Resolution: Evan Warner Book 1

by Nick Adams

“What do you know?”

  “I’ve only been in it a few years now. I got in because I went to this big party in this big garage over in Webster one night. It was more than a party. Guys were making serious money. I had a pit so I figured I’d give it a try. It was easier than just selling weed and Oxy. Kept my profile low. Plus it turned out good for Seth.”

  “How so?”

  “You don’t wanna know, man.”

  “Don’t make me ask again.”

  Jared gave a hint of a sneering laugh, said, “He ain’t right.”

  I looked from one to the other, said, “Tell me.”

  “He likes dead things.”

  “You like to kill things?” I asked Seth.

  His face didn’t change at all. I might as well have been speaking French.

  “No,” Jared answered for him. “It ain’t the killing he’s into. He likes to cut ’em up and look at everything. Like in science class. He used to collect squirrels and cats and ferrets. All that sort of shit. He’d roam around and find them or set traps with food.”

  “And rats,” Seth added.

  “Yeah,” Jared resumed. “He’d bring ’em down here and cut ’em up. I’d have to bag ’em up and dump the bags at KFC. He’s fascinated by the insides. The guts. The organs. Seeing how they’re put together. So once we started keeping more dogs around, I didn’t have to worry about him getting the neighbors cats and having people asking around about the stupid things. The dogs kept him happy.”

  I said, “Happy?”

  “Yeah. The weak ones are no use to me except for bait. Once they’re torn to hell, they give up and die. Then Seth gets to have his fun.”

  I looked hard at Seth. “You really are a total genetic misfire. Aren’t you?”

  He said nothing. Kept the same blank expression.

  I shocked him again and he pressed back hard against the wall and whined. A tear rolled down one cheek.

  “What was that for?” Jared asked.

  “Because I don’t like him. Why? You want another one?”

  He shook his head fast. Held out his good hand.

  “Tell me about the garage in Webster,” I said, although I was pretty sure I knew what he was talking about. Ray’s Garage was maybe eight or ten miles from my house, as the crow flies. Way out in the middle of nowhere. A perfect spot for shady activities.

  “It’s in the middle of nowhere,” Jared said. “Ray’s Garage, on River Road. By the Black River. They had kegs sometimes and some guys from the bigger towns would come up to make contacts and move a little cocaine and some quality weed. The whole scene is like a weird blend of country boys and city boys. Guys that normally wouldn’t hang out. But they do because it’s a good way to move stuff. I don’t know how they got hooked up to start with. All I know is what I seen since I started. Lately it’s mostly about heroin. They’re moving lots of it. Everyone wants it these days. It’s quality and it’s cheap. They can’t get it into the state fast enough. Most of these same guys are all into the dog stuff. Just another way to keep the cash rolling in.”

  “How many places do you meet?”

  “It’s always different. Sometimes it’s Webster. Sometimes it’s behind the old airport in Concord. Sometimes in Saulsbury, where we got the boxer. Now and then we go up to Laconia. It’s all word of mouth from one week to the next. Keeps the heat off. Sometimes the bigshots from the bigger towns show up, sometimes they don’t. Hell, a few come up from Mass. But there’s always smaller operators, like me. Plenty of people want in on this action, even if it’s a smaller group and smaller bets. It’s still quick money and good action.”

  I felt an overwhelming urge to punch him. Wanted to feel the satisfying crunch of his face caving in. He was a total shit bag. He sounded proud of himself. Like it was a legitimate business that he was honored to be a part of. But I figured if I kept beating him he might pass out from the pain. Or I might accidently kill him. He probably had brittle bones and would die way too easily.

  Then I looked at the big one. Wondered what would happen if I punched him. Would my fist just sink into the marshmallow and bounce out again? He had thin skin. I wondered if he had thin bones, too, beneath all the dough.

  “You said Saulsbury,” I said to Jared. “The same place you found the boxer?”

