You Killed Wesley Payne

by Sean Beaudoin

  “You sure?”

  “Uh, yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Well, I just thought—”

  Lu Lu’s eyes narrowed. “I’m the one who should be asking questions here. Like about you rifling through my room.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “Mad like crazy or mad like angry?”

  “Both.”

  “Neither. After that party? What I am is off Yearbook. I’m off activities. I’m so busted my father’s talking military school. My mom’s out right now giving most of my clothes to Goodwill. None if it seems to matter a whole lot at the moment.”

  “Tough break.”

  “Maybe it’s for the best,” she said, crossing her legs. “It’s more comfortable dressing like this. And I was getting tired of being called a Spirit Bunny.”

  “You should hear what they call me.”

  “I know what they call you. I called you the same thing when I saw you went in my room.”

  “I’m a Private Dick. What did you expect when you let me in the door? Hey, don’t go up there! It’s like asking a mosquito not to hover. Besides, I needed to rule you out for Wesley.”

  “I didn’t kill him and I didn’t date him.”

  Dalton reached over and picked up her yearbook, pulling out the drawings of Kurt Tarot sucking blood from Wesley Payne’s head. Already wet from the sprinkler, the ink ran down the paper in bloody rivulets. “What about these? Hidden away. Suspiciously.”

  Lu Lu seemed to consider lying but changed her mind.

  “I sent them in. I had them printed on purpose.”

  “Evening some kind of score? Or someone pay you to?”

  She rubbed her eyes, working up to admitting what was right in front of her. “I sent them because I wanted to wake people up! You said yourself everyone acts like they’d forgotten Wesley already, like he was never even at Salt River. I wanted to shock them into remembering. I wanted the yearbook to matter for something. To actually have a purpose, even if I had to piss people off to do it.”

  “Did you draw them?”

  “No, they came in anonymously. We get a lot of junk like that. I thought it was disgusting and was ready to toss them when I realized using the shite might be even better.”

  “I believe you.”

  “You do? Why? No one believes anyone at Salt River.”

  “There’re only two things for certain in life. Death and rackets. So, Wesley’s death was probably meant to birth new rackets.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  The scooter backfired again. Dalton was about to explain when an enormously tall man stepped out the front door in no-nonsense tan pants. “Is there a problem here?”

  “No, Dad,” Lu Lu said, smiling grimly. “Unless you count being grounded for the next six months.”

  “Do you think this is funny, Louise?” The man glared at Dalton. “Because, trust me, we can make it funny. We can ramp it up a whole other level of hilarious.”

  “No, Dad, it’s not funny.”

  “Nine grand in damage! We go away one night and suddenly every cop in town is camped in my backyard. What would have happened if we were gone for a week?”

  Dalton wasn’t sure if he was expected to answer. The man scowled, then snapped his fingers twice next to his thigh as if he were calling a dog.

  “I’ll be right in,” Lu Lu said.

  The man looked at his no-nonsense watch and then pointed to its no-nonsense face. “You got ninety seconds to get your nose deep into an algebra text, Louise. You’re not? Then we move to plan B. Trust me, you do not want to find out about plan B.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  The man went back inside. Dalton commiserated silently.

  “You saw the letters, huh?” Lu Lu whispered, a flush of red starting where the robe opened at her chest, working its way up her neck. “Under my mattress?”

  “What letters?”

  “You know exactly—”

  “What letters?” Dalton said again.

  Lu Lu stared at him, finally nodding. “Thanks.”

  He shrugged.

  “I interviewed a guy who went to Salt River a long time ago. He’d been in jail almost ten years. I thought it would be a good angle for the paper’s Spring Redemption theme and, you know, we just started writing each other. He told me about all the old-time cliques, like Tattooed Love Boys and the Orphan Age and Yale Fauxs and Keir Dulleas. There was, like, a Sinatra clique called Night and Day, and a Nixon clique called Bebe Rebozos. It was really interesting. I actually felt like I was learning something. And then, I guess one thing led to another, because—”

  “No need to explain,” Dalton said. “I’m called a Private Dick for a reason.”

