You Killed Wesley Payne

by Sean Beaudoin

  “Hurry. We got less than an hour before the next shift checks on their buddy.”

  Balls streamed into the store. Caskets got the vans ready.

  “Didn’t know you had those kind of pearls, fish,” Chuff said, miming a pistol and firing off a few rounds.

  “Just go grab a TV,” Dalton said grimly. “And make sure it’s hi-def.”

  Under an hour later, all eight vans were loaded full of equipment, electronics, computers, CDs, watches, and pallets of cold medicine. Chuff nodded with approval. “Smooth operation, fish. Tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure you could be trusted.”

  Dalton was about to answer, when Chance Chugg ran up with a case of frozen pies. He guzzled a big mouthful of Rush. “Now?”

  “Shut up,” Chuff said, and then looked at Dalton. “Maybe we just do this straight, huh? Forget the double cross and get out of here while the getting’s good? That’s the smart play. Cash in, save the ultraviolence for later. Why complicate profit?”

  “Now?” Chugg asked again, his pupils turning counterclockwise, dried spit caked around his lips.

  Chuff turned toward him angrily. “What did I just—”

  “Now!” Dalton said loudly, backing up.

  Chugg let out a war whoop. “Touchdown!”

  “No, wait!” Chuff yelled. “NO!”

  “Why is that idiot yelling?” Tarot demanded as a dozen Balls and Couldabeen Contenders poured from behind a set of Dumpsters and surrounded the Caskets. They’d brought a pallet from Sporting Goods, big Whiffson golf bags, each one holding clubs, drivers, three woods, and nine irons.

  “Betrayal, Jeffrey? What a surprise.”

  Chuff shrugged, too late to turn it around now. He chose a pitching wedge and swung it over his head like D’Artagnan.

  Tarot threw off his leather jacket and yelled, “Kashmir!” Several dozen Airplane Gluze and Kokrocks swarmed out of vans that screeched up to the entrance. The Caskets had a pallet from Auto Parts, and each one was armed with a socket wrench.

  “You weasly farcker,” Chuff said as the alarm went off.

  “Takes a farcker to know a farcker,” Tarot said, throwing a looping right that caught Chuff full on the jaw. It would have felled a horse. It would have felled a statue of a horse. But Chuff barely moved. He poked around inside his mouth with two fingers, pulled out an incisor, and smiled, flipping it in the air. Before the tooth hit the ground, he slammed Tarot with a hydraulic right, the crunch of which echoed around the high-ceilinged room. “OOOOH,” everyone said, on both sides, the noise elemental in its purity. The Balls and Caskets, plus the rogue cliques they’d recruited, crowded around, forming a natural arena. Chants of “Chuff!” and “Tarot!” competed for primacy as the two behemoths descended on each other.

  Dalton backed away, his piece in his waistband, the Crowdarounds too engrossed in the fight to stop him. Chuff had Tarot on the ground, pounding him with massive lefts. Tarot spun on his back crabwise, pulling something from his boot and hitting Chuff with it. Blood fountained in a cinematic arc, and then Tarot was on Chuff’s back, appearing to bite his neck. The Crowdarounds went apeshite.

  Dalton ran through Patio Furniture, Frozen Goods, Lead Crockery, Gum and Candy, Beef and Ham, Power Tools, and Essential Herbs before reaching the dozen perpendicular aisles that brought him to the front doors. He lowered the steel gate and relocked the front, jogging back across the vast lot. His scooter was stashed under the ramp he intended to use to make his escape.

  Dalton put the key in the ignition, wondering when the Snouts would show up. Balls and Caskets would be arrested, most of them for the second time in two days, some of them for good. It was over.

  “Where do you think you’re going, party boy?”

  She was wearing a tight leather dress and high heels. She was wearing full makeup. Her hair was newly dyed and spiked straight up. She looked so smoking hot, it took his breath away. She looked about twenty-five. She looked like a Dutch model. She looked like the acid queen of all Foxxes.

  “Hi, Dalty, honey. How’s your heist going?”

  Dalton looked at the little gun she held, a snub-nosed one that was almost as cute as she was. He looked at the way she stood, legs spread and hips cocked, aimed right at him.

