Throwdown

by Doug Sutherland

  “I represent some business people in Pittsburgh, serious business people,” he said, “they believe in working for the long term. I can tell you they’d consider an alternate arrangement, maybe a lease or even a partnership, something that would allow you to keep working and take some of the financial pressure off.”

  “Mr. Hendricks, I’m not under any financial pressure,” that wasn’t necessarily true, but Saunders had heard this kind of clumsy bullshit before, a long time ago, before he’d come to Strothwood to get away from it, “I don’t want to be impolite, but I’ve got work to do here before it gets busy. I appreciate the interest, but I’m pretty happy with the way things are.”

  “You haven’t even heard an offer yet.”

  “No, I haven’t. And I don’t think I want to.”

  Hendricks just smiled back.

  “You will.”

  18

  “I don’t want you here, Frank.”

  Adrienne Simmonds’ voice was soft, resigned, but there was steel in it. She hadn’t even turned around when he came in, had somehow known who it was. He’d stood just behind her, watched the monitors hooked up to her daughter Emily. He didn’t fully understand what they meant, except that there’d been no change. Emily remained where she was, where she’d been for weeks. Everyone, even Adrienne, had underestimated the effects of what she’d been through.

  The hospital had gone through all the protocols, assessed the surprisingly light physical damage, if one could find a way to characterize the aftermath of rape in those terms. They took extraordinary care, did everything by the book, but in the end it didn’t matter. No one had seen it coming.

  Frank had been in no position to see much of anything. He’d been in the ER and then the ICU with a gunshot wound, and already under a cloud that had nothing to do with the bullet he’d taken and everything to do with the small town rumor mill. Brent Williams and Kelly Randall had interviewed Emily instead. Frank had problems with Brent Williams now, but he knew Williams wouldn’t have pushed Emily very hard. Brent and Kelly had gone softly and gotten next to nothing because there was next to nothing Emily could remember. She’d blocked it out – the only way her mind could shield her from what had happened. Wagner had made it clear enough. Maybe her condition was temporary, maybe not – only the passage of time would tell.

  Time had run out. After a couple of days of treatment and observation Emily had been released from the hospital. There’d been no reason to hold her there. She was fully alert and functional except for the brief gap in her memory. She’d been through the standard counselling at the hospital and outpatient therapy had been scheduled. Everything had been done right. Nobody had been derelict.

  Adrienne felt otherwise. She’d taken Emily home, and only a few days later Emily had tried to kill herself. It hadn’t been a token gesture or a cry for help – she’d tried, and tried hard, a toxic mix of over the counter sedatives and alcohol and prescription drugs legal and illegal. She’d done it overnight, only steps away from where her mother slept in the next room. Adrienne had found her in the morning, called the ambulance. It was a miracle Emily was alive, but she hadn’t been conscious since.

  “I mean it, Frank,” Adrienne said, “I want you to go. You can’t do anything here. You’ve done enough.”

  19

  “I want those assholes out of here,” Langdon told him.

  “You’re gonna have to be more specific,” Saunders said mildly, “which assholes are you talking about?”

  “You know damn well who I’m talking about,” Langdon snapped, “they’ve been in here just about every night this week.”

  That was an exaggeration, but not by much. Saunders wasn’t surprised that Langdon saw them as a threat. That was the way Langdon saw everybody, but in this case he was probably right. Hendricks in particular seemed to spend a lot of time working the room, getting to know people, establishing connections. Saunders thought about mentioning their visit the day before, decided against it. Langdon was already pissed off and there was no way of telling what he’d do if he heard that. Langdon wasn’t particularly imposing physically – a little under six feet, probably didn’t top one-eighty, if that–but there had always been a coiled stillness about him, something suggesting he could erupt at any moment. Saunders didn’t want to be around when it happened.