  Lu Lu looked at him gratefully. “Anyway, I should get inside.”

  “Yeah, you should.”

  The scooter’s motor caught with a yelp and a sigh. Lu Lu stood and stretched, practically reaching the sun. Dalton opened the duffel and handed her two stacks of bills, ten thousand total.

  “Give it to your dad in a couple days. Say you’ve been saving from bake sales or something. Say you want to use it to cover the damage to the house. Might help him wrench the stick out his butt an inch.”

  Lu Lu Footer looked at the money in amazement before taking it.

  “Who are you, Dalton Rev?”

  “Still trying to figure that one out myself,” he said, then put down his visor and pulled out onto Route 6.

  CHAPTER 26

  A MAN OF WEALTH AND TASTE

  Albert Payne answered the door with purple gums.

  “Sure did leave in a hurry last time, huh?”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  Albert waved the apology off and then flopped onto the couch in front of his big screen.

  Macy was at her pink desk, doing homework. Dalton was expecting her to be furious, but when she saw him in the doorway she ran up and threw her arms around his neck.

  “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she said over and over, only pulling away when she realized he wasn’t hugging her back.

  “Don’t be like that. I know, okay? I know I’ve been handling this all wrong. I’ve been acting like a crazy person.”

  Dalton said nothing.

  “I admit it really… really pissed me off what happened the other night. I mean, taking stuff from Wes’s room without telling me? Even if it’s just some poem. And then, I mean, have you ever seen Gossip Girl? Have you even read a chick book in your life? God, Dalton, you can’t just pull away like that! Not after you made me act all like I wanted to… I mean, who makes someone all vulnerable and then just pulls away? It’s cruel. I swear, it’s almost like you were just trying to prove something.”

  “Prove what?”

  “That I actually liked you enough to get in bed with you! Okay, yeah, you passed the test. Con-grat-u-la-tions.”

  “That’s not why I—”

  “But I know you wanted to also. There was something going on between us even over the computer. You just get so wrapped up in your head, what’s professional, what’s ethical, you’re all gridlocked. And you tell yourself there’s a reason for it besides just being scared.”

  “I’m not scared of anything.”

  Macy scoffed. “Anyone who says I’m not scared of anything is scared of, like, everything.”

  “Whatever,” he said, knowing she was so right it hurt.

  “You can trust me, Dalton, okay? You need, for once, to trust somebody.”

  “That what you told Chuff at Footer’s?”

  Macy looked at him in disbelief.

  “You saw what happened.” She half turned away. “Did you not see what he was like?”

  “Yeah, I heard what he was like before that too. I heard what you were like. I was at the door. I only came in when it went sour.”

  Macy put her face into her hands, then pulled them away angrily. “You gave that girl my pin, okay? Even so, I went up there with Jeff to tell him it was over. That I was done with him. But th
en he got all touchy. He wouldn’t stop. He started to scare me and wouldn’t let me out of the room. I wasn’t being nice to him—I was trying to get him to let me go!”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Macy wiped the corners of her mouth. “Please, Dalton, you have to believe me.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do!”

  She put her lips against his and gently pressed. She ran her hands up and down his arms and through his hair. At first he resisted, cautious and cool, but soon he found himself kissing her back. Eventually she let go, straightening her dress and breathing heavily. She took a step into the hall, trying to gauge the sounds from the television downstairs.

  “I think Dad’s asleep.” She winked, and then tripped over the duffel bag. Dalton had to hold out an arm to keep her from falling. She looked down at her feet.

  “What’s in there?”

  “A hundred grand. Or so.”

  Macy laughed.

  Dalton levered the bag into the room, then got on one knee and unzipped it like a suture.

  “Oh my Bob!” Macy got down next to him and ran her hands through it. She lifted stacks of the cash and smelled them deeply.

  “Where did you find it?”

