Commodity

by Shay Savage

  “You mentioned him,” Brett says. He reaches up and rubs the little scar under his eye as he glances at me. “Never actually saw him.”

  Brian and Owen all nod in agreement.

  “I saw him yesterday morning, but that was it.” Sam says.

  “He didn’t come to dinner last night,” Chuck says.

  “I saw him coming out of the shed right before dinner,” Christine adds as she glances in my direction. “Had a bottle in his hand. Headed off through the parking lot.”

  “Yeah, I saw him walking off,” Marco says. “Didn’t talk to him or anything though.”

  “He’s got another apartment in one of the other buildings,” Ryan says. “That’s where I found him.”

  Caesar looks to me, and I feel sweat collecting on the back of my neck.

  “I saw him in the shed before dinner,” I say quietly. “Didn’t see him after that.”

  “Falk?” Caesar turns to him. “When did you see him last?”

  Falk stares at Caesar for a long moment, his expression passive.

  “Right before you and I left to meet up with those guys,” Falk finally responds, gesturing toward the four newcomers. “Never saw him after we got back.”

  “Where were you after dinner?” Caesar asks. “Everyone else was here.”

  “With Hannah in our apartment.” Falk doesn’t blink. “All night.”

  Caesar and Falk stare at each other far too long. I glance back and forth between them, but I can’t read their expressions. Caesar eventually breaks the stare and writes something down on the pad of paper in his hand.

  “So what happened to him?” Chuck asks. “I never heard any gunshots.”

  “He was strangled.” Caesar looks down at the paper and taps it with his pen. “There was definitely a struggle beforehand. The place is a wreck.”

  “It was always a wreck,” Ryan says with a snort.

  “What about those men you ran into last week?” I ask. “The ones who shot at you could have followed you back here.”

  “I don’t think they did,” Caesar says. “If they had caught up to me and planned on doing something like this, it would have been days ago, not now.”

  “They might have been watching us,” Ryan interjects, “biding their time.”

  “For what reason?” Caesar shakes his head. “Besides, I think I would have been a more likely target if they were going to do that. I’m the one who shot back. Beck wasn’t there.”

  “Did you hit one of them?” I ask.

  “No,” Caesar responds quickly. “I only fired two shots as I ran off. It was a deterrent only. If I wanted to hit them, I would have.”

  “Then it has to be someone here.” Ryan leans back in his lawn chair and stares directly at Falk. “Someone with a grudge.”

  Falk stares right back, unflinching.

  “You have something you want to say to me?” Falk’s voice is cold.

  “You were arguing with him yesterday.”

  “He was arguing with me,” Falk says, correcting Ryan, “just like he does every day.”

  “Maybe you just got tired of it.”

  “Maybe you need to watch your mouth.”

  “Enough.” Caesar takes a step forward, blocking the two men’s view of each other. “This isn’t helping. I’m going to go back to that other apartment—see what else I can find.”

  “Want help?” Brett asks as he stands.

  “Yeah, sure.” Caesar turns around in a circle, addressing the whole group. “I think it’s best if everyone stays close today. We don’t know what happened, and whoever did this might still be in the area. No one should wander off alone.”

  Everyone gets up from their seats and heads off in different directions, talking in hushed voices. Most are heading toward their own apartments, but Christine makes her way to the kitchen area and starts washing pots and pans.

  I look to Falk, expecting a lecture about staying close to him. I expect him to drag me back to the apartment and make me sit on the couch with a book while he stares at me, making sure no one gets close. I expect him to demand that I remain in the apartment for the rest of my life.

  But he doesn’t say a word about it.

  “Want to try some more target practice?” he asks.

  “Right now?”

  “Yeah. Why not?”

  “I’m a little shaken at the moment.” I narrow my eyes at him.

  He glances up at me and shrugs.

  “All right. You hungry? You still haven’t eaten much.”

  “No, but I think Christine could use some help with dinner.”

  “Gotcha. I’ll be nearby.”

  I close my eyes and shake my head. I don’t know how he can be so nonchalant about someone in the group apparently being murdered. I know he’s seen a lot of death—he’s told me a little about his combat experiences—but this is different.

  It is to me, anyway.

  I need to keep myself busy, so I walk over to Christine and start to help her out. She smiles and hands me a dishtowel.

  “What do you think happened?” I ask quietly. I glance at Falk, but he’s just sitting on the chair by the fire, using a sharpening stone on one of his knives.

  “I think he pissed off the wrong person,” Christine says. She finishes up a large pot and hands it to me. “I think a nice big pot of stew would work well tonight.”

  “Sounds good to me.” I have no appetite, but I like the idea of staying busy. Chopping up whatever fresh vegetables are still left is as good as anything.

  Christine seems to make up her recipe as we go along, adding a little of this and a little of that to some browned onions at the bottom of the huge pot near the coals of the cooking fire. I hand her whatever she asks for, and she stirs and hums a little. I don’t recognize the tune, but her tone is calming.

  “I saw you coming out of that shed,” she says softly. She shoots a glance at Falk before continuing. “I saw him stumble out right after, looking pretty shitfaced. Beck upset you—that was pretty clear.”

