.