Always a Brother

by Michael Shenk

  “No, I never even thought about it.” Mary was surprised. “Did you know him?”

  “He was my cousin’s bud, so I didn’t know him well. He was a different sort, a cool customer. He looked like he stepped out of a cigarette ad on the back of an outdoor magazine, good-looking, looked real tough or maybe aloof. Seemed to have it together, drove a nice car, didn’t lack for money, you know. Johnny was born after Svend moved away.”

  “But?” Mary prompted.

  “Well, when we heard he was in jail, we were surprised, and figured things must have gone wrong somehow. He had moved out east somewhere, and I remember the talk going around when we found out. It was funny, eh … here we had known this guy who later killed someone, and he just seemed like anybody else, a pretty normal guy, really.”

  “Dad, do you know what actually happened? Johnny says he has never seen his father, and never plans to. All Johnny has said is that when his dad was selling property a deal went bad and he was accused of killing someone. In fact, that’s all I’ve heard from anyone. No one even talks about it, like no one even really cares.”

  “I don’t think anyone from here really did care at the time, so why would they now? Svend only lived here briefly, and then moved, and not many people knew him, although we knew his older brothers. He must have got into real estate when he moved east, because here he did some sort of work for the Department of Highways. I think he operated equipment or something.”

  Mary sighed. “Johnny never talks about him, only mentioned him once or twice, and clams up when I ask questions.”

  “Well, you called to ask what I had said about Johnny. Yes, I remember. One thing I know for sure about Johnny is that his uncles were good guys, but were much older than Svend, maybe twenty years, give or take. Svend was born in Canada or maybe the USA, I think. No accent or anything like his brothers.”

  Mary heard him walking, feet crunching in fall leaves.

  “You know, I can remember it like it was last month. Time sure flies. Right after Johnny wrecked the tow truck, some guys were drinking coffee and talking at Charlie’s one morning. I was on the way through town and stopped to say ‘hey’ to some friends. I guess your mother had spouted off to one of them about Johnny being a loser, not good enough to be dating you, and his uncles had heard about it. The boys were kidding Johnny’s Uncle Nelsson, that if he would have straightened out as soon as they figured Johnny was going to, that he would own more land than his brother and wouldn’t be running an insurance office. You know, just guys, kidding each other in the coffee shop.

  “The other uncle, Lars, you know the one that owned land north of town, just shook his head and said, ‘If I had to bet on anyone becoming a good man, I would bet on Johnny,’ only he pronounced it ‘Yonny’ and we all laughed. While we were laughing, Lars finished his sentence. I think what he said was, ‘He will be okay.’ I thought I heard something about a brother, too, but the guys were so loud I may have been mistaken.

  “I never forgot that, though, and I think you made a good choice on the big guy—always have, he’ll come around. Look at all the crap he had to go through as a kid, never knowing his mother, or anything about his father. Anyone would have had trouble. I mean, heck, his uncles both died shortly after this conversation I’m referring to, the only family he knew.”

  Mary held her breath, hoping her father would go on.

  “Lars also said, although the other guys were talking about insurance stuff with Nelsson, ‘Yonny just needs a break. We all need a break in order to get started. This can be a hard country.’ I think he meant it was not easy for a young man to get going, to start something on his own.

  “Charlie was refilling our coffees, and he agreed with Lars. He stopped pouring and looked me straight in the eye and told me Johnny was going to be okay.”

  After she hung up, Mary noticed tears sliding down her cheeks, and she wondered if she could help Johnny find his break.

  Chapter 4

  Johnny sat on the edge of the bed, quiet, aware of wind in the trees outside the window. The bedroom was cool, and he eased up carefully and made his way to the kitchen. Mary’s indifferent cat was rounding its back outside on the porch, visible in the headlights of Johnny’s pickup when he activated the remote start.

  The temperature on the digital display said negative 6˚Celsius, good weather. Roads should be freezing, tightening up. It was mid-November, usually a good time to haul logs, although the roads could get rough when the snow arrived in the higher elevations.

