Deadfall

by Stephen Wallenfels

  “How well do you know her?”

  “We saved a CPR dummy’s life together.”

  Rebecca’s eyes lit up again. “OMG. You’re not…I mean…you? And her?” She shook her head like something cataclysmic had just reorganized her universe.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “No. It’s just that I thought, you know…you and the onion slicer…”

  “The onion slicer? Can you please talk in complete sentences? Preferably ones that make sense.”

  She smiled, headed for the door. “I think someone’s been in the closet too long.”

  Cory followed her out, hot on her heels. His heart was pounding too hard to ask her what she meant. And if she knows, who else knows? Then she stopped and turned around. “Oh, and I almost forgot. The other person that stopped by? He was a sketchy dude that ordered a vanilla shake and asked about you just as we were closing. Tondi had like, just cleaned that machine.”

  Sketchy? That deserved a follow-up. “Why was he sketchy?”

  “Leather pants, lots of chains. Beady eyes. And when he smiled, it looked like he’d been eating bark chips.”

  The thought hit Cory like a blow to the chest. He only knew one person that fit that description. He recovered enough to ask, “What did he want?”

  “He wanted to know if you like, worked for this ‘fine establishment.’ I kid you not. That’s what he said. Fine establishment. Ha! Like he’d know the difference? So anyway, I said yes, you did but you were like, fishing in the wilderness somewhere. So he gave me this.” She dug a piece of paper out of her jeans pocket and gave it to him.

  Cory stared at the business card. He recognized the cheesy T&B Towing logo. Except the B was crossed out with pen.

  She said, “He wrote a message on the back.”

  Cory flipped the card over.

  My boss wants a chat with Ty.

  Cory pocketed the card. He felt like he’d swallowed sand.

  Brian called from the takeout counter, “Hey, Cory! It’s getting close to one. Shouldn’t we heat up the fryer?”

  He was too nauseous to think about grease right now. Meanwhile Rebecca was still talking. She said something about her name. “I’m sorry,” Cory said. “My head was somewhere else. What did you just say?”

  Rebecca sighed impatiently. “I said he called me buttercup. As in ‘What’s up, buttercup?’ ” She pointed to her name tag. “So tell your brown-toothed friend he needs to learn how to read. Or next time he’ll be wearing that shake on his face.”

  STUMPTOWN

  NOW

  43

  “I’m pretty sure I know the man that killed Yana.”

  Astrid was on the verge of sleep. Her eyes snap into focus with this revelation.

  “Who was it?”

  “A big-time meth head. We called him Tweaker Teeth. He worked for Benny’s business partner. A guy named Tirk.”

  “How do you know it was this…Tweaker Teeth?”

  “He showed up at my job in Luster and said the same thing to my boss. ‘What’s up, buttercup?’ ”

  “Why was he there?”

  “Looking for me. But I really think Tirk was looking for Ty. Tweaker Teeth was just there to deliver the message. He left a business card.”

  “Why did he leave it for you and not Ty?”

  “Ty would have ripped up the card, then beat the shit out of Tweaker Teeth.”

  “Did you give the card to Ty?”

  “I did. He ripped it up, then beat the shit out of me.”

  She laughs. Under normal circumstances I think I would look forward to that sound. This time it bubbles and rattles around in her chest, then sends her into a coughing spasm. When it’s finally over she asks for a sip of water, which I give her and make a mental note to check the bottle in my bag. She settles and asks, “Do you know why Tirk was looking for Ty?”

  “The people of your country sure ask a lot of questions.”

  “My other choice is sleeping. When I sleep I have dreams. The pain is better than the dreams.”

  I nod in understanding. Benny wasn’t a good influence on my dreams either. “I don’t know why Tirk was looking for Ty. I asked him the same question that night. He said, ‘Tirk’s a piece of shit. I’m not scared of him and you shouldn’t be either.’ Then he ripped up the card.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think Tirk is a scary MF and dangerous as hell and he wanted something from Ty. It was all related to Benny’s death in some way. That’s the puzzle piece I haven’t figured out yet.”

