Stagger Bay

by Pearce Hansen

  At first it looked like a pile of rags, or a fur collar ripped off a coat. But when we got close enough, when I saw the blood – I stopped.

  Moe bumped into me from behind and we stood looking at what was left of Lola. The poor little dog looked like a sock that had been turned inside out.

  I climbed the porch and bent over the leavings for closer examination. Someone had known what they were doing: Lola had been gutted neatly; her body cavity was empty and the cut down the abdominal wall was surgically clean. I couldn’t see any other wounds: Lola had been alive while she was eviscerated. I knocked on the front door.

  “Hello?” Elaine asked from inside.

  “It’s me, open up,” I said.

  “Get that out of sight,” I hissed to Moe. He grimaced as he scooped up Lola’s remains and hurried back to the Taurus, holding the bloody mess out in front so as not to stain his clothes.

  “Give me a minute,” Elaine said.

  “I need to see Sam right now,” I said.

  I twisted the knob, which was unlocked, and pushed the door open. Elaine stood there in a pink chiffon robe, fresh from the shower, with her hair wet and wrapped up in a towel. Sam ambled into the front room, glistening wet as well, with a towel wrapped around his waist. He stopped, and both he and Elaine stared at me.

  I pulled the door shut in a hurry and stood there with my face burning. Moe was hiding in his car after sticking Lola’s body in the trunk – hell, I couldn’t fault him for not wanting any further part of this.

  After a few minutes Elaine opened the door. She was fully made up, her hair dry and perfectly coiffed even if she was still in her robe. She eyed me coldly as I mumbled an apology, but her face went blank as she caught my expression.

  She made way for me to come inside. Sam was jumping around on one foot in the hallway, dragging his pants on.

  A copy of our local newspaper lay on the coffee table and the headline picture prompted me to pick it up: a big blurry pixilated photo of me at the Plaza, surrounded by all the kids I’d saved at the school. My hands were thrown up in the air like I was surrendering, and my face was swathed in its patchwork of sanitary napkins. In the picture I looked like I was high or something; I came off as looking pretty goofy. Scanning the headline I noted they’d misspelled my name, and I tossed the paper back down.

  Elaine was still in the doorway staring down at something on the front porch. Following her gaze, I saw the bloodstain where Lola’s body had lain.

  Elaine’s robe had fallen open and she was wearing nothing underneath, but she only bothered to tug it closed after she turned back to face me.

  “What did he put in the trunk?” Elaine asked as she knotted her robe’s belt. “Where’s Lola?”

  “Lola won’t be coming back.” I stared hard at Sam, who looked from me to Elaine and back again. My son, I thought. The Driver isn’t just stalking me now – he’s stalking my son, or Elaine, or both. “Did you hear anything last night Sam? Like a big block engine or something?”

  “Maybe. Don’t know.”

  I caught Elaine’s eye. “I need to talk to you, now. Alone.”

  Elaine sighed. “Go powder your nose, Sam.”

  He stared at her, his lips parted to say something. He glared at me, shut his mouth hard, and stalked down the hall toward the bedroom he apparently knew so well.

  “Look,” I said to Elaine. “You’ve been upsetting my calculations long enough. I got no expectations or requirements of you as long as you stay out of my way and don’t hurt Sam. But if you won’t trust me any, why in the hell would I let my son go on trusting you? I need to either be able to turn my back on you a little, or I need to be rid of you. It’s time for you to spill enough to make me feel safe.”

  “All right.” Fear now filled Elaine’s face instead of the indignation I would have received before Lola. “Karl didn’t want you to know. I swear that’s the only reason I didn’t tell you.

  “A lot of my clients are pot growers. They’re good customers, usually: They need my services fairly regularly, they always have ready money for the retainer, and as long as you make sure they pay as they go, the cash flow is pretty consistent. The problem with them is their gratitude runs out as soon as you get them acquitted. Then they think all they have to do is hide out down on their pot farms with their dogs and their guns.

