Saratoga Payback

by Stephen Dobyns

  “Jesus, she can’t be out there! It’s dangerous. I already told her that.”

  “I talked to Artemis earlier. She said the danger was exaggerated.”

  “She doesn’t know the first thing about it. Like she’s in denial or something. I’m telling you, the killer is still loose! How could you be so foolish?”

  “Watch your tone, Charles Bradshaw.” Janey cut the connection.

  So Charlie turned the Golf east on Route 129. Wind buffeted the car and large flakes of snow rushed recklessly across the windshield and sparkled in his headlights. He saw that it was beginning to collect along the side of the road.

  Turning into Artemis’s long driveway, Charlie was relieved to see the deputy’s patrol car still in place. He parked by the large metal barn, expecting to find Emma inside. But the only person in sight was a young man in the process of attaching a hinge to a wooden door. Charlie had seen him before, but couldn’t recall his name: tall, with the angular shoulders of a weightlifter. Charlie walked toward him.

  “Have you seen Artemis or Emma?” Charlie thought the man might not know who Emma was. “Emma’s a teenager, slight with blond hair.”

  The man’s blank expression was neither indifferent nor patient; rather, he seemed to have no expression at all, like people in nineteenth-century tintypes.

  “They left a while ago. Maybe they’re at the house.”

  “My name’s Charlie Bradshaw. You the new guy?”

  “I been here a few months. I’m Richie.”

  They stood about twenty feet apart and neither made any move to shake hands. Richie kept looking at him.

  “You from around here?” asked Charlie.

  “Other part of the state. Fredonia area.”

  Charlie realized he couldn’t grill the man without being rude and there seemed no reason for that. “Okay, thanks, I’ll check the house.”

  As Charlie walked back into the wind, he wondered if there was anything slightly odd about Richie, but other than his lack of expression, nothing struck him as unusual. I’m being completely paranoid, he thought.

  Artemis and Emma were drinking hot chocolate in the living room. Emma looked quite ladylike, sitting toward the edge of her chair with her back straight. At home she didn’t so much sit in a chair as drape herself over it.

  “Richie said where you were,” said Charlie. “He’s fixing a door in the barn.”

  Artemis got up to kiss Charlie’s cheek, which he thought of as a European gesture. “He always seems to be working. What did you think of him?”

  What did I think of him? thought Charlie. “He seems civilized. We only exchanged a few words.”

  “He’s not conversational, but I prefer that in someone who works for me. Random chat can be quite exhausting.”

  “Does Emma inflict random chat on you?”

  “Don’t start, Daddy.” Emma spoke with seeming anger, and then grinned.

  “Emma is full of interesting conversation. Will I see you tomorrow, Emma?”

  “Right after school, I hope.” She put on her green jacket. It was old and she needed a new one, but considering the money that had been recently flying out of Charlie’s pockets, he’d be lucky if he could buy her a new toothbrush. He wanted to say that Emma wouldn’t be coming tomorrow, that it was too dangerous, but that could wait until later. Anyway, he’d feel better once he got her back in the car.

  On the way home, he asked, “What sort of interesting conversation are you full of?”

  “I don’t think I talked much, just about the horses and a little about school. And she tells me about Vienna. Oh, I really want to go there! It sounds magical, full of coffee shops and pastries!”

  —

  Charlie meant to drive straight past Rosemary’s diner, but it had been a long time since breakfast and he heard the muffins calling. Maybe he’d get a bran muffin and imagine it was good for his health. He also had a question for Victor.

  “We’ll only stop a moment,” he said.

  Emma groaned. “It’s already dinnertime. It’ll be just like when you left me outside the bank.”

  Charlie laughed. “Maybe so, but this time you’ll be with me.”

  Ten minutes later Charlie sat in a corner booth facing a large bran muffin and a cup of hot chocolate. He realized that ever since he’d known about the threat on his life, he’d stopped paying attention to his weight. Emma had a small green salad with dressing on the side. Victor, who had recently eaten, was picking his teeth with a silver toothpick: a present from the Queen of Softness.

  “So tell me, Victor,” said Charlie with his mouth half full, “do you still have that pistol you used to have? What was it, a Smith and Wesson?”