  Johnny made coffee and filled his thermos flask with hot water to preheat. He needed socks and while checking the dryer, heard his phone vibrating on the counter.

  “Who’s calling at four in the morning?” he mumbled, looking for the call display. The maintenance shop number was displayed, and he quickly answered.

  “Johnny!” The voice was young, panicked. “He’s just lying there, I don’t know what to do!”

  The voice belonged to Jason, the apprentice who worked with the heavy-duty mechanics.

  “Who’s lying there, where?” Johnny stopped. “Where are you? Who is there?”

  “It’s Pete. He’s by the toolboxes. I’m in the shop!”

  “Jason, is he breathing?” Johnny slowed down his questions, as he struggled to get some understanding of the situation. “Do you see blood?”

  “I don’t know, man, he is just lying here. Yeah, he is breathing.”

  The phone scraped on something and Johnny heard Jason talking, “Dude, what’s going on, wake up, man, wake up!”

  “Jason! Jason!” Johnny spoke intently into the phone, trying to get his attention. “Listen to me. What do you see in the shop? Look around you.”

  “I don’t know, man, it’s dark except by the bench here.”

  “Jason, go turn on the lights. I need to know what to do.”

  Johnny finished lacing his boots, turned off the coffee pot, and ran for his Chevy, phone connecting to the stereo, audible over the loud diesel motor.

  Jason’s strained voice came through the speakers as Johnny backed down the drive and accelerated up the road.

  “There’s tools all over the floor, man, and a puddle by the big box.” He paused. “Oh, not good, there’s a broken bottle here. Looks like whiskey.”

  “Jason, check Pete again!”

  Johnny pulled onto the highway, the heavy pickup accelerating like a muscle car.

  “Oh, man …” Jason was crying now. “His head is all bloody!”

  The apprentice was heaving and choking.

  “Jason, listen to me. Go to your vehicle and drive out to the highway! Do it now!”

  Johnny ended the call and punched in 911.

  You’ve reached 911, go ahead.

  Johnny broke in: “I would like to report an injury at the Banks Mountain Contracting shop.” He gave the location. “This is John Amund. I work for Banks Mountain. Our apprentice just found Pete Macdonald, a mechanic, lying on the floor, and called me. I’m on my way to the shop right now.”

  The truck’s heater fan was roaring, and Johnny turned it down, checking the back seat for his spare coat. He reached for his coffee, nope, he hadn’t brought it along.

  “Sir, it sounds like you’re driving. Please slow down and wait for emergency personnel.”

  Johnny pressed end and called the boss.

  “Mrs. B, this is Johnny.”

  “Go ahead.” Her tone was flat, but intense. Johnny wondered briefly how that worked.

  “Jason just called me and said that Pete’s lying on the floor in the shop, tools all over the floor, and there’s blood on his head. I told Jason to drive to the highway, and I called 911. Where’s Mr. B, uh, Chet?”

  “He’s up north with the low-bed, left last night to move a skidder from the North Road to the Francis.”

  Johnny stopped. “Okay, I’m almost at the shop. I’ll meet the cops and ambulance and do what I can.”

  “Okay, Johnny. I’ll call one of the guys and let them know you won
’t take your first run today.”

  Johnny swore inwardly. Mrs. Banks was sharp; he hadn’t thought of that yet.

  Speeding through town, Johnny was thinking carefully now. He wanted to arrive at the scene first. Was Pete drunk? He didn’t know if he was a partier. The man was older than Johnny with grown kids, but they had never known each other socially.

  Had he been clubbed? Why would someone attack a mechanic early in the morning, or did it happen last night?

  He didn’t know Jason well, although when Jason had begun his apprenticeship, Mary had insisted they invite the young guy for Hockey Night. New to town, he seemed to like Johnny and though shy, enjoyed talking with Mary.

  Several minutes later, Johnny slowed to exit Highway 16, flashing lights visible in his mirror. Turning, his headlights lit the cab of Jason’s rusty Toyota, a frightened face momentarily visible in the stationary vehicle.