  She was the A-bomb.

  She was disco atomic.

  Dalton took off his helmet and looked right at Macy as she said:

  “And better yet, where’s that little ol’ duffel bag of yours?”

  CHAPTER 28

  IF IT HADN’T BEEN FOR THE MEDDLING OF YOU DAMN SKIDS

  Macy reached into her bustier for a lipstick, reapplying heavily. “Where’s the cash?”

  “Yeah, guy,” Mole said, walking over from his mom’s pinging Kia. He reached out to hold Macy’s hand, but she pulled it away to steady her aim. Mole settled for kissing her on the cheek. His hair was slicked straight back. The goatee was gone. He was wearing expensive glasses, rectangular, that made him look like a European architect or an eccentric poet laureate. He even looked a little thinner. “Where’s that big stack of folding green with my name on it, yo?”

  Dalton laughed, short and ugly and bitter. “You two? Seriously?”

  “Yeah, us two,” Mole said. “You got a problem with that?”

  “No problem at all,” Dalton forced himself to say.

  Macy’s eyes narrowed. Mole took a step forward. “What, did you really think you and she were going to breed? Not likely. Euclidians stick with Euclidians. Keeps the brain line pure.”

  “Brain line?”

  “That’s right, fool. It’s called eugenics. Take a class. Look it up, yo.”

  “Frisk him,” Macy said. “And stop saying yo.”

  “I can see his gun. It’s the fake.”

  “Frisk him anyway.”

  “For what?”

  “For a treasure map,” Macy snapped. “And any guns that aren’t fake, and my butterfly pin, and anything else incriminating.”

  Mole nodded and then punched Dalton in the stomach as hard as he could. Which was really, really hard.

  “Oooh, bet that hurt,” Macy said.

  “Yeah, me too,” Mole said, blowing on his knuckles. “I’d bet almost a hundred grand.”

  Dalton bent over. Drool hung from his mouth as he struggled to breathe. He could see red lights coming hot from way off on the overpass. There were no sirens yet, but there would be soon. There were tears in his eyes. Some of them were from being punched. He wiped his face as Mole gave him a quick pat-down.

  “What makes you think she’s not playing you like she played me? Huh, Lester? You special or something?”

  “Yeah, I am special, you purse. Only, you could never see it, could you? You have any idea how much work it is to play the clown? To be the asshat everyone gets to feel superior to? Like I wanted to be your sidekick? Are you kidding? You should be begging to be my sidekick!”

  “Just get the hairpin,” Macy said. “Hurry.”

  “Yeah, Lester, hurry,” Dalton prodded. “Take instructions from someone else for a change.”

  “That divide and conquer crap?” Mole punched Dalton again. “That shite only works in the movies. In bad movies about ineffectual bad guys who talk, talk, talk until the pretty boy comes up with an escape plan. Well, we’re not going to talk. We’re going to punch instead.”

  Mole swung, hitting Dalton in the shoulder blade. He’d never been punched in the shoulder blade. It ached. His stomach ached. His chest ached. His eyeballs ached. He was a cuckold and a fool. Mostly because he’d always known. The Lex part of him was furious for being a sap. But the Dalton part had held out. And the Dalton part had lost.

  “Yeah, well, no matter how the script goes, this is a bad movie. It’s a buddy film where the moron traitor buddy wears a mustard-stained Hawaiian shirt and then when he’s concentrating on his victory donut, gets dogged by the femme fatale.”

  Mole looked down at his shirt, which was expensive and not Hawaiian. Even so, there did seem to be a mustard stain
.

  “You think she likes you for you? You think she’s gonna just split the cash down the middle?”

  “Yeah, I do. You know why?” Mole twisted his fingers under Dalton’s nose, wriggling them like the church, steeple, and all the people. “Buffy Bucharest and Albert Payne were knocking boots in motels the whole time we were growing up. They’d lock us in the car and toss in some crayons and a juice box. We’ve been, like, hatchback soul mates, yo. Macy and I were always going to be together. Hell, it’s a long shot, but we might even be brother and sister.”

  Dalton gagged.

  “Stop saying yo!” Macy hissed. “And get his stuff so I have a clean shot!”

