Dead Enemies

by K. E. Garvey

  “Here you go,” she said as she handed him the phone. “Do you have a garage you can call? I can recommend one if you’re not from the area.”

  For a brief moment, he thought about simply getting what he came for and putting distance between them. He looked at the phone in her hand, and said, “I have someone I can call. Thank you, kindly.”

  She clearly didn’t recognize him. If he could get what he wanted without making a mess, that would be his best option. He pushed random buttons in the pretense of placing a call. After a few seconds, he turned his back on her, and said, “Hey, Norm. Listen, I’m broke down in Mendenhall and I was wondering if you could come out for me…Flat tire…I hate to ask you in this weather, but…What street?

  He turned toward Katherine and having been unable to avoid his conversation, she said, “Byron Court,” almost inaudibly as if by saying it she had given permanence to an unwanted connection.

  He smiled at her before returning his attention to the one-sided conversation. “Byron Court…One hour…Thanks, Rod. Next beer’s on me.”

  Although she hadn’t moved from where she was standing, she backed away from him when he turned to hand her the phone. When their eyes met, he recognized the suspicion in hers at the same moment he realized his mistake. He took a step closer when she didn’t accept the phone from in his extended hand.

  His hair fell into his eyes when he shook his head. He set the phone on the table.

  She grasped the back of the chair closest to her as she stepped away from him.

  The sudden tension in the room hung on him more heavily than his rain-soaked clothing. Every instinct was telling him she had figured out who he was, but he had to know for sure. Messes were to be avoided whenever possible.

  He pretended not to notice the nervousness that had settled on her. “He said it’d be about an hour. I hate to impose any more than I already have, but would you mind if I waited on your front porch. My health isn’t what it used to be and I don’t think another hour in the rain will do me any favors.”

  She sidled over to the far counter stopping directly in front of a block of knives. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. My Rottweiler is sleeping in the bedroom. If he were to wake and hear you out there, he would tear the door off its hinges to get to you. He’s quite protective.”

  He repeated, “Your Rottweiler?” He shook his head in time with the tsk, tsk he said under his breath.

  Her brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

  “You see, most people would say their dog was sleeping in the bedroom. But you felt the need to let me know you had a big, bad Rottweiler that was aching to tear me apart. Too much information, mistake number one. Mistake number two, I remember you’re highly allergic to both cats and dogs, Kate.”

  He pulled out the chair closest to him and sat.

  “I don’t know why you’re here, but you have to leave, Warren. Please. I’ve done nothing to you.” Her voice broke.

  The way she was trembling and wringing her hands told him there wasn’t much time. “I knew you’d figure it out the second I messed up the name.” He winked at her. “You always were the smart sister.”

  She tugged on her lip with her teeth. Her eyes were big, terrified, and locked on his.

  “After twenty years you hear one little lie and instantly think of me. Most people would be offended, but not me. No, I’m rightly flattered I left you with such a lasting impression.”

  “You have no business here. We left nothing unresolved.”

  “I need your help, Kate. Seems my wife and children up and ran out on me while I was away. She’d never leave without telling you where she was going.” He ran his fingernail along a scratch in the Formica. “If you want the truth, I envisioned a family reunion of sorts. I was kinda hoping to find her here with you.”

  “West Chester.”

  “She shack up with someone there?”

  “She’s buried there. The Oaklands.”

  It had never crossed his mind that Wanda might be dead, but why hadn’t it? He knew she wouldn’t have been young anymore, but she hadn’t aged a day in his mind. “When?”

  “Eight years ago. Breast cancer.”

  Still tracing over the scratch, he asked, “What about the girls? Where’d they land?” without looking at her.

  Her silence filled the room causing him to look up. She was no longer looking at him, but the puddle forming under his chair.

  “Don’t make this an ugly visit, Kate.”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  The quiver in her voice failed her words. He rose from the chair. She trembled visibly as she inched her hand closer to the block of knives.

  He took a slow look around the room as he spoke. “I’m a fair man regardless as to what you may have heard. And to prove it, I’m going to forgive the lie you just told me. Consider it a little gift between in-laws.”

  She blurted, “I wasn’t—”

  He cut her off with a cold stare. “Don’t make your situation worse.” When she offered no reply, he continued, “As I was saying, I’m going to forgive the lie and give you a fresh start, which goes against my nature. You have one chance to tell me where I can find my girls, and you better not lie.”

  She placed a hand over her chest as it rose with a deep breath. “I couldn’t tell you. They scattered to the winds shortly after their mother passed. Wanda didn’t have much, you know that, but they still managed to fight over it. Things got bad enough that within a few months of each other, they up and left. First one, then the other.”

  He moved a step closer. “And neither of them kept in touch with you?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but it was empty of words.

  “Hard to speak when you’re choking on a lie, ain’t it?” he said as he moved another step closer. “This might be a great big world, but there are few dark corners. I’m going to find them with or without your help. I was hoping you’d respect the bonds of blood and do the right thing.”

  She pressed herself into the corner at the end of the counter. “I swear I don’t know where they are,” she whispered.