  “That’s how Karl and I first met. He offered his services as a debt collector on the worst of my deadbeat clients, and he always came through. I never asked him how he did it and he never said, but the money always wound up on my desk.

  “Sometimes, though, the debt collection would be ‘in kind’ rather than in cash. And then, of course, Karl would have to sell the product. That’s what he was doing when Reese killed him.”

  She caught my expression. “How else did you think Karl was paying his bills? Did you really see him working a minimum-wage job? Do you really think I could stay afloat in this one-horse town doing pro bono work?”

  “He was supposed to position Sam away from all that,” I said.

  “Yes, well, you’re certainly doing a fine job in that respect these days, aren’t you? Look, please don’t tell Sam about the pot thing, all right? As I said, Karl didn’t want him to know. He wasn’t particularly proud of it.”

  “Sam won’t hear it from me.”

  “Look,” she said again. “I know I’m older than Sam. I see how all the girls his age smile at him wherever we go. Is that part of what’s bothering you? Do you disapprove?”

  “I’m not the one to say. Okay Sam,” I called toward the back of the house. “You can come out now.”

  “I need you to do something, right away,” I told Elaine when Sam rejoined us. “I’ve been planting seeds that look like they might be finally taking root, and I need you to do your part, double up on my preparations. I need you to go down to the news station, find that red-headed anchor lady out of the East Bay.

  “You got to go on camera and talk about how the people of the Gardens are ready to quit; how one more tragedy will crush their morale and chase them out of town. More than that, you got to speak directly to the Driver and plead with him to stop. Beg for his mercy – you’ve got to grovel, that’ll give him a real hard on.”

  I thought a bit. “You’ve got to put some quaver in your voice too, sound like you’re ready to break down, give him a show. Can you fake emotion like that?”

  She gave me a pitying look. “I’m a lawyer. I fake emotions for a living.”

  “I’m in,” Sam said firmly – and he was whether he knew it or not. “You’re not going to stop me being part of the fun anymore.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “I need you body-guarding Elaine. You two got to go see that newscaster lady together.” If Elaine was up to any shenanigans that might impact my game, Sam following her around like a puppy would continue to put a crimp in it; and if Sam was up to something with her, them being together couldn’t do me any more harm.

  “After Elaine makes her TV speech, find somewhere to hole up,” I continued. “I don’t know, a motel room outside of town or something. Make sure you park your car out of sight, in back-”

  “I know how to lie low,” Sam interrupted in a sullen voice.

  I ignored the attitude. “Don’t let yourself be followed, and keep your eyes and ears open for that Cougar. There’s no mistaking that ride.”

  We were getting close to the finish here, and I had no choice but to be semi-open. “I think he’s going to hit the Gardens again and soon, maybe tonight. I won’t lie – I think that’s the main chance, and that’s where I need to be.”

  “But it looks like he figures Elaine’s a target now too.” And maybe you too, son. “He may come after her again instead. In that case, trust me, you’ll have all the action you can handle and I’ll be the one running your way.”

  Was I trying to distract the Driver away from Sam by luring him to the Gardens? When you hunted big cats, you needed live bait unfortunately. The Gardens was the main chance and
always had been, I told myself as if cross-examining myself on the witness stand – I’d had this plan in mind even before Lola’s demise, and the Gardens were at risk regardless of what I did or didn’t do.

  Elaine took Sam’s hand as he stared at the floor thinking; he didn’t like what I was saying but had no argument to counter it. She couldn’t take her eyes off him – maybe the sweet spot she had for him might just hold a bit longer. Elaine noticed me watching her watching Sam, and glared at me as though ashamed for showing this vulnerability.

  I continued speaking to my son: “Hey kid, don’t take it so hard. I promise if it goes down at the Gardens, I’ll call you ASAP. If I do, you’d best get there like your butthole’s on fire.” Or vice a versa, I thought.

  “Count on it,” Sam said.

