The Maine Nemesis

by R Scott Wallis

  ​And then Porter spotted the garbage can, dangerously close to the grill again. “What the hell is wrong with you guys?” he spat at the two cooks in the kitchen. “Do you want to start a fire?”

  ​Neither one of the men said anything but one of them pushed the can back to its proper location near the back door. The cook shrugged his shoulders and continued to tend to deep frying tater tots, a Shanty signature side.

  ​Porter went to the hostess stand and checked the reservation book: a complete sell-out with a waiting list twenty people long. He smiled and went to check on Laura’s progress rolling silverware in paper napkins.

  ​“You think we should ditch the paper and get a linen service?” she asked. “Seems like we could justify it with all the new business.”

  “I guess that’s something Tanner can worry about. This is his place now.”

  ​Laura sighed deeply. “I still have six weeks before school starts.”

  ​“Yeah, so?”

  ​“Just saying. At the rate we’re going, I’m going to have the best summer ever. The tips have been amazing. I’ve never wanted to work so many lunch and dinner shifts in a row in my life.”

  ​“I’m happy for your bank account,” Porter said, taking a seat across from his sister. “Mine’s pretty fat right now, too.”

  ​“And what exactly are you going to do with all of that money?”

  ​“Get out of Lois Millhouse’s garage and find my own place. I might write a novel.”

  ​Laura nearly choked on her chewing gum. “Excuse me? Have you ever written a full paragraph since high school? When did you become a writer?”

  ​“I write all the time,” he said sheepishly. “I keep a journal and I have some poems and stuff. I have an idea for a murderous lobsterman story. A Stephen King kind of a thing.”

  ​“Well, you’re in the right place for it, I guess. He lives upstate, right?”

  ​“Bangor, I think. Although he winters in Florida.”

  ​“Who doesn’t? Except us working folks.”

  ​“I’m pretty sure he works his ass off. Anyway, it’s just an idea. I have enough money to at least try it for a while.”

  “Well don’t spend all the money and then have nothing to show for it, Porter.”

  “I’m not an idiot.”

  “No, just a retard.”

  He slammed his hand down on the table. “Enough!”

  ​“Chill out, freak.”

  ​“I’m still in charge, per Tanner’s instructions, so if you want to continue to work here and make all those glorious tips, stop with the name calling.” He got up and stormed into the kitchen where he found the garbage can back next to the unmanned grill. He rushed over, kicked it as hard as he could, and took off out the back screened door into the parking lot. He crossed over to the liquor store, bought a liter of bourbon and a pack of Newport Lights, and continued home. On the way, he pictured the lifeless, cold body of Wanda Jenkins Millhouse lying in a morgue drawer somewhere and he started crying. He’d done a lot of that lately.

  * * *

  ​Brenda filled a large glass bowl with coarsely chopped cooked lobster and added just enough of her homemade mayonnaise to lightly coat the succulent meat. She despised cooks who fucked around with the classic Maine style—ones who felt the need to add celery, chives, lemon juice, Old Bay, or other unnecessary ingredients. She was okay with a bit of lettuce, perhaps, but didn’t feel obligated to include it every time. What was essential, was the right split-top bun—she was partial to a French brioche hot dog bun—generously buttered on both sides and lightly grilled before it’s stuffed with about four ounces of chilled lobster.

  ​It was quite simply her favorite food in the world, and when paired with a not-too wet coleslaw, an ice-cold dill pickle spear, and a handful of ridged potato chips—or perfectly salted and black peppered French fries—it was pure heaven on Earth. Every single one of her Brenda’s Kitchen restaurants featured the dish year-round and it was always a best seller. Her live lobster shipping bill was high because of it, but it was worth it.

  ​She poured two glasses of Italian pinot grigio and plated the dinners. Skyler entered the kitchen and slumped down into a chair at the table. “This looks good,” she said unconvincingly.

  ​“Why, thank you,” Brenda said, taking a seat. “I slaved for you.”

  ​“I’m sorry. It really does look scrumptious. And I’m famished.”

  ​“You look sick.”

