The import sedan I’d worked on earlier in the day still sat in bay #2 where I left it at the end of my shift. Only then did the thought hit me that Arashk had delivered the very alternator it needed afternoon. Something in my stomach started to toss and tumble. I couldn’t believe I’d been that close to him all this time, seeing him several times a week. The thought made me sick, and I tried to put it out of my mind as soon as possible.
It was the pool of oil that I noticed next, spreading out across the filthy concrete floor. The slick was working its way father out into the room, sludging along as if it were alive. Black and shiny, my eyes followed the liquid until I discovered its origin. The oil was flowing over the top of the fifty-five gallon drum of used motor oil sitting against the far wall of the garage. It hadn’t been full when I left earlier, but it was full now.
My heart instantly jumped up into my throat.
With his arms hanging limp toward the ground, only the top of Dallas’ shoulders rose above the barrel’s rim. His head hung off to the side at an uncomfortable angle. The rest of his body was submerged, stuffed inside the steel barrel like he was an illusionist performing an escape act. Thick black oil continued to run slowly down the sides and onto the floor.
Fighting the overwhelming urge to run to Dallas, I ended up taking a step backward instead. I grabbed the nearest weapon I could get my hands on: a ten-inch long adjustable wrench.
The laughter that followed was subtle, amused. It drifted out from somewhere in the shadows. I whipped my head in its direction, and that’s when I saw him sitting on the hood of Dallas’ ’66 Chevy. He just sat there like he was simply hanging out, shooting the shit with some friends while they tuned their engines.
“So I met your friend here, and I heard you met mine.”
Corwin Barnes slid off the truck’s hood and onto his feet. When his heavy boots hit the floor, the sound echoed in the air around us. He smiled the same decaying smile that spent months terrorizing my dreams, sending a familiar shiver up my spine. It was the same smile I fought to forget while a team of doctors sat monitoring me, clipboards in hand.
While neither a profound statement nor a warm hello, the words “fuck you” escaped my lips, and I took another step backward. My eyes left Barnes only for the brief moment it took to look around for something more formidable than a wrench.
It proved the wrong thing to do. Like looking over the edge when you drive too close to a cliff, the vertigo that hit me was instantaneous, and I quickly turned my attention back to Barnes. Taking my eyes off of him for even those few short seconds had shaken me, and I decided not to do it again unless I had to. Keeping my eyes on him would be my best defense.
My proclamation of hate toward Barnes only seemed to amuse him and his psychotic smile broadened.
“Did you think I would forget?” he asked.
Barnes’ arms hung at his sides, and the flip phone made a clicking sound as he repeatedly flipped the lid open and then closed with his thumb. There was only one person I knew who still had a phone like that, and it was then that I realized who really sent me the text message that brought me here.
“Did you think you could do what you did to me and I would just let you walk away? Without paying your penance?”
“Is he dead?” I asked, ignoring his threat. I fought to keep my voice calmer than the rest of me. My clenched fists trembled, and my legs quaked. My entire body was broadcasting my fear. Even my heart was beating against my chest without concern for its own well-being.
“Who? Mr. Tipsword here?” Barnes only tipped his head in Dallas’ direction, as if acknowledging him further would have lessened the enjoyment of this game he was playing. “I’m not sure. But if he isn’t yet, he soon will be. Don’t worry, though, he’ll have company before long. As soon as I’m done with you.”
It was very brief, barely noticeable in the dim light of the garage – a glance behind me, and a subtle nod. But it was enough to raise my awareness, and I instinctively took a step to my right.
A tire iron arced through the space where I had just been. It swooshed as it sliced through the air. At the other end of that tire iron was my buddy, Arashk. His white knuckles gripped the black iron rod like it was his favorite toy and someone had threatened to take it from him. He’d come through the office door so silently, the only thing that saved me from being split in two was my insistence on not taking my eyes off Barnes. If I hadn’t seen that subtlest of actions on his part, the result would have been much different.