  “Yeah, it’s way out in the woods. Brady Construction.”

  “Think they still have the dog?”

  “Don’t know. He wouldn’t fight at all. Brady might keep him to train his good dog on for a few weeks. Maybe a few months. Until he dies. That’s all he’s good for. I only got three hundred for him.”

  I said, “You know, I can’t help wondering what happens when one of these prods gets shoved down someone’s throat. Maybe it fries their brains. If they have any. What do you say we find out?”

  Jared looked at me for a moment. His eyes flashed and he said, “Fuck you, man. I answered everything you asked.”

  I kept calm, said, “Doesn’t matter. The way I see it, there’s no good reason for you to exist. Society should be freed of the burden of coexisting with you. You think one way, I think another. We’ve all got our opinions in life. Don’t we?”

  He said nothing. Gave me the finger with his good hand and looked away.

  “Are you sorry?” I asked.

  Jared shrugged. “Do I look happy?”

  “Didn’t ask if you were happy.”

  He said nothing. Obviously he was only sorry that someone like me had shown up and ruined everything for him. He had zero remorse for anything else.

  “Get in the cage,” I said. “Both of you.”

  Jared’s head snapped back around, like his neck was spring loaded.

  I said, “You heard me right.”

  “But he might attack us.”

  “No kidding.”

  “C’mon, man.”

  I said, “Dogs can be dangerous when they’re raised by assholes. Sad but true. Now open the door.”

  Jared opened door. Called the big dog by name. Told him to back up. Then told his brother to step inside. Seth did as he was told. He wedged himself in and couldn’t stand up straight. The big pit backed to one side. He was growling. There was enough room for two in the cage. He would tolerate it for the moment. But three would be a crowd. I knew it. The dog knew it. Jared certainly knew it.

  “Your turn,” I said to Jared.

  “C’mon, man.”

  “Shut up. Hand the lock to me,” I ordered.

  He did, slowly.

  “You can’t do this,” he said.

  “I can.”

  “You really can’t do this.”

  “You’re going in there. Easy way or the hard way. You pick. Now.”

  He looked at me and swallowed. Then stood in the doorway for a moment before carefully stepping in. He was talking to the dog. Trying to keep him calm. Trying to make friends with an animal that had absolutely no experience with or concept of friendship.

  Then I stepped forward. Gave Jared a helping shove and slammed the door behind him and hung the padlock on the latch, unlocked.

  The tension in the cage escalated quickly. There wasn’t enough room. The dog was beginning to understand that his master wasn’t in control anymore. He held no prod. No chain. No muzzle. The tides had changed. His status had been greatly reduced by circumstances beyond his understanding. He was no longer someone to fear and obey. He was in the cage. He was fair game.

  Over the growing surge of noise I said, “Good thing you insulated the basement. At least no one will hear you crying.”

  Then I went over to the workbench at the other end of the basement. I dug around and found a wooden box with a thick cardboard shelf inlayed. Beneath the shelf was the coffee can stuffed with cash. Beside it there was a freezer bag filled with Polaroid pictures. It surprised me. I didn’t know the technology was still around. I thought everyone had gone digital.

  There were multiple stacks of photos held by rubber bands. Like an organized collection. Like something that some
one cared about. There had to have been way over a hundred pictures. I flipped through each stack very briefly with my eyes out of focus. Just long enough to confirm that they were all of dismembered animals. Most were of dead dogs, taken a few feet from where I stood.

  I dropped the pictures on the bench. Someone in law enforcement could sort through them in more detail. Some psychologist acting on behalf of a defense attorney could review them and try to figure out what they meant to the people who had taken them. It wasn’t my job.

  Ignoring the noise, I went over to the smaller cages and checked on the smaller dog. It had water in an attached bowl but no food. It was cringing in the back corner. There was no point in trying to pet it. It would only cringe and shiver. But I figured it understood food well enough. I got a bag of kibble and poured a big pile in between top bars. Then turned to the big cage.