  Turning into the wide lane leading into the huge yard, Johnny parked near the shop. He left the Chevy running and flipped the switch for the light bar, flooding the yard beside the big building with white light. Grabbing a jacket from the back seat, he ran across and entered the open door to look for Pete.

  Pete’s service truck was parked in the normal spot to the right of the shop near the side door. The hood was cool, windows frosted, apparently parked overnight.

  The sirens were loud now, and Johnny hoped Jason would just stay put for a while; he needed to concentrate.

  Jason had left the side door wide open in his hurry to leave. The furnace fan was roaring, and the only truck in the cavernous building was dry, a damp area on the floor underneath showing where snow and ice had recently melted.

  As Johnny rushed to Pete, lying on the floor as Jason described, several emergency vehicles raced into the yard. Their flashing lights reflected on the trees surrounding the yard.

  Pete indeed had a gash in his head, and Johnny stepped back when two paramedics pushed past him.

  A Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer Johnny did not recognize checked his ID and name on his company high-visibility jacket, introducing himself as Constable Barton.

  Chapter 5

  Johnny opened one of the bay doors so the EMTs could back the ambulance into the building. He didn’t understand all they were saying about Pete’s condition, but he could see for himself that Pete would need stitches, and probably had a concussion. The unconscious mechanic was loaded efficiently and quickly and was soon in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

  The shop seemed empty with the EMTs and ambulance gone. Several cruisers pulled into the yard, and more RCMP officers entered the building. One handed Johnny and Barton each a paper cup of coffee and tossed the fibre tray in a nearby trash can.

  Johnny had been looking around and his mind began to work.

  “Look at this. Why would someone dump all these sockets on the floor?”

  The officer with a camera was taking shots from all angles and straightened up to look at Johnny.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nobody carries a whole tray of sockets around. You grab the ones you need and come back for more if you need another one,” he paused, “and these are all regular sockets, ones you use with a ratchet, not an airgun. And they’re small, no big ones.”

  He looked in several toolboxes. Pete’s blue box didn’t seem to be missing tools, but the other boxes, and a spare under the bench, had several drawers left open, largest sockets missing.

  “That’s really weird,” Johnny said. “Pete didn’t drop those sockets. The only truck in here looks like it’s been here for a while. That one has been hauling on the Francis, and they’ve got snow up there, a lot of snow. It’s all dry under the truck, even with the furnace going and the heated floor, there would still be some puddles if it came in late last night. It’s been here for at least ten hours, I’m guessing. Whatever it needs probably wouldn’t call for a bucket full of sockets.”

  They all turned, looking at the huge rig. Chunks of dirt and wood debris were on the floor, still damp from where snow and ice had melted and fallen from the frame.

  Johnny swore. He was staring at the passenger door of the cab.

  Barton followed his gaze, then turned to Johnny, face tense. “Stay here, Sir.”

  Barton and the other male officer walked toward the truck, Barton pulling his handgun from its holster. The officer with the camera stood by Johnny, camera aimed at the truck.

  The cab had a small window at the bottom of the passenger door. The sole of a boot was pressed to the window. A yellow manufacturer tag was visible through the slight haze of road grime on the glass.

  Johnny touched his chest pocket, vaguely aware of his phone vibrating in his jacket. He had not turned the ringer on.

  Both officers now had their guns drawn. Barton nodded and was quickly up on the step without hesitation, while the other officer yanked the door open. Barton froze, then slowly holstered his weapon. The second officer climbed up and motioned for the officer with the camera to join them.

  Johnny ignored his buzzing phone, and with a sense of dread, he approached the truck.

  The officer stood on the step, slowly sweeping the camera left then right across the inside of the cab. She then descended, taking care not to catch items on her belt on the aluminum step. She pulled a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and handed them to Johnny, snapping her gum, eyes level.

  “Mr. Amund, take a look and see if this means anything to you,” she said, skin stiff on her face.

