The Big Bad

by Phil Beloin Jr.

  I came up to her and she stood straight up, stepping away from the car. In the dark, she only looked a teeny-weenie bit like a wacked-out crack head.

  "Hey, baby," she said. "I like the kink."

  "Huh?"

  "Your friend in back with the cuffs. I could do handcuffs for fifty dollars."

  "Go away.”

  "Or a three-way with your friend for seventy-five."

  "He ain’t my friend."

  "I’m gay," Teddy said. "Nick doesn’t like homosexuals."

  "I can do gay," she said.

  "What?"

  "I got a girlfriend, we do girl on girl. One hundred dollars. You watch and jerk…"

  "I know what I’m supposed to do.”

  "Then let’s party."

  "Nick?" Teddy said. "Can we go now? Please?"

  I heard Van Gogh announce his displeasure at this confab, too.

  I got in the car and drove off with the crack whore hurling obscenities.

  "Good God," Teddy said. "What took you so long?"

  "Trouble," I said, feeling drained now, the bugle playing lights out for the adrenaline forces.

  I opened up the sandwich, had a bite while looking at my passenger in the rearview.

  "You got a cell phone I can use?"

  "No, can’t afford one yet. How come you don’t have one?"

  "Never needed it till right now."

  "What kind of private investigator are you?" Teddy said.

  The kid still thought I was legit. Let him.

  "Hey, Nick?"

  "What now?"

  "I’m hungry, too."

  "Tough shit."

  "I never had dinner tonight."

  That old nagging headache flared up. "I want you to stay quiet until I ask you to speak."

  "All right."

  "See, right there, I didn’t ask you to speak."

  He opened his mouth to say something else, but I held up a finger.

  "I do have duct tape, Teddy."

  "You wouldn’t."

  "Don’t make me pull this car over."

  His lips stayed together.

  I weaved through the streets, moving towards better lit areas where people weren’t petrified to congregate, and the ones who frightened others, felt out of place. I found a working payphone not too far from Irv’s office. Shit, there was a light shining bright, up there on the tippy-top floor, and I wondered what Irv and his minions were up to, feeling a tinge of jealousy.

  I guess I missed the rush from the old job.

  I had bartender John’s home phone down. I was always calling him, since he used to own the dump. I got his wife—she said he was too busy to talk to me or anyone else, including herself, if I wanted to know, painting one of his car models an ugly, bright yellow.

  "Too much info, lady," I said.

  "Is that you Nick?" she said.

  "What if it is?"

  "You’re a jerk.”

  "Put John on." The phone exchange hands and I heard his wife say: "It’s your asshole boss calling—again."

  John said to her, "Cut it out," and then to me, "What’s up, Nick?"

  "Listen, I could be out of town for a while."

  "Great." Always cynical when he’s drinking. "You seem to get a new broad every night."

  I didn’t bother telling him I was driving around with a twinkles toes looking for a virgin.

  "I need you to take care of things for me while I’m away," I said.

  "Like I don’t when you’re around."

  "Make sure the bar keeps losing money."

  "It don’t need no help doing that."

  "And do something about the roaches in the kitchen."

  "You want me to leave some more food out for them or what?"

  "Spray. Put some traps down. Have a controlled burn. Anything. I don’t care. Christ, they could overrun my apartment."

  "Oh, wait, I need to tell you something."

  "What?"

  "Looks like a couple of guys are staking your place out. Seen them in the parking lot when I went out to my car for something this afternoon. An hour later when my shift was over, they were still sitting there, waiting in their car."

  "A lady and real short guy?"

  "No. Couple of big black dudes."

  Irv had assigned the sumo wrestlers the task of watching my apartment. "Don’t worry about them."

  "Are they cops, or do you want me to call the cops?"

  "Tell you what," I said, trying to keep my voice cool. "Don’t do nothing until you hear from me."

  "Okay," he said. "And I guess you don’t need my help with the trash upstairs."

  Mona and Lisa as trash. Only way to look at it now. "That’s gonna have to wait till I get back."