  He recognized a lie as well as his own reflection. Lies had been ingrained into his life as far back as he could remember. The first he recalled hearing had been told to him by his old man, someone who swore on a lot but was right about little. He’d preach, “Live by God’s word, son, and you’ll grow to be a happy, healthy, and prosperous man.” What a load of shit that had been. Another that came to mind was, “Keep your trap shut and you won’t get hurt,” spoken by his cellmate when he first landed in the joint. That lie had been the cause of many a nightmare. There had been lies in between and it didn’t matter if the lie was told by a blood relative, an ill-advised convict, or a desperate woman, it was always recognizable if you wanted to see it.

  He grabbed hold of Kate’s wrist as she grabbed hold of the largest knife in the block. Looking her in the eyes, he pulled her hand, still wrapped tightly around the handle, away from the block. With his other hand, he applied increasing pressure to her wrist until she dropped the knife onto the counter.

  “Seems you’re more like your sister than I realized.”

  She tensed when he reached behind her and pulled on her apron string. Tears filled her eyes as he lifted the apron over her head and turned her toward the table.

  “Please Warren, you don’t want to do this. You have nothing to gain by raping me.” Katherine choked out her words.

  He let out a sardonic laugh. “You mean reap, not rape. I’ve already sown my seed in your family’s garden. No, I came to reap what I’ve sown; but you seem bent on making that impossible for me, so to hell with you.”

  Using a hand to her shoulder, he guided her onto one of the chairs. “You see, Kate, people think it’s the big, grand-scale events that define their lives. You know what I’m talking about. A woman turns bitter because her old man leaves her for someone who looks like she used to, or a man throws in the towel and drinks his life away because
he lost a job. Find another old man, bitch. It’s just a job, loser. Those things aren’t reasons, they’re excuses. You’d be surprised how many people confuse the two. In my way of thinking, it’s the split-second decisions that define our lives. For instance, it was in that almost subliminal moment I decided to jump in my truck and tear down the road fueled by anger and a few too many long necks that changed the course of my life forever, not the accident itself. That damn decision cost me twenty years, my family, and a host of things only a Priest’s ears should hear. And it was your sister’s decision to take my girls and run out on me that’ll change the course of theirs.” He stretched one of the apron strings between his hands and gave a few firm tugs. “Trouble is, most people don’t seem to recognize those moments until they’ve blamed everything from shit to shinola for their miserable lot in life. For example, you just had one of those defining moments and I’ll bet you didn’t even recognize it. This could have been simple. I come to see you, ask a few questions, get a few answers, in and out. Your defining moment happened in the split second you decided to lie to me, and now, you’ll reap what you’ve sown. Life is all about sowing and reaping.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Ah, answering a question with a question. Is that a basic defensive move or a stall tactic? Doesn’t matter. Either way, it’s not what I came for.”

  “I can’t give you what you came for.” Her voice trembled.

  He shook his head. “That does create a problem. You see, the fact that you were willing to pull a knife on me tells me you’d have no trouble dialing the cops before I hit the end of the driveway, and the fact that you’re guarding my girls’ whereabouts with your life tells me how much, or should I say how little, value you place on it. It’s a you or me world, Kate; and today, it’s not going to be me.”

  In a fluid motion, he looped the apron string around her neck and began to pull against his other hand.

  “No—” The sounds that followed fell between gurgles and grunts as she clawed at her neck and the taut string. She pulled on his wrist. She then grabbed a hold of the table’s edge and shoved it away, knocking over the chair on the other side.

  “What do you want your epitaph to say, Kate? I’m thinking, Here Lies Kate And Her Secret, Inseparable To The End. What do you think?”

  She reached up again and grabbed a hold of his wrist while she thrashed in her seat. He winced when she raked her nails across his wrist one last time before her fingers went limp. Lightning flashed in the window and her head lolled to the right.

  He let out a deep sigh and worked the cramps out of his fingers before examining his wrist. Blood had begun to streak its way toward the outer edge of his hand and drip to the floor. “Dammit, woman.” He unwound the string from her neck and used the apron to mop several drops of blood from the linoleum. Once finished, he wadded the apron and stuffed it in his back pocket. He then pulled several paper towels off a roll hanging by the sink, ran them under water, and dropped them to the floor. Using his shoe, he pushed the towels around until there were no signs of blood. He stuffed the towels into his other back pocket. When she began to list to the right, he righted her and pushed her chair toward the table. Letting her fall to the floor would have been easier, but would have robbed her of what little dignity remained when she was finally found. He didn’t feel right about taking that, too.

  For such a small woman he had to exert more effort than his underworked muscles were used to. When the chair came to a stop, he straightened his back and let out a groan. Satisfied the furniture would hold her in place, he focused on what he had come for.

  He found it difficult to concentrate with the relentless pounding on the tin roof. The rain beat back his thoughts keeping them bottled and cramped in his head. Damn, he just needed a minute to think. He stood in the dead woman’s kitchen, closed his eyes, and pushed away every thought that didn’t have to do with his family. Finally, using the towel hanging on the grab bar of the stove, he began to rifle through drawers. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Maybe an address book, or an envelope with a return address and one of the girls’ names on it. Maybe a photograph with a recognizable background or a name and date penned on the back.