  “He was just drunk.”

  “He was shitfaced,” she repeats. She hands me the large spoon and instructs me to keep stirring while she opens some cans of broth. She nods in Falk’s direction. “Did you tell him?”

  “Falk noticed I was upset.” I chew on my lip as I stir the contents of the pot. “I didn’t tell him exactly what happened.”

  “What did happen?”

  “It was nothing, really.”

  Christine stops twisting the can opener and gives me a look.

  “He was drunk,” I say again. “He kept asking me questions. He didn’t really do anything. He was just being his obnoxious self.”

  “Did Falk think it was nothing when you told him?”

  I look up from the pot and sigh.

  “Do you think he did it?” I ask bluntly. “Do you think he went over to Beck’s apartment and strangled him? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I’m not saying anything,” she says as she twists open another can. “Can’t help but wonder though. They definitely didn’t get along.”

  “He was with me all night.” I lick my lips and wonder if I would have woken up if Falk had gotten out of bed and left the apartment. Christine is right about one thing—Falk had been mad last night—really mad. This morning he was quite chipper.

  “I’ve seen how he looks at you, you know,” Christine comments.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just like he is right now,” she says. “He’s always got his eye on you. Don’t look. He’ll change his focus if you do. I know you’ve said before there’s nothing going on between you two, but I’m not sure he knows that.”

  “There isn’t anything,” I say. “He’s just protective.”

  “I’ve been around a while, honey,” Christine says, “and I know men. That man thinks a lot more of you than just someone to protect.”

  “It’s a job to him,” I insist.

  “He wants you, honey. That’s very cl
ear.” She dumps the last can of broth into the pot and tilts her head to look at me. “You want my advice? Let him have you. Knowing you’re his might be the only thing that keeps the rest of the guys away.”

  I shake my head but don’t get the chance to respond. Chuck comes up behind Christine and wraps his arms around her waist.

  “I know what you need!” he exclaims. “Hasenpfeffer!”

  “I ain’t cooking a damn rabbit, and I sure as hell ain’t cleaning one!”

  “It’s a delicacy, babe! And I’m gonna get you one!”

  Chuck grabs his bow, calls to Sam to join him, and stalks off toward the trees with his head held high, humming the theme song for the Bugs Bunny cartoons. Christine shakes her head and clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

  “They’re all about this, you know,” she tells me. “They’ve all gone primitive. The problem is, they don’t know which of them is the main dog of this pack.”

  “So we’re all going to go back to cavemen hunting while the cavewomen cook?”

  “Do you see any of the guys offering to help us?”

  I can’t deny what she’s saying. Though it hadn’t really occurred to me, she and I do most of the traditional womanly tasks, while the guys go out for supplies and build things. We gather kindling while they chop down trees for larger pieces of wood. I’d even done most of the cleaning in Falk’s apartment though I assume he’d always taken care of that himself before I was in the picture.

  How had I not noticed that before?

  Brett and Caesar return just as dinner is ready, but they don’t seem to have any more information than they had when they left. The apartment definitely had signs of a struggle, and there was blood found on the corner of the coffee table, but Beck didn’t have any bloody wounds.

  Caesar spends all of four minutes checking people for bloody wounds but soon discovers everyone has some kind of cut or scrape. Even I have one on my hand from where I went to place a can for target practice, slipped and scratched myself on the tree stump. We are outside more than inside, and the woods have a lot of thorny bushes.

  I eat dinner in quiet contemplation, only half listening to Caesar and Brett as they discuss Caesar’s notes.

  How well do I know any of the people here?

  It has been roughly a month since I was supposed to be on a plane to Washington, D.C. I haven’t known anyone here for very long, but we’ve lived in such close quarters all that time, it feels like much longer. I can’t imagine any of them actually doing something violent without just cause, let alone wrapping their hands around Beck’s neck and choking the life out of him.

  I shudder at the image that comes to my head.

  Someone did it.

  It has to be someone from outside, either those men Caesar encountered last week or someone we just haven’t seen. We don’t know how many people are out there. It could have been anyone.

  But why?

  What would some stranger have against Beck? He was annoying and definitely abrasive, but no one could have known that without being around him for a while. Logically, it has to be someone here.

  I look around at the people in the chairs circling the fire. Marco and Sam are to my right, and I dismiss them immediately. They’re both shy, country boys. I can’t imagine them doing anything like that. I glance past Christine and Chuck as well—they’re far too focused on each other to get in anyone else’s business. Chuck would likely defend Christine to the death if he needed to, as she would for him, but Beck had never threatened either of them.

  Next to the couple, I look at two of the newcomers—Wayne and Brian. As they had stated, they never even met Beck. I shake my head, annoyed that I’m not getting anywhere.

  Turning my head to the left, Falk is sitting beside me. He’s leaning back in his chair with an unlit cigarette in his hand, staring at the fire. His skin glows with reddish light, and his eyes sparkle with the reflection of the fire.

  No—it couldn’t have been Falk. Falk loves his guns. If he were going to kill Beck, he would have shot him.

  Wouldn’t he?