  "When’s that?"

  "Friday at the latest. Until then don’t go up there."

  "Hey, it’s your place. I wouldn’t do that."

  "Didn’t think you would."

  "So I’ll see you later, Nick."

  "Right," I said, hoping it would be true.

  Back on 84, I headed west, the sun gone, but the horizon still holding blobs of pink and purple. That painting faded fast, and it was nothing but taillights and potholes till Connecticut’s next slum town, a city doing its best to look worse than the capital. I didn’t think it was possible.

  I got stuck in a funnel effect as the highway lost a lane, and I inched the Beast towards the cluster-fuck merge. To pass time and cure my sunny disposition, I decided on a smoke and a beer. It was a two brew delay during which time I opened the cat carrier and the map book, finding the page of Connecticut-Massachusetts-Rhode Island.

  "You want 8 North, Nick," Teddy said, his first words since we had left the hooker behind. I had almost forgotten about him.

  Van Gogh plopped himself on the splayed map and had himself a snooze so I had to nudge him off when I needed a look-see to confirm Teddy’s advice. The cat chirped at me and then jumped in back, leaning against Teddy’s leg. The map agreed with Teddy and suggested I take 8 North. Good thinking, boys. The traffic disappeared outside of the slumville, and the highway rose, the mountains covered with trees growing out at weird angles. I drove by an old mill town with houses lining the hills and empty factories perched along the Naugatuck River. I finished another beer and tossed the empty out the window, aiming for the water. I think I reached it, too.

  By then, I had a good buzz going, popping open my fourth king can, and evil thoughts popped through my head: how the Beast was nothing more than an iron coffin. I wanted out of it, picturing the steering wheel and roof coming together like a car crusher to push my guts out my mouth and ass. Feeling Teddy’s breath on my neck, I wanted to mash his greasy face into baby food—even if he was as quiet as the dead. I needed to do more drinking to knock down the bad snipping at me like a tiny dog. When I drank, the rage could come on without warning. I’ve never understood it.

  I stayed on the highway through miles of rock formations and evergreen forests before the exit came up, Route 118. The road was at the base of another hill that didn’t flatten until the center of Stitchfield. The town was old money. Estates built centuries ago. Antique shops and fancy restaurants. Vineyards and orchards. People like me encouraged to stay away. I had money now, but I never flaunted it like these people did.

  I drove through Stitchfield slow and keeping my hands tight on the wheel, staying on my side of the double yellow lines. Connecticut had thirteen State Trooper Barracks, one of which was right up the road. Shifts didn’t change for a couple hours, but I kept an eye out for LTD’s them butch cut paramilitary Nazi’s used. I’d have a tough time explaining in beer breath why I had butt pirate handcuffed inside my car.

  As we rolled passed the police station, Teddy sat up. "Go left at the next light," he said.

  I turned, following 202 as it went up and down and around, the few houses I saw built back from the blacktop on uneven lots. The road cut through Norris for a half-second and then it was Stitchfield again. Teddy was right: his hometow
n was the size of a pussy hair. Up ahead moonlight shimmered off a glassy surface.

  "Is that the lake?" I said.

  "Yeah, but we have to keep going, get past it."

  Antler Lake sat well below ground level. A group of white cottages stepped down to the docks lining the shore. Lights shined on a clay tennis court no one was using. I heard a few folks laughing and a distant outboard motor.

  The water had stretched on for a few miles when Teddy told me to take another left. On this side of the lake, the yards and houses got bigger the further I drove. Then the woods got thicker and the lake disappeared from view. The street forked, the left had light poles leading around to the backside of the lake, but Teddy said straight twice and I kept going straight, into a black hole.

  A few hundred feet in, trees and branches encroached the road, narrowing it to a single lane. The tar was cracked into an endless pattern of ridges that jiggled the car and my bladder. I didn’t see any houses, only a few mailboxes at the end of driveways spaced far apart. We began to climb subtly, but around a slight curve we shot upwards like a geyser.

  "Slow down," Teddy said.

