by Matt Drabble
“Please don’t do this,” Kelsey begged as the box reached the rear decking.
The back of the cruiser had a tailgate that lowered for swimmers or fishers and now it was open.
The shadow let go of the box and it wobbled nauseatingly and Kelsey’s heart flipped and missed a beat as the ocean beamed up at him from below. He twisted his head around and despite his predicament his heart sank at the mess of his deck that the box had caused. Long vicious grooves were torn into the wood, ruining his dream purchase.
As the boat and the box swayed with the ocean he looked up into the mad eyes of vengeance that had arrived after all. His mind raced through his life’s back story and couldn’t think of anyone he could have wronged to such a degree, save for one. He remembered at the trial that Trotter had promised that he would have his revenge and he now wondered why he had ever doubted the promise.
The figure placed his hands on the box and Kelsey knew that he would die beneath the water. In the cold and the darkness that lay in wait he would die alone as his air would run out and he would suffocate with the clammy hands of retribution clamped around his throat. All he had left now was the way that he went out.
“I’ll kill you for this,” he growled with as much venom as he could muster.
“Now that really would be a neat trick,” the shadow laughed manically as it pushed the box off of the boat and watched it sink into the murky depths below.
9.
REMINISCING
Adrian Todd was sitting on his porch surveying his kingdom that stretched out as far as the eye could see. He had only been back in the country since early that morning and his body clock was still trying to adjust.
Some days his land seemed boundless as he sat staring out with a heavy heart. He’d only ever had one daughter and she had been stolen from him by some freak who he should’ve had drowned like a kitten in the river the moment he’d come sniffing around. He’d been a man of iron will and an iron fist as far as his business was concerned, but he’d been a barrel of marshmallow when it came to Mary. He’d always given her everything that she’d ever wanted and indulged her every whim with the one-eyed vision of a doting father. He had lost his wife to the very childbirth that had brought Mary into their lives. He hadn’t missed his wife much; she was a necessity, a means to an end, and that end was his daughter. If she had survived the childbirth, then she wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyway. Sofia had been an attractive younger woman, but she had turned out to be a little too interested in his business. She’d always enjoyed the trappings of his wealth, but she wore them a little too conspicuously for his liking. The only people that lasted in his business were the ones that you never saw and never heard.
He had been a huge monstrous whale in the little pond of Denver Mills, but he’d always made sure to allow the people to feed on him. He had embedded himself deeply into the town, sinking his roots far beneath the surface and taking a firm grip. He funded most of the public services around the small town and he had quickly maneuvered himself into a position of indispensability. But when that monster had stolen his angel he had been held back from taking his rightful vengeance. He’d had to settle for fixing the trial and sending the man to prison for the rest of his life. At least that was as far as those town members in his pocket were concerned. Adrian had another half of the plan that was strictly for his eyes only. His thirst for justice ran much deeper than simple incarceration, as bars and locks came a distant second to pain and suffering. Money and influence had been exerted over a few key employees of the prison that had housed Trotter. Two very large and very depraved inmates had taken every ounce of retribution that Trotter’s fragile flesh could stand. Adrian was also the very proud owner of a surprisingly decent quality video of the whole delightful episode. The only trouble now was that Trotter may have very well escaped his mortal shell and he could only pray that the man’s torment continued beyond the grave.
Adrian Todd was a self-made in all respects. He had dragged himself up and had moved through life with a single-minded drive that eliminated all competition before him. He had soon discovered that his appetites would not be quenched simply by the farming industry and he had soon discovered an alternative choice of export.
He was pondering the day’s itinerary when he noticed the dust cloud in the distance that announced a visitor approaching. The drive to his property was long and winding and meant that he could always see cars coming from roughly a mile away. He stood puzzled as no-one was due for a visit and the unexpected always made him nervous, especially in his line of work.