  Victor looked up at the ceiling where nothing was happening. “Yeah, a Chief’s Special. Rosemary hid it. She said I wasn’t mature enough for it. Can you imagine?”

  Emma giggled. Charlie’s expression was mildly curious. He stared down at his muffin. “Could you get it from her if you really needed it?”

  Victor slid the toothpick into a silver box that resembled a tiny coffin. He put it back in his shirt pocket and patted the pocket. “Do I need it?”

  “You never know.”

  “That’s the trouble, Charlie, I like to know. I like to know exactly. Are you planning to risk my life again? I’m too old for it.”

  Charlie laughed. He had a false laugh, more of a chuckle, that he imagined put people off their guard. But for those who knew him, it caused instant alarm. “Don’t think of it as risk. Think of all I’ve done for you. I just want you to sit in your car for a while with the gun beside you on the seat, and maybe keeping your head down. The chance of any trouble is like five hundred to one.” He took another bite of his muffin and dabbed his mouth with a napkin.

  Victor winced. “Those odds are closer than I like. My life’s important to me. What am I supposed to be doing?”

  “You’ll be like a private guard over at Artemis’s; well, more like a sentry than a guard, more like an interested observer. If you see anything suspicious, you make a phone call. You still got your cell phone?”

  Victor ignored the question. He looked again up at the ceiling. “As I said, Rosemary’s got the gun. It’s her call, so talk to her. But I don’t like it, Charlie. I hate to think how many times you’ve nearly got me killed.”

  Charlie started to say that Rosemary didn’t entirely trust him, when Emma spoke up: “I’ll do it. I’ll talk to her.”

  Victor smiled a happy smile. No way would Rosemary allow this. Emma scooted out of the booth.

  “If she gets the gun,” said Victor, “I’ll consider going with you.”

  “You really think you can do it?” Charlie asked Emma. His words gave him a pain, which he realized was guilt.

  “I can try. She likes me. We had a good time at Artemis’s on Friday.”

  Victor sat back, getting comfortable. He figured he was safe about the gun.

  He and Charlie watched Emma hurry toward the cash register, where Rosemary was established on her small throne.

  “Well,” said Victor, “at least Rosemary won’t hit her if she gets angry.”

  Charlie smiled comfortably and finished the last of his hot chocolate. He was betting on Emma.

  Nineteen

  The metallic clashing and banging filled the house as fully as air fills a balloon. Charlie found himself rising up in bed, unaware even of waking. He swung his legs to the floor. The clashing continued.

  “Charlie, help!” It was Eddie Gillespie, who had been downstairs asleep on the couch.

  “What’s going on?” asked Janey, rolling over.

  “It’s an intruder. Go back to sleep.” The bedside clock said three thirty. Charlie scooped up the shotgun and headed for the door. Still in bed, Janey was making noises of protest, which Charlie ignored. Is it really an intruder? he ask
ed himself. The crashing noise stopped, but Eddie kept shouting for Charlie. Barefoot, he headed for the stairs through the dark hall.

  “Charlie, someone’s breaking in!”

  The descending stairs made an L-shape, turning right three-fourths of the way down at the wall of the hall closet. In the dark, Charlie miscalculated and slipped on the top step, falling back and landing on his butt. Startled, he squeezed the trigger of the shotgun. It fired, kicked up, fell from his hand and rattled down the stairs. The back door slammed open, breaking the glass.

  In the enclosed space, the discharge had the force of a blow. Charlie thought of neighbors on either side of the house leaping from bed. The Benelli had come to a stop somewhere near the bottom of the stairs, but Charlie couldn’t see it. His tailbone hurt and he dreaded that something might have happened to Eddie. And the intruder, where was he? Bruiser’s high bark made a steady stream of noise.

  Charlie slipped down a few more steps, grabbed the bannister and pulled himself up. Abruptly, the hall light flicked on. The Benelli lay by the front door. Charlie hurried downstairs and snatched it up. Bits of broken plaster dug into his feet. The wall of the hall closet, hardly more than fiberboard, was in dozens of pieces; the coats on the other side were peppered with shot.