  It was an ugly scene inside. Ugly but fitting. For people that liked watching dog fights, the Bensons sure didn’t enjoy being part of one. Jared especially. He had been getting the worst of it, since he only had one good hand to block with. But now, being smaller, he was worming himself to one corner of the cage. That left his brother more exposed, open to receive his share of the punishment.

  The big dog was in a frenzy. He knew nothing of life but long hours in cages and then brief intervals of savage fighting to survive. So that’s exactly what he was doing. The more hands and feet that tried to block him, the more vicious his counterattacks became. The high sound of screaming mixed with the guttural growls and snarls. I wondered how long he could maintain that intensity. I know huskies can run all day with their heart rate pegged and still have some bounce. Whatever. The Bensons would run out of steam long before the dog did.

  In parting I locked the padlock on the cage latch, disregarding the pleas for help. Turned away and went up the stairs. They had inflicted a lot of pain over the years. Those who have no regard for other living things aren’t worthy of regard or mercy themselves. Punishment and fair play were long overdue. And the big pit was handling the task fine. Just like they’d trained him to.

  22

  Upstairs it was remarkably quiet once I closed the basement door. The heavy insulation did wonders. I could still hear the chaos below, but it was no louder than the low murmur of a TV playing in another room. No one would hear a thing from outside.

  I gave the second story a brief search. The floors were still soggy and a little slick from my water trick. I found the cash Jared had mentioned and the keys to his black Escalade. I’d never driven a Cadillac before. Might as well try his. I pocketed the keys. Took his cell phone and then went into the smaller bedroom and found Seth’s Polaroid camera.

  Downstairs I set the camera on the kitchen table by the Frosted Flakes, along with the .38. The scene in the basement would speak for itself. Coupled with the camera and the pictures, it would be an easy investigation, as long as one of Franklin’s legitimate police officers chose to pursue it.

  My work was done. I’d only been in there fifteen minutes. It felt closer to an hour.

  I started for the back door but then stopped suddenly in my tracks. A sound from the front of the house had made my heart skip. It was the sound of boards creaking on the front porch. I looked and saw a shadow pass by the shaded windows. Someone was approaching the door.

  Shit.

  I backed into the corner of the kitchen and stood flat against the wall. I was holding my breath and had to force myself to breath slowly to regulate my heart rate. I heard the doorknob working, followed by the sound of hard knocking. Then I heard a voice. It was a female voice. She was calling for Jared. The door knob rattled. She sounded impatient.

  It occurred to me that maybe they didn’t normally lock the front door, since they didn’t lock the back one either. Maybe they locked it last night when they realized someone had robbed them and left the water running. Either way, the girl outside seemed put off about it. She kept rattling the knob. I just wanted her to go away.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out and found a text from Willie. Girl in silver car in driveway. From his vantage point in the graveyard overlooking Bow Street, he must have seen her coming just a few seconds before she arrived. It must have taken him longer to send the message than it had taken her to get from her car to the door.

  After a long minute the noise ceased. But I didn’t move. I held perfectly still while I waited to see if she’d try the back door.

  She did.

  The door started rattling in its frame and she knocked hard and called to be let in. From my angle at the far corner of the kitchen, I could see the profile of her shoulders and head, but couldn’t see her face clearly. The grimy glass was too cloudy. Which was good. As long as I kept static, she wouldn’t be able to see me.

  It took her a solid two minutes to give up on the back door. Once she moved away I went through the living room and peered between a shade and the window casing. The girl was fairly young, average. No one I’d ever seen before. She got into a little silver Chevy but didn’t back out right away.

  Jared’s phone buzzed. I checked it and found a message from contact DZ. Where u at?

  I replied, Walmart. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

  A few seconds later the silver car backed out and drove off towards Central Street.

