A Hard Case

by Ron Hess

  I swallowed. “Yes, Helen, I believe there is one. Just a minute and I’ll get it from the back.”

  Coward, I told myself. Why don’t you tell her to run? But I didn’t. Instead, I mustered up a half-hearted smile and went to the back. Jacobs remained seated at the table, giving me only a cursory look, but the other two drew out their snub-nosed .357’s and motioned at me to get the package.

  My heart started thumping, my hands trembled, and I dropped the package on the floor. I picked it up, took a deep breath and smiled at Jeanette who gave me a thumbs-up. I was going to be okay, despite the glares from the two men. I walked back to the front.

  “Here you are, Helen.” I said, in a low voice. Maybe she would take a hint and run, but she didn’t. The drama continued on, out of my control, with the two men dashing to the front counter from the other room.

  “Helen Ermoff! You’re under arrest!”

  She gave me a stunned look. “You, too, Bronski? You, too?”

  I nodded, sick with my treachery and wishing I was elsewhere.

  The men had just laid their hands on her when the old man stood up.

  “Take your hands off her!” he said, causing everyone to face him.

  At first, this drew puzzled looks from everyone, but the puzzlement disappeared when he drew out the old Colt that had killed his son. The men slowly backed away, their hands rising to shoulder height with their .357’s pointed at the ceiling. The old man looked from one man to the other, as if gauging whether they would cause trouble. The men appeared rooted in place. Satisfied, the old man faced Helen.

  “Why, Helen, why are you in this?”

  I was never to know if she answered. All I saw was the rear of her head shaking.

  The next sound was the old pistol going off with a loud boom and Helen falling to the floor.

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” was all one of the two men had time to say.

  “Stand back!” The old man was in full control.

  He looked at me, straight on. “She is to be buried here, with her own kind.”

  I nodded and before anyone could do anything the old man placed the pistol over his heart and pulled the trigger.

  “Ah . . . hell!” one man said. “Ah . . . hell.” Instead of a simple drug arrest, now they had two dead bodies to contend with.

  “They’ll be pissed at the office!”

  Everybody still stood in the same position as before the shooting. One of the men still had his hands in the air. The only thing moving was two pools of blood. Chills went up and down my spine when I realized the old man’s blood was slowly moving uphill on the old wooden floor toward the blood pool of Helen’s, the color changing from red to purple as they mingled.

  Dumbfounded, I turned to see Jean and Jeanette crossing themselves. They recognized the flowing blood as a sign. A sign that the old man and Helen were together at last.

  Jacobs came through the door making like a rhinoceros.

  “What the hell happened?” he yelled.

  The man who had his arms up in the air finally realized this and lowered them.

  “Well, I . . .”

  “Well, I . . . what!” Jacobs’ jowls quivered with indignation.

  Sensing that there was going to be a blowup, I signaled the twins and we quietly slipped out to the back room. Jacobs was going to have his hands full. There was already a man coming down the street. Gunfire was not that common inside the village. With everyone’s nerves still on edge from Ivan’s death, a gunshot meant more than simple target practice. On my way back to the other room, I had the presence of mind to grab the envelope the old man had given me. It now made sense to me why he had. It was his good-by gift.

  Back in the other room, I threw the envelope on the desk, and motioned to the two women to sit down.

  “Do we have any coffee?” I asked.

  Jean got up and wandered over to the pot. There was enough for three cups. We sat there, sipping from our cups in silence, listening to the ruckus up front. This was going to be an interesting day for the Postal Service. I was sure that a supervisor, maybe the head manager himself, was sitting by a phone, waiting to hear from various places in Western Alaska the good news of a successful operation. I began to think out-loud.

  “You know what, ladies?”

  They shook their heads in unison, still a little numb over what had happened.

  “I’m going to call the boss.”

  A smile came to their faces. It would be about the first time I had beat him to the punch. Besides, I figured it might give him a one up in the office wars in Anchorage. With some pleasure, after I had gotten the number from Jeanette, I dialed the boss and put my feet up on the desk.