  Not that Hendricks and Nason were any less threatening. Probably more so, Saunders thought, once you threw in the wild card factor. He’d been surprised when he’d overheard Hendricks introduce himself to one of the girls at the bar. The phone voice Saunders had heard didn’t match up to his appearance. He wasn’t a lot bigger than Langdon, but there was a predatory sharpness about his features that conveyed menace.

  The other one, Nason, was worse. He was massive, a couple of inches taller than Hendricks, and just looking at him Saunders knew he’d spent time inside. He would have dismissed Nason as dumb but dangerous muscle if it hadn’t been for his eyes. They were ice-cold and pale blue, radiated a disturbing intelligence that didn’t match the way he looked at all.

  Saunders didn’t like Kenny Langdon much either, but there was a lot to be said for the devil he knew. The reality was that Kenny brought him a lot of business, and in what was left of Strothwood business was hard to come by. Kenny used Saunders’ place pretty much as ground zero for the various kinds of shit he was involved in. Langdon had always been smart enough and discreet enough to keep whatever the hell he was doing under the radar, make it easier for Saunders to pretend nothing was going on at all. The pretense had even worked on Frank Stallings, who had pretty much dismissed Langdon and his assorted hangers-on as small-timers.

  Everybody’s gotta be someplace,” Frank had shrugged, “at least if the stupid bastards are at your place I know where to find them.”

  “What’s so funny?” Langdon asked.

  “Nothing – look, Kenny, I’m not blind. It’s my place, I see what’s going on. I’m not crazy about these guys either. I can’t call the cops – they haven’t done anything.”

  Yet. So far they were behaving themselves, not even drinking too much. Model customers. The only real reason they’d drawn attention to themselves was that they were strangers in town.Still, Saunders knew Kenny’s instincts were as good as his own. It looked like they were trying to establish themselves both in town and in the bar, lay the groundwork for something. He just didn’t know what it was.

  “They still have to go,” Kenny said.

  Saunders looked at him, his eyes flat. It had been a long time since he’d been involved in that kind of thing, and it hadn’t been here.

  “This isn’t a movie, Kenny,” he said finally, “I’m too old for that shit now.”

  “Shit, I know that – but if I’m gonna do something about this I’ll need something from you. It’s in your best interests – sooner or later they’re gonna make a move on you or the bar,” Kenny’s eyes found his, stayed there, “hell, maybe they have already.”

  “They haven’t.”

  “Sure. Maybe they have, maybe they haven’t. I’ve been coming in here for years, Ted, and I know you don’t like me – but I’ve never tried to shake you down and I’ve always kept things nice and quiet. You think these guys are good for business, that we’re all gonna get along and play nice? That’s bullshit. Either they’re goin’ down or I am. And you’ll be a lot better off if you pick my side.”

  Saunders was trying to think of something to say to that when Frank Stallings walked in. He raised a warning eyebrow at Kenny and cut his eyes toward the front door. Kenny turned around and Stallings motioned him over to a table. Saunders waited to see what Kenny would do. Stallings didn’t have the authority to summon anybody like that anymore, and if Kenny decided to ignore him or just walk out of the bar there wasn’t much Frank Stallings could do about it. The trouble with that was that Kenny wouldn’t find out what Stallings was after.

  • • •

  Frank couldn’t tell if Langdon was going to come over or not. Sherry app
eared from the door at the side of the bar while Saunders went back to one of the paperbacks he was always reading. Langdon said something to the girl and she poured him a beer. Finally Langdon must have decided he’d made his point, ambled over to join Frank.

  Frank could see Sherry glance their way once, then say something to Saunders. Saunders just muttered something in response, his eyes still on the book. She stood there for a moment, then started wiping down the bar.

  Kenny sat down, an insolent grin creasing his face.

  “Jeez, Frank – you look like shit. You sure you should be up and around?”

  The truth was Frank felt like shit, too. Unconsciously he straightened a bit in his chair. Kenny caught the movement and his grin widened, just for a split second.

  “Jimmy Nesbitt.”

  “What about him?” Kenny’s shit-eating grin stayed firmly in place.

