Stiffed

by Kitchin, Rob

  ‘An insurance …’ I can’t help but laugh. It’s a nervous reaction. If the worst that happens as a result of the last few hours is I get prosecuted for an attempted insurance fraud then I’ll consider that a good result. And Gerlach will have difficulty securing a conviction on the basis of speculation and the little circumstantial evidence he has.

  ‘You’ll be laughing on the other side of your face if I decided to pursue the case.’

  ‘You’re not then?’ Annabelle asks. ‘Not that there is a case. I mean, we would have needed to have reported a burglary to make a claim.’

  ‘Except you hadn’t yet removed the “stolen” goods. I’d say the whole thing’s been averted before it really happened.’ He steps forward through the front door, turning on the porch. ‘But if I hear you’ve made a claim now or in the future, you can expect to receive our full attention.’

  He sets off for his car and I close the front door.

  ‘Fuck,’ I mutter.

  ‘Jason’s an idiot,’ Anna says.

  ‘Seconded.’

  Scrap what I said about Jason being trustworthy. He’s a moron. A three hundred and fifty pound moron that’s going to be covered in Chinese burns.

  I tug Anna’s skirt back into line. ‘I guess my club got caught dragging you into the cave.’

  ‘Shit,’ Anna hisses. ‘I hope he keeps that to himself. How the hell am I going to live that down? And how’re you going to explain why you’re wearing your balls as earrings?’

  * * *

  ‘You need to phone Paavo,’ Annabelle says, ‘before Sergeant Gerlach gets hold of him.’

  I’m washing my hands and arms at the kitchen sink. Marino’s clothes are now in a black garbage bag which is stashed at the end of the garden, a fresh bag lining the bin. All his pockets had been empty.

  ‘Did you hear me?’ she repeats. ‘And tell him to come back with the van. We need to get rid of those bodies.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll ring him now,’ I say with little enthusiasm. Ultimately, we’re doomed. Even though we didn’t kill either Marino or Junior, we’ve committed heaven knows how many other offences so far this morning. If the only people who knew about Marino were Jason, Kate and myself, and the only three who knew about Junior was Barry White, Jason and myself, then covering things up might be possible.

  Might.

  Instead, both Annabelle and Paavo know and Sergeant Gerlach thinks we’re up to something even if he isn’t sure what. Perhaps we should just come clean and take our chances with Pirelli?

  ‘You’re not slipping into one of your black moods, are you?’ Annabelle asks.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think the Irish passion for melancholy is over-rated. When Paavo arrives it’ll be like a wake.’

  Paavo takes intense, taciturn and direct to the height of national stereotype; Finnish by name, Finnish by nature, despite being born in America. His usual demeanor makes my black moods look like I’m high on Prozac.

  ‘Jesus, we’ll get you a new dog,’ she says.

  ‘I don’t want a new dog; I want my old life back.’

  ‘With Psycho-Bitch?’

  ‘She’s not that bad.’

  ‘Not that bad? She’s several degrees out from north. You call Paavo and I’ll make a start on your bedroom,’ she says, pulling a fresh pair of washing gloves from a pack and taking a bottle of disinfectant from under the sink.

  I wait for her to leave the room then use my cell phone to ring the Finn.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Paavo, its Tadhg.’

  Silence.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry about earlier. Can you come back to the house?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes. If that’s okay.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’ll see you soon then.’

  ‘Okay.’

  A typical conversation with Paavo. Silence, one word answers, and few sentences more than five words long.

  Women love him. Heaven knows why; he barely seems to communicate with them.

  I head up after Annabelle. I might as well try and move the mattress to the top of the stairs. Once Paavo gets here, we can slide it down and out into the van.

  ‘Well?’ Anna asks. She’s pulled out the bedside cabinet and is on her knees scrubbing the wall which I can see is still flecked with blood.

  ‘He’s on his way.’

  ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  ‘What is it with men? Why can’t you talk to each other?’

  ‘I’m going to move the mattress onto the landing,’ I say, ignoring her questions. I leave the cover sheet on, grab hold of the corner and tug it off the base and onto its side.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Anna mutters.

