by ML Gardner
May 18th 1931
Marvin’s fist hit Caleb’s gut like a hammer. It knocked the wind out of him and he sank to the ground, grimacing.
“Where is the rest of the stuff, Caleb?”
“How the hell should I know?” he grunted. “I stopped drinking months ago.”
“Not the gin, you idiot. The other stuff. The stuff in the middle.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The hell you don’t!” Marvin roared as he yanked him off the ground by the shirt and threw him across the room. “I know that Irish bastard told you all about it. I knew he couldn’t be trusted. I should have taken him out when I had the chance.”
Caleb rolled to his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath and trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. Two minutes ago, Marvin had walked in, chipper as ever, joking and smiling. He went to the back stall and came out raging. Next thing Caleb knew, his guts were getting kicked in. Marvin moved next to him and delivered another to his ribs.
“That’s for the fundraiser dance,” he grunted and began pacing. “This is the thanks I get for saving your friend from Victor? You steal from me?”
“I didn’t steal anything.” He rolled and started crawling toward the stall. Marvin yanked him up to his feet and Caleb had the detached thought that Marvin sure was a strong bastard for someone so small. He shoved Caleb along into the stall. The top boxes were removed and the center was empty.
“You know how much was in there?” he asked.
Caleb shook his head.
“About ten thousand dollars’ worth. More money than you’ll ever make in your pathetic life.” He gave him another shove. “You had better know where it went so I can get it back.”
“I don’t know.” Though he had a good idea, and that idea made him sick.
Marvin raised his fist, and then stopped. “Maybe I’ll just go ask Patrick. He knew about it.” He turned to leave and Caleb grabbed his arm.
“It wasn’t Patrick. I don’t know who it was, but I know it wasn’t him,” he panted.
Marvin put his hands on his hips and dropped his head, taking several deep breaths. When he looked up, he was smiling.
“What it comes down to is this. We have one hell of a problem here.”
“No shit,” Caleb muttered, sitting down, holding his ribs.
“What I’d like to know is, after Patrick told you I was storing cocaine and opiates here, why didn’t you ask me about it?”
Caleb shrugged. “I thought about it. Seemed better not to. I figured you’d get rid of it eventually. What the hell were you doing with it anyway? You can’t tell me that we have that much cocaine running through Rockport.”
Marvin paced and Caleb could read the deliberation on his face. Finally he spoke. “Not through, Caleb. In.”
It took a minute, as most things did with Caleb, but he figured it out quick enough.
“So, you are crooked.” He didn’t sound surprised, just stating a fact.
He just stood, letting his smile answer the question.
Marvin laughed. “I wear many hats. Some are more profitable than others.”
“Well, you need to get this damn hat out of my barn. It’s caused enough trouble.”
“It’s not that easy, Caleb. You owe me now. Not only do you owe me for saving your friends life, you owe me for ten thousand dollars worth of precious cargo. I have people to answer to, you know. And I don’t mean Vincent.” He pointed a finger, his smile gone. “Either you get it back, or you pay me personally.”
On the way to his car, he saw Patrick heading down the hill toward the barn. He raised his hand in the shape of a gun and whispered, “Pow.”
∞∞∞
That night, as they slept, the cabin caught fire and quickly burned to the ground. Patrick, Shannon and the children barely escaped with their lives. All their hard work, gone.
May 21st 1931
Vincent pulled into Jonathan’s drive. He was quick to show him a big smile and a casual wave. Being the usual bringer of bad news, and this time he didn’t have any, he didn’t want to alarm Jonathan.
“Beautiful day,” he said, taking off his hat, squinting up at the clouds.
“It is. What brings you out?” Jonathan asked.
“Just wanted to talk a minute.”
“I told you, Vincent, I’m done. I don’t care what’s going on with the rest of the world. I’ve got my plate full here and—”
Vincent raised his hands in an effort to settle him.
“I respect how you feel and I’m not here to inform you of developments, or give you any news.”
“Oh,” Jonathan said, visibly relaxing. “Then you just came by to tell me it’s a beautiful day?”
“I just had a couple questions, totally unrelated to recent events in your life,” Vincent said quickly. “Wanted your opinion on something.”
“Okay.”
“You know, Jon, this is a small town with small doings. And while I’m a little older, and a little slower, I’m still sharp enough to know when something’s amiss. When something just doesn’t add up.”
“And what is it that doesn’t add up that has nothing to do with recent events in my life?” Jonathan asked warily.
“Trust me, nothing to do with you. But in this business you learn who you can trust and who you can’t. I can trust you. I value your opinion.”
Jonathan’s expression was frozen with anticipation.
“What do you think about Marvin?” he asked. He’d been staring at the dirt, but squinted up at Jonathan, waiting for his answer.
“I think…he’s your deputy. He’s never come across to me the wrong way but he seems real private. We went to dinner once at his house. He killed Victor. Other than that, I don’t know a lot about him.” Jonathan crafted his answer carefully, wanting to avoid getting involved in any dramatics.
Vincent nodded. “Has he ever poked around about the boat sinking and the thing with you and Victor?”