As the car drew closer he could recognise the Denver Mills police department badge on the side. He sighed and missed the old days of Larry Taylor. When Larry was in charge things ran a lot smoother than today. Sherman Gaines was a not a man with his hand out. He was a man with a dangerous trait - principles.
He walked down the homestead’s wooden stairs to the ground and waited as the car pulled up. Gaines’ pleasantly smiling face was not fooling him as the cop stepped out into the bright sunshine.
“What can I do for you Mr. Gaines?” Adrian greeted him.
“Just a public service announcement Mr. Todd,” Gaines grinned back irritatingly.
“And what might that be?” Adrian said, refusing to sound impatient.
“Well not to alarm you Mr. Todd, but we are afraid that you may have a visitor at some point soon.”
Adrian stared back silently, declining to step into the conversation gap.
“Mr. Arnold Trotter is no longer in residency at Blackwater Heights Mr. Todd,” Gaines announced.
Adrian exhausted every reserve of self-control to remain motionless when inside he was caught between rage and uncharacteristic fear. “Excuse me?” He managed.
“Five days ago now, there was a fire that gutted the whole hospital. It is still unclear as to whether or not Arnold Trotter was among the dead. I’m surprised that you didn’t know?”
“I’ve been out of the country.”
“On business?”
“On business,” Adrian smiled back as they shared a look that said I know that you know what I do, but we both know that you can’t prove it.
“Well I just thought that I should be…, warning certain people,” Gaines said through a squinted glare.
“And you thought that I should be warned?” Adrian smiled pleasantly.
“You and certain others,” Gaines said returning the smile.
Adrian was rapidly growing tired of the dance. They waltzed around the subject of just what he did and just what he’d done. He knew from Taylor that Gaines had made waves around the investigation and the trial of Trotter. He knew to the point that he’d had to tell Taylor to take Gaines out of the case. Whatever Gaines thought he knew, he also couldn’t prove.
“Well if you’ll excuse me Mr. Gaines, I have matters to attend to,” Adrian said, dismissing the public servant.
“I guess my job’s done here then,” Gaines said not breaking character. “Take care of yourself Mr. Todd.”
“Oh I’m sure that I’ll be just fine,” Adrian replied through icy eyes.
As soon as Gaines was disappearing back into a plume of dust, Adrian was already flicking through his phone for phone numbers with sweaty fingers.
----------
Tommy met PJ for lunch inside a bar, which wasn’t much of a surprise. Even as Tommy glanced down at his watch to see that it was barely the afternoon, PJ was already half in the bag.
They again met in The Catfish Bar which was still thickly full of the aroma of the previous night’s beer and sawdust. The daytime patrons were a socially mixed variety but all had the same lifeless eyes that were dark and empty.
“Tommy,” PJ waved at him from a booth.
He walked over and found his friend sitting with a half empty pitcher and a slanted smile.
“Starting early?” He asked, only half joking.
“It’s always 8pm somewhere,” PJ grinned.
Tommy slid into t
he booth and sat facing PJ. “You always come here for lunch?”
“Not always,” PJ answered a little defensively.
“You need another refill PJ?” The waitress asked as she popped up from nowhere.
Tommy raised an eyebrow towards his friend who could only shrug.
“I’ll take a coke and he’s fine,” Tommy answered her for the both of them.
“Hey sweetheart?” A man suddenly called the waitress from a neighboring table, “While we’re young?” He snapped irritably.
“Be right with you sir,” she said pulling a face to Tommy and PJ. “You want some wings PJ?”
“I’m fine Delores,” PJ answered shyly.
Tommy only smiled pleasantly at her as they silently commiserated for the waitress’s lot in life; one that was made more difficult by the difficult.
When she had gone Tommy looked at his friend’s seemingly permanent glassy eyed grin. “So how are things?” He asked seriously.
“Ah you know, same shit different day,” PJ replied.
“How’s business?”
“Keeps me in pitchers,” PJ said, hoisting his glass and making the suds disappear.