  I peer round at the side facing her.

  The top half is stained reddy-brown. The wooden slats on the bed are similarly stained, as are the varnished floorboards below.

  ‘We’ll never get those stains out of these,’ Anna says, scrubbing the slats. They’re untreated pine and the blood has soaked into the grain.

  ‘The bed can go as well. I’ll buy a whole new set-up.’

  The front doorbell rings.

  ‘Jesus, that was fast,’ I say, heading for the stairs.

  I open the door to find a man in his late forties wearing jeans, a checked shirt, cowboy boots and a Memphis Grizzlies cap. He looks fit and his face is tanned and leathery like it’s used to the sun.

  ‘You, Tadge?’

  ‘Tadhg.’

  ‘That’s what I said, Tadge.’ He has a Southern drawl. ‘Katherine says you killed a man.’

  My jaw drops automatically.

  ‘You don’t look like that kind of man to me, boy. You look too chickenshit.’

  ‘I, er …’

  ‘You gonna answer me, boy?’

  ‘I, er …’

  ‘As I said, chickenshit. And what kind of a chickenshit team is the Carrick Crusaders?’ He asks reading my cap. ‘I’m here to collect the one million dollars. One point three with interest.’

  ‘One million …’ My mind struggles to find a gear.

  One million …

  One million …

  It finally finds some purchase.

  What the fuck? One point three million dollars? Who does this guy think I am, Donald Trump? Except for this house, I have about seven thousand dollars to my name.

  ‘I’m waiting, chickenshit.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I say truthfully.

  ‘You don’t understand? You take a million dollars that doesn’t belong to you and don’t expect folk to want it back?’

  ‘I haven’t taken a million dollars from anybody.’

  ‘She says you have it hidden and if you don’t give it to me she’s gonna die a slow, painful death.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, but I think you’ve got the wrong person.’

  What the hell is this redneck going on about? This day isn’t happening to me. It can’t be. I’ve done nothing to deserve it. I’m going to wake up soon.

  ‘You’re Tadge, ain’t you?’

  ‘Tadhg.’

  ‘Then you’re exactly who I want to talk to. Will this help jog your memory?’

  He pulls a handgun from behind his back and points it at my chest.

  ‘Now listen carefully to me, chickenshit. We have that crazy lady you’ve been shacked up with. If you don’t give me back what is rightfully mine, I’m going to kill you and then kill her. Do you understand me, boy?’

  I nod my head.

  ‘Well?’

  A movement to my right catches my eye. Annabelle is creeping past the front porch. She must have used the same escape route that I had earlier. What the hell is she up to? She’s the kind of woman brave enough to try something stupid.

  ‘Is … Is Kate, okay?’

  ‘Okay? Nothing a good plastic surgeon won’t be able to sort out.’ He chuckles at his own quip. ‘Now, how about we step inside and you can confess all?’

  Annabel
le is now standing directly behind Redneck. She has a spade raised high. Rather than bringing it straight down onto the top of Redneck’s head, she swings it in an arc, the blade flat. It slams into Redneck’s right ear with a loud thwack, slamming his head down onto his left shoulder. He falls sideways, cracking his forehead on an old wooden chair, then the decking. His black and blocky gun lands at my feet with a thud.

  It’s a good job she didn’t lead with the spade’s edge, she’d have taken his head clean off.

  And thank heavens she didn’t actually give me the bump on my head.

  ‘Jesus, Anna!’

  I kneel down next to the unconscious redneck. At least, I hope he’s unconscious and not dead. If this carries on I won’t have any more sheets or duct tape left.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Anna asks.

  ‘I’m fine. I don’t think our friend here is doing so well.’

  ‘Let’s get him inside.’

  ‘What if his neck is broken? If we move him, he could end up being paralyzed. He’ll sue the shit out of us.’

  ‘And if we leave him out here you could be sharing a cell for the next twenty years with a roomie who calls you “bitch”.’

  Good point. Shit.

  ‘Let’s get him in,’ I say, putting my hands under his armpits and tugging.

  He’s a dead weight.

  We drag him into the front room and leave him lying in the middle of the floor. Whilst I check for a pulse, Anna retrieves the gun.

