by Joe Clifford
“I want to know why you suddenly care so much about Benny Brudzienski.”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“That could’ve been me.”
“Until two days ago, you didn’t even know who that girl was. Spare me the same suffering sisterhood crap.”
“I knew who Kira Shanks was. And she deserves better.”
“I tried to tell you the other afternoon—you can’t believe everything you read in the papers or online. You don’t know what happened.”
“Enlighten me.”
Riley folded his arms. “I am not discussing private police matters.”
“Why? Worried about the review board? Internal Affairs? This isn’t New York City.”
“No, it’s not. This isn’t your home anymore. Go back to the city. This has nothing to do with you.”
“I think it does.”
“Why? Because of what happened when you were seventeen?”
“Don’t trivialize what happened to me.”
“I’m not trivializing anything. I am the one who found you, remember?”
“And I’ve thanked you for that.”
“I don’t want your thanks. I want you to get on with your life. Make yourself better.”
“You don’t know shit about my life.”
“This might not be the big city, but I can tell when someone is fucking up.”
“Fucking up?”
“You look like you don’t sleep.”
“I don’t sleep. I haven’t slept in twelve years!”
Several families stared, hugging their kids close as her voice escalated.
The waiter returned. Alex grabbed her shot and beer from the tray. Downed the shot, pounded the chaser.
Riley shook his head, a pitiful response to her pathetic gesture.
Alex snagged her bomber and hoodie, feeling eyes burn holes in her back, unable to flee the restaurant and Riley fast enough. On the sidewalk, she stared down at the new shoes she’d bought, feeling stupid for taking the time to make herself look pretty.
Riley slapped open restaurant doors, chasing after her. “What the hell was all that about?”
Alex spun around. “My attempt to be friends?”
“We are friends.” He reached for her, speaking softer. “You know you will always have a special place in my heart—”
She stepped back. “I made a deal with that reporter.”
“That college kid, Noah?”
“He’s writing a story for the school paper about how Benny is faking it.”
“Faking it? You saw the guy. Does it look like he’s faking it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care. But I told Noah I’d get some quotes from you, find out the real reason behind your big rush to spring Benny. If I do that, I make a few bucks. Is that so wrong?”
“I don’t know if it’s wrong. But telling me about it is pretty shortsighted.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because tomorrow morning, I’m going to call Noah Lee back myself. The only reason I haven’t before now is I’ve been busy. I’ll give him a direct quote. As a member of the press, he’ll be invited to see everything we’re allowed to share.”
“I just told you I could make a few bucks doing this. You’re going to screw me over?”
“No one is screwing anyone over. But you’re not a cop. You’re not even a reporter. I am not going to have you poking around my town, upsetting residents because you want to play dress up.”
“What happened to not sharing official police business?”
“With you, Alex. With you.”
“Why would you do that to me?”
“For one? I don’t need you supplying my wife with any more ammunition. You know how small this town is. Meg knew the second you got back. You’ve been gone. I’ve been here. You think you’re the only one whose life hasn’t turned out the way you wanted it to? The world keeps spinning with or without Alex Salerno’s permission. And as for why the urgency to get the charges against Benny dismissed? Not that it’s any of your business—but you can read about it online if you’d taken two minutes to do any investigative legwork. Politicians up here want to appear tough on crime. Election year. A conviction on the books ships Benny down to Jacob’s Island. They call it a mental facility, but it’s nothing like Galloway. Jacob’s Island is a prison, pure and simple. Vicious, violent. Benny wouldn’t receive the treatment he needs.”
“I don’t give a shit about what Benny Brudzienski needs.”
“I do. It’s my job to give a shit. He won’t last a night down there. Jacob’s Island is understaffed and underfunded. There is no segregation between men like Benny and the real sociopaths. It’s a shithole. If he’s not shivved by sunset, he’ll be gnawed to death by rats in the tomb. He doesn’t deserve that.”
Alex studied Riley’s expression. There was more than anger and compassion brewing behind those eyes. “You don’t think he had anything to do with Kira Shanks’ disappearance.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Why else would you be fighting so hard to keep him in Galloway?”
“Galloway is hardly a four-star resort. But to answer your question, because political grandstanding has nothing to do with justice, neither for Benny nor Kira.”
“I’m sure.” Alex turned her back to him and walked away.
“Where are you going?”
“Not your problem.”
“Go back to the city, Alex. Don’t make me—don’t put me in that position. I have a job to do—”
“So do I,” she shouted over her shoulder, weaving through the cluttered Applebee’s parking lot as more minivans arrived by the second.
Back on the road, Alex fished a scrap of paper from her glove compartment and plucked the pen rolling around the cup holder. She scrolled through the contacts on her phone until she found Nick Graves’ number.
“Give me those names again.”
“What names?”
“Kira’s friends. The ones you mentioned at the Idlewild this morning.”
She could hear Nick drop in a chair making exaggerated breathing sounds. “Why do you need them?”
“You already told me. What’s the big deal? Shane something?”
“Where are you?”
Alex tried to find the name of whatever street she was on, new strip outlets and indiscernible chain restaurants blurring past. “I don’t know.”