  Eddie, in his boxers and Rolling Stones T-shirt, stood hunched by the couch gripping his baseball bat. His hairnet had slipped and his shark fin of glossy black hair tilted jauntily to the left. No one else was in the room. By the entrance to the kitchen was a long string of beer cans. Another string of cans lay by the front door. Glancing up, Charlie saw Janey and Emma staring fearfully over the railing. It was Janey who had flicked on the light.

  Charlie threw open the front door and ran onto the porch. Nearly all the surrounding houses were dark and he saw no movement in either direction. He hurried down the steps toward the street, but the frozen chunks of snow along the walk jabbed his instep, causing him to hop back. He again peered up and down the street. Whoever had broken into the kitchen could be anywhere, could even be standing someplace nearby. He went back inside and locked the door.

  By now Eddie had put down the bat, but he remained scared. “It was a big guy. He jimmied the back door.”

  “Did he have anything in his hands?”

  “I couldn’t see. I didn’t sign on for this, Charlie. You said you were sure no one’d show!”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you strung together those beer cans.”

  “What’s happening?” said Janey, still at the upstairs railing.

  “Somebody tried to break in. Eddie scared him.”

  “I scared him? Your fuckin’ gun scared him. And me, too; I thought you’d shot me.”

  “Is that what happened to the wall?” asked Emma, standing a little behind her mother. “Why’d you shoot at the wall?”

  “I slipped.” Charlie’s butt still hurt, but he chose not to mention it. He knew that under the circumstances, he could expect no sympathy. He’d wait a few days till the black-and-blue marks showed up.

  Janey’s arms were crossed over her nightgown and she looked worried.

  Emma opened the door to the closet and took out Charlie’s raincoat. She held it up to the light. Bright spots flickered through twenty little holes. It was almost pretty.

  “Call the police,” said Janey.

  “There’s no point. By the time they get here, the guy’ll be miles away.” But the real reason he didn’t call the police was he was afraid they’d take the Benelli.

  He did, however, make other calls. The first was to Fletcher Campbell. It rang six times and then the voicemail clicked on. Charlie waited about ten seconds and tried again. Again voicemail picked up after six rings. Charlie tried a third time and this time Campbell picked up.

  “Who the hell are you!? You know what time it is!?”

  Charlie identified himself and described the scene with the intruder. “I think it was Paulie Durkin, the son of Matthew Durkin, who you beat up and had arrested years ago.”

  Campbell was silent a moment. “What are you talking about? What’s that have to do with stealing my horse?”

  “It’s got nothing to do with your horse. Paulie wants to get even for his dad.” Charlie explained how Mickey and Parlucci had framed Matthew Durkin, accusing him of snitching, and how this led to Durkin’s murder. He realized he was talking too fast and making it too complicated. Campbell was still half asleep. Besides, Campbell hated it when someone else was right and he wasn’t.

  “I don’t get it. That’s not what Lieutenant Hutchins has been telling me.”

  “Look, Campbell, even if you think I’m wrong, it’d be reckless not to protect yourself till this is settled.”

  “I am protecting myself. Did you call the police?”

  “I thought I should call you first.”

  “Well, call them, for Pete’s sake!”

  But the next person Charlie called was Artemis. She picked up on the third ring and he again described what had happened. “I think the same person will attempt to get to you as well. After all, you fired Matthew Durkin. Victor’s in a car in your driveway, but that may not be enough. Is a sheriff’s deputy there?”

  “I think he’s parked over by the barn, but he might be on his break.”

  “Do you have a gun?”

  “Only an old musket that a relative used in the Revolutionary War, I’m sorry to say.” Though her tone remained faintly ironic, she spoke hurriedly.

  “Nothing else?”

  “A dressage whip and a crop, of course.”

  “A knife?”

  “My best is part of my grandmother’s silver. I’d hate to use it.”

  “Can you lock yourself in a room with your cell phone?”

  “Yes, I can manage that. Perhaps I should call Richie as well. He seems muscular. Have you called the police?”

  “I was just going to.”