  “Not at Tarot’s.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I think I know who killed Wesley. It means I think this case is almost over. It means you and I are going to be settling up soon.”

  Macy stared. “You know?”

  “Almost. I’ll be sure by tonight. When I am, you’ll be the first person I tell.”

  “Tell me now,” she said, eyes unnaturally bright.

  “Not until I know for sure.”

  “That’s so… that’s so…” She was about to say something more, but stopped herself. “What are you going to do with the money?”

  “Give it to Inference. Collect my percentage.”

  Macy gave the cash another sniff before standing.

  “But why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why give it to her? It’s dirty. She’ll just make it dirtier.”

  “What else should I do with it?”

  “Us.”

  “What us?”

  “Us leaving with it, that’s what. Getting out of this place. Away from Salt River. Let’s take the money and go somewhere.”

  “Just like that? A bag of folding green shows up and you’re ready to fold up and split?”

  “Just like that. In case you haven’t noticed, Salt River really sucks.”

  “Say I thought it was a good idea. Say we took off tonight. Where would we go?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” she said, doing a mock actress’s voice. “As long as it’s with you.”

  Dalton thought about what he was going to do with the money. What he had to do with the money. Then he allowed himself to think about what he could do. It felt like a betrayal, but there it was. Greed. Lust. Venality. It couldn’t be stopped.

  “What about school? Graduating with a degree in Euclidian? All your clubs and activities?”

  “What about it? Wesley is gone, and every single thing in this town is a reminder of what they did to him. How they crucified him. I’d soak the whole place in diesel and light up a carton of Luckys if I thought I could get away with it.”

  “A hundred grand isn’t five million,” Dalton said, wondering who he was trying to convince. “And it’s hard to pay for things in cash. Rent, bills, a car… people get all suspicious. You have to worry about someone stealing it all the time. You have to stash it in lockers and worry about losing the key. Money like this, all bundled up and out in the open, is an albatross.”

  “No, it isn’t! It’s freedom. It’s a free hall pass. It’s a ticket away from here. Don’t you think I deserve that? Don’t we both?”

  “Even if we did, what happens when it runs out?”

  “We get jobs. Like everyone else in the world. We’d have each other, a little apartment, a little head start.”

  Dalton thought about Landon, the morning he’d gotten on the bus for boot camp. His new buzz cut, his face like an egg-white omelet, terrified but trying to make jokes. Signing the papers and acting cool, sweat glistening in his hairline. Sometimes you had to lie to yourself. And sometimes you had to face the truth.

  Dalton reached into the bag and handed Macy a stack of cash. “Here.”

  “What’s this?”

  “I was lying. I don’t know who killed your brother, and I probably never will. I’m dropping the case and returning your fee in full.”

  Macy tossed the money on the bed. “Oh, don’t be like that.”

  “Be like what?”

  She sidled over. She bit his lip and his ear, pressing herself against him.

  “I know you, Dalton Rev. After all this? I can see through that mask like it was Saran Wrap. Do you really want to say it’s all over and go back to being cool and stoic and alone? Take more cases and solve more mysteries? It’s such a crutch. I’ve seen you. You’re not that person at all. It’s a movie character. You’re not tough, and you’re not even particularly good at what you do. It’s the act that you love. It’s acting that you’re way too good at.”

  THE PRIVATE DICK HANDBOOK, RULE #50

  Could that be true? Not could it, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it definitely, totally, completely true?

  “So stop reading your lines. Improvise for once. This is a real chance. Take it.”

  “Take what?”

  “Take me,” she said, lowering her voice. Her left eye blinked three times. “And I’ll take you.”

  Dalton made a mental list of all the things about himself no one should want to take. It started and ended with him never doing what the movie audience was throwing their popcorn and begging him to do.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  He stared at Macy, at her complete self-possession.

  “Let’s fail out of Salt River,” she whispered. “Let’s think about having kids and then not have them. Let’s travel and give each other joke Christmas presents. Let’s get fat and get old and then die.”