  ///I saw a stack of official paperwork on Elaine’s kitchen table and something clicked in my head, made me go look at them. There were zoning maps and tax documents, real estate assessments with lot numbers that meant nothing to me – a bunch of seemingly random stuff – but a pattern snapped up in my brain as I studied the pile.

  “Elaine,” I said. “All those empty lots next to the Gardens, what’s the story on them?”

  Elaine squinted myopically down at her working papers – she apparently hadn’t had time to put her soft lenses in. “Well, Tubbs’ people plan on putting in a high-end retirement village there – no Medicare, just wealthy seniors. There are a lot of construction contracts riding on the senior center, and the potential for major tax revenue, so they’ve declared the Gardens a blighted property under that new Supreme Court eminent domain ruling. They’re getting ready to evict everyone and bulldoze it to the ground, but I filed an injunction for a cease-and-desist so the project is on hold.”

  I looked at her, incredulous. “You actually still expect me to think people are following you just because you sprung me? Don’t even pretend you don’t know what it’s really about.”

  “It’s a legitimate injunction,” Elaine said defensively. “There’ll be a healthy payout at the end, I promise. But you’re right, it all started after I filed it.”

  “I saw a lot of high-end homes on the outskirts of town when I came to town,” I said. “What happened to the people that used to live there?”

  Elaine considered. “Well, some took the hint and moved away – others just up and disappeared, the police only took missing persons reports but they went nowhere – the lot sales, the permits for demolition and construction were issued a little hastily I think, given the circumstances.

  “There’ve been questionable deaths in the development areas too, but the coroner’s reports always say they’re accidents. The police have had to shoot more than a few suspects serving warrants. Some of the people killed were allegedly meth lab chemists or indoor growers – but there were fires at several of the supposed meth labs, so it’s hard to be sure.”

  I nodded. “You know, I understand outside money coming in here – it’s a nice, scenic, isolated place. But what about the pulp mill? I can’t see rich folks moving to Stagger Bay if their view’s going to be blocked by those two huge smoke stacks, even if they’re not spewing toxic waste anymore.”

  “Oh, they’re going to dynamite the stacks next week. You can watch it live on TV or in person if you like. Some cruise ship line bought the property; they’re going to put in a big dock and a resort there after the rubble’s cleared away.”

  Given Stagger Bay’s current startling cash influx, it was worth the risk to Elaine if she was gaming. She was being a smart girl; there were so many angles here to generate a nice payday for Ms. Hubbard. Then what? An account in the Caymans, a villa in Sao Paolo? And when she got her passport, would Sam be getting one too?

  “We don’t know how far this goes,” I said, continuing the pretense we were all putting our cards on the table. “We should step carefully. But I don’t think we’re going to be able to – our only chance is to make things loud and messy, hope they make more mistakes than us.”

  Chapter 48

  When we got to Natalie’s, something was burning in the trash can where the Crips usually stowed their empty 40-ouncers. Smoke and flames came from the top of the can; I stepped in closer and saw it was a man’s clothes on fire in there.

  “I'll never regret Wayne,” Natalie said as I joined her on the porch to watch the pyre. “He gave me Randy after all. But you can’t sleep with the dead and it’s time to put Wayne to rest all the way. I have to clean house and move on.”

  “I’m tired of being in love with pain,” she said, harsh and anxious. “Hate won’t warm my bed. It just takes. And takes.”

  “You’re right about that,” I said.

  Natalie started to say something else but I’d already commenced walking to the Garden’s entrance. Once there, I studied the stillborn development across the way.

  Even before it had seemed like those empty lots were besieging the Gardens. Now they had all the charm of a malignant tumor about to metastasize and engulf the people who lived here.

  I surveyed my intended battle ground. One wide avenue ran directly across my front, with the Gardens’ entrance teeing into it midway. A hundred yards to the right and to the left, the avenue turned 90 degrees away at the corner, extending a hundred yards from me before joining the far fourth side of the huge blank rectangle that was the series of ghost lots, all surveyed and ready for the retirement community to be built.