  She seems to have run out of questions. Either she’s reloading, or more likely giving in to sleep. Meanwhile, I do a mental replay of Ty’s last words to me before he disappeared into the canyon to save our asses: “Read the damn letter.” There had to be a reason why he wrote it, and a bigger reason why he waited until then—a time when we might not see each other again—to give it to me. I reach for the letter on top of the chest and say, “Maybe there are some answers in here.” I hold the letter in my hand, but I can’t open it. I glance at Astrid. She definitely is not asleep.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  “I don’t want to do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m afraid if I open this envelope, it means…” I take a breath. “It means I’m giving up on him. And I’m not ready to do that.” I’m also afraid of the secrets that are locked inside, secrets that might send me spinning to very dark places. We can’t afford that. I need to keep my shit together.

  “You’re not giving up on him,” she says. “You’re just doing what he asked you to do.”

  “My father’s ashes were delivered to me in an envelope. That didn’t turn out so well.”

  “Would you like me to do it?”

  “Says the girl with a broken arm.” I shake my head. “Thanks, but I need to get over my fear of envelopes.” I force a smile, peel the flap open, and pull out the single sheet of paper. It’s covered with Ty’s handwriting. I have to read it twice because the lighting in here sucks and my tears keep falling on the paper and blurring the ink.

  Dear Cor

  Benny was murdered and I saw it all.

  If you’re reading this letter that means I was too chickenshit to tell you. Or something happened to me and I couldn’t do it. I should have told you the next day, and I almost did at the coffee shop. I should have told you a million times later. But I didn’t, so bad on me. After you read this letter maybe you will understand why.

  Tirk and his soulless minion Tweaker Teeth showed up that night. Benny was in the shed cooking meth and you were drugged up with painkillers and asleep. When I came out of the house Tweaker Teeth was loading the motorcycle into Tirk’s truck. I didn’t give a shit about the bike. Good fucking riddance! But Benny came out screaming like a lunatic at Tweaker Teeth. While they went at it, Tirk walked out of the garage and gave Benny’s skull a whack with a hammer. He went down like a rock. Then Tirk and Tweaker Teeth hauled Benny into the shed. They saw me on the porch and just walked on by. A minute later they came out of the shed. Tweeker Teeth asked Tirk what to do with me because I was a witness. Tirk told me to lock the shed. I said no. He pulled a gun and said do it or I’ll kill you then your brother, then put you all in the shed and have a little family barbecue. I figured Benny was already dead, so I locked it. Tirk told Tweaker Teeth to take a picture with his phone. Then he looked right at me with those dead eyes of his and said you’re a part of this now. We go down, you go down. Tweaker Teeth winked and said BOOM. They drove away with the ninja. Smoke was coming under the door by then. I swear I didn’t know they had set the shed on fire before I locked it. But I knew it would explode any second. Instead of trying to bust into the shed to get Benny, I ran into the house to get you.

  They murdered Benny. I didn’t warn him. I didn’t stop them. I was so pissed at what Benny did to you. For never letting you be who you are. For hitting Mom. For moving us into a crack house and bringing Tirk into our lives. All his
lies and constant bullshit had to stop, bro. So yeah, I just stood on the porch and let it happen. But truth be told, if they didn’t kill him that night, I would have. Like Benny used to say, “Kill or be killed. It’s the only rule that matters.”

  Feel free to share this letter with Detective Donut. Give my regards to Stellah.

  Peace out, Ty

  I refold the letter, stuff it in my pocket. I might read it again later. If there is a later.

  “Did it help?” she asks.

  I guess she was reloading. “It cleared up a few things.”

  “Do you know why Tweaker Teeth was here?”

  “No. But I know he killed Benny. With some help.”

  Her eyes narrow on me. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “Neither do you.” I see by the way she flinches that my words hurt. I wish I could take them back. But I’m too shaken up to give it another thought. Let’s just add it to the list of stupid shit I said. I’m sure by the time this is over it will be a very long list.