  —

  But Charlie didn’t call the police, until Janey made him. Ten minutes later, two patrolmen showed up. At least they hadn’t used the siren. Shortly after that, Hutchins arrived. He, too, had been woken from sleep and his shirt was buttoned improperly, making him seem slanted. He kept sneezing and blowing his nose on a tissue. Soon two more Saratoga patrolmen arrived and two detectives, and not long after that came two crime scene investigators from the sheriff’s department. All the policemen, including Hutchins, studied the mess Charlie had made of the wall and the damage to the coats. Several chuckled, looked at Charlie and shook their heads. As each new person arrived, Charlie saw sleep getting further away.

  “I told you,” Eddie repeated, “the guy was big, that’s all I saw.”

  Patrolmen kept getting caught up in the string of beer cans and, with every jarring rattle, the others jumped.

  As Hutchins questioned Charlie, Eddie kept interrupting to say he was going home. The job was too dangerous. Hutchins told him to wait.

  Janey made coffee and passed out cups to the policemen. Other policemen were searching the neighborhood. There was talk of getting a dog.

  “You’re letting me down, Eddie.”

  Eddie touched his hands to his pompadour. “I could of been killed.”

  “But you weren’t, that’s the main thing. You were a great success.”

  “Then why am I terrified?”

  “But those beer cans worked brilliantly. That was a great job, Eddie!”

  “They were Emma’s idea.”

  Hutchins gave Charlie a bump on the shoulder. “Where the hell’d that shotgun come from?”

  The Benelli lay on the coffee table: short, black and lethal. Charlie looked at it as if seeing it for the first time. “It’s winter hunting season.”

  Hutchins looked doubtful. “And you hunt?”

  “I thought I needed a new hobby. I’m going out this weekend.” He described the area aroun
d Long Lake where he had talked to Cracker Johnson.

  Hutchins gingerly picked up the Benelli and removed the remaining shells. Then he balanced it in his hand, weighing it. Then he lifted the sight and fiddled with the collapsible stock. He seemed to have forgotten Charlie’s intruder.

  “Is this legal?” Hutchins asked.

  Charlie nodded. “And I belong to a gun club.”

  “What d’you hunt with it?”

  Charlie made an exasperated noise. “Sparrows and the occasional cow. Come on, Hutchins. If I hadn’t had it nearby, we’d probably be dead.”

  He turned back to Eddie, who was putting on his coat. “You’re really leaving?”

  Eddie nodded somewhat guiltily and then touched his hair.

  “You’d feel terrible if you heard tomorrow I was dead,” said Charlie, “that Emma and Janey were dead.”

  “Yeah, but it would be a lot worse if I heard I was dead. I mean, I wouldn’t hear anything. Ever.”

  More policemen brushed past them.

  “We’ve been friends a long time, Eddie.”

  “And you’ve gotten me in a lot of trouble. I don’t like being arrested, I don’t like being beaten up, and I don’t like getting killed.”

  Charlie rubbed his hands together thoughtfully. “Well, you know, I can’t pay you as much as I said, since you’re leaving me in the lurch like this. And I’ll have to find someone to take your place. How’s fifty bucks sound?”

  Eddie’s face crinkled. “You said one hundred a night.”

  “But that was before, Eddie. Now I’ll need it for some new guy.”

  Hutchins bumped Charlie again in the shoulder. “Are you really sure this is legal?” The Benelli lay balanced across his two hands like a baby.

  “Absolutely. They’ve freed up the laws.” Lies, lies, lies, thought Charlie.

  Hutchins weighed the shotgun again in his palm. “This is lighter than my laptop and riskier than a pistol. But you can hang on to it till I check the regs.”

  —

  Charlie didn’t get any more sleep that night. He got dressed and sat on the living room couch with the Benelli on his lap. He stayed away from the windows and remained focused on the back door, even though he was sure the intruder wouldn’t return. It was windy and branches swayed back and forth. Snow flurries rushed in circles. The only good news, as he saw it, was that Hutchins hadn’t taken the Benelli. Luckily, the sheriff’s crime scene investigators had found scratches on the back-door lock. If it wasn’t for that, Hutchins might have doubted the existence of an intruder. A patrol car had been assigned to stay by the curb till daylight.