Resolution: Evan Warner Book 1

by Nick Adams

  “My mom got tired of it all,” she resumed. “Finally left him when I was fifteen. Selfish you-know-what.”

  I said nothing. Watched the smoke trailing off my cigarette. It was better for me not to speak.

  “Since then it’s just been us,” she continued. “He gets some benefits and stuff, but I’ve been working since I was fifteen to help float our little house. That’s why I said I wasn’t used to getting help.”

  I nodded.

  She said, “Not that any of this is your problem. Sorry, I was just thinking out loud.”

  She was right. None of it was my doing or my problem. But I didn’t like it. Not at all. She was a nice girl going through a minefield of problems. Her dog was probably being tortured as we spoke. I couldn’t just shrug it off.

  I said, “You’re not paying a dime of that reward money.”

  “I’d pay it,” she said.

  “But you’re not.”

  “I can keep adding at least a thousand a week for as long as it takes. I make decent money. And I’ve got a little in savings. And I can get more hours.”

  “No way,” I said. “You shouldn’t have to. I’ll track these losers down and find out if they have him. If they do, you get your dog back. And they’re in a world of shit.”

  Kendra hesitated. She was trying to read me. Trying like hell to figure me out. Possibly thinking it had been a mistake to engage me. I was an odd guy, for sure. Big and potentially dangerous, intimidated by microorganisms but not criminals. Riding around in a soccer wagon with a dog. Instead of a happy stick figure family decal, or a declaration of my child being an honor student, I had a Smith & Wesson sticker on my back window.

  “You sound so certain,” she finally said.

  “I am.”

  “I guess I believe you. I just …”

  “You’re overthinking it. Just don’t worry.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “Not really.”

  “You can’t just go after someone. Can you? I mean, what if something happens to you? What if—”

  “Hey, look at it this way,” I said. “You can dance, right?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Some people can dance. Some can sing. Some can play sports or fix a car. Whatever. Me, I’m just one of those guys that can handle people. It’s easy. No sweat. Confrontation is my thing. So don’t worry about it.”

  She took a deep breath. Exhaled. Said, “This is getting serious. Fast.”

  “You invited me for coffee.”

  “Yeah, I did. Coffee.”

  “It’s all up to you.”

  “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “What do you want most, sympathy or your dog?”

  “It’s not that,” she said. “Pretend you’re me. Some big guy walking around with a truckload of swagger, wearing gloves, suddenly offers to do something like this for you. What would you do?”

  “I wouldn’t bat an eye.”

  She started to speak but then fell silent. Her gaze went off. She was having serious second thoughts. It must have been encouraging at first to have a sympathetic ear. Must have sparked hope in her. But she hadn’t anticipated a response quite like mine.

  12

  “What’s your issue?” I asked.

  “Everything,” she said. “If you confront those guys …”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “You could get hurt.”

  “More likely they will.”

  “Would you seriously hurt them?”

  “Probably.”

  She just looked at me. Like I was some sort of a caveman.

  “You okay with that?” I asked.

  No answer.

  “They took your dog,” I said. “God knows what they’re doing to him.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “I’m offering to help, if you want me to. Or I can go home and forget it.”

  She kept quiet.

  “Think about it,” I said. “You don’t have to make up your mind right now. I’ll give you my number and you can call me.”

  She sat still. I moved to stand up. Then she spoke.

  “I want him back,” she said, and her voice cracked. “He’s just a dog, I know. But I love him to death. He’s family, you know?”

  “I know.”

  “Yeah, I guess you do. Obviously you’re crazy about this big lug.”

  Frank was relaxing at Kendra’s feet. His eyes were open but heavy. If he’d heard a key word he would have perked up. For the moment he was perfectly content to chill.

  “I want my Simon back,” Kendra said. “I’m sick of feeling this way. It feels like there was a death in the family. And Simon’s a good dog. He doesn’t deserve this.”

  “So let’s fix it,” I said. “Let’s do what we can.”

  “I just don’t want trouble.”

  “There shouldn’t be any for you.”

  “Well, I don’t want you getting yourself into some mess. These people could be dangerous.”

  “I can handle it,” I said. “My only concern is your car. Someone took Simon from it, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So if I stir up a hornet’s nest, you don’t want them to spot you out and about. Even if they’re complete numbskulls, they’ll remember stealing a dog from a red sports car.”

  She nodded agreeably, though she didn’t look thrilled. I started to ask her where she was when Simon was taken, but she spoke up before me.

  “What were you doing at Walmart?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “A little.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to know.”

  “I was looking at the flyers. You saw me.”

  “Which one? Why?”

  “Think I’m after the reward?”

  “Maybe. Probably not. I don’t know. I have to ask, don’t I?”

  After a pause I said, “The little girl from Franklin, Lucy Kurtz. She went missing from my campground. I guess I’m a little obsessed. I was looking at her flyer.”

  Kendra’s mouth opened. She looked like she had something big to say.

  “What?” I said.

  “I’ve heard about that,” she said. “That’s why you’re not surprised to hear about Bow Street.”

  I nodded.