  “I been reading about it, like, royals and all, back in King Arthur times,” Mole continued, pulling off Dalton’s boot and looking inside. “They say inbreeding has gotten a bad rap. They say it actually makes your kids even smarter.”

  “Like Rush makes you smarter?”

  “Exactly like Rush,” Mole said, kicking Dalton in the thigh. “Except not soda and not in a bottle. And being DNA instead of liquid.”

  He handed Macy Dalton’s lighter-gun and key ring. She held out the number 9 key.

  “Look familiar?” Dalton asked.

  “Clever Dick,” Macy said, sticking it in her purse. “Did you find the pin, Lester?”

  Mole frowned. “What’s with that thing, anyway?”

  “It’s just a souvenir. Or I guess you could call it a trophy.”

  “But why do you want his trophy?”

  “Because I don’t want yours,” Macy said, pulling her hand back and conking Mole in the forehead with the butt of the gun. He fell like a tray of lasagna, out cold.

  “I mean, really, does he ever shut up? He couldn’t have possibly thought that I… that I… ah, well. Euclidians will be needing a new sub-clique soon. I think I’ll call it Natural Born Suckers.”

  “Count me in,” Dalton said, edging toward her.

  “Oh, yeah, sweetie, I already have.” Macy raised the gun, causing him to stop. “The red duffel?”

  “Or what?”

  “Well, let’s see. I’ll shoot you, for starters. And then keep shooting you. And then shoot you even more.”

  The sirens began in earnest, a long train of Snout cruisers flashing and nearing the exit ramp. Dalton turned as the battle between Chuff and Tarot spilled off the loading dock and into the parking lot. Various Balls and Caskets had paired off and joined in. Mick Freeley stood on Chance Chugg’s chest, kicking him in the neck. Merchandise was smashed all around them. A mix of screaming and begging and cheering droned over the blacktop in waves.

  “Couldn’t have planned it better myself,” Macy said, backing into the shadows under the ramp. “Oh, wait, actually I did plan it. Hiring you, Private Donkey, was the essential first step. The problem solver! Hah. More like the Catalyst. Know what that means, Harvard boy? Wesley was more or less forgotten, the money was gone, it was over. Now Caskets and Balls are going to be arrested for robbery, and, with any luck, your murder. Finally, Euclidians will have the best racket and run the school, thanks to you.”

  “That was it all along, huh? Take over the reins? Be top dog?”

  “Be top cat! Get back our seed money and move a few tired clique bosses out of the way. It’s time for a Euclidian revolution. Salt River is ripe for new leadership.”

  On the far end of the parking lot, Snout cruisers screeched at the edge of the brawl. Cops poured out, clubs raised.

  “Duffel,” Macy said. “Now.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “Bloshite. I know it’s close, since you were gonna take me away with it. Remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember saying that. But I wasn’t ever going anywhere with you.”

  Macy shot a round at his foot. The bullet panged off the pavement. Snouts had their hands full cuffing Balls and Caskets, minor sploets and Kokrocks running for the hobo camps behind the recycling plant. They were grabbing kids like bears in a salmon stream, forcing them facedown on the pavement in rows. They didn’t seem to notice the sound.

  “Where’s the money?” Macy asked again. “I am so not kid—”

  “Russia.”

  “Russia?”

  “Little country between China and Poland.”

  Macy fired again. This time over Dalton’s left shoulder.

  “Ukraine,” Dalton said, wincing. “It’s where they make body armor. That armor’s going to the Middle East Front. To my brother’s command. I shipped the money UPS two hours ago. What can Brown do for me? Well, for one thing, overnight enough cash to semireputable arms dealers halfway around the world.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  “You FISH STICK!”

  Dalton pulled the now-empty duffel from inside his jacket. “But it wasn’t just money in here.” He rooted around inside, throwing handfuls of leftover bills onto the ground. Macy got down on her knees, grabbing at them with her free hand.

  “There’s this, for one thing. It’s an exquisite lie, all right.”

  “What is?”

  “Wesley’s suicide note.” Dalton held up the paper with the deconstructed stanzas and the translated formula.

  Macy stood and snatched the translation away. “A code? He hid the formula in that stupid song?”