  “Boss!” I yelled.

  “Bronski?” He answered, as if apprehensive to hear me.

  I then went on to relay the morning’s events, starting with the 2:00 a.m. wakeup call up to the untimely deaths of the old man and Helen. I heard an old Zippo lighter click. The boss was actually going to smoke that cigar. The first few puffs must have been glorious because I heard nothing.

  “Boss?”

  I heard a cough, one of those that cleans out the lungs and a whispered, “Yeah, Bronski, I’m here.”

  “Well, I thought you’d like to know,” I said, thinking about the points I might make by getting the news out to the outside world.

  “Yeah, Bronski,” he said. I think he was glad I called, but I heard the resignation there, too. There were going to be a lot of phone calls that day, and he would be working late into the night. We rang off and I slumped back in my chair. Jean and Jeanette sat perched on the edge of their chairs, awaiting instructions. There was still lots of hubbub up front. I could hear Charlie’s voice now, so I knew some order would start to take hold. The three postal inspectors were probably still in shock. Few people get to see a murder and suicide occur in front of them, so it would take someone like Charlie to quiet things down. Trooper Wattle would probably also be showing up to help out. Yes, it was going to be a long day.

  Still musing, my eyes fell on the manila envelope. I began to think out-loud again.

  “Jeanette and Jean, I’m going to open up this envelope. I’m not sure you should see what’s in it, especially you, Jeanette, because if I’m right, it contains pictures. But, I want to mention it to you, mostly for my own protection. I’m not going to show the pictures to you, but I will tell you what they are. All right?”

  They nodded. I opened the envelope, almost reluctantly, knowing it might cause great pain for Jeanette and Jean. Indeed it did contain pictures, only three 8 by 10’s, but that was enough. They were very clear and showed two nude figures. One was of the Postmaster Justus and the other was Mary engaged in sex. All three pictures were similar in that both people were nude and engaged in various sexual acts.

  Jeanette must have read the disgust on my face. Before I could stop her, she grabbed them out of my hand. She took one look, handed them to Jean and began to rock back and forth in her chair. The words came grinding out of a contorted face.

  “I knew what he was doing,” she said. “But I didn’t know how to stop him. I asked him to stop, but he wouldn’t. He just laughed and said it was good for her. I knew if I complained I would lose my job, and he would still . . . be . . .”

  The thoughts were more than she could take and she broke into great wracking sobs. I could only shake my head. That bastard. He deserved to die. The old man was right. The postmaster killed himself by his own lust and the shame he would have faced with his family. I moved around the desk after putting the pictures away and sat beside Jeanette, taking her in my arms. That’s about all I knew to do. Jean, meanwhile, had gotten up and moved around the room, kicking at things.

  I tried to reassure Jeanette there was nothing else she could have done. Would my boss have believed her? Maybe, maybe not. Justus carried a lot of power. That set me to thinking about why he was a temporary postmaster. It was obvious why I was sent out here. It was because I was thought of as a screw-up. B
ut why was Justus? I bet the boss knew, but would he tell? Hell, no. He wanted to keep his job, too. He’d say the info was confidential. Another illustration of that old axiom: life is not fair.

  Jacobs came bounding through the door and headed for the desk. Seeing me sitting there with Jeanette, he asked, “She okay?”

  I nodded and he went on. “I’m afraid I’m going to be on the phone for awhile. Why don’t you all take a break for an hour or so.”

  Without a word, we all stood up, gathered our coats from the clothes rack and left by the side door. No need to revisit the scene up front by the counter. Outside, it was a basic gray day down in the lower twenties with a contrary wind blowing between the buildings as if it were unsure of itself. Now and then, a few flakes of snow fell to add to the general gloom. By silent consensus we walked down the street toward the cafe, Jeanette’s arm wrapped in mine. I tried to give her a half-hearted smile once, but stopped, thinking it was not exactly appropriate for the day. So we trudged silently, each lost in our thoughts.