  Caesar thinks Beck was killed late at night. Shooting a gun would have woken everyone up, and Falk is smarter than that. But strangling? I look toward the apartment, remembering the display of knives he has in the closet. No, he would have used a knife if not a gun.

  Right?

  The fire begins to die out, and I follow Falk to our apartment. Falk sits on the edge of the couch and places one of his many handguns on the coffee table. He starts taking it apart and cleaning each piece. I watch him for several minutes, pondering.

  “Did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  I glare at him. He’s trying to give me an innocent look, but I’m not buying it. He knows exactly what I’m talking about, and he’s being intentionally obtuse.

  “Don’t do that!”

  “Hannah, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He picks up pieces of the gun and starts to reassemble it.

  I growl under my breath.

  “Did you kill Beck?” I keep my voice low though there’s no way anyone could have heard my question if they weren’t inside the room.

  “No.” He doesn’t even look up from his gun.

  “Would you lie to me if you had?”

  He sets the assembled gun back on the table, leans his elbows on his knees, and rubs his fingers into his eyes. I hear him sigh deeply before he looks at me.

  “Yeah, I probably would,” he says. “You’ve got enough shit on your mind. It doesn’t matter though because I didn’t do it.”

  I watch him closely, but there’s nothing in his expression or posture that tells me whether or not I should believe him. His words ring true with me, and I let out a sigh.

  “Okay,” I say, “I believe you.”

  He snorts out a laugh and then stands to walk over to me. Before speaking, he reaches out and lightly touches both of my wrists with his fingertips.

  “There is no way I would have left you alone last night.” He runs his hands slowly from my wrists to my shoulders. “You were upset. Sometimes you have nightmares when you’re upset. I wouldn’t have left you.”

  I close my eyes and lean against him as the tension leaves my body.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. I just…I don’t know what to think of all this.”

  “I understand,” Falk says. “I was pissed at him last night for getting in your face and harassing you.”

  “So, what do you think happened? Who would have killed him?”

  “I think he pissed off most everyone,” Falk says, “but to be completely honest, I don’t care who killed him. If Caesar wants to waste his time doing police work, well, he’s welcome to do that. I wonder what the hell he’s going to do if he tracks down the killer. It’s not like we have any jail cells, and as far as I know, no one in our group is a judge.”

  “What would you do?” I ask.

  “Exactly what I am doing,” Falk replies as he steps back. “Nothing.”

  “You’re all right with anarchy?”

  “It’s not a matter of political ideology,” Falk says. “It’s more about pragmatism. My focus is on survival and your safety. I don’t have time to fuck around with the other shit. If someone came after you, they would have to answer to me. I wouldn’t start by asking Caesar what the most law-abiding course of action might be.”

  “If I were threatened, would you kill over it?”

  “If I had to, yes.”

  Chapter 9

  Over the next few days, Caesar continues his investigation with no results. There are no signs of anyone outside our group having been in the area, and no one from the group arouses suspicions. Our little bunch seems to be of the same mind as Falk—just ignore that it happened.

  And for the most part, it had gone away.

  We’d buried Beck in the field just past the area where Falk took me for target practice. Everyone had attended the funeral, and R
yan and Caesar both said words over his grave. Afterward, on top of the dirt mound, Christine placed a ring of fall flowers she’d collected, and that had been the end of it.

  Our group is now just the twelve of us.

  I notice Caesar sitting near the fire, perusing his notepad. He closes his eyes and his shoulders slump. I look around quickly for Falk, but he had gone to the apartment for new batteries and must still be there. If he sees me talking to Caesar when he isn’t around, he’ll be pissed.

  I close my eyes for a moment as my chest tightens up.

  I can’t keep doing this. I know Falk wants me to be careful, but I can’t live with a group of people I’m not allowed to talk to. Falk is my bodyguard, not my father. I straighten my shoulders and pour the last of the coffee from the pot into a cup.

  “Want some coffee?” I ask Caesar as I hold out the mug.

  “Thanks.” He takes the cup from my hand and takes a sip.

  “Still trying to figure it out?” I gesture toward the notepad.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” He sighs. “I don’t have the kind of resources I need to figure anything out. It’s not like I can take fingerprints. I’ve had my share of unsolved cases, but here…well, there are only so many suspects. To top it all off, no one seems to give a shit.”

  “No one really knew him.”

  “I knew him.” Caesar looks at me pointedly. “We’d been friends for years. Ryan knew him from when they were in the service together. I feel like I owe it to my brother to figure it out.”

  He looks up at me and darts his tongue across his lips.

  “Is there anything else you know?” he asks. “Anything you didn’t tell me already?”

  “No.” I shake my head emphatically. “I told you—I saw him in the shed before dinner. I didn’t see him again after that.”

  “What happened in the shed?” He keeps staring at me, and my insides start to feel tight.

  “Nothing, really,” I say. “He was a little drunk. He kept asking me to tell him who I was.”

  “Did you?”

  “No. I just got away and told him to leave me alone.”

  “Did you tell Falk?”

  I hesitate, knowing immediately that it’s a mistake to do so. I look in the direction of the apartment, and see Falk on the balcony, smoking. He’s not looking in our direction, but he has likely seen us talking.