“What’s around?”
“I just left Applebee’s. There’s an Arby’s up ahead. A little shopping plaza…Country Farms sandwiches?”
“I’m less than a mile away. Why don’t you stop by? There’s a bridge coming up on your right. Crosses a creek. Number Four, Cherry Hinton Lane.”
“You’re not getting anywhere with me, Nick.” Alex passed a CVS Pharmacy.
“I’m not trying to get anywhere with you. Come over. You sound a little…”
Alex hit the brakes, making an abrupt U-turn. “Meaghan, right? That was one of their names. Meaghan Crouse. Works at CVS?”
“Come over. Let’s talk, okay?”
“You’re a nice guy, Nick. But no offense, if you can’t help me, I don’t have any use for you.”
CHAPTER TEN
Alex headed inside the pharmacy, making for the photo department, wondering who even bought film like this anymore. Didn’t everyone snap pictures with their iPhones? And professionals aren’t buying supplies from CVS.
A heavyset girl crouched in front of a display stocking trays. Dyed black hair, acrylic nails like talons. Alex coughed. Even before the girl turned around, Alex knew what the nametag would read.
“You need something?” Meaghan Crouse was only seven years removed from high school but apparently they’d been seven long, hard ones. Thick foundation colored her skin an unnatural orange. Her hair was dyed so black it appeared almost blue under the store’s overhead lights.
“I need some film.”
Alex scanned the racks and spotted a cheap disposable camera. She reached around Meaghan to pick it up. “This one.”
“Great,” Meaghan said. “Film’s built in. Have a nice night.”
“I want to buy it.”
Meaghan pointed toward the automatic doors where an elderly cashier waved, eager for the company. “She can take care of you.” There was no one else in line.
“I’m a reporter,” Alex said, straining to remember the name of the paper Noah Lee mentioned. The whiskey, beer, and Riley were making it difficult to think. “The Codornices.”
“Cool.”
Alex glanced up pharmacy aisles, unsure what she was looking for among the knee braces, heating pads, and old man canes.
Meaghan squatted back down.
“I’m doing a story on the Kira Shanks’ disappearance. The anniversary is coming up. Did you know her?”
“Kira?” Meaghan rearranged her inventory without looking up. “A little.”
“I heard you were good friends?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘good friends.’ But, yeah, like I said. I knew her.” She swapped out a roll of film for another of the same kind.
“Anything you can tell me? Might get your name in the paper if you give me a quote I can use?”
“I don’t care about my name in the paper, but you want to know what happened to Kira Shanks, go talk to Benny Brudzienski. He’s the one that killed her.”
“What makes you think she’s dead? I mean, for sure?”
Meaghan let out a long, bored sigh. “Because no one has seen her in seven years? They found that retard’s blood all over the room?”
“Benny isn’t talking.”
“No shit.” Meaghan pushed herself up.
“I heard Benny was put up to it.”
“Who told you that?”
“A source.”
“Same source who told you I was ‘good friends’ with Kira Shanks? Your source is an idiot.” Meaghan turned toward a man in a pharmacist’s white smock standing at the other end of the store, glowering in their direction. “I have to get back to work. I’ll tell you this, though. You really believe someone put Benny up to it? Try his brother, Dan. He was in love with her. Like, psycho stalker shit. Obsessed.”
The man at the end of the aisle cleared his throat. “Meaghan, can you come back here?”
“Yeah, Carl. Be right there.”
Alex put the film down on the counter.
“Thought you wanted to buy that?”
“Changed my mind.”
Nick’s place was on the second floor of a small complex, six cramped units, three up top, three on the bottom. Whole building could use a good power wash. The white exterior had turned gray, stained with age and crud, decayed leaves and abandoned caterpillar cocoons. Junky trikes and abandoned sneakers littered the landing. Beneath the stairs withered plants no one bothered to water died slow deaths on the vine.
The inside looked like she expected. Low ceilings, bad lighting, cheap furniture. A narrow kitchen, with barely enough room to slip through, cut off the living room, which doubled down as a place to eat. Small couch, smaller table. The apartment reminded Alex of the shitholes she’d shared with Denise growing up. The first thing they did when her mother found a new apartment was hit up the tag sales, buy all the twenty-five-cent paintings they could find to hide the holes punched in the wall.
Nick had answered the door in pajama pants, shirtless. The guy kept himself in good shape but his skin was so bare. Alex couldn’t remember the last time she saw a naked man without any tattoos, even a tiny tribal bullshit one. He’d clearly been in bed. It wasn’t nine-thirty. When he closed the door he slid the deadbolt. Reine had its rough-and-tumble parts but this wasn’t the projects.
“You want something to drink?” he asked.
“What do you got?”
“Water. Muscle Milk. Beer.”
“Harder.”
Alex ground her back teeth. Last time she saw the dentist he recommended a mouth guard because she clamped down so hard when she slept her molars were riddled with fissures. Right now, it wasn’t the nightmares that had her so wrenched up.