“Once, right after he came to town but I figured he was just trying to get a handle on the town and what had happened recently.”
“Okay,” Vincent said.
“Is there anything in particular you want to know that I haven’t answered?”
“I don’t think so.” Vincent looked up and smiled. “Thanks anyway.” He moved toward his car.
Jonathan put his hands on his hips and dropped his head. “Trying to put the pieces together, huh?”
Vincent turned and nodded. Jonathan growled and shook his head. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to get involved. But something inside urged him to press Vincent for more.
“Alright, Vincent, I’ll bite. What are you trying to put together.”
“Well, seems like the running of alcohol through Rockport has all but dried up.”
“That’s a good thing, right?” Jonathan asked, quickly adding, “Legally speaking, that is.”
Vincent grinned. “It’s unusual. All the small suppliers have turned tail and run. Moved away and while I haven’t caught any runners in months, the whole town is drowning in it. And worse. Opiate use has skyrocketed. It’s everywhere, yet I can’t find a source.”
“And how would any of that involve Marvin?” Jonathan asked.
“Looking back, it seems like it all started changing shortly after he showed up.”
“Maybe it’s his formidable presence,” Jonathan said and Vincent laughed.
Jonathan wrestled and debated with himself. Finally he said, “Look, if I tell you something, do you swear on your badge you won’t ever use my name?”
“Of course.”
“Check with Caleb.”
“What would Caleb know?”
Jonathan shook his head. “I’m not saying any more than that. Just check with him. Ask him the same questions you asked me, but do not tell him you were here.”
“Alright, thanks, Jon.” He looked as though he were trying to be casual about the way he left, but Jonathan
could sense the urgency in his steps.
∞∞∞
It was a warm afternoon. After lunch, Arianna put the twins down for a nap, made lemonade and brought a glass out to Caleb, who sat on the porch swing. She made him kiss her before she’d hand it over, and then went back inside to knit with Shannon by the open window until the twins woke up. He sipped it looking out over his land, pondering problems he could share with no one. Marvin had begun restocking, sneaking in through the back hatch, but insisted on moving it to the loft, deep in the corner and out of sight.
Whether he was responsible for it or not, a massive debt hung over his head and threatened to destroy everything he’d fought to keep together. Everything Arianna had boasted as all they could provide their children with. He’d wanted to broach the subject with Marvin, but couldn’t find the right words. He sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair. He watched Vincent turn up the long drive to the farmhouse and pull up next to the barn. Caleb moved off the porch and met him as he was getting out. Caleb moved to stand in between Vincent and the barn door.
“Afternoon, Caleb.”
“Afternoon, Sheriff. How can I help you?”
“Oh, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by and see how things were going.”
“Going fine. Got another little one on the way. Twins are getting big. Vegetables are good this year.” Caleb looked over his shoulder at the field behind the house. “Can’t complain.”
“Good to hear. I can’t help but notice, you’re looking real good these days.”
“Quit drinking,” Caleb said. “So much, anyway. I still have one with Jon every now and then.”
“That’s good. I’ve seen that stuff destroy some homes.”
“That’s no lie.”
“Have you seen much of Marvin, by chance?”
Caleb stiffened, putting on as blank an expression as possible.
“No, not recently. He stops by every once in a while.”
“Oh, does he? Why?”
He decided to use the same story he’d given to Arianna. “I think to check on me. Make sure I don’t fall back into a bottle.”
“Sounds like something a good friend would do.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say we’re good friends,” Caleb said.
“What are you then?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Friends I guess. Not a real close one. Not like Jon.”
“No, he isn’t like Jon, is he?” Vincent twisted his mustache, taking his time with his next question.
“Tell me, Caleb, even though you aren’t real good friends, what’s your impression of Marvin?”
“He’s...” Caleb’s mind scrambled, his eyes darted and he shrugged. It was better to say nothing at all. “What’s there to think?”
“Just thought you might have an opinion. Has he ever talked to you about the trouble with Victor?”
“Yes,” Caleb said, instantly wishing he could take it back.
“Tell me about that,” Vincent said, his ears perking up.
“He was just trying to help is all, help me, not help the case.”
Vincent took note of his skittish movements and halted speech and knew he was onto something.
“When was this?”
“Um…” Caleb glanced at the clouds, trying to think. “Last September, I think.”
“Okay. Has he talked to you about anything else?”
“No.”
“He’s never mentioned anything about alcohol or opiates running through here?”
“No, why would he talk to me about that?” Caleb strained to remain calm and unreadable.
“Well, you and Jon run some boats. We’ve had a lot come in that way lately. Thought he might have mentioned it.” He stared at Caleb expectantly.
“No, sorry, nothing like that.”
“Okay. Well, if you remember anything or if he does mention it, do me a favor and stop by the office.”
“Sure.”
Vincent got back in his car and slammed the door. “And you don’t need to mention this visit to him, if it’s all the same.”
“No problem,” Caleb said and held his hand up as Vincent backed up and drove away.