  “Die?”

  “Together.”

  Dalton bit her neck. She tasted like fresh lime.

  “All right.”

  “Really?” She somehow jumped without leaving the ground. “Let’s go!”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Macy looked sorely disappointed but didn’t say anything. She forced a smile back onto her face and waited.

  “I have something to take care of tonight. Just stay home and mind your own business, okay? Pack only what you really need. Tomorrow we get on the scooter and leave Salt River to the cliques.”

  “Good.” She pressed her mouth back onto his, finding the right fit, lips in perfect, soft alignment. They stood there, losing themselves in it.

  After a while he moved back. “I have to go. Stay here and be ready.”

  “I will. I am.”

  Dalton picked up the duffel and gently closed her door. He walked down the steps, peeking in on Albert Payne, who was snoring in front of the TV. Next to him was a bottle of homemade wine. Dalton walked through the kitchen to the basement door. The heavy hasp lock was hanging open. He slipped through and turned on the light. On a big table at the bottom of the stairs was Albert Payne’s fermenting equipment. Barrels and flasks and measuring cups and empty jugs rimed with dried grapes. He poked around the crates and dusty equipment until he came to the back of the room, where there was a large metal storage case.

  Q: How much you wanna bet?

  A: A lot.

  Dalton fished in his pocket and pulled out Wesley Payne’s key. He walked over to the case and stuck it into the lock. It fit perfectly. And when he turned the key, the lock turned with it.

  CHAPTER 27

  REVIVE ME HIGH

  They both watched Dalton Rev, dressed in a black shirt with a black tie, sneaking across the massive BoxxMart lot in a military crouch. The night was dark and q
uiet, only the creak of cyclone fence flexing in the wind. The store was an airplane hangar poured into a cement trough off the interstate, next to welding shops and auto repair places and a low-slung recycling plant that smelled like burned hair. Dogs barked, their volleys echoing pointlessly. Lights flashed from cars on the faraway overpass, lending a strobe effect as Dalton jogged the last hundred yards, flattening his back against the brick entrance. Next to the tall glass door was a numerical keypad whose back-lit keys could be seen as tiny pixilations all the way across the lot. Dalton punched in a series of numbers and waited. It didn’t work. He tried it again. The timelock hissed, and the bolts drew back.

  “He’s in,” Chuff said, standing behind the first of eight vans that idled in the shadows at the far end of the compound.

  “Not yet,” Tarot said. “The gate is ztill down.”

  They watched Dalton grab the metal and shake it. In the booth, a security guard stood and walked toward him, holding up his hands. Dalton pulled out his piece and held it level.

  “Guezz he found a gun after all,” Tarot said, peering through binoculars.

  Chuff grabbed the binoculars away and watched Dalton threaten the guard. The guard, his cap pulled low over his face, nodded and hit a red button on the wall. The gate began to lift. Tarot grabbed the binoculars back and watched as Dalton racked the chamber. A report rang clearly all the way to where they were standing. They both saw the security guard fall.

  “Holy shite,” Chuff said. “That murse shot the guard. Like, for real.”

  “Good,” Tarot said, giving the signal to Mick Freeley, who then gave the signal to the rest of the Caskets. The vans started backing up.

  “Good?” Chuff said, looking pale.

  Tarot grinned. “One less thing to worry about. You ever stop playing with your ballz long enough to go to the movies? The only reason to tie someone up is so they can find a way to get loose and be a hero. If you shoot them right away, there’s definitely no sequel. Let’s go.”

  “I know, but—”

  “What are you going to do, Jeffrey, cry like you used to when I took your lunch money?”

  “Farck off and drive,” Chuff said, holding on to the running board as Tarot’s van pulled away with a chirp. Three minutes later they were at the loading dock, where a dozen Balls crept out of the shadows to drag metal ramps over the back bumpers. Five minutes later, the huge steel gate opened, Dalton holding the control that operated the lift chains.