  After a beat she says, “What are you thinking?”

  I’m thinking I finally understand what Ty did and why he did it. And maybe even why he wasn’t afraid of Tirk: You’re a part of this now. All this time I thought there was some outside chance that he killed Benny and didn’t think I could handle the truth. I just wish he would have told me sooner so that I could have told him that it’s okay. I would have told him Thank you for saving my life and It’s not your fault that Benny got mixed up with drugs and killers. Instead I say to her, “I’m thinking that if there were a competition for the most messed-up family in the world, my little clan would be a contender for the top prize.”

  After a beat she says, “I can’t remember anything about my family. Except that my mother’s name is Deanna. Maybe my family is more messed up than yours.”

  “Sorry, but that award is all mine.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  I stare at her, lying there with an infected broken arm. With a fever I can’t stop. We probably don’t have enough water to keep her alive through the night. Or enough pills to reduce her pain. We have to leave tomorrow, with or without Ty. That means a five-mile hike out of here with a killer hunting us and hundreds of miles to drive to the nearest hospital—in a stolen car that doesn’t work. And she’s asking how she can help me? Something needs to change with this picture.

  But first there’s a question I just have to ask. If I don’t it will haunt me through the night.

  “Do you know why Tweaker Teeth put you in the trunk?”

  She closes her eyes, then opens them. “I just remembered something. Was Tirk missing half a finger?”

  How could she know that? A chill sweeps through me. She had never said anything about there being two people at the warehouse. Up to this point it was all Tweaker Teeth. Shit. “Yes.”

  “Someone different put the plastic around my wrists and ankles. Someone bigger. When he touched my hands I felt the stump. He’s the one that carried me out to the car and put me in the boot.”

  “Okay. But that doesn’t mean he was the driver.”

  “There’s more. I remember it clearly now.”

  I don’t like where this is headed.

  “Tweaker Teeth started yelling at Tirk. He said something about a ‘payday.’ Tirk told him to shut the fuck up. Tweaker Teeth yelled, ‘You can’t do this to me.’ ” She looks me hard in the eyes. “I…I think Tirk killed Tweaker Teeth.”

  “Why?”

  “I heard two loud bangs.”

  “Then what?” I ask, but not really wanting to hear what comes next.

  “Tweaker Teeth shut the fuck up.”

  LUSTER, OR.

  FIVE MONTHS AGO

  44

  Early polling data just after Harvey launched his campaign showed him trailing his Republican rival in District 30 by twenty points. By mid-May he narrowed the gap to fifteen. One poll out of Portland put him on the cusp of single digits. Of the four individuals with their hats in that ring, Harvey was considered the most likely to win the nomination. The keystone of his campaign was his record as a job creator, and the co-op he started at Mott’s Lumber and Landscaping was the cherry on top of his political sundae. The lowest wage in that store was four dollars over minimum and the business continued to prosper. That appealed to Democrats and Independents and he was beginning to build a coalition of voters, helping to fuel his rapid ascent in popularity.

  After the fishing trip Cory and Ty returned to their Luster lives. The visit from Tweaker Teeth was ignored and seemed to pass without repercussions. Ty continued his success on the mound, and pitched seven shutout innings to record his twelfth win and send the Luster Raptors to the district finals. They lost 4–3 thanks to a walk-off homer in the thirteenth inning. Ty’s grades dipped to a 2.8 after a couple of missed assignments in algebra and a devastating surprise quiz on Oliver Cromwell. But Cory helped Ty recover, and the 3.0 was looking solid heading into June.

  Meanwhile Cory settled into his own groove. Since he’d completed his PE requirements he no longer had that anchor on his GPA. His 3.9 placed him among the top ten students in his class. With physics almost out of the way, he set an attainable goal of a 4.0 for his senior year. His three vices—late-night gaming, Dr Pepper, and the chocolate-chip cookies from Safeway, which he consumed by the bag—kept his weight hovering near the two-forty mark. Ty, with his relentless martial arts training and a new passion for parkour, tipped the scales at a ripped one-seventy-five. Cory confided in Charlene one night that he thought his lack of friends was due to his weight. She said true friends wouldn’t care about that, but recommended he start with some light exercise, like walking.

