Fatal Obsession

by Stephen Greenleaf

“You finally getting smart, man? Let’s see the bag.”

  “How much grass do you have still on the stalk out there, Zedda?”

  “Who knows, man. Enough.”

  “Worth a lot more than thirty grand, right?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So this. If you and your partner out there don’t get away from here right now I’m going to destroy your crop.”

  “Bullshit. How you going to do that from where you are?”

  “I’ve got ways. Now you and your buddy get back to the top of the ridge and climb that big walnut tree there, and when you’re up in the top I’ll take off and we’ll all live happily ever after. Get moving.”

  “I got no time for bluffs, man. You toss the bag out or guess what.”

  “What?”

  “Some of this.”

  A second later a fiery sprig of foxtail and thistle and dried twigs drifted down through the vent in the ceiling, trailing smoke behind it. I hurried to stamp out the flames and sneezed during the process, conscious all the while that I was putting all my eggs into a basket I couldn’t see and hadn’t made.

  “Zedda?”

  “Yeah.”

  “See the tree where I found the money?”

  “Yeah.”

  “See the dead sapling about fifty yards beyond it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Watch.”

  I pulled the grenade launcher out of the hole in the wall and aimed it out the door and fired in the vicinity of the little tree. Three seconds later the arching shell fell to earth and the sapling vanished behind a roiling cloud of dust and smoke.

  “What the fuck was that? Jesus fucking Christ, what you got down there?”

  “Grenade launcher.”

  “Where’d it come from?”

  “Right here.”

  “Billy’s?”

  “Right. Now, do I lob one of these babies at your weed or not?”

  Zedda didn’t answer me. When he spoke again the timbre of the words had changed, and he was in control again. “I been checking, Tanner. You ain’t got the angle, man. The only way you can get a shot at the weed is to step outside the house. When you do that your ass is mine. So I figure I ain’t got that much to worry about. How do you figure?”

  “I figure you can kiss your weed good-bye.”

  I went back to the corner and picked up the little metal switch and pressed the button and blew up the world, or seemed to.

  The ground shook and the air trembled from the blast. Since I wasn’t sure what I had done, I peeked out the door. Beyond the ridge, above the spot where the marijuana had been growing, a gray-green pod of dust spread slowly toward the sky, its vaporous texture laced with solid bits of green and brown, its thick essence expanding as it rose.

  “You fuck. What the hell did you do? Jesus Christ.”

  Zedda was off and running toward the cloud. From the field beyond the money tree another figure ran away from me as well, toward the salad that Billy’s Claymore mines had made of Zedda’s crop.

  My guess was that just before he died Billy had mined the field, intending to blow it up himself. He obviously never got the chance, but when I triggered the firing mechanism the hundreds of thousands of steel pellets had reduced the weed to shredded dust. Justice, Tanner-style. I grabbed the bag of money and the M-16 and headed back toward my car. The last thing I heard before I topped the hill was Zedda’s mournful curse.

  Twenty-four

  I drove to the nearest town with a bank and deposited the money in a new account. The teller gave me and my horde of cash a wrinkled look until I told her I had recently auctioned off my great-aunt’s place over in the next county, furniture and knick-knacks and farm machinery and all, even her set of china, and of course because of the times I had insisted all sales be cash only. I thought that was wisest, didn’t she, even though I might have missed top dollar on a few items. She agreed with me completely. You couldn’t be too careful, not these days, why she could tell me stories … And then she tuned me out and gave me some temporary checks in a folder with a picture of some amber waves of grain on the front and a pamphlet describing the many services the bank offered, which I would never use. On my way back to Chaldea I concocted a series of good deeds that would satisfy no one as much as me.

  When I got to the hotel I called the airline and made a reservation for the next morning’s flight to San Francisco. Then I packed up and checked out and drove to the old motel out on the highway east of town and registered under the name of Nick Carraway. When I was settled in I phoned Ed Buckles, the young lawyer Clark Jaspers had recommended. He told me he was pretty busy just now, and he thought we should have the conversation in person, but he listened silently to everything I had to say before he tried to tell me a better way to do it. It took almost an hour to get it all lined up, and I had to promise him I’d be at his office the first thing in the morning to look things over before I left town, and sign the papers and all, but when I hung up I felt confident that Buckles would structure the kind of arrangement I wanted, and that it would do the things I wanted it to do.

  Then I telephoned Starbright at WILD. “I’m leaving town tomorrow,” I told her. “I just wanted to remind you you can call me anytime you need anything. Anything at all.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Her voice was as placid as ever, the prospect of future difficulty as ominous as the next sunrise.

  “And I think you’ll be hearing from Curt, Billy’s father. I mean, I think he’ll offer to help you and the baby, if you need it. He’s already done one thing, Starbright. He established a trust fund for the baby. The trustee is a man named Buckles, a lawyer here in town. He can pay you some of the income from the trust anytime you need it, to take care of the baby; food or clothes or toys or whatever. He can send the money to wherever you are. Depending on interest rates and things, it could amount to about twenty-five hundred dollars a year.”

  “Wow. That’s heavy.”