  “I was wondering,” Frank said, “if you have any idea where he is.”

  “Nope,” Langdon’s eyes never left Frank’s, “couldn’t tell ya. Far as I know he just got tired of this place, took off somewhere.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “He didn’t tell me a damn thing. He’s a kid, Frank – why would he tell me anything?”

  Frank shrugged. They both knew Langdon and Nesbitt hung around enough together that they’d have all kinds of chances to talk.

  “Besides,” Kenny said, “The way I heard it, you’re not the chief here anymore – so what are you, Frank, some kind of private detective now? You gonna buy a trench coat?”

  Frank decided not to reach over and bang Langdon’s head on a table. It was probably just as well. He wasn’t feeling good, and the only thing worse than being hauled in on an assault charge for beating the crap out of Kenny Langdon would be if Kenny Langdon got lucky and managed to beat the crap out of him. Either way any remote hope he had of getting his job back would be gone.

  “Look, asshole,” he leaned over the table instead, stared hard at Langdon, “I know you don’t give a shit about Jimmy Nesbitt or anybody else, but his mom and dad came to see me. They just want to know where their boy is, if he’s all right. That’s something we call normal human behavior, probably not a concept you’re very familiar with. Nothing in it for me – I’m just trying to help, that’s all. Maybe for once you can try doing the same thing – if he told you where he was going, what his plans were, anything, something I can give them so they can sleep at night–this would be a good time.”

  Langdon looked like he was about to blow, but he stayed under control. He just stared back.

  “When was the last time you saw him?” Frank tried again.

  “I already talked to Chief Williams about that,” Langdon smiled, putting the emphasis on the ‘Chief’, “saw him in Saunders’ place. We were all in there. I think he was showing off the Simmonds girl, but they didn’t stay too long. When they left it looked like he just wanted to go somewhere so he could bang her lights out.”

  “Speaking of which, Frank,” Langdon snapped his fingers, leaned a little closer in mock conspiracy, “I heard this crazy rumor around town. I heard you got a little piece of that – is that true?”

  Langdon leaned back in his chair and smiled, just out of reach. Frank stood up, saw a flicker of apprehension in Langdon’s eyes, saw him tense up.

  “You don’t want to tell me about Jimmy Nesbitt, that’s fine. But if he gets in touch with you, tells you where he is, anything, call his mom and dad. I don’t give a shit how they find out, just as long as they find out. I’m not in this to be a hero.”

  Langdon smiled up at him.

  “Hell, Frank – fucking a mother and daughter who look like that? You’re already my hero.”

  20

  “Can I get you something else?”

  Frank looked down at the coffee cup, realized he’d been away somewhere. Again.

  “No Dawn, I’m good – thanks.”

  He’d known her for years, and he could tell from the look she gave him that she wanted to say something. He broke eye contact, didn’t give her the chance. Finally she just walked over to the cash register and scribbled out a bill. He was still wound up from the encounter with Langdon, had somehow managed to leave the bar without taking Langdon’s head off.

  He hadn’t wanted to go home, not ready for the barren and empty house that waited for him. Instead he’d come in here, come into the same nondescript diner where he’d probably stopped for coffee a thousand times. It was a place he’d avoided since he’d gotten out of the hospital, but in a misguided attempt at familiarity and human contact he’d found himself sitting at the counter and sinking into a kind of trance.

  His visit to the hospital had been misguided too, even though it had been motivated by genuine concern for Adrienne and her daughter. That had been a mistake, and Frank wondered now if he was ever going to learn to actually listen to what women told him. Ghosting at the back of his mind was the uneasy feeling that his true motives for the visit wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny.

  His real mistake, though, had happened much earlier. For some reason Frank had let Emily’s version of events stand. Adrienne was almost obsessively protective of her daughter, and Frank couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth. Emily had been playing some kind of one-sided game with her mother, a game Adrienne wasn’t even aware of, and Frank knew she’d never accept his version over Emily’s. Not a chance.