  “Leo!”

  At first I thought I was hearing things and was prepared to walk on, but Jeanette nudged me and nodded at the priest standing in the doorway of the church.

  “Leo!” He said again, and motioned for me. I looked down at the two women and told them I would see them later, either at the cafe or post office. They nodded in the stiffening wind and walked on, arm in arm. The snow was coming down harder now and the twins disappeared into its whiteness. I turned and made my way to the church, knowing the priest would want to know what was going on.

  “Leo,” he said, “thanks for stopping off. I heard the shots and was curious. C’mon in.”

  I followed him in, grateful for the warmth, but I wished I were elsewhere. The old wooden church moaned and groaned in the wind. The wood floor creaked as if saints of old were walking, trying to keep warm. Or had they been disturbed by the killings and were showing their vexation? We walked back of the altar and into the office. It was quieter there. Maybe it was off-limits to the saints.

  “A cup of coffee, Leo?” Father Joseph asked.

  “That would be great.” I said, and hoped I didn’t appear too eager.

  He answered my prayers by pouring in a fine measure of whiskey.

  “I hope pouring in a little medicinal aid is all right. I understand you’re drinking less these days.”

  I took the cup, my hands steady. And I have to say, I was a little amazed at this. I was turning into a good guy, at least as far as alcohol was concerned.

  “That’s true. Instead of going cold turkey, I decided to go off slowly. Some say it can’t work that way, but for me it has. I made sort of a covenant with God when I was out there tied to that tree and I mean to keep it, or else. I didn’t elaborate what the “or else” meant; I knew he would figure it out.

  He looked at me for a moment. “Care to tell me, now, Leo, what happened in the post office?”

  I took a sip of coffee and let the whiskey burn all the way down.

  “Sure,” I said. I then proceeded to tell him about the incident of the old man killing Helen and himself. About how Helen had thought the old man John had not known what she was into, and how the old man had said she was to be buried, with her own kind.

  “We can do that,” he murmured, “but I can’t bury John Ermoff. It’s against the policy and belief of the church.”

  I nodded. “There’s one more thing.”

  “I rather thought there would be,” he said, stirring his coffee. I looked down at my cup. It was empty. He motioned at my cup. “Thanks, just coffee, this time.”

  God, it hurt to say, “just coffee,” but it had to be that way.

  He handed the cup to me and whirled to sit down. He tried to look like he had all the time in the world, but by his actions, I knew he was getting impatient. I took a sip and told him about he old man’s revelation and the pictures. After I had finished and he had stirred his coffee again, he spoke.

  “I suspected as much. Jeanette never said a word. I know it was a burden for her. I, too, feel like I let Mary down. Of all people. My problem is I have two other villages to look after and they all have similar problems. I feel so inadequate at times.”

  He gave me a smile. “So tell me, Mr. Bronski, what are your intentions toward a member of my flock?”

  “I . . . I . . .” What in hell was my plan? I gulped. Here it was. The Question. What was I going to do with the rest of my life? Stay here? Go back to Anchorage? I had no real ties there, other than a few bar buddies. I must have sat there a while longer than I thought.

  “Leo?” The Father prodded.

  The words came out of my mouth before I myself knew what I was going to say.

  “I think we’ll be engaged before long.”

  “You mean, to Jeanette?” He asked.

  “Yes,” I almost shouted.

  “Have you asked her?”

  “Well, no, but . . .”

  “I’m sure,” he said with a smile, “that you’ll get it sorted out. After all, both of you are mature adults. Before you get married, though, I would like to have you in for a talk, to make sure you have covered all the bases.”

  I sat there in shock. Things were moving awful fast this morning. A murder, a suicide, and a pending marriage? What was next? Well, I knew what that was, and in a way, I’d be glad to get it over with. I stood up. I had to get back to the office and phone the boss about John Justus. I thanked the Father for his time and walked out the way I had come in. The wind still moaned, but the saints had stopped walking the floor. Strange how these things work.