  ​“I am.” Skyler took a long sip of the wine. “I’m worried that Tanner is going to do some hard time.”

  ​“If he killed Wanda, then that’s exactly what he should do. It breaks my heart to even say that out loud.”

  ​“It breaks my heart to hear it. Tell me that this summer is just a very long, fucked up nightmare, please.”

  ​Brenda dug into her roll. With a mouthful, she cocked her head. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  ​“Do I let this play out on its own or do I do something? Do I say something to Leonard?”

  ​“If you tell Leonard what Tanner told you, he’s going to have to do something about it. Like tell his father. But I suspect that Sheriff Little already has Tanner pegged. Just keep your conversation with Tanner to yourself. For, like, ever. You don’t want to be implicated for obstructing justice. That’d royally fuck your public relations career.”

  ​“Among other things,” Skyler said. She pushed the food around her plate.

  ​“Eat, please.”

  ​“I will,” Skyler said. “In a minute.” She jumped up from the table and retrieved her smartphone from the charging cable across the room. “Hello?” She looked over at Brenda a mouthed, “Lenny.”

  ​“Don’t do it,” Brenda said.

  ​“Shhhh. No, not you, Leonard. I was talking to Brenda. Sure, you can come over. Brenda will feed you dinner.” She hung up and returned to the table. “He’s coming over.”

  ​“He must be horny.”

  ​“Lord, no. I’m not even sure that’s going to continue. It might have just been a Miami thing. He’s got some news.”

  ​“Oh geez, who’s dead now?” Brenda asked.

  ​“God, no one, I hope. He said something about a fire.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  ​Porter Maddox cased the annex building behind the town’s tiny urgent care hospital for nearly a half hour and concluded that there was no one inside. If there was any staff there, they were just as dead as the corpses. He finished off the rest of the bourbon and threw the bottle into the woods. He used the heel of his sneaker to put out his eleventh cigarette—his new vice, he decided—and started across the parking lot.

  After pulling on a pair of surgical gloves he’d swiped from his dentist’s office months before, he jimmied the cheap lock on the side door of the morgue and made his way inside. He’d been in the building once before when he had to identify the body of his grandfather who’d been killed in a quite unfortunate chainsaw accident a decade earlier. Nothing inside had changed much. He found the cold storage lockers and pulled open three drawers before he found the woman he was looking for.

  ​He sat on a rolling stool next to Wanda’s dead body and examined her lifeless blue face. Her skin was pulled very tight and there were yellow blotchy patches surrounding her eye sockets. She looked horrible, nothing like the vibrant young girl who was head cheerleader and the homecoming queen their senior year at Wabanaki High School. Wanda had been his first and only official girlfriend and the only woman he’d ever had sex with. He was still deeply in love with her and it irreversibly broke his heart when she ended things after the car accident. She used to wear his class ring around her neck on a gold chain until she gave it back to him while he lay in a hospital bed recovering from his injuries. It was mean and cruel and he never got over it. Not ever.

  ​When she started dating Tanner Millhouse a few years after graduation, then married the son of a bitch, Porter lost his grip on reality, promised to never waste his time falling in
love with another woman as long as he lived, and vowed to do his best to make Tanner’s life a living nightmare—although he hadn’t been doing a very good job of that, until recently.

  ​Porter stroked Wanda’s hair and wondered what she looked like naked now—or at least what she looked like before she died. He wondered exactly where the knife entered her chest and whether it ruined a breast. He decided not to look.

  ​He was going to fish out his penis, but thought better of it. Even he wasn’t that sick. He pushed the carcass of his first love back into the wall, found and turned off the main switch that cooled the bodies, and left the building.

  ​As he walked home he detected a strong smell of smoke in the air. Then he heard sirens in the distance. He wondered whose house was burning down…and hoped that it was Tanner’s. Or Gerald’s. Or Vice President Farr’s. He’d take any one of the three, he decided.

  * * *

  ​Just as the sun was setting, Leonard parked his car on the street in front of Skyler’s cottage and let himself through the front door. He entered the kitchen just as Brenda was taking another hot dog bun off the griddle. She instructed him to sit down and she placed his dinner in front of him.