  The Beast was working the rise hard, but I eased off the gas.

  "It’s dark," he said. "It’ll be hard to see."

  "Which side of the road?" I said into the rearview mirror.

  "Ummm....I’m not sure."

  "I’ll take the left, you the right."

  "Okay. You’re looking for a dirt road."

  We entered the switchbacks, creeping through the long, slow curves, my eyes fixed on the woods. I didn’t see a trail, let alone a dirt road, before we ran out of pavement. I stopped in the middle of a dead end, my headlights pointed on a driveway closed off by a wrought iron gate that extending into fencing.

  "Is this it?" I said, looking over my shoulder.

  "No way."

  "It could have changed since you were here last."

  "This isn’t the top yet, Nick," he said. "This is like a plateau."

  "You sure?"

  "Positive. Pam and I hiked down here one time. This property in front of us even had an outbuilding like a cottage that overlooks the lake. Pam and I even went inside, but got scared. So let’s backtrack. We’ll be on opposite sides of the car this time."

  Swinging the Beast around, I started back down the hill. Teddy’s side looked as black and dense as mine had. I had my foot on the brake, creeping along when Teddy yelled in my ear.

  "Stop right here!"

  The car rocked to a stop. Three good-sized rocks formed a row just into the tree line. One of the rocks had flaked white paint on it.

  "Put your lights on it," Teddy said.

  I shifted into reverse and we went back up. I turned on my brights, illuminating a small path not much wider than a car.

  "That could be it," Teddy said. "Go look."

  I took a piss before rolling the rocks out of the way. They weren’t very heavy—a young woman like Pam could have moved them.

  It didn’t look like much of a road or a driveway—more a space nature was trying to reclaim.

  "How far, Teddy?" I said.

  "At least a mile."

  It felt like three times that. The path went straight up, four-wheel drive would have helped, but the Beast didn’t come with that goodie. I went with L-1, the frame jostling along, the engine enjoying the workout. Around a little hook the driveway turned to shit, going narrow and uneven. I cursed as branches torn paint off both sides of the body. I rolled up Teddy’s window so he wouldn’t get poked in the eye. I thought about stopping and walking the rest of the way, but Teddy said it was still kinda’ far away.

  The tires bounced over rocks, downed limbs, maybe even a critter too slow to get out of the way. I thought for sure I’d get a flat, wondered how the spare was doing for air. Runoff had left behind a gouge that I tried powering through, jamming the gas pedal, but the back tires got hung up. The more I punched it, the deeper I dug in.

  I got a flashlight out from the glove box and took a look. I could see I wasn’t the only fool who had had trouble here. Fresh skid and spin marks spotted the eroded dirt. Looked like wide tires with decent tread on’em. I got on my knees and removed branches and logs from the undercarriage. I must have been dragging the debris along. I found a bunch of good sizes rocks and placed them in front of the rear tires. Then I got back in, dumped her in L-2 and gave it a whirl. The Beast popped right out—no problem, Nick.

  "All right," Teddy said. "Brilliant."

  "Always, kid," I said.

  After that minor delay, the path opened up and became smoother. As we neared the crest, we even hit some flat stretches. I turned my lights off, slowing down.

  "We’re getting near the top?" I said.

  "I think so."

  I came a foot from plowing into a log suspended to a cedar post.

  "That’s the gate," Teddy said. "I remember it."

  "So we’re here."

  "Absolutely."

  I got out of the car, clicking the door closed. I swung the log away and it held open. The land here opened into a field; wild grass and plenty of tall shrubs that looked like Christmas trees filling an easy rise. At the top, a cabin, its smaller details shrouded in darkness. A large deck extended from the front. Stairs fed from the deck to the dirt driveway that moved past the side of the cabin and out of sight. I didn’t see another car, any shining light, or another soul.

  But I did catch a smoky scent. Too damn hot for a fire or woodstove to be going.

  I got back in the car. "You smell anything?"

  "I can’t smell a thing from back here," Teddy said. "You have a plan?"

  "I’m gonna drive up there and see what’s what. Is that okay with you?"

