The Reserve

by Matt Shaner

  Later that night, after telling Val the story and settling in to watch some television, flashing blue and red lights drifted by the outside and stopped on the road. I walked over to the window.

  “You think he actually called the police?” Val asked. Two patrolmen were knocking on Shawn’s front door. He opened it with the baby on his shoulder. Nice touch, I thought and smiled.

  “They are over there right now,” I said.

  Fifteen minutes later, the police cars made their way back to the station. I was wondering why they didn’t come to talk to me and then the phone rang.

  “Guess what happened?” Shawn asked.

  “You’re doing 5-10 in Leavenworth,” I said. Val fake gagged. Not everyone appreciated my humor.

  “It turns out our lawyer friend is a noted defense attorney and just happened to get a certain someone fairly well hated by the local police cleared of all charges a week ago. The one guy thanked me and wished he could have been there to see it,” he said.

  “How is everything?” I asked.

  “Fine. We’re all fine. A repair man, my uncle actually, is coming out tomorrow to replace the window,” he paused. “You know something? That felt pretty good.”

  “It looked impressive,” I said. I wasn’t lying. The closest thing to a fight I ever came was an argument with a kid back in high school.

  “Sometimes you just have to let go and listen to that little part of you that hasn’t given up being a man yet. Well, I have to go. It’s been a long day, and we all are ready for a good night’s sleep.”

  “Enjoy it man.”

  “Thanks, I will,” he said. I put the phone down and turned back to Val. The whole thing validated our experience and why we were out here in the first place. Something felt right about the night and the exchange of violence and showing that one guy who was boss. We all had that annoying person in our life, and I realized, I was happy one of us executed his right to stand up to them.

  Chapter Six

  Round Two . . .

  We grew closer during those days at The Reserve, Val and I, us and our neighbors. My morning routine never strayed. Two mornings after the confrontation across the road, I woke up, showered, dressed, put on coffee, and sat down for some breakfast. Our kitchen window faced out across the street. First, I noticed something was missing, and then I went to investigate and found out that I was right.

  Part of the design of the development had mailboxes for each house posted at the end of our driveways. Shawn’s and mine were gone. I walked outside, over to the spot, and looked down at the hole in the grass. Nothing. Looking down the road, I saw that each one of us was missing our mailboxes. I went to work knowing what would come that night. Personally, a missing mailbox represented no big problem. We purchased ours at the local Home Depot, and a quick trip after work would replace it. I just wondered who would come up with the idea to steal the mailboxes and how they made their way into the place.

  The day went by, and I found myself thinking, in the down moments, of who it was, knowing full well that the lawyer and his buddies used something this small and petty as quick revenge. The lawyer had access to the police records. It couldn’t have taken much to check the records and see that no arrests were made last night. A guy like that probably knew a few people, pulled some strings, and became more fired up after he didn’t get his way.

  Work passed, and when I arrived home, since Val worked that night, the mail and a message waited on the answering machine. I didn’t have to check the voice mail to know who called. I also noticed that everyone replaced their boxes that day. No harm, no foul. I punched the answering machine and listened to the message. The voice spoke only one sentence. Two a.m. at the gate, wear black, and delete this after you hear it. Bryan must have watched a few mission impossible episodes in his younger days, and I honestly wondered who, out of the five of us, would show up. Would he wait alone, under the soft light of the entrance, steaming and checking his watch? My curiosity won out, and after telling Val about the whole thing, I set my cell phone alarm for two and placed it next to my head on the nightstand.

  The alarm woke me out of a shallow sleep. Whether it was the conflict or the whole idea of some secret meeting I don’t know, but I pulled on black windbreaker pants, a black T-shirt, and went outside. Four figures stood just outside of the realm of the light at the entrance. A high and full moon cast an almost negative shadow placing the group into what seemed like one dark mass. I walked up and no one said anything.

  “What are we doing here?” I asked.

  “Getting some damn revenge,” Shawn said.

  Bryan nodded. “That’s right. They can’t come in here like that. It’s vandalism.”

  “Why didn’t we call the police?” Drew asked.

  “You saw how well they worked the other day,” Shawn said and smiled.

  “So what do you have in mind?” Travis asked. I had the impression that he wasn’t new to the idea of revenge. A black outfit, for him, was not a hard thing to find or wear.

  Bryan pulled a kitchen knife out of his pocket. The moon reflected off the blade and flashed a shaft of light across our faces.

  “I counted last night. At least one car sits outside over there at each house. Tonight, it’s the same story. I say we take out every tire,” Bryan said. We all watched the knife.

  “And if we get caught?” I asked.

  “We don’t see cars out here during the day. This late, you actually think someone will be out? That someone will be up?” Shawn asked. His tone told me that this was serious, and he had no intention of backing off. In a way, he birthed the entire thing. He felt determined to see it through.

  “Yeah. Yeah man. Why not? I haven’t slashed tires since back in school.” Travis said. He laughed. Drew laughed. It seemed to spread through them but stopped at Shawn and Bryan. They showed a connection that night.