  Johnny gripped the chrome grab bar and with a short exhale, pulled himself up to look with morbid fascination at a set of clothes laid out across the floor of the truck. Small boots on the passenger side, Carhartt pants and a black hooded jacket across the middle, hard hat pressed against the driver’s door. A greasy work glove was shoved down on top of the shift lever, middle finger extended, other fingers folded down. The familiar scent of the pine air freshener seemed out of place.

  “Oh, man!” Johnny got out of the truck and reached for his phone.

  There were four missed calls, all from Mrs. Banks.

  As he hit redial, he noted the number on the side of the truck, 327.

  “Yep, talk to me, Johnny.”

  “Who was driving 327? I know it was up the Francis.” He waited, imagining Melissa Banks running her finger down the list she kept next to her wall calendar in the alcove where she coordinated company operations.

  “Mrs. B, I’m in the shop, I’m going to put you on speaker.”

  “Johnny, it was Terry, Terry Mason.”

  Her voice was clear through the speaker.

  “Started last week, just moved here from Alberta. How’s Pete?”

  “Ma’am, this is Officer Barton. Is Terry a practical joker? What do you know about him?” Barton asked.

  “I don’t know, just met her last week, just a little gal, but has some experience and good references from Alberta. What I want to know is how’s Pete? She barked, “Is he on the way to the hospital?”

  “The ambulance left a few minutes ago, Ma’am,” Barton said. “How many employees do you have working today? Are you expecting more to be working in this shop?”

  “Well, yeah, we’re running a logging show here. There’s probably twenty-five guys working today!” She was winding up, but Barton interrupted.

  “Ma’am, please listen. We are going to need your help to secure this area. I’ll be calling a crime scene unit from Prince George. There are some strange details here we need to take care of. We’re going to need your employee, John, to help us out for a few hours, and we will need to talk to the apprentice who called him,” he turned to face Johnny, “Jason, is it? The shop and property is now a crime scene, so please let your employees know not to come here.”

  The officers and Johnny turned in unison, startled, as the south bay door began to open and Mrs. Banks drove her SUV into the shop, front end dipping as she braked hard.

  She launched out of her vehicle, holding her remote f
or the overhead door. “What is going on here!” She addressed Johnny, ignoring the RCMP officers. She slammed her door, marching over to the four in a cluster near the open passenger door on truck 327.

  “Excuse me, Ma’am!”

  Mrs. Banks stepped around Barton’s outstretched arm and faced Johnny directly. “Pete’s been with us for years. I want to know what happened to him and how he’s doing right now.” Her eyes were snapping, anger covering her concern.

  Her eyes darted to Johnny’s left, noticing the tools on the floor and the broken bottle and whiskey on the concrete floor.

  “Pete doesn’t even drink. What’s the booze doing in here, and why’s it such a mess?” Their eyes followed hers, noting the neat rows of tools on the pegboard, the toolboxes lined up neatly, a stark contrast to the tools scattered on the floor.

  Johnny’s phone was vibrating again. “Who’s on the phone?” Mrs. Banks snapped, “Maybe it’s the hospital.”

  It was Mary. “Johnny, what’s going on? You didn’t take your coffee and your coat is on the couch. Where are you? The cat woke me up. It must have sneaked in when you left. Why is Jason’s 4x4 parked at the end of our driveway?”

  “Jason? I told him to wait by the highway! He was there when I came in, hang on.” He put the phone on speaker, and quickly told the officers and Mrs. Banks what Mary had reported. He could hear the sound of Mary walking on the gravel drive.

  “Johnny, I’m almost to his truck. It smells hot, like oil burning.”

  The officer with the camera leaned toward the phone. “Miss, go back to the house and lock the door!” She faced the others. “That Toyota that was by the highway when we came in?”

  Johnny nodded.

  “That’s the guy who called you?”

  He nodded again.

  They all looked at his phone, and then they heard Mary scream. The call ended.

  Chapter 6

  The other police officer broke the stunned silence.

  “Where is your house, Sir? Who is there besides your wife?” He sprinted for the door. “Give the info to Barton and he’ll pass it on!”