  I waited maybe half a minute to see if she’d reply again before deciding to get out of there while the coast was clear. I looked out the side window in the kitchen. It faced the neighboring house belonging to the old woman. I couldn’t see her. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t watching. All I could do was hope that she hadn’t had a change of heart.

  Something told me that she hadn’t.

  I went out the back door and noticed a small charcoal grill resting on an old wooden spindle used for electric cables. The sight of it halted me and sparked an idea. It was the sort of grill people use for tailgating or camping. It was compact and easy to transport. I had planned to call 911 using Jared’s phone. But once I saw the grill a much better plan came to mind.

  I carried the grill into the kitchen. Shoved some junk out of the way and set it on the grubby electric stove. Ripped up some of the mail from the table. Crumpled it and lit a piece. Stood back and watched the fire grow for a moment. Then I added the Frosted Flakes box and a few more pieces of mail.

  Soon there was a nice smoky fire. It would make the old charcoal smolder in the pit of the grill. That way I could call 911 for a fire. The firemen just up the road could be here in minutes. They’d search the house and they could discover the scene in the basement well ahead of the police. I doubted Officer Randall could silence the whole fire department. They’d see what had been going on there and the word would spread. The Bensons would be outed. Even the nurses and doctors would be put off. They’d probably have to force themselves to care for their bite wounds once they heard the whole story.

  Outside I took a quick look around and then slid into the Escalade. It was moderately cleaner than the house. The seat was too far forward. Obviously Jared had done all the driving. I cranked the motor and fixed the seat and made the 911 call. Then backed out and dropped the phone out the window as I headed for the graveyard. Went up the hill and entered the cemetery. Rolled down the window and waved to Willie.

  He started my van and followed me out the back way to the side road. I called him and told him to stay behind me like a blocker. I didn’t want a cop coming up behind me by chance.

  “Where you gonna dump that Cadi?” he asked.

  “Flood Control.”

  In Saulsbury there is a large portion of land managed by the state as a wildlife preserve. The Black River carves through the center of it, and because the area has a tendency to flood in the spring after a heavy winter, it’s referred to as the Flood Control. There are portions of private land as well, but altogether the area is very sparsely populated. Miles of dirt roads and snowmobile trails and old logging roads. Far more deer and moose than people. A perfect hiding spot.
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  That’s where I decided to hide the Cadillac.

  I stopped where a trail intersected the dirt road and told Willie to wait for me. The particular trail I’d chosen was relatively wide, but still I didn’t want him following me into the boonies and scratching my van all up. I drove in and stashed the Cadillac a few hundred yards in from the dirt road and walked back to meet him. The woods smelled extra wonderful on my walk back. My time spent in that hell hole had renewed my appreciation for the fresh outdoors. It was like night and day.

  “What if somebody finds it?” Willie asked when I slid into the passenger seat.

  My van started rolling and I said, “Who comes out here?”

  He shrugged.

  I said, “It won’t be here long.”

  “You know all those crime shows. They always find some spec in the carpet to link someone to a vehicle.”

  “Sure, when a kid has been murdered. Not when some half-assed gangsta wannabe gets his Escalade stolen.”

  “It’s still something to think about.”

  “Relax, I’ll take care of it after dark. The odds of someone finding it before then are slim to none.”

  “You got a plan?”

  “I’m working on one.”

  “So what’s the word on the girl’s boxer?”

  I smiled. “You’ll never guess who has him.”

  He looked back and forth from me to the road.

  “Don’t drive us into the ditch,” I warned.

  “Well, who’s got him?”

  “My buddy. Tommy Brady.”

  “No shit!”

  “Dead serious.”

  “So that’s why you’re smiling.”

  “Brady won’t be smiling when I’m done with him.”

  “What’ve you got in mind?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  “It’s like an early Christmas present just got dropped in your lap.”

  I nodded. It almost felt that way. Which was why I had to be extra careful in my planning. I couldn’t let my hatred blind me. I had to handle it just right.

  Willie said, “How about those Franklin boys?”

  “They were a joke.”