  “You know, I talk to a lot of people at work. I hear a lot of rumors.”

  “Spill it.”

  “That happened at your family’s place. I’m sorry.”

  “What do you know?”

  She squirmed a little. Like she didn’t want to discuss it. But I kept staring at her, willing her to go on.

  “Mary Kurtz doesn’t have the greatest reputation,” she said.

  “What else?”

  “Her sister is even worse. Plenty of people have suggested that Lucy was taken as a sort of punishment, because Melinda, the aunt, owes a lot of money. She really likes heroin.”

  “The FBI looked into the family,” I said. “Wouldn’t you think they’d chase down those sort of leads?”

  “Sure, if they could get all the people they interviewed to tell the truth. If they could get local police to tell everything they knew. But I’ll bet you fifty bucks they only got half the truth at the very most.”

  I nodded. It was a good point. Plenty of people might be hesitant or nervous about telling all they knew. Some might take sides. Some might have grudges against law enforcement. And some might simply wish to avoid the mess altogether. They lived in that neighborhood. Probably didn’t want to rock the boat. It was already a shitty boat. No need to make it worse.

  “I haven’t heard much of anything lately,” Kendra resumed. “It was last summer and fall when everyone was chattering about that.”

  “Nothing has changed,” I said. “Lucy’s story is old news now, but she is still missing. No one’s been held accountable.”

  “Sad,” Kendra sighed.

  “Do me a favor,” I said. “Try to remember as much as you can. Jot it do
wn as it comes to you. Any little thing might be helpful.”

  “I guess finding a dog isn’t such a big deal compared to figuring out what happened to that little girl.”

  I said, “Kids and animals I have sympathy for. They’re not the ones friggin’ up the world.”

  “I’m with you on that.”

  I nodded. It feels good to agree with people.

  “Do you feel guilty or something?” she asked.

  “Why would I?”

  “I mean, because of Lucy going missing. You know, at your place.”

  “I didn’t take her. So, no, I don’t feel any guilt.”

  “I wasn’t trying to suggest anything. Just trying to understand your angle.”

  “I just hate the whole thing because it’s wrong,” I said. “I hate the sort of people who do that shit. They’re worm food at best. End of story.”

  We were quiet a moment. Kendra was obviously doing some thinking.

  “Do you know where Mary Kurtz lives?” she asked.

  “White place. Circle Drive, off of Bow Street. Right near the corner of the old cemetery.”

  “Yeah. From what I hear, both of those girls are a mess. Up and down. Usually broke. But somehow Mary drives a BMW. I’ve seen her around.”

  “Think she’s selling?”

  “What? Drugs or her nasty self?”

  I shrugged.

  “I don’t know for sure,” she said. “Some of it might just be gossip. I’ve never met either of them personally. But I can ask a few people. They’re well known. I’ve heard their names plenty of times.”

  “Do that,” I said. “But only ask people you really trust.”

  Kendra looked at her coffee cup for a long moment. Then at me.

  “So we’re really going through with this?”

  “Why wouldn’t we?”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t seem real.”

  “We have to do something.”

  “Yeah …”

  “If decent people go passive, the assholes of the world win.”

  “I guess,” she said. Now she was playing with her hair nervously.

  “You want them to win?”

  “No.”

  “Then stop worrying. We’re talking about a couple of idiots here.”

  She nodded and quietly said, “Okay.”

  “Just go to work as usual and I’ll keep you posted. And tomorrow I think you should trade your car. Just to be safe.”

  She said, “If I can get Simon back, to hell with my car.”

  That was exactly the attitude I was looking for.

  13

  We exchanged numbers and got up from the table. Kendra asked once more if I was sure I wanted to go through with the plan. I was sure. She hugged me and thanked me. Then she hugged Frank with extra gusto. Which he greatly appreciated.

  “The Bensons’ house is number one twenty-one,” she told me. “It’s an ugly blue place. The paint is all chipped.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  “Thanks again for your help. Really.”

  “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Small price.”

  “Still appreciated. Go get ready for work.”

  “Yeah, it’s getting to be that time,” she said and slid into her car. Started it. Looked over at me. Backed out and went home to change for work.

  Once she was gone I got Frank loaded in the van. We headed for Bow Street.

  In five minutes we were there. I turned off Central Street onto Bow and cruised along slowly under the glow of the street lamps. A group of kids were playing basketball by one of the slum apartment buildings. Most of the houses had lights on inside. People were sitting out on porches, smoking. Hanging out.

  Some of the house numbers were difficult to see. Or nonexistent. But number 121 was on a battered post at the end of the short driveway. The place was dark. I could just see the weathered blue paint. My headlights caught the orange lettering of the dog signs on the rotting picket fence.

  I would have slowed down for a closer look, but some idiot was tailgating the hell out of me. One of my lifelong dreams has always been to have a militarized vehicle. Sort of like James Bond. Armor plating. Machine guns on the front. Flaming chaff and spike dispensers on the back to repel tailgaters.

  Hey, it doesn’t hurt to dream a little.

  I went on up the street with the houses and apartment buildings on my left and the old red-brick mill buildings on my right. The shadow of those hulking buildings seemed to make everything darker. The street was like its own little world.