He could sense that he was being watched and checked the windows of the house. They were empty. He walked back to the porch preparing something to tell Arianna explaining Vincent’s visit.
Marvin pulled his eye from the knothole inside the barn.
“Dammit, Vincent. You couldn’t leave well enough alone,” he said as he replaced his deputy’s hat and left the barn through the back hatch.
May 25th 1931
Aryl came home with flowers, meat, cake and a toy for Jac. He set the bag he always carried on the couch, and called for Claire.
“Where did you get all this?” Claire asked, amazed. She hadn’t seen a cut of beef this nice for the better part of a year.
“Work,” he said, smiling. “I told you I’d take care of you.”
“Where did you find a job?”
“That’s not important. Where’s Jac? I want to show him what I bought him.”
“He’s sleeping.” She held her hand out and Aryl handed her a beautiful silver rattle. “How on earth can we afford this?”
“Let me worry about that. Why don’t you get started on dinner? I know you’ll make that roast divine.”
She took it and moved slowly to the kitchen with Aryl following her. “Did you get on at the quarry or another boat?” she asked, knowing a week’s wages at either place wouldn’t buy all this.
“Did you see your flowers?” he asked.
“I did, thank you, Aryl.” Looking back she saw that he had left and she put the flowers in a mason jar with water before seasoning the beef. She worked quickly, lit the oven and tossed it in, and she returned to the living room where Aryl was turning on the radio. “I’d just like to know where you’re at all day. What if something happens and I need to send for you?”
“Claire, I told you I was going to take care of you and Jac and that is exactly what I’m trying to do. Please trust me.”
“It’s not a matter of trust, Aryl.” What a lie, she thought to herself. She moved to the window and stared, feeling his hands rest on her shoulders. He was quiet and it was so easy in that moment for her to forget the rest. To just feel him near her and ignore everything else. She wanted to so badly.
“I’ve missed you,” he said. “I’ve missed you so much.” His voice was soft, sincere. It was only the old Aryl speaking and she closed her eyes, hoping he’d stay.
“The last few times it didn’t work out so well.” He ran his hands down her arms and kissed the back of her neck. “But I think I’m ready. If you are.”
She turned around and stood very close to him. He seemed slightly tentative and she found it endearing.
“I am, Aryl.”
He kissed her and she forgot everything else. The kind of slow, blissful kiss she’d remembered and dreamed about. It awakened a carnal urge in her that she had long suppressed and she held him tighter.
Then something changed. He stiffened in her arms, his lips morphed into desperate, greedy things.
Suddenly Aryl kissed her so hard she tasted blood. She broke away and gave him a hard shove. Touching her lips she realized the blood wasn’t hers.
“What’s wrong with you, Aryl?”
“Nothing.” He held his hands out. “I was just trying to kiss you.”
“Your lip is bleeding,” she said.
He touched the spot of blood, looked at it, then wiped it on his pant leg, unconcerned. “You said you were ready. That you wanted to be close to me again.”
“Yes, to be close to you, not eaten alive by you.”
He sat on the sofa, let out a frustrated sigh and shoved a hand through his hair. Claire opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again to speak. Claire’s cheeks and ears grew hot and she crossed her arms across her chest.
“Don’t try to kiss me again unless you can do it the way you used to.”
“There’s nothing different about how I kiss you. Maybe you’ve changed. Did you think about that, Claire? While I was gone and you were gallivanting around with Gordon, maybe you got used to the way he kissed you.”
She recoiled. “That’s not true.”
“Well, explain to me then, what I’m supposed to do. Because ever since I came back I can’t seem to do anything right. How am I supposed to be kissing you?”
“I don’t know, Aryl, just not . . . rough.”
He quieted his restless leg by standing and walking over to her. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “I don’t want to fight over kissing. Let me try again.”
She nodded but didn’t uncross her arms.
He leaned in slowly and at first it was exactly how he’d started the last time. After brushing her lips with his, his mouth was demanding but gentle, leading the kiss with confident passion. Untangling her folded arms without breaking the kiss, he brought them up to his neck. He could feel her slowly relax and melt into him; his need for her making itself obvious. His grip on her lower back and neck gradually tightened, his lips grew more demanding; his heart pounded in his ears.
She stiffened under his hold; he ignored it, pressing her closer, kissing her harder. His short grunting breaths became desperate as he grabbed at her hips and bottom. Her ardor was snuffed out quickly and she pushed against him. She knew if she didn’t stop him soon, he wouldn’t be stopped. She tasted blood again as the seam of her dress split at the waist. When he moved his hand to clutch a breast, she took her moment and broke away from him.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Aryl!” she yelled as she stumbled back, touching her swollen lips and holding the seam to her dress closed.
With his hands on his waist, he looked at the floor between them, breathing roughly.
Say it, the monster told him. Say it or I’ll say worse.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he panted. “I think something’s wrong with you.”
Her mouth gaped in surprise.
“Aryl-”
He scrubbed his face with his hand and sighed heavily. She expected him to soften and apologize. Instead he looked at her with a hard glare; bloodshot eyes not willing to concede.