Two days ago, she would’ve sworn she had no place in her heart left for Riley. Now she realized that was the only reason she’d said yes to Noah Lee’s interview. She hadn’t made the connection at the time, despite how obvious it should’ve been. Alex felt like she’d walked into a trap she set for herself, which echoed phrases like “self-sabotage” from those sessions with Dr. Amy.
Nick reached above the sink, fishing deep inside a cupboard. He returned with a sealed, dust-covered fifth of gin.
“Was supposed to bring this to a party.” Nick handed her the unopened bottle. “Never made it.”
“Can you get anything?”
“Like what?”
“Something to bring me down.”
“You’re up?”
“Don’t be a smartass. Can you help me or not?”
“Thought you wanted Kira Shanks’ friends’ names?”
“I do. And I want something to take the edge off. Fuck, can you get something or not?”
“I think I got a couple Percs left over from when I broke my ankle.” Nick turned toward the darkness. “Don’t know if they’re still good. There’re like from two years ago.”
“It’s a start.”
Nick headed to the bathroom. Her nerves were fried, anxiety tearing her up. A little something to spell the worst of it, get her to relax, think straight. Alex walked to the fridge, searching shelves for a mixer. Juice, soda, anything. All the guy had was milk and pre-made protein shakes. At least there was some beer. Miller Lite. Fuck it. She’d drink the gin with a beer back. She grabbed a can, popped the tab, and kicked closed the fridge. There were photographs of a couple kids on the door. Young. Boy and a girl. Playing in a park. Laughing on a jungle gym. Baptism in a church.
“Didn’t picture you as such a family man.”
“My niece and nephew,” Nick said walking back in the room, holding out a prescription bottle. “The label says they’re expired—”
Alex snatched the ’script, uncapped the childproof top, and slid two Percocet into her waiting palm. She washed the pills down with a swish and swallow of piss water. Alex searched the dish drainer for a mug, squinting to peer inside.
“It’s clean.”
She ran her finger along the rim to be sure, before pouring a glass of room temperature gin, savoring the burn, like she were bleaching her insides clean. Feeling her mind clear, she held up the bottle. Nick shook her off.
He dug out a square of paper from his pajama pants’ pocket.
“What’s that?”
“The names you wanted? Wrote them down for you. I’m not sure who’s still in town. I know Meaghan and Jody are. Or were a couple months ago.” He pointed over her shoulder, at the windowless wall. “I saw Jody at the new Applebee’s. Meaghan works at the pharmacy down the road—”
“I think you’re right. Those Percs aren’t good any more. Got anything else?”
“You’re lucky I still had those.”
“What if I wanted to get something harder—do you know anyone?”
“Like a drug dealer? No.”
“The whole town is straight-edge these days?”
“I don’t know. Not my scene. Probably get some weed or coke down at the Fireside. Ask your cousin or Tommy.”
“Oxys, Dilaudid, fucking Vicodin.”
“I don’t know. You can try one of the bars past Rutledge.”
“Names?”
“There’s a few of them. Sweetwater? Jackal’s Den. There’s like three or four by the rail yard, right on the river. Sketchy as fuck. I wouldn’t go down there—”
“Thanks.” She popped up, grabbing her jacket.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
“Why?” Alex had started to slide her coat on but sto
pped, affecting a pout. “You going to miss me?”
“Are you okay? You seem—”
“What?”
“On a mission.”
Alex pulled the paper out of her pocket, waving it in the air.
“Not that kind of mission.” His expression conveyed genuine concern for her safety. It was cute.
She smiled, put the bomber down, and poured another mugful of gin.
“What are you planning on doing? With those names?”
“Can I smoke in here?” Alex blew the hair out of her eyes.
Nick squeezed past, between the fridge and counter. She could’ve moved and made it easier for him but didn’t. He opened the window, leaning over with one arm to pop the latch and slide it open, trying not to rub against her, which Alex found endlessly amusing.
“Where’s your buddy, Mikey? From the other night at the Fireside.”
“How would I know?”
“Figured you two were roommates.”
“Why would you think that?” Nick squeezed back out, motioning over his tiny apartment. “You think another human could fit inside here? I live alone.”
“Thought you two had a Batman and Robin thing going on.”
“We don’t. I hadn’t seen that dude in years before I ran into him that night.”
Nick retreated to the living room, Alex following close behind, so close he could feel her breath on his neck. He twitched, uncomfortable, swatting at the back of his hair, trying to get separation, which made her laugh. She loved this part, being in charge, creating unease, able to make them do anything. The old radiator kicked on, hissing pipes clanking to life, rumbling and knocking, spitting steam. He flinched. She stepped toward him, backing him against the wall.
“How high you got the heat jacked in here?” She undid the top button of her new white blouse, sliding closer. She was practically on top of him, pinning him.
“I have bad circulation,” he said, squirming. “You didn’t answer me? What are you going to do? Go around talking to all Kira Shanks’ old friends? You think that is going to accomplish anything? Besides piss people off.”
Alex set her gin down on a bookcase, then draped both arms around his neck, lightly brushing his skin with her fingertips. “You worried about me?”