The Homecoming

by Carsten Stroud

  Kate sat there and stared back at the judge.

  Nick said nothing.

  She looked at him.

  I have to, Nick, was her unspoken thought.

  I know you do, was his unspoken answer.

  Will you come with me?

  No.

  Judge Monroe’s chambers, as all chambers must be, were lined in leather-bound copies of legal decisions, both in the state and at the Supreme Court level, going all the way back to 1856. The long wicker blades of a huge ceiling fan circled slowly in the humid air. Morning light was pouring in through a tall sash window and illuminating a massive rosewood desk with a marquetry inlay depicting the last stand of the Twentieth Maine under Joshua Chamberlain at Little Round Top on the second day of the Battle of Gettysburg. This unlikely scene was present only because the desk had been liberated from a Yankee officer’s tent after his position had been overrun by Confederate forces under the command of Teddy Monroe’s great-great-grandfather. In front of this desk were two large green leather wingbacks which had been bought fair and square from an antiques shop in Richmond.

  Seated in one, reading a copy of Vanity Fair, was a small-boned, sharp-featured young woman in a blue skirt and a crisp white blouse. Sitting across from her and staring down at his cell phone screen was Rainey. He was wearing his school slacks and a rumpled white shirt. When the door to the chambers opened they both looked up, expecting to see Judge Monroe. When the arrival turned out to be Kate Kavanaugh, Rainey got to his feet and headed for the door that led to a private hall and down a flight of stairs to the rear parking lot.

  “Rainey,” said Kate, “don’t go. It’s all right. I just want to talk for a minute. Please stay.”

  The nurse was on her feet and moving to intercept Kate. Kate held up her hand, palm out, not looking at her.

  “Stay out of this. We won. If you need that clarified, go find Warren Smoles.”

  “He was supposed to text me.”

  “Last I saw of him, he was in that white Benz and headed down Burke Street. Like a hare. Get it? Burke and Hare. Never mind. Good luck trying to catch him.”

  The nurse glanced back at Rainey, shrugged, and left at a trot. Kate stood by the door and looked at Rainey, who was now standing by the other door, his hand on the knob. He was glaring at her.

  Kate tried to keep her expression as soft as she could manage it, but it was difficult for her feelings not to show.

  “Rainey. Please. If you don’t want to live with me anymore—”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then we can work something out.”

  Rainey’s expression tightened.

  lying and lying is what she does

  “Oh yeah. Working stuff out is what you do best, isn’t it? So you won. What now? I get locked away in a crazy house and you get all my money.”

  Kate stayed by the door and swallowed her anger.

  “Rainey, this thing about your money, even if I wanted it, which I don’t—I have all the money I could ever need—your family’s finances are all protected by layers and layers of legal rules. The only influence I have over it is to see that all the taxes are paid every year, and that any corporate papers that have to be filed get filed on time, and that your family’s home on Cemetery Hill is kept in good order and all the property taxes paid. All of the detail work involved is handled by lawyers and bankers who are retained by your estate. I monitor their billings and help make decisions about how to keep the money working for you. As soon as you’re twenty-one you gain control of all the yearly interest and dividends your estate pays, which amounts to around six hundred thousand a year. And you get full control of the principal on your thirtieth birthday. I can show you the papers. Your fortune simply cannot be taken away from you.”

  they can do whatever they want

  “Yeah? What if I’m dead? Or in jail.”

  “You’re not going to jail, Rainey. And if you die without leaving a will, then your family’s money would very likely be divided up among your various relatives.”

  “Right. Like you.”

  “I’m a very distant relative, Rainey. A judge would determine the—”

  “Like that old judge in there? The guy who’s always on your side? The guy who stuck me with you in the first place?”

  His venom was so intense that the force of it pushed her into silence. She went back on her heels as it washed over her. It struck her that Rainey hated her. Or that something inside Rainey hated her. There was a loud knock on the door behind Kate’s back. Neither Kate nor Rainey reacted to it. They were locked inside this awful thing, and Kate had no idea what to do about it.

  The knock came again.

  “Who is it?” she said.

  “It’s Nick. Can I come in?”

  that one will kill us stay away from him

  Rainey, stepping away, crossed the room, pulled the back door open.

  “He comes in, I’m gone.”

  “Rainey, please—”

  Nick opened the door.

  Rainey turned to run and slammed into Tig Sutter, who had been waiting in the hallway outside the door. Rainey bounced back and tried to push past him. It was like trying to move a bank vault.

  There just wasn’t much give in Tig Sutter.

  Kate looked at Nick.

  “What is it? What’s happening?”

  “Tig needs to talk to Rainey,” said Nick. “This is as good a time as any, I think.”

  “No it’s not. First of all, I have a problem with you being here. You might be intimidating Rainey.”

  That got to Nick.

  “I’m intimidating the kid?”

  “It’s possible. Rainey, are you worried about Nick being here? Is that why you don’t want to say anything?”

  good say nothing these people want to trick you

  Rainey didn’t respond.

  Kate repeated the question.

  “Maybe.”

  “Because if you’d feel better Nick can go. Am I right, Nick? Tig can handle this, can’t he?”