  “Wesley didn’t trust you with it.”

  “I can’t believe I bought for a second he’d really listen to Pinker Casket.”

  “Too much Rush makes it hard to concentrate.”

  Macy smirked. “No, it doesn’t. It makes it really easy. And by next week, every student at Salt River is going to be begging for things to get easier and easier.”

  The Snouts were beginning to get control of the situation. Some of the officers were looking over at Dalton, who appeared to be talking to a shadow. One pointed and another spoke into his shoulder radio.

  “Last chance,” Macy said, rooting through Mole’s pockets for the keys to the Kia. “Where is the money, really? I know you didn’t mail it anywhere. You probably don’t even have a brother. Your whole sensitive ethics routine is such self-serving bloshite. Even your angle’s an angle.”

  Dalton reached into the duffel and pulled out something small and flat, about the size of a deck of cards. “Didn’t see this in there before.”

  “Give it to me,” Macy demanded, backing toward the Kia.

  “Looks like Wesley’s wallet,” Dalton said, flipping it open. He pulled out two dollar bills, a school ID, a business card from the Salt River Police Department, and a picture. “What’s this? Wesley’s mysterious girlfriend?”

  “Do you really think I won’t shoot you? Do you really think that?”

  Dalton held the picture up. It was a wallet-size glossy. It was a smiling face. It was a picture of Jeff Chuff, QB. Dalton looked at Macy.

  “You killed Wesley Payne.”

  CHAPTER 28 ½

  WHAT, YOU’VE NEVER SEEN A FRENCH MOVIE BEFORE?

  Macy Payne took off her high heels and walked barefoot through the wet grass. The white paint of the yard markers stuck to the soles of her feet. Up ahead, her brother, Wesley, walked with a stepladder over his shoulder.

  “But you have to tell me where the formula is, Wes.”

  “I can’t. I destroyed it.”

  “Oh, you did not,” Macy said, glaring at his back. Wesley stopped under the goalposts and threw a red duffel bag on the ground. He unzipped it in one motion and pulled out a length of rope and three rolls of duct tape.

  “Think, okay? Do you see the effing corner this puts me in? Inference has the money in her safe. Balls already matched our share. The bank is rolled. They’re expecting production.”

  “We’re not producing any more. Period. It’s addictive.”

  “So people really want to buy it,” Macy said. “What’s wrong with that? I mean, this is a racket no one’s ever thought of before. And we’ll control it. If we don’t, someone e
lse will. It might as well be Euclidians.”

  “No, that’s exactly who it shouldn’t be. Euclidians should be the ones to shut it down.”

  “Do you know how long it took to set this up? While you’re tinkering with your chemistry set? What, are we going to go to Inference and tell her, Oh, sorry, changed our minds, can we just give everyone their money back?”

  “You’re right,” Wesley said. “Can’t do that at all. Which is why we’re calling the police. If Inference goes down, it won’t matter if Euclidians are in power, because there will be nothing left to take over. Which is how it should be.”

  “Who are you to decide how the school should be?”

  “Someone has to,” Wesley said quietly. “Salt River is a shitehole.”

  “Salt River is fine,” Macy said. “It’ll be even better when we start cashing in.”

  “Every penny we’ve made off Rush so far is being donated. I’ve already got it set aside.” Wesley threw a rope over the goalpost and tied a knot. Then he unfurled the sign he was going to hang for everyone to see in the morning.

  POPULAHS FUND-RAISER FOR SPECIAL-NEEDS YOUTH—SIGN UP NOW!

  “Donated? You can’t do that, Wes! It’s my money too. Besides, calling the Snouts? Are you kidding? Where do you think Inference got the go-ahead from to begin with? They’re totally in for a cut.”

  “I don’t believe that. There has to be someone in this town who’s not corrupt.”

  “Well, start believing!” Macy said, her left eye starting to blink. She put one hand over it, forcing it to stop. “This is a real chance for Euclidians. To put people in charge who should have been in charge all along.”

  “Can you stop speechifying and give me a hand?” Wesley raised the heavy poster board.

  Macy held the sign while he duct taped rope along the stanchion to hold it in place.