  “And the principal and any income not previously distributed will be paid to your child when he turns eighteen. There should be at least twenty thousand dollars then. Maybe more. It can help pay for college, maybe.”

  “That’s neat. Thanks.”

  “Thank Curt. He’ll probably pretend he doesn’t know anything about it, but don’t you believe him. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Also, don’t tell Zedda anything about the money. Don’t even tell him you talked to me. Okay?”

  “Okay. But why?”

  “Zedda’s a bit upset with me right now. He’s going to be coming on some hard times, I think, and my advice is for you to get away from there as soon as you can. I’m not telling you what to do or anything, but I think you and the baby can do better elsewhere. Maybe even back in Dubuque.”

  “Not there.”

  “Well, somewhere. Will you think about it?”

  “I guess. Zedda’s been acting weird lately. I think he’s hypoglycemic.”

  “Tamara is going to leave, I think. Maybe you could go with her.”

  “Maybe,” Starbright said ambiguously.

  “Just do me one favor, okay? Let Curt and Laurel know where you end up. And me, too. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll see you, Starbright.”

  “See you.”

  “Good luck.”

  “You, too.”

  “I think you’re going to have a real nice baby.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. I can’t wait.” She paused. “Mr. Tanner?”

  “Yes?”

  “What about the name? I mean, do you think I have to name him Giap?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I’m going to name him Billy. William Pisces Tanner. What do you think?”

  “I think that’s real nice.”

  “Bye, Mr. Tanner.”

  “Bye.”

  I listened to the buzz of a dead line for a moment, thinking of Billy and of babies, then made another call. “Marsh Tanner, Norm,” I said when he answered.

/>   “How are you, Marsh?”

  “Good. Listen. I think we’re about to reach a decision on the farm. And I think the city may get part of it for the industrial park. A long-term lease arrangement of some kind, probably.”

  “Hey. Great. That’s just great.”

  “No guarantees yet, Norm. But there’s one condition I want to impose, if that’s the way it works out.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  His words carried hints of kickbacks and side letters and double sets of books. I hurried to set him straight. “I want you to be sure they give Chuck Hasburg a job, whatever kind of business goes in there. A good job, too.”

  Gladbrook laughed. “Well, that’s not what I expected you to say, I’ll tell you that. Chuck, huh?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay. No problem. Chuck’ll shape up again when he gets something to do before dark.”

  “This is just between us, Norm.”

  “Right. Sure. No problem. You and Chuck were real buddies in the old days, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, we were.”

  “He’ll hate your guts if he ever finds out about this,” Gladbrook said.

  “I know.”

  Gladbrook waited for me to say something else. “Is that it, then?” he asked after a minute. “Chaldea won’t forget what you’ve done, Marsh. Thanks again.”

  “There is one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I heard about the problem between Zedda and your daughter, Norm. I’m sorry.”

  Gladbrook didn’t say anything for a long time. I had opened an old wound and I was listening to its silent bleeding. “What’s that got to do with anything?” Gladbrook asked finally, his anger like a noose around his throat.

  “I was just wondering if you blamed my nephew Billy for any of that, Norm.”

  “Billy? Why would I do that?” His bemusement seemed genuine.

  “I thought maybe because Billy used to hang out at WILD once in a while that you might think he was part of what happened.”

  “No.” The word was hot. “Zedda was the one. And I’m not through with him yet, either. I’ll get him out of Chaldea for good, one way or another. You can bet the ranch on it.”

  “I think he’ll be a little easier to move right now,” I said, my mind on the cloud of tattered plants I’d seen a few hours earlier. “Been nice talking to you, Norm.”

  “Yeah.”

  When I called Gail she told me Matt hadn’t left town yet, but he planned to leave in about an hour. I asked her to try to get everyone together at her place in thirty minutes. She said she’d try, and asked me what was going on. I told her I was ready to vote. She asked me what I was going to do, but I evaded answering and told her good-bye and called Sally Stillings.

  “I was hoping you’d call, Marsh,” she said, her voice straining to be as gay as she thought I wanted her to be.

  “This is just to say good-bye, Sally. I’m leaving in the morning.”

  “Oh.”

  “It was nice seeing you, Sally.”

  “Why do you have to go?”

  “I’ve got a living to make, for one thing. Such as it is. And I think my business here is finished, or will be by the end of the day.”

  “Can I see you tonight?” Her voice was small, a whisper of loneliness.

  “I don’t think so, Sally. I’ve got some things to take care of.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Family things. Billy things.”

  “Oh.” I heard her breathe or sigh. “Can I drive you to the airport tomorrow? Please? So we can talk?”

  I sighed, too. “Okay. Pick me up at Gail’s at nine.”

  “I’ll be there. And I’ll be here tonight, Marsh, if you want me.”

  “Don’t count on me, Sally.”

  “Don’t worry. I know you’re not there, either.” Sally replaced her phone. I steeled my mind against thoughts of her or us.

  My next call took twenty minutes to complete. The Great Lakes Training Center might have been in Siberia for all the time it took. Finally a young man picked up a phone and said, “Seaman Notting speaking, sir.”

  “Bruce. This is Marsh Tanner. Your uncle. Maybe you remember when we met in San Francisco a few years back.”