As it was, the sudden movement put me off balance, and I had to take a couple of extra steps to right myself again. When it was all said and done, I stood with my back against one of the overhead doors, facing the middle of the shop. This turned out to be a good thing since I now had two psychos I needed to keep my eyes on.
My adrenaline got the best of me.
“How’s the sack, asshole?” I pointed the crescent wrench in Arashk’s direction. My indignation of the whole situation was creeping upward, and it was getting the best of me. I didn’t know where this brave charade was coming from, because the odds were definitely not in my favor. Neither was the timing. But another person close to me had gotten caught up in Barnes’ world, and I’d had enough.
As my grip on the cold piece of forged steel tightened, its narrow edges dug into the meat of my hand. I ignored the pain.
“You weren’t so funny a half hour ago. Remember? When you were running for your life?” Arashk then turned to Barnes. “Are we done fuckin’ with this guy already? I wanna kill him. I don’t want to wait until we get back. I want to cut his ass up right here and now.”
Apparently something Arashk said didn’t sit well with Barnes. The crude smile faded from his face like Arashk was a stubborn child who’d been told something time and time again, but still wasn’t getting it.
Barnes was just opening his mouth to say something when the short chirp of a siren cut him off. The sound was immediately followed by an abrupt screech of tires. A second screech came next, then a third. Muted red and blue lights flashed across the white paper that covered the windows. It resembled a psychedelic show of patriotism.
It was the wrong move, but I took my eyes off the two men and allowed myself to become momentarily mesmerized by the light show. The police had finally come through, and a sense of relief washed over my entire body.
But my eyes had been off of Arashk and Barnes for too long, and once I’d realized my mistake, I whipped my head back around. It was too late. Arashk was already gone. Barnes had just raised one of the rear overhead doors about three feet and was in the process of rolling under it. As he did, Dallas’ cell phone slipped from his hand. The last I saw of Corwin Barnes was his long sinewy arm reaching back under the door and swiping up the phone.
With more adrenaline coursing through me than I knew what to do with, I rushed over to the barrel of oil that held Dallas’ lifeless body. I wasn’t sure if he was still alive. He sure as hell didn’t look it. I dropped the wrench onto the concrete with a clatter and gently lifted Dallas’ head so I could get a better look.
His eyes were closed, as if they had a choice. His face had been busted up pretty bad and was already turning every shade of ugly. Blood flowed from a long gash across his forehead. It streamed down over his right eye in three distinct tendrils until eventually mixing with the oil in the barrel. His nose was split, swollen and at an angle that would have made even the toughest MMA fighter cringe. The long salt and pepper beard Dallas had spent so much time stroking while in thought, was now gone, having been crudely cut and unceremoniously dropped onto the floor beside the barrel.
Open slightly and sagging, his mouth threatened to take in some of the black liquid. I slid my hands down into the oil and reached under his arms. I knew I wouldn’t be able to lift him out, but I needed to try and prop his body up at least. I didn’t get very far before two police officers burst into the garage. Like mirror images, both pointed their guns my way and told to me freeze. Their exact wor
ds were, ‘Freeze, motherfucker!’
Assuming I was the motherfucker in this case, I did as I was told.
Chapter 44
I woke to the sound of the truck door slamming. As I blinked away the sleep, I knew he’d slammed it on purpose. He always had. But when I saw the tall can of Monster energy drink sitting on the dashboard, I couldn’t be mad. It’s tough to be upset with someone bearing gifts.
The air inside the truck was thick with humidity, causing condensation to drip down the side of the can. Sitting up straight, I bent my neck from side to side to work out the kinks. Once I could do it without discomfort, I reached out and grabbed the Monster. When I popped the tab, I could hear the fizzing of tiny bubbles coming to life, and my mouth started to water. It had been a long time since I’d had one. It had been a long time since I’d done a lot of things. Not since...