  Then the road curved and became Circle Drive, moving away from the mills. There were ten or twelve houses spread out in a wide circle. Behind them, a very steep grade of brush and roots led up to trees and the corner of an old Colonial cemetery. It was like some developer had blasted off a corner of a hill to make a lot for cheap houses.

  I cruised by the house Lucy Kurtz had lived in. Though it was one of the better places in that section, it still wasn’t anything enviable. It was a party spot and a crash pad, subsidized by the government. Part of me wanted to kick the door in. Fire a few warning shots into the ceiling and demand to be told everything they knew. No bullshit for the TV reporters. They knew who took the girl. They had to. And I’d been daydreaming of confronting them for almost a year. Not because I wanted Lucy reunited with her mother and aunt. That wasn’t a terribly appealing prospect. It was barely better than the prospect of her being dead. What worried me most was the idea that she was alive. Alive and suffering in the custody of even worse people.

  I didn’t stop. Didn’t kick any doors or fire any warning shots. I just drove by and looped around back onto to Bow Street and drove back up to Central Street.

  At the lights I took a left on Central and just up the street turned left into the Lion’s Club. Their parking lot merged with the rear corner of the fire department’s lot. The front of the firehouse faced the very beginning of Bow Street, bordering the end of the first big mill. I parked between an old Volvo and a Ford truck. Got out and pulled on a black windbreaker. The night was getting cool. And I wanted cover for my pistol. A Ruger SR9. A fairly compact nine millimeter.

  “Be good,” I told Frank. “I’ll be back soon.”

  He whined and gave me this look, like, “Why can’t I go? Dude, I thought we were a team.”

  I ignored his imploring look. Locked the van and walked through the narrow alley between the club and the firehouse. Turned right by the front of the firehouse and went along the sidewalk opposite the houses. I moved along casually, not rushing. Trying to be observant without obviously staring.

  I passed only a few people, mostly teenagers. My hat shaded my eyes from the glow of the streetlamps. I tried making eye contact with one girl, as a sort of test to see if anyone would be suspicious of my presence. I couldn’t tell. She never looked up in passing. Just kept her head down and walked on. Maybe I appeared a little more intimidating than I assumed myself to look. Or maybe she was just preoccupied.

  The ugly blue house was completely dark. It almost looked abandoned. There were no lights inside or out. I moved by and went maybe two hundred yards before crossing the road and heading back. I slowed before it. The house to the right was dark. The house on the left had one or two small lights on inside. I couldn’t see anyone on any of the porches. Everything looked still.

  Time to make a quick decision. Head back to my van or proceed. Check out this house. See what I could find.

  Five seconds later, I was just making up my mind to move forward, when I heard a voice. A woman’s voice. It caught me by surprise. It came from the left. From the dark porch of the house with a few lights on inside.

  “They’re not home.”

  I looked but at first I couldn’t see her. The porch was in shadows and my eyes were straining to adjust.

  “Right here,” she said, and waved her hand.

  Now I could just see her in the shadows. She was small and appeared gray-headed. As my eyes focused, my fi
rst impression was that she was an older Asian woman. She looked to be wearing a sweater. She had what I took to be a red quilt draped over her legs. Or some sort of blanket. To me it wasn’t very cold out. Evidently it was to her.

  “They’re not home,” she said again.

  “Who’s not home?”

  “The boys.”

  “Jared and Seth?” I said, to let her know that I wasn’t just casing a random house.

  “As I said, they’re not home,” she replied. “Have yourself a good night.”

  “Too bad,” I muttered, trying to sound disappointed.

  “Bad is right,” she muttered, barely audible. Then she looked away.

  It seemed she expected me to leave. But I didn’t cooperate. I just stood there.

  “Wonder when they’ll get back,” I said. Not exactly a direct question.

  “Tell me,” she said, looking back at me. “What could you want with those two? You look like a respectable young man.”

  I didn’t answer right away. I wondered what made me look respectable. I was wearing tan hiking pants. The sort that could be mistaken for khakis. With my dark windbreaker combined with the tan pants, perhaps to her eyes I appeared as someone who had their act together and cared about their appearance.

  Then I moved a few steps closer to her place. I stopped in her driveway and stood there looking at her. Asking without words for her permission to approach.

  “Come over,” she said. “No use broadcasting our voices.”

  I went up to the edge of her porch. It had no screening. Once I was close I could see her quite clearly in the low light. She was in fact a petite Asian woman. She was no spring chicken, but more than old or infirmed, she struck me as tired.

  “You’re not a friend of theirs,” she said. “I’ve never seen you around here before. What business do you have with them?”

  I ducked her question and said, “You know them well?”

  “Since they were born. Plenty of times I looked after those boys while their mother slaved to keep a roof over their heads.”

  I said, “Can’t say I know their mother.” Suggesting again that I did know her sons.

  “You wouldn’t, I suppose. She gave up and moved away years ago. Finally met a man that was good to her. A man named Moore. They live up in the lakes region now. Have a good life, from what I hear.”