  "I guess, but wouldn’t you think someone would have heard us coming up the hill?"

  "Listen, Teddy, there’s plenty of places to leave you up here to fester."

  I dropped the trannie into drive and motored towards the stairs, the smoke getting stronger. What was that…it smelt like meat.

  It’s a friggin’ barbeque, I thought, as I came to a stop by the stairs, throwing the car in park.

  "Look out!" Teddy said.

  I peered back at Teddy—that was a reflex—then I snapped my head towards the cabin. A shape was barreling down the stairs, carrying something that looked a lot like a shotgun.

  That’s because it is a shotgun, Nick.

  I reached for the .45, knowing I wasn’t gonna make it. The figure was at my door, the stock of the gun coming at me through the open window. Teddy screamed and screamed.

  "How do you like you steak, asshole?" the figure said.

  Everything went black before I had a chance to answer medium-rare.

  13

  The limo pulled around the half-circle driveway and stopped by a front door bordered on the top and sides by decorative woodwork. Irv climbed out of the back, not waiting for Kareem, the knee nagging him as he walked to the front door.

  Irv loved this place—the only house he had ever owned—having bought the oversized colonial right after signing a five-year, three million dollar contract with the Sounders. It was a little out of his price range at the time, but several of his teammates, including the only other black guy on the team had homes in Nova and recommended the ritzy village to Irv. The team captain used to live on the same block and a current player still had a house a few streets over.

  During the hockey season, Irv needed the quiet, living at the end of a cul-de-sac, his backyard a State Forest and the neighbors on either side of him blocked out by unruly hemlocks. He could get plenty of sleep when the schedule dragged through the cold months or throw huge parties in the spring and summer, whatever he wanted. The setup was always too big for him—five rooms on the ground floor—five more upstairs, including four bedrooms. Not to mention the three-car garage, keeping his toys clean; a roadster, a couple of motorcycles, and his winter wheels, a SUV that he used to drive back and forth to The Capital Arena during his playing days.
That old monster car refused to die and it held too many memories for Irv to junk.

  When Irv unlocked the front door, Kareem took off. Irv would call when he needed him again. The house was dark, and Irv could sense that Pam wasn’t here, hadn’t been there in days. The girl left a presence wherever she went.

  But now her energy—Irv thinking it was youth that flowed from her—was gone.

  Still Irv went through the house, turning on all the lights downstairs, calling her name over and over. Upstairs, too, lights on, checking everywhere. They were sleeping in separate bedrooms and in Pam’s closet, there were many of the clothes Irv had seen her wear or had bought for her. Some had tags on them. The connected bathroom was cluttered with her personal care items. Irv couldn’t tell if she had packed or taken anything with her. She had so much stuff. There had never been a sign of a struggle to take her from the house, at least.

  He sat on her unmade bed, wondering what Pam was doing with him anyway. She was this good, honest person. Wholesome, popped into his mind. Character and integrity, too.

  She was also a woman no man had possessed.

  He was a low-life scumbag, a criminal, and what was even worse, Irv had a shitload of weaknesses. No, he wouldn’t fail himself again. Prison had made him stronger.

  Maybe Pam accepted him for what he was. That had to be it, he thought. But don’t let her actually see the dirty shit you do. Ever. Tell her, if she asks, but keep her blind.

  He felt tired and curled up in Pam’s bed. Even her scent was gone from the sheets. Tomorrow he would start hunting for the guy who wasn’t paying on his vig. Fucker had borrowed ten large and hadn’t paid anything back, yet. Phone calls, too, tomorrow. Old friends to contact, see if they wanted to come down for the weekend.

  But come down only if Nick found Pam.

  Closing his eyes, falling asleep, Irv wondered what Nick had discovered.

  14

  No arms or legs. A heart that had stopped beating. Lungs like ash and cinders. Eyes gouged from their sockets. A skull about to shatter.

  Sounds filtered through pain and darkness. Voices not connected to faces. Words that had little meaning.

  "What the hell is this?" a woman said.