  “You got a minute, Chief?”

  He looked up, startled. Kelly Randall had opened the front door and walked right up behind where he sat at the counter. Jenkins had pretty much done the same thing, and once again Frank had been so tied up in his own thoughts he’d missed it all.

  “Sure, Kelly, I’ve got a minute,” Frank managed to keep the irony out of his voice.

  Kelly didn’t sit down at the counter, glanced pointedly in Dawn’s direction. Frank got it, stood up and motioned to Dawn for more coffee. Kelly didn’t wait, went over to a table in the back corner. Dawn poured another cup of coffee and wordlessly set it down on the counter, then topped up Frank’s cup. Their eyes met for a moment but she didn’t say anything, just walked away. Frank picked up the coffees and walked over to where Kelly was sitting, set one down in front of her.

  Frank had always found Randall’s looks unsettling, and as a result had always kept a professionally safe distance. She was dressed casually in civilian clothes, evidently off duty. Her dark hair was cut fashionably short, her down jacket open over a snugly fitting white sweater. She was a single mother in her thirties with one kid in daycare and another in school. Kelly had been on the force when Frank arrived, and he’d always felt that she was there for the wrong reasons. The job paid very well by Strothwood standards, and he supposed it offered some kind of financial security for a woman with a young family – ‘security’ being a relative term when applied to police work, even in a backwater like Strothwood.

  The silence between them had stretched out. Finally Kelly made up her mind.

  “I was hoping you could give me some advice,” she said, “off the record.”

  That surprised him.

  “I can try. What’s up?”

  She kept her voice low, almost to a whisper, and told him about the incident with the Masters kid.

  “I’m kind of between a rock and a hard place,” she finished, “Wheelock’s making it sound like he rescued me or something, that I can’t handle something like that. That kid was done already, Chief – he wasn’t going to jump me, he was scared shitless. I think Wheelock just lost it and hit him too hard when I wasn’t looking.”

  Frank nodded, noncommittal, but he could see Wheelock doing something like that – especially if he was pissed off and humiliated.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Kelly said, “if Brent doesn’t think I can handle myself he’ll probably take me off the rotation, stick me at a desk. But if I tell him what I think really happened – none of those guys are ever going to trust me again.”

  She was rig
ht, of course. The other cops would probably make her life intolerable, especially since she’d have a hell of a time proving anything other than Wheelock’s version of events. The bar crowd from Saunders’ place weren’t exactly noted for coming forward and doing the right thing, and if they hadn’t done it for Stephen Masters they sure as hell wouldn’t do it for her. Other than the dispatchers Kelly was one of only two women on the force, and even though Wheelock was a cocky little bastard the other cops would close ranks, take his side. Frank realized he may not have given Kelly enough credit – up until this conversation he would have thought she’d jump at the chance for desk duty.

  She watched him expectantly, as if he had a magic bullet to take away her dilemma. It occurred to him that not once had she mentioned the question of right or wrong – it was all about how the incident with Wheelock could affect her. It also occurred to him that when Cunningham had suspended him as chief none of his officers had offered even a mild protest or show of support. It was a bad train of thought and he tried to shake it off. It must have shown on his face because he could see her eyes tighten up as she watched him.

  “Two things, Kelly,” he said finally, “first is that if I were Brent I’d want to know what happened. Second is that this is Wheelock’s problem, so don’t make it yours. If you go ahead and cover for him, like you said, the inference is that you froze and he saved your ass. That hurts you and helps him. You’re worried about how the others are going to react, that if you blow the whistle on Wheelock they won’t want to work with you? They really won’t want to work with you if they think you’re going to freeze up on them when they need some backup.”

  No magic bullet there, Frank thought, and probably not what she wanted to hear. He couldn’t help that – neither option was without consequences.

  “There’s something else,” he said, “let’s go hypothetical for a minute. What if, farther down the road, something else happens?”