  Cory resorted to daily walks around the park and the pounds started dropping, although not as fast as he would have liked. On two occasions he saw Kayla smoking weed in the gazebo. It was always from a distance and he never approached her. After those three calls from her on the day he returned from Sunriver, she stopped trying to contact him. Two weeks later he found an envelope slipped into his locker at school. The neatly handwritten card inside read: You’re officially absorbed. Congratulations. It was nice knowing you. He almost called her that night because her number was committed to memory and he couldn’t sleep and for once he didn’t feel like gaming. Then he reminded himself that he deleted her contact for a reason—or, as Ty liked to remind him, ten thousand reasons.

  As June approached and the semester was almost over, Cory noticed that Kayla was ditching classes more than normal, and heard from the rumor mill that she was seen in tears leaving her boyfriend Oliver’s car. Rebecca, always a reliable resource for unreliable Luster gossip, cornered him once in the storage closet again with news that Kayla had been discussed at a Mott, Inc. managers meeting because she was written up for using a profanity in front of a customer. That customer happened to be Kayla’s boyfriend’s father, who also happened to be: oh, by the way, the freaking mayor!

  The Cory-Kayla firewall Cory built and diligently maintained was the only dark spot on his otherwise brightening horizon. He visited the International Culinary Arts School website every night. He built an Excel spreadsheet with first-year costs calculated down to the penny. Financial-aid applications were filled out and submitted. With that money, plus Harvey’s milestone-three tuition incentive plan and whatever he’d saved from Bravo, that dream was within reach. As much as he wanted to reach out to her, Kayla would be, as Harvey might put it, an impediment to that opportunity.

  Three days shy of school letting out for the summer, Ty picked Cory up at work. He was unusually silent during the drive to the ski lodge. Cory figured something happened at work, or at school, or with his latest girlfriend, or at the dojo, or any of the million other things he had going on in his life. Cory didn’t ask because, honestly, he didn’t want to have yet another reminder about how big Ty’s world was compared to his. Charlene was making fried chicken for family n
ight. He had a final to study for and a tutoring session with Chloe; then he’d submerge himself in a sneak peek of the latest release of Assassin’s Creed by Ubisoft. That was the size of Cory’s world and he didn’t see it changing anytime soon.

  But instead of walking into the house, Ty said, “Let’s take Pavlov for a walk.”

  Cory could smell the chicken frying. Ty never asked him to come with on his walks with Pavlov. “Sure,” he said.

  With Pavlov on the leash, it always looked to him like they were walking a small horse. They walked in silence to the end of the driveway, turned right onto the path through trees that Harvey used for his run. Then Ty said, “Something strange happened at work today.”

  “Okay.”

  “So cars come into the dealership different ways. Trade-ins, trailers, dealer swaps. Sometimes they hire someone to deliver them after an auction. There’s a process they go through before we see them in the detail shop. We’re like the last stop before they get a sticker and are put on the lot. So I’ve been thinking about buying a car—”

  “You want to buy a car?”

  “I knew you’d ask that question. I’m telling you this important thing, and you go off on me wanting a car of my own.”

  “What’s wrong with the Volvo?”

  “Dude, it’s like, a soccer-mom car.”

  “Still not seeing your point.”

  “Can we save this battle for another day?”

  “All right. Finish. But just to be clear, that ten grand is not for a car.”

  Ty yanked hard on Pavlov’s leash, pulled his nose out of a bush. They moved down the path. “Anyway. I’d been scoping out the deliveries, watching for what I want, and the perfect little Civic is delivered by one of those auction dudes. Two doors, black, tinted windows. Sweet. They parked it in the back lot. I’m about to take a look—and Tony scoops me. He grabs the keys and drives it away.”