  I crossed the avenue and hopped the curbs, dodging surveyor stakes as I trotted across the graded earth, finally reaching the far side of the development. I was next to a big Caterpillar grader parked by the lead contractor’s hut.

  The avenue in front of me was twin to the one fronting the Gardens a football field length behind me – an easy scrambling lope. I was midway between both corners, which were again a hundred yards to my right and left.

  Directly in front of me the access road led up that steep, short slope and teed into the highway running along the crest of the ridge. To my right, the ridge highway curved around the hospital and past the swamp to Stagger Bay proper. To the left it curved out of sight up Moose Creek Road through the tall pines, into the lair of the Driver.

  I turned and looked back at the Gardens. Even from this distance I could identify Big Moe and the other 18th Street Crips watching me. Several of the Hmong men were with them; but I saw no women except Natalie, standing by herself to the side, staring in my direction with her arms folded under her breasts.

  There was no traffic in or out today. The Crips weren’t serving any customers, and no kids were playing outside. The Gardens were Alamo-ed up.

  That was only fair, of course. Even if I was doing this alone, the Gardens folk had to know they were my lure.

  Gauging the distance from the Gardens, studying the ground and the rectangle of road surrounding the construction zone, I figured it should just be possible for a man running full tilt to get to this access road before a fleeing car, even a big beast like the Cougar. He’d be driving balls out and slaloming around the corners, but the Driver would have to slow at each turn – and slow even further before sledding up that last steep stretch of access road.

  A street racer like the Cougar? No way would he take it off-roading, or try to cut across the construction site – he’d stay on the asphalt.

  There was no guarantee he’d come in his ride of course – hell, there was no guarantee he’d come at all. He might come, but just drive by the Gardens and heckle us. Or he might come all sneaky to do a recon, and leave without us ever knowing he’d been there.

  But he was an excitable boy. He’d come to the Gardens (I hoped, I prayed, I yearned) and try to do the dirty deed he loved so much.

  If I could take him down before he struck, I’d do so. If not he’d make his getaway, with a victim as passenger or not.

  And when he made the final turn out of here, when he thought he was home free? I’d be waiting for him with a bullet or ten to blast him straight to hell. If there was a God, the Driv
er would know it was me killing him when he died.

  Chapter 49

  I was sitting in the easy chair in Natalie’s living room, Montaigne’s Essays unopened in my hand.

  “Read to me,” Randy said, and flew through the air to land in my out-of-practice lap.

  I was startled more by his request than by the impact. But I went ahead and opened to the part I loved the best, the passage where I always knew my communication with Monsieur Montaigne was still open whenever I read it.

  “He who has learned how to die has unlearned how to be a slave,” I said, reading from the page.

  But – just as had happened every time I’d tried to read it since checking it out from the library – my head immediately hurt from trying to read with one eye.

  I closed the book and quoted from memory: “Knowing how to die frees us from all subjection and constraint. There is nothing evil in life for the man who has thoroughly grasped the fact that to be deprived of life is not an evil.”

  “What does that mean?” Randy asked.

  “It means that this world will crush us like bugs in the end,” I said. “But that is no tragedy.”

  Randy lost interest at that, and climbed off my lap to wander outside.

  Natalie entered the room, picked up the Essays and riffled its pages. “You actually enjoy reading these old books?”

  “I do,” I said, a little irritably from the pain. I closed my eye and rubbed my temples against the growing headache. “I owe everything to them, they’re my fuel.”

  But how was I to read anymore? Had that day at the school cost me the Canon?

  “Would you like me to rub your head?” she asked, finally seeming to notice my sourness.

  I nodded without looking at her, not wanting to impose with any kind of request. She stood behind me, her cool strong fingers stroking my temples in a circular motion.

  The headache immediately faded. My pain in my missing left eye even turned down a hefty notch for the first time since I left the hospital.