  ​“What would this cost me in one of your restaurants,” he asked her.

  ​“Depends on where it is. In New York and out west I get a hell of a lot, like $35 or so. Especially in Vegas, because I have the lobsters shipped overnight from Wabanaki. Plus, I can get away with charging more when tourists are involved. Can you imagine someone charging that much here?”

  ​“I’m in the wrong business,” Leonard said as he ate hungrily. “Do you have any idea how much I make?”

  ​“I’m afraid to ask. Plus, that’d be tacky and I would never even try to guess.”

  ​“I haven’t made more than $40,000 a year in my life.”

  ​“I’m pretty sure I spend more than that on black car service in New York,” Brenda said. “But it’s all relative, I guess.”

  ​“My relatives don’t make much more than I do,” he joked.

  ​“Uh huh,” she said, rolling her eyes. She poured him a glass of wine. “Oh. Can you drink this on the job?”

  ​“I’m off the clock. So, where’s Skyler?”

  She appeared in the doorway leading to the mudroom. “Here I am. I was throwing a load in the washing machine.”

  ​“You are so domestic,” he said. “Will you marry me?”

  ​Brenda and Skyler both screamed. “I will not be your fourth wife, no,” Skyler said. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and sat down next to him. “What’s this about a fire?”

  ​“Tanner Millhouse is now officially, and totally, royally fucked.”

  ​Skyler was afraid to ask, but did anyway, “What now?”

  ​“The Lobster Shanty burned to the ground earlier this evening.”

  ​Brenda grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter for support while Skyler stood straight up out of her chair knocking it over. “What?!” she screamed. “No.”

  ​“It’s true,” Leonard said calmly, as he continued to eat. “I just came from over there. The Wabanaki volunteer fire guys had to call in neighboring fire departments because, of course, we can’t afford decent trucks of our own. It’s a shame, really.”

  ​“Of course it’s a shame,” Skyler said. “A shame that…oh, never mind. What happened, Leonard? Is Tanner okay?”

  ​“Skyler, calm down and let him talk,” Brenda said.

  ​“I’m calm. Was Tanner there or not?”

  ​“Nope,” Leonard said. “And this time he certainly didn’t do it. Or at least no one will blame him for it. He was at the Chowder House when it all burned down.”

  ​“It ALL went down? Ruined?”

  “The Lobster Shanty is no more. No one was hurt, thank goodness. The staff got everyone out before it took over the dining room. The fire started in the kitchen and then took out the wood shingle roof. I’ve never seen such a blaze. By the time the big trucks got into position, the restaurant was just charred rubble. Caught a few trees on fire, too. Poor trees.”

  ​Skyler reached for more wine. “Poor trees?! Poor Tanner. He just bought the place.”

  ​“Yeah, and he didn’t have insurance in place yet.”

  ​Brenda let out a little cry. “Tell me that’s not true. How is that even possible? Surely Porter had insurance.”

  ​“Nope. He did, at one time,” Leonard said, “but he let it lapse sometime around April when times were lean for the restaurant. Seems like a dumb move for a business person. At least this is what his sister Laura told my dad. No one has laid eyes on Porter yet.”

  ​“I just don’t believe this,” Skyler said. “All of Tanner’s money, down the drain.”

  ​“He’ll be okay,” Brenda said. “We’ll see to that. Money wise, I mean. I can help him rebuild it.”

  ​“You’re a saint, Brenda, really,” Skyler said. “But more importantly, how is Tanner holding up?”

  ​Leonard stuck an entire pickle into his mouth. “He looked pretty messed up. I think he went back to the Mayor’s house to be with his kid. His ugly car is next door, at least.”

  ​Skyler sighed and went to her phone. “I’m going to text him.”

  ​“I’d leave him alone if I were you,” Leonard said. “Is there any more lobster?”

  “Of course,” Brenda said. “I think I’ll have another one, too. I always make more than I should. I guess I forget that I’m not cooking for a restaurant full of people.” She got to work making a second dinner while keeping an eye on Skyler who looked crestfallen.