  Inside his head Nick was screaming at her, Take a good look at this little creep, but what he said was, “If you think it’ll help, I’ll go.”

  “Actually, Nick,” said Tig, with a wry smile. “Come to think of it, maybe you should step back. This goes any further, a lawyer could argue you had a bias one way or another.”

  “Kate’s his lawyer, Tig.”

  “For now,” said Kate. “If this goes any further, we’ll probably bring Claudio Duarte in. Really, Nick. Maybe you should go. Okay?”

  Nick stared at her for a long time and Kate realized they were in serious trouble for the first time in their marriage. But there was nothing she could do about that right now. Then he turned and left the room without another word.

  “Rainey,” she said, once the door had closed, “I’m here to represent your best interests. And I swear to you that your best interests are not being served by swearing at us. If you can control yourself maybe you’ll find out that what Tig has to ask you isn’t so terrible. And I won’t let you answer any questions that I think you shouldn’t answer. But if you refuse to say anything at all, he isn’t just going to say oh well and walk away. He can’t. Can you, Tig?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “So Rainey … look at me, please?”

  the smell good one we like her

  He didn’t move and seemed to be trying to turn into stone. Where did he get the iron, she was wondering.

  And Where the hell was Reed?

  “Well, he’s not saying no, Tig. Give it a try.”

  “Okay. Rainey, you know who Alice Bayer was, don’t you?”

  Rainey muttered something.

  “Sorry, Rainey. I didn’t catch that.”

  go slow be careful

  Rainey looked up at him.

  “She was the attendance officer at school.”

  “Okay. That’s good. And how did you get along with her?”

  “Tig,” said Kate, a warning in her tone.r />
  “Okay. Scratch that. You know a place called Patton’s Hard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you ever go there?”

  “Yes.”

  “A lot?”

  “No.”

  “Just now and then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you ever go there when you should be in school?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Were you down at Patton’s Hard two weeks ago Tuesday?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Were you in school that day?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Rainey, did Alice Bayer ever come down to Patton’s Hard when you were there?”

  Rainey was silent.

  need to stop now

  Tig repeated the question.

  More silence.

  “Rainey, please—”

  need to go away now right now right now

  Kate saw Rainey’s eyes change color and then they rolled upwards and he passed out. They called for medics. Rainey was awake by the time they got there, on his back on the floor, blinking up at the ceiling, Kate kneeling beside him.

  The EMT people—a matched set of bouncy blonds, one male and one undecided, checked him over, sat him up again, and took his vitals, conferred in a whispered exchange packed with medical jargon, and pronounced him fine.

  Rainey sat up, and Kate stood to face Tig.

  “We can’t do this anymore. Not today.”

  Tig looked uneasy, but he knew she was right.

  “Okay. But when?”

  “Judge Teddy wanted me to get him some tests. We started that on Friday, before all this happened. That’s why he was at WellPoint. Let me take him back there, get some results. Then we can see about talking to him again?”

  Tig thought it over.

  “Okay. Get him to WellPoint. Call me tomorrow.”

  Kate and Rainey had nothing to say to each other until they got to Kate’s Envoy. They got inside and Kate started it up.

  Rainey was staring straight ahead, breathing rapidly through his open mouth.

  “Rainey, are you okay?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m going to take you back to WellPoint.”

  And this time I’m staying right with you.

  “Okay.” A faint, defeated whisper.

  we can’t go there they’ll find us with machines

  “Will I have to stay overnight?”

  “Maybe. But I’ll be right there with you.”

  “Why are you working so hard to help me? After what I did to you?”

  Kate considered the kid for a while.

  She had the strange impression that the old Rainey was here in the car with her, instead of the other Rainey.

  “Because I promised to take care of you. No matter what. And that’s what I’m going to do. Now before we go there, is there anything you want to get? Clothes? A video game? Your books?”

  Rainey seemed to think about it.

  “Will they let me have my portable DVD player?”

  “I don’t see why not. We’ll pick out a few DVDs to take along.”

  Rainey was watching her now, but inside his head he was listening to Cain. When she stopped buzzing and crackling in his brain, he said, “I’d really like to have that Christmas video of my mom and dad and me.”

  “Okay. Where is it?”

  Rainey looked at his hands.

  “It’s at my house,” he said.

  “You mean your old house?”

  “Yes. Mom and Dad’s place. I think it’s still in the DVD player.”

  “You want to go to Cemetery Hill and get it?”

  Rainey had his head down again.

  “Could we?” he said.

  Kate thought it over.

  There was time.

  “Sure. Buckle up. We’ll go there right now.”

  Rainey smiled then, and pulled in a long, ragged breath, holding it a while.

  smells so good so many good smells so many

  Tidy as You Go

  Warren Smoles had the satellite radio in the Benz playing as he rolled it up the driveway to the garage door of his château-style house in The Glades. It was the largest house on a long, meandering block lined with hard-bitten palm trees and scattered thickets of holly and bougainvillea. The rest of the houses were the original fifties-style Frank Lloyd Wright ranchers and Old Hollywood Art Deco bungalows, so Warren Smoles’ house stood out pretty much the way Warren Smoles did. The song he had on was “So You Had a Bad Day” and he was playing it because it matched his mood.