  My nausea has returned. I turn to one side and retch. The only thing that erupts out of my mouth is burning bile.

  ‘Tadhg?’

  I turn to face Anna, wiping at my mouth. She has the gun pointed at me, her face serious.

  ‘Tell me about the million dollars.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about a million dollars!’ I splutter.

  ‘That’s what I figured. How the hell would a loser like you get a million dollars? I hope you’re going to clean that mess up,’ she says, pointing at the lining of my stomach.

  * * *

  Jason stares at Redneck. ‘You killed him?’ he squeaks, his voice at the top of his range.

  ‘He’s unconscious, not dead. You called Paavo,’ I say as an accusation.

  ‘You needed a van.’

  ‘Yes, but …’ I hold my fire. There’s no point berating the giant idiot, it’s not going to help matters. ‘What exactly did you say to him?’

  ‘That you needed a van. As soon as possible.’

  Jason’s messed up and now he’s gone all sulky.

  I point at Redneck. ‘Help me get him up on the chair.’

  We’ve brought in the wooden chair from the porch. The plan is to tie Redneck to it whilst we get rid of the mattress, the bed frame, Marino and Junior, their clothes and mine. It should be one hell of a bonfire.

  ‘Did you tell him about the bodies?’ I persist, as Jason grabs Redneck under the armpits and drags him up onto the chair.

  ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’ he asks, wheezing from the strain.

  ‘Is that a rhetorical question?’

  I drop to one knee and wrap a length of washing line round Redneck’s left foot, binding it to the chair leg. ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘That you needed help to move a mattress and some other junk. Don’t worry, Paavo can keep a secret.’

  ‘But you can’t,’ I say, unable to help myself. ‘We told you not to tell anyone.’

  ‘I didn’t tell anyone,’ Jason says, his temper fraying. ‘I told Paavo. And I was doing you a favor. It wasn’t me that called you in the middle of the night to ask you to help move a dead body. It wasn’t me that turned up with a second body an hour later. It’ll be me going to prison though if this all goes to shit.’

  Fair points.

  ‘Just relax will you, man,’ Jason says. ‘You’re freaking me out.’

  I’m freaking him out? I take a deep breath and count to ten. Relax? Not a chance in hell. I’m wound tighter than a spring in a grandfather clock.

  ‘Who’s this dude anyway?’ Jason asks.

  ‘Earl Jenkins of Memphis, Tennessee,’ I say eventually. That’s according to his driver’s license. Except for his wallet, rental car keys and the gun, he wasn’t carrying anything else. His business card says he’s the CEO of Earl Jenkins Entertainment Corp.

  ‘Memphis? What did he want before you attacked him?’

  ‘I didn’t attack him, she did,’ I say, pointing to the sofa where Annabelle is staring at the gun in her hand. ‘She hit him over the head with a spade.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘That about sums it up.’

  I wind the line across to Redneck’s left foot and repeat the process.

  ‘Tell him about the million dollars,’ Anna says.

  ‘He thinks we have a million dollars that we stole from him.’

  ‘That Psycho-Bitch stole from him,’ Anna corrects.

  ‘You have a million dollars?’ Jason asks.

  ‘Of course I don’t have a million dollars,’ I snap. So much for relaxing. ‘But Redneck here thinks I do. He says he has Kate hostage and if I don’t give it back to him, then he’s going to kill me and then kill her.’

  ‘It sounds like you’re both dead then.’

  I pass the line up to Jason and he places Redneck’s left hand on the arm of the chair and starts to bind it in place.

  ‘I’d say we’re all in the frame now, wouldn’t you?’ I say, pointing at Redneck.

  Why should I be the only one to suffer? I wasn’t the one that tried to hit his head for a home run.

  ‘This is your mess, Carrothead,’ Anna says. ‘We’re just trying to help you out. It was your girlfriend that stole the million dollars. She’s the reason why you’ve got two dead bodies and a whole heap of trouble.’

  Great. We’re turning against each other. And I’m not helping the situation. The only way we’re going to find a way out of this madness is to work together.