  “He’s not answering,” she said.

  * * *

  ​Next door, Tanner determined that he was pretty much a basket case. He managed to avoid his grandmother, and after checking on Charlie—Karen had stopped drinking and was doing an impressive job of looking after her grandchild—he went to his room and collapsed on the bed. His hands shaking, he checked his phone and saw multiple text messages had come through. He went right to Skyler’s and considered replying. He wanted nothing more than to be in her presence under any circumstance, but he was just beyond exhausted. And he couldn’t stomach getting the third degree for the eighth time that night. After intensive grillings from the Sheriff, the fire inspector, and others, he was done.

  ​He fell asleep in his Chowder House clothes and with his boots on. He dreamt of running away and never coming back. Besides Charlie, he had nothing but a heavily mortgaged house and a burnt crisp of a business. It was plainly clear that he had to be finished with Wabanaki, because Wabanaki was certainly finished with him. Even Skyler wasn’t enough to make him stay in the monster of a town. He woke up a few hours later feeling like he’d never been asleep. That’s when he realized that he wasn’t alone in the bedroom.

  ​Sitting in a wingback chair in the corner was Porter. His scarred face was lit from the moonlight streaming in through the open window. It was what horror movies were made of. Tanner sat upright. “What the fuck, man?”

  ​“Did I wake you?”

  ​“What are you doing in my room? What time is it?”

  Porter consulted his watch but he was having trouble focusing his eyes. “Late.”

  “Dude?”

  ​Porter rested a cheek in the palm of his hand. “You burned down my restaurant? Are you out to destroy everything in your life?”

  ​“I burned down your restaurant?”

  ​“Yeah. Why’d you go and do something stupid like that?”

  ​“I didn’t burn down anything,” Tanner said. He reached over and switched on the bedside lamp and both men squinted at the sudden flood of light in the small room. “I was at the Chowder when it happened. Where the fuck were you?”

  ​“Not at the Shanty, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  ​“I asked you, and you promised, to run the restaurant while I was otherwise engaged.”

  ​“And I was doing exactly that. I was there through lunch and at the begi
nning of dinner service but I had some personal business to take care of so I left Laura in charge. She’s quite capable, Tanner.”

  ​“Perhaps not, Porter,” he spit. “The restaurant is fucking gone and there was no insurance policy. How the fuck did you let that happen?”

  ​“I let it happen?! I didn’t let anything happen. It was your restaurant because I cashed the check and we signed the papers. If you aren’t smart enough to get your ass covered, how is that my fault?”

  Tanner was silent for a few moments. “I just assumed I was buying everything and that it was covered. Stupid me.”

  “Stupid you.”

  “What was your personal business, anyway?”

  “I was visiting your wife.”

  “Excuse me? Wanda?”

  “Yeah. I just wanted to see her one last time.”

  ​“And how the hell did you pull that off? A person can’t just wander into the morgue and ask to see a body of someone they aren’t related to. Plus, she’s part of a murder investigation. They’d never let you in there.”

  ​“No one let me in,” Porter said. “This is Wabanaki, man. There isn’t a hell of a lot of sophisticated security around these parts.”

  ​“Obviously, since you managed to break into my grandmother’s house in the middle of the night.”

  ​“Tanner, I live here, remember? I have a key to the main house in case of emergencies. I didn’t break in. I let myself in.”

  ​“There’s no emergency,” Tanner said. He stood up and suddenly felt a little light headed. “I think you should go. This is very creepy.”

  ​“You think I should go, or should I go?”

  ​“You should fucking go!” Tanner yelled. He grabbed the man by the arm and tried to yank him out of the chair, but he was stronger and heavier than he anticipated. “Why won’t you move?”

  ​“I’m moving!” Porter said. He got to his feet and pushed Tanner as hard as he could with both of his arms. Tanner fell backward and bounced off the bed and onto the floor sending the lamp crashing to the floor. In near darkness again, the two men struggled. A punch was thrown. Then another. They shattered the floor length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Pictures came off the walls. A cell phone went flying.