  He was not at all used to being handled the way Teddy Monroe had handled him this morning, and he intended to barricade himself in his mini-mansion for the rest of the afternoon and self-medicate with a bucket of Tanqueray and a few hours of Best of the Bowl Games DVDs. Perhaps, when he was more himself, he’d think of a way to counter-fuck the old son of a bitch, but for now it was time to fall back and regroup.

  Smoles lived alone in this huge house for several reasons, the main one being that no one else wanted to live there with him. He had quite a time keeping staff and his dogs kept running away and he’d tried goldfish but they all ran away too—he could never figure out how, but he’d come home and find the bowls empty and the fish just plain gone.

  So he went for cats, who are no less particular than dogs but far more willing to sell themselves out for a soft bed and regular meals.

  Smoles had fifteen of them scattered about the house, mostly tabbies, a couple of six-toed grays like Hemingway had, and three Maine Coons as big as Rottweilers. He hadn’t named any of them—naming cats was like naming seagulls—and keeping his house smelling as good as it did required the work of a phalanx of visiting maids every third day. On the other hand, he had no rodent problems and no fucking noisy songbirds loitering about either.

  He locked the Benz in the garage and came in through the connecting hallway to his side door, where he keyed in a long and complicated password.

  He was carrying a sack of cat food tins, a forty-pounder of Tanqueray, and three fresh limes, so when the door clicked loose he just shoved it open with his toe and walked through into his open-plan kitchen and entertainment area and set the sack down on the Corian counter.

  There were no cats around.

  This was odd.

  They usually came slinking in or they were already gathered around the door waiting for him when he came home. Not that they loved or even liked him in any way, but none of them could handle the electric can opener or change the kitty litter.

  But no cats today?

  He walked around the counter and out into the great room, a large stone-walled space centered around a gigantic flat-screen TV and an entertainment system capable of reaching out into the stars and catching talk shows live from outer space, if outer space had talk shows, which so far it did not.

  The walls were covered with pictures of Warren Smoles sharing handshakes and glassy-eyed grins with all sorts of celebrities and sports stars and politicians, none of whom looked as delighted to be in the picture as Warren Smoles did.

  No cats here either.

  He looked down the hallway that led to the front door.

  No cats there.

  Odd. Damn odd.

  Well, fuck ’em, he thought, turning around to start in on his bucket of Tanqueray. A tall, well-dressed but vaguely funereal gentleman was standing behind his Corian counter and smiling at him.

  “I know what you’re going to say,” he said.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “There you go. Now ask me how I got in.”

  “I don’t give a fuck how you got in. What the fuck are you? An insurance salesman?”

  “No. I’m a private collector. My name is Harvill Endicott.”

  “Jeez Louise!” said Smoles, relief in his voice. He had never met Endicott personally. All their business had been conducted over phone lines or through the Internet. Even the way Endicott had retained him had been through PayPal.<
br />
  “I did not mean to alarm you,” said Endicott in a soothing tone.

  “Fuck that. I want to know why my alarm didn’t alarm me, that’s what I want to know. And where the hell are my cats?”

  “Your alarm system is not very effective. I suggest you invest in a better one. Your cats were gathered around the side door when I came in. When they saw that I was not you they took the better part of valor and skittered away. I’m sure they’ll be back when things quiet down.”

  “Thanks. Setting aside the break-and-enter thing for now, what do you want?”

  “I do apologize. I dislike waiting about in the open. So I came in. I wanted to thank you personally for your help in establishing myself with Mrs. Maranzano. We have reached an understanding. For which I am grateful.”

  Smoles walked over to the fridge and pulled out an ice tray, got a silver bucket down from a cupboard, and started to build himself a drink.

  “Glad to be of service, Harvill. What was the understanding?”

  “A confidential matter. Forgive me.”

  “I got paid. No skin off me. You want a drink?”

  “Pellegrino, if you have it?”

  “Perrier do?”

  “Lovely.”

  Smoles, still a bit rattled but calming down, got the man a Perrier. His gin and tonic came together out of habit and he walked across the slate floor to his big burgundy armchair by the fireplace. He sat down, put his feet up on an ottoman the size of a Cape buffalo, crossed his lizard-skin cowboy boots, and sipped at his drink.

  “Well, I don’t like you coming in like this, Harvill. I’ll let it go for now. But don’t do it again, or I’m not gonna be so fucking amiable.”

  Endicott came over and stood in front of him, holding his Perrier in his left hand. His other was in the pocket of his gray sharkskin pants.

  Smoles gave him a once-over.

  Guy looks like a cross between an accountant and a mortician. Dresses pretty good. Pants a bit baggy. Wouldn’t go for pleats myself. Well, like the Froggies say, shack-oon a son goot.

  “Nice pants, Harv. Are they sharkskin?”

  “They are.”

  “Who’s the maker?”

  “Zegna.”

  “Yeah? I’m a Brioni guy myself. This suit’s a Brioni.”

  “I can see that it is. Well, your health.”

  “Yeah. Salut! This you bailing out? Work all done? I trust I gave satisfaction?”