  “Let’s do it,” Bryan said. He moved, and we all moved with him. He looked so happy. I remember thinking that this was one of the few times in his life that people listened to him. We walked across the road. I wondered what we would say if a car came by.

  We kept to the middle of the street to avoid setting off any motion sensor lights. Houses like these had to have them. Ours did, and they were born from the same construction company. For a brief second I could picture the people in those houses going to bed, setting their alarms, kissing their disinterested children goodnight, kissing their disinterested spouse goodnight, and falling asleep. They had no idea that most of them would be late for work the next morning.

  Bryan walked to the driveway of the first house, the lawyer’s. There was a basic family car outside. I remembered that dad had walked out from the garage, his black BMW sitting in there that, I’m sure, never sat outside in the sun or in the moonlight. The kid probably argued to keep his ride in there just like his old man. They probably both ordered mom around and could not conceive of a better life form then themselves.

  “No,” Shawn whispered, “Save them for last.” His tone left no room for doubt, and Bryan moved on. He and Shawn led the group. Travis and Drew walked together keeping lookout and talking. I walked last and watched the entire thing happen. Here we were, men, acting out a kid’s prank. I felt disgusted but still smiled.

  The next house had a late model import in the driveway, the kind with the add-on mufflers and tinted windows. We moved in on it and noticed an alarm light blinking inside.

  “Be quick and be careful. She’s armed,” Travis said.

  Bryan kneeled down and slid the blade into the tire. A soft whish of air broke the night. He moved to the next one and finished off the rest of the car. It seemed too easy and such great revenge. The next house had a gray convertible Porsche in the drive that none of us could figure out why it would be left alone outside all night. Then again, who anticipated losing all of their tires? We knew t
his car. We each heard him on different occasions. The guy would screech into their development blaring some bad euro trash techno music. Some weekends he sat in his car playing that music and talking on his cell phone. This felt like the right thing to do. In no time, the Porsche turned into a low rider.

  The next stop, as we moved around the semi-circle, would be the estate. This had a van in the drive way and a construction work truck with a business label embossed on the side. This would also be the deepest we went into the development and none of us wanted to linger there too long. We almost made it to the house when the porch light turned on.

  “Shit, get down,” Shawn said. We were still far enough away to be shadows in the darkness. We just crouched, hoping it had just been a rabbit or something triggering a motion sensor light. A guy, yawning, walked out the front door, and a small dog ran out and into the yard. He watched it go pee, turned around to look into the house, and pulled a cigarette out from the old baseball team jacket he wore. It seemed like an eternity watching him smoke and the dog run around the yard looking for wildlife and who knows what else. Finally, after the cigarette, he went inside, and we kept going.

  The construction truck presented a little bit of a challenge with its industrial wheels of thicker grade rubber. The light didn’t go on for us. The guy must have flipped a switch inside. When we were walking away, we heard the dog bark. We froze for a second until a loud, “shut the hell up,” came from inside. The barking stopped.

  The driveway to the next house sat empty. We thought Bryan underestimated his competition. Even with the small let down, the final show waited. The family car still sat in the driveway of the lawyer’s house. We paused in front of it. Shawn wore a hungry expression, one of getting ready to devour a nice porterhouse steak. Bryan worked the tires, and I noticed Shawn moving something around in the pocket of his jeans. The tires were done, and we turned to go back home. I wanted some sleep. The others also looked tired. Shawn turned around before we made it to the street. He finally pulled out what he held in his pocket: a golf ball.

  He rocked back and threw. Shawn told me he played baseball in high school and college. Judging by the throw, he wasn’t lying. The little orb shot across the moonlight. It started to drop and crashed directly through the passenger’s side window of the car. The car alarm sounded. The lights in the house flicked on. We took off across the street.

  Since my house was the closest, Bryan turned to hide behind the side of it, and we all came to a stop there. He was panting. I felt sweat forming on my head. The others were breathing heavily. A soft breeze floated over the night. We all looked around and then at each other. The alarm stopped, and we could hear conversation through the air. We were too far away to hear what was said, but we could guess the topic.

  “Thanks,” Shawn said. I finally understood a part of what it meant.

  “They can’t do that stuff to us and get away with it,” Bryan said through his panting breaths

  “Shit man, you were an animal out there,” Travis said. He hit Bryan on his back.

  “That was real stuff. A man is somewhere down in there,” Drew said. I could see Bryan’s face light up.

  “Well guys,” I said, “I don’t know about you, but work is coming in like four hours for me. I’m calling it a night. You can stay here if you want, but I bet your beds would be more comfortable.”

  “Have a good one,” Shawn said. He extended his hand, and I shook it. He turned and offered it to the others, and they all shook it.

  “So, when’s the next one? This is great,” Travis said, and I knew he meant it.