“Did you never want to get out of Denver Mills? I mean there’s a whole world outside of these walls PJ.”
“I can’t imagine that there’s much out there for the likes of me, especially when I don’t bring much to the table,” PJ smiled sadly.
“Do you dream much?” Tommy asked abruptly, wanting to see an honest reaction.
PJ’s darkened face told him all that he needed to know.
“Here we go,” the waitress said, suddenly reappearing and putting down the coke for Tommy and a basket of chicken wings. “On the house,” she whispered with a wink, “PJ here needs to eat something.”
Tommy watched as PJ squirmed uncomfortably, his cheeks blushing furiously. Although the woman looked a little older, she was attractive with a kind face and cute freckled cheeks. Her hair was a strawberry blonde and was held up with a pencil twisted through the tail.
“Dammit didn’t I tell you I wanted to order,” the man from the nearby table shouted angrily. “You know, if you’ve finished waiting on the queers,” he spat.
“Be right with you sir,” Delores said wearily.
“Well then shift your fat ass,” the man laughed cruelly.
“Don’t speak to her like that,” PJ said quietly.
“What’s that you Goddamned drunk,” the man snapped as he stood up and waddled over.
Tommy felt the tension rise in the bar. His stomach rolled at the possibility of open conflict. He had never been one for the stress of arguments in any form and he knew that alcohol could only make things worse.
“Easy man,” he said pleasantly as he turned to try and diffuse the situation.
To his horror he saw not only was the man huge, but he was also not alone. The man waddled across to their booth. His work shirt had a name tag sown in that read “Donnie” and it strained across his bulging belly that was swollen by many days and nights no doubt inside of bars. His ham sized fists were already clenched and his face was crisscrossed with reddened veins. He had two friends equally large, standing behind him with the confidence of outnumbering their smaller prey.
“You say something little man?” Donnie snarled to them both.
“Why don’t you go sit down and I’ll send over a complimentary pitcher,” Delores smiled eagerly.
“Why don’t you piss off,” Donnie said dismissively.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” PJ reiterated in an even smaller voice.
Donnie leaned into the booth, invading their space and dominating the table. “You know what PJ?” He growled, “I’m gonna drag you out the back and beat the living shit out of you, and when I’m done me and the boys are going to have a little fun with your girlfriend.”
“You know it’s strange,” a new voice from behind them suddenly interrupted, “But I just don’t see that happening.”
Tommy leaned out and past Donnie’s bulk to see the vision that was Dixon.
Although Donnie was bigger than Dixon, he somehow seemed smaller and less tangible than his old friend. Dixon never took his eyes off of the bigger man and ignored the others. His face was set hard and his mouth was smiling, but it was not a nice smile.
“This is none of your business,” Donnie stammered with a nervous voice.
“Well I just made it mine,” Dixon grinned.
Tommy felt the electricity in the air crackle between them. On the one hand he wanted Donnie and his friends to just walk away, but his rolling stomach also wanted a little payback for ruining his lunch.
“Why don’t you just get lost,” Tommy said towards Donnie. “This is a private party.”
To his eventual relief Donnie turned to walk away but Dixon stepped in front of him and blocked his path. Tommy’s relief turned back to nausea in his stomach as Dixon didn’t look ready to reach a peaceful conclusion.
“Dixon?” Tommy said in a low tone.
Time was frozen for what seemed like hours as Tommy waited for Dixon to make a decision that was out of his hands.
“You get to walk away because my friend asks,” Dixon whispered as he leant in closely to Donnie’s ear. “But my friend only gets to ask once.”
Tommy watched gratefully as the three men turned tail and almost ran for the bar’s exit.
“Just like the good old days,” Dixon beamed. “You guys always needing me to bail you out of trouble, where would you be without me?”
----------
Adrian Todd hung up the phone and sat back in the leather recliner chair. His mind was buzzing but his senses were sharp. Self-preservation is a strong motivator and he was well equipped with the emotion.