  Outside, the snow had stopped with a two-inch layer on the ground. I looked at my watch. An hour and more had gone by. Up the street a door slammed. It was the twins. They, too, had decided it was time to get back to work. I waited for them and joined them, making tracks in the snow.

  “Did you have a good conversation with Father Joseph?” Jean wanted to know.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “What did you talk about?” I hesitated and looked down at Jeanette, who looked straight ahead. Ah, ha! It had been a set-up with the priest. Once again, Jean was conducting the orchestra and the words, “Matchmaker, matchmaker . . .” again came to mind. I decided to play it straight. Jeanette deserved that much, sister or not.

  “I told him a lot of stuff about the deaths. We also talked about a pending engagement. He said he wanted to talk to me and the person I would like to be engaged to. I said that sounded reasonable enough.”

  “And who would that be?” Jean persisted. This was weird. One sister asking for the other. Jeanette glared at her sister.

  “Jean.” Enough was enough.

  Another few steps went by. “Of course,” I said, “there would be a lot of changes for this other person and me. But given the right circumstances, like my boss okaying me to stay here in the village, I think we could do it. Don’t you, Jeanette?”

  Jeanette squeezed my arm and we stopped. She waited until Jean had walked on. Sister didn’t have to be in on everything. She turned to look at me with a sober earnestness, those brown eyes diving deep. We must have stood there for half a minute trading and exchanging looks. Finally, she nodded. “Yes, Leo,” she said in that quiet determined way of hers. “We can and we will.”

  Epilogue

  It was the following spring when Jimmy pulled to a stop on the hill above the village and turned off the engine of the four-wheeler. It wasn’t his, but the postmaster said he could use it as long as he didn’t hot-rod it. Of course he hadn’t, at least not in the village proper. But out on the trails . . . well . . . what real Alaskan didn’t?

  He cocked his leg over the fuel tank, planted his elbow on his knee and regarded the scene below. It was fun to watch people come and go. There went his sister Martha over to the cafe. Man, was she busy, what with working over at the post office part-time. She helped the temporary postmaster and Jean get the mail out. The permanent postmaster and Jeanette were gone on a honeymoon to Ha
waii, of all places. Bronski said that’s what people did when they got married. And so, off they had gone, happy as could be.

  Jimmy was happy. His mother was still sober. In a recent counseling session he learned for the first time what made her drink. It was because of the hunting accident when his father was killed. Jimmy shook his head. Enough of that.

  Bronski had also said that maybe this summer Jimmy and him could go fishing somewhere. Jeanette said that would be okay with her as long as they came back safe and sound.

  Jimmy smiled. He liked Bronski. It was all most like having a real Dad. Sometimes they played one-on-one down at the gym. Bronski always lost. Said he couldn’t understand how Jimmy could be so fast. But Jimmy had to admit the old guy was getting better. Sometimes the other men teased Bronski about spending too much time in the sack. Bronski would just grin and get red in the face. So maybe it was true.

  Jimmy sighed. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with his life. Now that his mother had stopped her drinking, he didn’t have to worry about her so much, although Bronski said the desire for alcohol never ended. Jimmy’s thoughts turned toward his great-uncle John who had said he could be a Shaman if he wanted to be, which got him to thinking about his Aunt Mary.

  Someone said she was down in Seattle, but who knew?

  It was too bad the old man had to commit suicide. Everyone missed his steadiness, but Carl was a good man. Life went on. It was funny watching Bronski trying to clean up the bloodstain left by the old man and Helen. The circular two-feet stain remained bright purple. Somebody said it was a reminder of what can happen even to the best of families. People walked around it, even the kids. Then at times, there was the smell of pipe smoke in the air. Bronski denied it, but everyone knew the old man still sat in his chair as if reminding the villagers what can happen from taking drugs.

  Jimmy cocked an ear. What was that? It sounded like someone singing. There it was again, only more distinct. The words came floating over the hill to him.