  “Sure. How are you, sir?”

  His voice was hesitant, anticipating calamity. As I considered how to proceed, Bruce spoke again. “Is anything wrong? Is it about Dad?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, Bruce,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Your dad and mom are fine.”

  “Good. I mean, I figured they were. I mean, well, long distance and everything. I get kind of scared.”

  “I know. Me, too. How’s it going with the navy?”

  “Okay. You know. Some good, some bad. Kind of depends on the people.”

  “I’m an old army man myself.”

  “Yeah? Well, my feet aren’t so hot, so I thought I’d float my way through, but as it turns out I spend eight hours a day standing in a supply depot handing out dehydrated eggs and stuff.”

  “That’s the military.”

  “I guess. I may get assigned to Japan next year. Sure hope so.”

  “Did you know Billy was dead, Bruce? Billy Tanner?”

  He gasped. “Billy? Jesus. No.”

  “Your folks didn’t tell you?”

  “No. I … no.”

  “Didn’t they know you and Billy were friends?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “You were friends, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah. I mean, just before I joined up we were pretty close. I liked him a lot, despite some of the things he did. How did he die, Mr. Tanner?”

  “It wasn’t pretty.”

  “He was killed, wasn’t he?”

  “I think so. Why do you?”

  “I was afraid that would happen. Damn it. I warned him, too. Was it Zedda?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think so.”

  “Then who was it?” He was clearly surprised at my exoneration of Zedda. I was kind of surprised myself.

  “I think I’ll know more by tonight,” I said. “Meanwhile, what happened between you and your dad, Bruce? What caused the fight?”

  “Who said there was a fight?”

  “Come on, Bruce. I’m family. And I won’t tell anyone what you say. Not even your parents.”

  “What difference does it make, though?”

  “There are strange things going on here, Bruce. Billy’s death is one, but there are other things, too. Such as the way Billy seemed to be out to get certain people lately. Such as what Zedda was doing behind the WILD front. I’m trying to sort through it all, to learn who killed Billy and why. I think your fight with your dad may have something to do with it.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I don’t know. I just do.”

  Bruce paused. I heard chatter and clatter in the background.

  “I want you to get whoever killed Billy, Mr. Tanner,” he said. “But my dad didn’t have anything to do with it. I know that much. I mean, even if Billy … he just wouldn’t. I know it.”

  “I don’t think your dad killed Billy, Bruce. But he was up to something, and I think you found out about it, and confronted him with it, and that’s what caused the fight. What was it?”

  Bruce didn’t say anything. The long minute twisted slowly around my mind, numbing it. “He’s my dad, Mr. Tanner. I can’t say anything bad about him. And anyway, I think he’s stopped. He said he would.”

  “Stopped what?”

  “Nothing. I can’t talk anymore. This petty officer’s giving me the evil eye. He already thinks I’m a goof-off.”

  “Okay, Bruce. Thanks anyway. And good luck. Maybe you’ll be stationed near San Francisco someday and we can get together.”

  “I hope so. I sure liked it out there when we came to visit. They still rent roller skates in the park?”

  “I think so.”

  “I’ll see you, Mr. Tan
ner.”

  “Okay, Bruce. Sorry I asked those questions about your dad. You were right not to tell me.”

  Bruce said good-bye and went back to his powdered eggs. I felt dehydrated myself, and it would take more than water to get me whole. I found the pint in my suitcase and drained it from the bottle, then picked up the phone again. Arnie Keene sounded weary of mind and soul and body. I told him I needed to see him.

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  “Why? What about?” Arnie started to ask another question and then stopped.

  “Is Ann there, Arnie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we meet somewhere?”

  “I suppose. If we have to.”

  “We do. How about the high school. You still live near there?”

  “Same place.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you under the north goalpost in ten minutes.”

  Twenty-five

  The field was crowned and freshly clipped, the yard lines striped with chalk as white and fluffy as a line of cocaine. Scarlet and black streamers flew from the tops of the goalposts, which had been wrapped like barber poles with similar strands as well. At the fifty-yard line the thrones for the Homecoming King and Queen had been set in place. Above the royal chairs a banner urged GO BIG REDS. I had an urge to take the field and look for someone to knock down.

  Inside the auditorium beyond the field the band began the school song and the half-thousand voices at the pep rally sang it vigorously:

  Scarlet and Black, Hip, Hip, Hurray;

  Scarlet and Black flies high today.

  Everyone be on your guard,

  For the game is mighty hard.

  Fight, fight, fight, fight;

  Fight with all your might.

  And after the song the throng voiced a familiar chant:

  We’re from Chaldea, and we

  Couldn’t be prouder.

  If you can’t hear us,

  We’ll yell a little louder.

  I listened to it all with pleasure until Arnie Keene came up quietly behind me on turf that would soon cushion the fall of padded boys. His morose countenance was a perfect counter to my wistful mood.

  “What’s this all about, Marsh?” Arnie asked as I turned toward him. His eyes met mine, then jumped away to the school building, then jumped back. The wind snapped the streamers above us, mimicking the high quick pops of far-off weapons.