He had maintained details on everyone who had once sat in his pocket. He knew that it was important to keep tabs on anyone who might one day turn and bite the hand that had once fed them.
Taylor had retired out west and lived alone. Adrian had many contacts, especially within the police community. It was an expensive business but a necessary one. It had not taken long for him to make some calls and discover some rather unnerving facts. The ex-police chief Larry Taylor had been discovered sawn in half with a bloody chainsaw no less. The body had been found by a courier who was no doubt by now a quivering wreck. Taylor had knowledge of rather too many of Adrian’s secrets around the trial of Trotter for his liking. And judging by the manner of Taylor’s death, it was easy to assume that he would have given up anything that he remembered. As far as the authorities were concerned they were still not officially declaring Trotter either dead or missing. His contacts did not stretch far enough outside of Denver Mills to discover just what the unofficial police line was.
Another enquiry had discovered that Trotter’s defense attorney Kelsey Falcon was currently missing. The man had apparently not been seen since taking his boat out early one morning. This fact alone wouldn’t have concerned him, but coupled with Taylor’s dismemberment, it was most definitely cause for concern.
He knew that Gaines was a competent detective. If he had come to see him, then he would no doubt be currently trying to track down the others that had been the object of Trotter’s deadly promise.
He sat and tried to recall those involved in the fixed trial. There was Taylor and Falcon and they were the only ones who had left town. Directly involved inside the courtroom were also the judge Harry Fielding and the prosecutor Graham Moss. Both of who had been on the payroll and still lived in Denver Mills. And of course there was also himself. It would seem that Trotter would have no shortage of targets.
10.
he’s making a list
he’s checking it twice
Dixie Carter drove into town cursing her client’s choice of living quarters. Lee McEwen should have been safely ensconced within the bosom of a large city’s artistic community, but for some reason he insisted on living in the backwater humdrum of Denver Mills.
The rental car that sh
e had been originally assigned was wholly inadequate and she’d enjoyably reduced the girl behind the counter almost to tears before receiving an upgrade. As far as Dixie was concerned, life was a competition and the moment you stopped fighting you died.
She was a short woman and fully embraced the Napoleon complex. Her temper had been her most important weapon and made up almost the entirety of her arsenal. She had found that there was no brick wall that she couldn’t batter down eventually.
She represented fourteen clients but none were more important to her than Lee McEwen. He was a pleasant enough guy, but he was also her pension. McEwen asked for little and gave her what she wanted when she wanted it. He was the only artist under her care that was reliable and the only one who - as far as she was concerned - hadn’t disappeared up his own ass.
She hated being this far out of circulation, but McEwen didn’t like to fly or drive and she had little choice but to drive when she needed to see him. Still it was a small price to pay for a client who had signed up for a deal that allowed her to take 35% instead of her usual 15%. For some reason artists might not be able to tell the time or wipe their own backsides, but somehow when it came to finances most were suddenly chartered accountants.
She was 38, unmarried, unburdened by permanent lovers or children and a pit bull for hire. As far as she was concerned her job was to make her clients as successful as possible. The more money that they made, she more that she made. It was her living, her career and her life.
She was checking her reflection in the rear view mirror when the large pickup truck came bearing down on her in a hurry. The dark vehicle pulled up to what seemed like inches from her rear bumper and she flashed an angry glance backwards. No doubt some redneck farmer getting his kicks, she thought irritably. She was no more than a couple of miles outside of Denver Mills and all she wanted was to put her feet up with a stiff drink. She had soon found that in her cutthroat world a glass of chardonnay just didn’t take the edge off of those long days.
The pickup began flashing its lights vigorously, swiftly followed by the strangled cat sound of its horn blaring into the warm evening air. She wound the window down and gave the driver behind a well worn hand gesture that she used on special occasions. The truck pulled back from her bumper and she smiled in satisfaction at another idiot put in his place.