I drank half the liquid in one long draw, ignoring the condensation dripping onto my t-shirt. An old, familiar Travis Tritt song was quietly coming through the speakers. I rolled my eyes and groaned. New country was at least tolerable. Jason Aldean, Carrie Underwood and that guy with the difficult to spell first name. But old country, I could definitely live without.
There was only person I knew of who liked the old stuff. I opened the door of the idling truck and stepped out into a light fog.
The rusted trailer that carried Garrett’s old boat was hitched to the truck, and Garrett was already busy removing the boat’s cover. I started unhooking the bungee cords that stretched from my side of the trailer to the other.
“I see that beauty sleep didn’t do much for ya,” Garrett said. His ever-present smile was, without a doubt, a sight for sore eyes.
“Well, people say I look like my dad, so I’ll give him your condolences.” We both laughed, and just like that, it was like old times. Like we’d never found that church. Like we’d never gone inside.
Like he’d never left.
With the last bungee cord removed and tossed into the bed of the truck, we each took hold of an opposite corner and started folding the canvas sheet. The next time our eyes met, the usual brightness in Garrett’s was gone. Genuine concern replaced it, and they were currently trained directly on me.
“Do you remember how we met?” he asked before using his hand to iron out a wrinkle in the canvas.
“Second grade,” I said, wondering where he was going with the unexpected question.
“Yeah, but do you remember what brought it on?”
I didn’t, and I let him know with a slight shake of my head.
“Every day on the playground,” he said, folding the canvas over once again, “that bully, Rocky Blanton, would wait until the teacher wasn’t looking, then walk up and punch me in the arm as hard as he could.”
I nodded as it all started coming back to me. We folded the canvas over one more time while Garrett continued.
“For some reason, I just took it. Didn’t tell anyone. Then one day, you came up to me when we were walking back into the school building. You asked me how many times I was going to let him hit me before I got mad enough to do something about it. You asked me how many punches it was gonna take.”
We had reached the front of the boat, and it was time to fold the cover in the other direction. I took my end and walked it over to Garrett, stepping over the tongue of the trailer to do so. When I handed my corners to him, he looked even deeper into my eyes. More expectant.
“So how many is it gonna take, Luke?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, helping him toss the folded cover into the bed of the truck.
“Barnes,” he answered, closing the truck’s tailgate. Placing his foot on the rear bumper, he started counting off with his fingers. “First me, then Becca, and now your friend, Dallas. How many times are you gonna let Barnes hit you, Luke, before you get mad enough to do something about it?”
I stood there looking at the best friend I’d ever had, searching the emotion on his face, a face I hadn’t seen in so long. His question hadn’t come from a place of anger or disappointment. He was genuinely concerned, and he had a reason to be. All this time, I’d been a bystander in this game, sitting back and taking everything Barnes had thrown at me. Hiding from him.
Sure, I was still standing, but that wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot.
The worst part was that I even had the incentive to fight back. A hot core of anger dwelled inside me, and it had been set aflame by Corwin Barnes that night. It had been there for awhile now; the therapy helped me discover that. But I’d been holding it down all this time, suppressing it for God knows what reason.
Because the doctors told me to, that’s why. Move on, they said. It would be better for me in the long run, they said. But they were wrong.
“You gotta let it out,” Garrett told me, as if knowing my thoughts. “It looks like Dallas may have gotten lucky. Don’t wait until it’s Claire or your parents. You’ve gotta hit him back, Luke. And you gotta hit him hard.”
Garrett dropped his foot to the ground, and just like that, his expression changed along with his posture. A wry smile broke across his face and his eyes gleamed once again.
“Hit the son of a bitch for me,” he said, and then he turned and made his way to the cab of the truck.
A sudden urge gripped me, and I wanted to follow him, not let him out of my sight. But it had always been my job to sit in the boat as Garrett backed the trailer down the ramp and into the water. Then, once the boat started to float, I would crank up the motor and back the boat clear of the trailer. Garrett would then pull the truck up and around and park it while I idled next to the dock waiting. It was the usual routine, and despite the fact I hated to see him walk away, it felt good to be back at it again. Most of my fondest memories were of him and me on the water, and I was eager to get back out there. It had been so long.