  Without finding anything worthwhile in the kitchen, he moved on to the living room. When he had been through each of the four rooms without coming across anything useful, he wiped down everything he might have touched and returned to the kitchen.

  He chose the largest muffin on the cooling rack and devoured it so fast he was unable to tell what kind it had been. Without casting more than a glance toward the table, he headed toward the door. Something shiny caught his eye. A keychain with two keys hung on a hook over the light switch. He lifted it off and studied it. The front bore a design, maybe a company emblem. It was unique and something he knew he had never seen before. He flipped it over and read the inscription, To Aunt Katherine - Love, Amy. He couldn’t recall a relative named Amy, but giving it thought now would take away from what he had to do next, which was putting distance between himself and the woman pinned to the table by her chair. He didn’t believe anyone would be by tonight to find her, but he had no further reason for being here. He slipped the keychain into his pocket, and said a flippant, “Thanks for nothing, Kate,” on his way out the door.

  On the porch, he lit a cigarette and stared into the night. He wasn’t pleased with how the evening had turned out. His toes had been trapped in wet shoes for so long they began to sting, and for what? He had come up empty. Could she have been telling the truth? Without having anything more than her nervousness to connect her to his daughters he couldn’t be sure. That made him hate the fact she had forced his hand all the more. The only warmth in his thoughts was that she hadn’t suffered. She had unwisely given him no choice, but that wasn’t reason enough to warrant suffering. The act was one thing. Unavoidable. The thought of causing her undue pain was something else entirely. His father used to say he had a sympathetic heart and a sleepy conscience.

  Whatever, old man.

  He could think of worse things in life than having a heart that outsized his conscience, like having a father that turned everything he did and every word he said inside out until only the darkest of it was exposed. His old man’s brand of honesty came by way of prayers and a gun, and he wasn’t afraid to use either. Almost a year after the fact he heard his gun-toting father had met his demise during a robbery at the church late one Saturday night. The young man had not only wrestled the gun away from him, but used it to blow his brains across three pews and the brand-new carpeting, courtesy of the extra collection basket each week over the previous three months. That same young man had served as an acolyte in his old man’s church five years earlier. Fairytales groom the young and unknowing to believe that although the big bad wolf may try to divide and conquer, the flock is kept safe under the watchful eye of its protector. His old man continued to spread that fertilizer over his congregation week after week until one day, the wolf put manners on the Shepard.

  There were still no lights on in the only house within view, nothing to brighten the darkness. Maybe luck was on his side for a change. The irony of that thought caused him to chuckle in spite of it. He took several quick hits and flicked the butt into the darkness. With his head tucked into his chest he pulled up his collar, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and stepped off the porch into the driving rain.

  Chapter Nine

  Warren - 1995

  A curtain of cobwebs seemed to hold the old Texaco clock in place over the rolling door of the makeshift garage. The numbers were barely visible underneath the cracked glass cover and the rusted hands were bent, but even without the clock Warren knew it was coming up on dinner time.

  It would be just him and Gail at the table tonight. Dinner for two. Wanda had taken Cheryl to spend a few days with her sister in Mendenhall. It was her normal practice to take only one girl at a time on her visits. She’d claim it was because she knew he wouldn’t eat a thing the ent
ire time she was gone if he had to fix it himself. But he knew her reason was that the cat didn’t trust the mouse with a few unsupervised days to himself and would sooner give up on seeing her sister. He smirked as if she were standing in front of him, and thought, Yeah, you’ve got it all figured out.

  “Dinner,” Gail called out over the gurgle of the creek that bordered one side of the garage.

  Warren wiped his greasy hands on a greasier rag and threw it on a workbench on the way out of the garage leaving the door open behind him. He didn’t give a shit what Gail fixed for dinner. Not tonight. Food was the last thing on his mind.

  Lately, Wanda seemed to be paying closer attention to him and Gail individually, but even closer attention when they spent time together. More than once he’d caught her stare fixed on him while they ate or watched television. Imagination fueled by his own guilt? Maybe, but he didn’t think so. He had hooked up with Wanda solely for her God-given assets and married her when he knocked her up. If he thought hard, he could find another couple of reasons for her not being the worst he could have done, but brains was never one of them. It seemed whatever God gave her in tits and ass, he gipped her on smarts.

  When he hit the top step of the porch, the smell of grilled cheese filled his nostrils. The acridity of the aroma told him Gail had over-toasted the bread. It was one of the few things she knew how to make even if it wasn’t made well.

  Gail was pulling on both sides of a bag of chips when he entered the kitchen. It popped open releasing a puff of air. “Toasted cheese and chips. Is that okay?” she asked.

  “Just fine.”

  When she bent to place the chips in the center of the table her shorts rose several inches, just high enough to see the curve at the top of her thigh. He cleared his throat. “Do we have any of that cottage cheese left?”

  “I don’t know.”