  ‘Look, this blame game isn’t helping,’ I say, trying to defuse matters. ‘Perhaps we can trade with them? We have him and his associates have her. We can swap.’

  ‘You want to trade for Psycho-Bitch?’ Anna says angrily. ‘For God’s sake, Tadhg, she’s the one that got us into this mess. No way are we trading for her.’

  Not quite the reaction I was hoping for, but perhaps one I should have expected.

  ‘Even if you swap him for her, you still owe him a million dollars,’ Jason says, finishing off the binding on Redneck’s left hand. ‘Plus interest.’

  Damn. What the hell would Kate have done with a million dollars? Split between Jason, Annabelle, Paavo and myself, we could do a lot of things with a cool quarter of million dollars each. Like, I don’t know, go on holiday or buy a barrow load of gadgets or retire or buy a car with a trunk that you could fit a body inside or something.

  My thoughts are interrupted by the front door bell.

  The three of us exchange eye contact. Opening that door hasn’t proven to be a wise move so far today. Christ only knows who is standing on the porch. It could be Barry White or Joe Gerlach returning, or Aldo Pirelli or his associates, or some other lunatic brandishing a gun and a bad attitude.

  ‘It’ll be Paavo,’ Anna says.

  Or it could be Paavo.

  ‘Do you know how to use that thing,’ I say to Anna, pointing at the gun.

  ‘Aim and pull the trigger,’ she says condescendingly.

  Jason pulls the Raptor from a pocket in his shorts.

  ‘Put that away,’ I say, heading to the door. ‘Fuck knows what you’ll hit.’

  Paavo looks like someone who has just been told he has lost his entire family to a tragic accident. He steps across the threshold and stares into the front room at Anna pointing a gun in his direction and Redneck tied to the chair.

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘No, unconscious.’

  ‘You have a mattress?’

  This is who I should have called instead of Jason. Nothing fazes Paavo.
You have an unconscious man tied to a chair, that’s your business. His is moving stuff.

  * * *

  Paavo didn’t blink at the blood on the mattress, just grabbed the end nearest the top of the stairs and slid it down. I guess he saw worse when he was in the army. He signed up straight from school, did nine years and then bailed out. He’s never told any of us what he did or where he served. If you ask, he just says, ‘stuff’ and ‘wherever they sent you.’ When he left the army he returned to Carrick Springs and worked in a car component factory until they shut it down, then he started driving a van for a local delivery company. He doesn’t seem to care about the crappy money or hours. It’s a living not a vocation.

  The van is now loaded with the mattress, the bed, and the garbage bags containing my own and Marino’s clothes. We’ve left Annabelle, at her own insistence, to guard Redneck. When he comes round we’re hoping he’ll tell us what the hell is going on and we’re going to try and persuade him that we haven’t a clue about his money, that that’s between him and Kate, and we’ll silently go our way, if he goes his. He’s a businessman, he’ll hopefully see sense.

  Paavo has driven a few houses down the road and reversed the van into the drive of the Choi’s house. It won’t fit down the alley between the houses, but it blocks out the view from the road of any potential prying eyes. There are now a few people up and about, heading off for their day of purgatory. Much like us. The sky is blue with barely a wisp of cloud. It’s going to be a hot one.

  ‘You stay here,’ I say to Paavo, ‘we’ll load the rest of the stuff.’

  ‘She’ll be heavy,’ Paavo replies.

  ‘Who’ll be heavy?’ I try to fake confusion.

  ‘The body.’

  ‘What body?’

  ‘Psycho-Bitch.’

  ‘Psycho-Bitch?’

  He thinks I’ve killed Kate.

  ‘No, no. It’s not Kate.’

  ‘So there is a body.’ Paavo eases himself out of the driver’s door just as Mrs Choi exits the house.

  ‘No, no, no, no, no, no. Not here. You wrong place.’ Mrs Choi is small, round and energetic.

  I step round the van. ‘Hello, Mrs Choi, we’re just helping Jason move some stuff.’

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘Some junk from his room. We’re going to the dump.’

  ‘Good!’ She claps her hands. ‘Room full of junk. I go help.’ She turns on her heels and heads back into the house.