As I sat in the idling boat waiting, I noticed that the fog was thickening as it crept over the landscape. Water that was no longer visible splashed gently against the side of the boat, sending a chill through me. For more reasons than I could count, I wished for Garrett to hurry.
But when I looked in the direction of the parking lot to see how much longer he would be, what I saw did little to warm the chill gripping my body. It looked like Garrett wasn’t parking the truck after all. The blue Chevy with Garrett at the wheel continued much further across the parking lot than needed. The lot was empty, yet he passed parking space after parking space, heading in the direction of the exit. A moment later, the combination of distance and fog ultimately took the truck out of sight altogether.
For the second time, Garrett was gone, and I was left to navigate the boat alone.
The rasping of the ventilator as it swooshed up and down, working oxygen into Dallas’ lungs, greeted me when I woke. As I sat in a chair beside his hospital bed, tiny monitors beeped every few seconds, constantly checking his vitals. His head was wrapped completely with white gauze, all the way down until it covered his right eye.
The beating Dallas had taken was bad, really bad. But I didn’t let the doctors sway my thinking that his prognosis was anything but good. I was determined they would eventually see things my way. He would be just fine.
But there was no way around the fact that his recovery would be a long and difficult one.
The longer I sat there looking at my boss, my friend and one hell of a guardian angel, the more my mood changed. Garrett’s words replayed on a loop in my mind. With their urging, I acknowledged the anger I’d been suppressing. Not only acknowledge, but actually nurture. For the first time, I welcomed it to sit front and center. What the doctors had spent so much time encouraging me to let go of, Garrett had assured me was okay to embrace. Being angry wasn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes it was just the fuel you needed.
And I needed all the fuel I could get my hands on for what lay ahead.
Barnes and Arashk had gotten away despite the best efforts of the police. Officers had swarmed the building just a few seconds too late
. Not surprisingly, Barnes hadn’t left a trail for the police to follow, no leads on his whereabouts or possible residence. For Arashk, on the other hand, I was at least able to provide Detective Morgenstern with a place of employment. He assured me that by the time Dallas arrived at the hospital, someone would already be waking the manager of the NAPA store and gathering information.
Good luck showing up for work tomorrow, dick.
Once I decided I couldn’t sit there looking at him in his condition any longer, I rose from the chair, gave Dallas’ forearm a squeeze and left through the glass door of his ICU room.
When I pushed through the doors leading into the waiting area, I saw my father standing off to the side talking with both a uniformed officer and Detective Morgenstern. The three of them all turned as I walked by. Morgenstern gave me an understanding nod.
“Don’t run off,” he said. “Got a few more questions for ya.”
I could only acknowledge with the slightest of head nods. He’d barely entered my thoughts.
My mother sat by herself reading a magazine in a row of wood and fabric chairs, three seats down from where a doctor in a white lab coat had gathered a tearful family. She spoke to them in a hushed voice while the women in the group dabbed at red eyes with crumpled tissues, and the men solemnly nodded their understanding.
Bending down, I kissed my mother on top of her head and excused myself for the restroom. But that’s not where I headed. I walked past the nurse’s station and returned the smile of one of the friendlier ones. I made my way down the hall and turned the corner where the vending machines sat full of overpriced junk. Beyond a water fountain and the bank of elevators, the hallway continued for another twenty feet before ending in what was probably one of the more secluded areas of the hospital.
It was exactly the privacy I was looking for.
I spent a moment staring out into the night through the window at the end of the hallway. The city still slept in these wee hours of the morning despite the lights that brightened her streets. In a few hours, the sun would rise and alarm clocks would start sounding all over the city. Children would be heading off to learn whatever new curriculum was being taught. Somewhere a husband would kiss his wife on the forehead while she adjusted his tie. A mother would exhale deeply as the last door slammed shut. Now that the house was empty, she could finally get herself ready for work.
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