  I climbed back in bed with Val, and it took some time for the adrenalin to slow down. I slept, but not well, and droned through work the next day. Leaving The Reserve, I felt a piece of happiness and an ounce of pity seeing all those cars sitting in their driveways. One had a tow truck already there. A frustrated woman stood in front of the other, yelling into a cell phone. A young guy kicked his hooked up car. I bet that the Porsche guy cried when he saw his.

  This all seemed just like a little surreal competition. It finally hit home when we found out about Mya and the affair. We were brothers by then, and we defended each other’s honor. You would have done the same thing we did. Travis didn’t deserve to be treated like that, and I was going to be damn sure the other guy thought twice about it after we were through with him.

  Chapter Seven

  The Affair . . .

  No more shots were fired in our little give and take with distant neighbors, and we all assumed that they had given up. Our meetings came back on for every month, and I started to feel that we enjoyed each other’s company. Routines were established. We became familiar with our families. That’s when, looking back at it now, I started to recognize the signs of the affair.

  Travis was an aspiring musician. He had written freelance music reviews in a handful of small papers and eventually landed a weekly in a major northeastern market. This promotion allowed for a larger house, which in turn led to him coming to The Reserve. Through our meetings we learned about his relationship as much as our own.

  He met Mya on tour as he followed certain groups through their East Coast swings. They enacted a fast and intense courtship, had sex on the first night they met, and fell in love. They broke up three times over the course of their engagement but still managed to pull off a wedding, and were now using the new home as an attempt to settle down. They both looked young for their age. They were both in great shape. It seemed that we all rooted for Travis to live out that rocker part of us that either died with a lack of talent or a lack of courage.

  One night he mentioned that Mya was becoming distant. The newspaper work paid the bills but also meant a long drive. Weekends and some weekdays were spent away from home, and meant that Mya could stay home and spend the money. We noticed her come back from shopping trips loaded down with brand name things. Val told me (her own schedule focused on night and weekend work so she also had the days to be at home) that a weekly flood of newness in the form of clothes, furniture, art, and anything else she could find made its way into their house.

  We started to switch around locations for our gatherings, and I will never forget the one in their home. Each of us attempted to soften our styles as we grew except for them. The walls were painted a slate gray. The furniture formed flat black cubes scattered over the extent of the first and second floors. The television was large, but the stereo system was larger. The CD collection, gathered from the years of touring and critic work, ran into the thousands. Their bedroom, one we all assumed held plenty of use beyond sleeping, kept the black and gray feel with a massive bed and mirror above it on the ceiling. We learned that in recent weeks the bed was not getting used for too much beyond sleeping.

  I remember when Travis said that and the cold concern that flashed over his face. He looked hurt, and we all agreed that she couldn’t be cheating.

  “She just doesn’t care anymore,” he said.

  “So what, four times a week rather than six?” Drew asked.

  “No. No not that. She’s not involved. She doesn’t pay attention anymore. I bring home the money, and she just expects all that she gets. We have times that we call each other. This week she didn’t answer at all. I tried the cell phone, and she had it off. When I finally do talk to her she says she’s taking a nap or some other bullshit excuse.” He stopped talking. He was staring at the floor and wringing his hands.

  “I have an idea,” Bryan said. “I’ll stay home tomorrow, tell the wife I’m sick, and keep an eye on the place. Anything happens, I’ll call you straight up and let you know.” Travis processed this proposal and agreed. He seemed determined to get some answers, and Bryan, being himself, was more determined than ever to provide them.

  That night Mya didn’t get home from dinner with her sister (Travis told us the excuse later) until 12:30. He needed to catch a train to New York that
morning, but still waited up. They argued. She stormed off and locked him out of the bedroom. He spent the night on the couch, fought again to convince her to let him get clothes from the bedroom, and left speeding off in his car. Bryan’s car still sat in his driveway, and I knew that the plan was in action.

  That night Bryan invented a reason for an emergency get together, and we all met around the pool table in the basement. Travis arrived last. No one said too much as we waited for him. He walked in slow with the same look on his face that he wore at his house the other day.

  He sat down in one of the bar chairs and pulled it over to the table. He looked at Bryan.

  “How was the city?” Bryan asked.

  “Let’s skip the small talk. What happened today?” Travis asked.

  Bryan looked at all of us. “She left in the afternoon, dressed up very well.”

  “She still isn’t back,” Travis said.

  In that one moment, we all felt a small part of us break.

  “Well, there is something else. She didn’t go far,” Bryan said. “Remember that night with the cars and the alarm? Remember the one house that had no car in front? She went over there. Pulled her car into the garage, and it hasn’t left since.”

  “She’s not the only one parking in a different garage,” Drew said. We shot him a look. The smile he had on faded quick. “Okay, I mean, what proof do we have?” he asked.

  “I’m going over,” Travis said. He rose from his chair. “I’ll kill that son of a bitch.”

  “Wait, let’s think about this,” Shawn said, and he grabbed Travis by the arm to sit him back down. “We’ve all played poker before. For once, we’re holding aces. She doesn’t know, and she doesn’t know that you know.”