Throwdown

by Doug Sutherland

  The days he went into the bank he could hear the whispers – sometimes people didn’t bother to whisper at all, they just talked about him out loud, like he wasn’t there. Some of them looked like they were afraid, even though Billy had never wanted to hurt anybody in his life. He knew a lot of them laughed and whispered behind his back. None of them spoke to him like he was a real person. Most people didn’t speak to him at all.

  All of the tellers at the bank knew him, expected him once a week. Some of them even smiled at him although he didn’t think they meant it. When he went there he thought of Frank, how he talked to people. Once he’d tried to talk the same way but it didn’t come out right, the pretty teller getting a funny look on her face and glancing away. After that he didn’t try any more.

  • • •

  The back door was sticking again and Billy pulled on it, careful not to pull too hard because he did that a lot and one of the hinges was in danger of coming off. The cold air hit him hard and he walked gingerly down the steps. There was still a lot of snow with some ice underneath and he stepped carefully, reminded himself he should shovel off the steps, but he was still sore from the hospital and the operations and even when he wasn’t hurting he was just tired all the time, didn’t feel like doing anything. He hadn’t gone collecting empties for days even though the extra money was nice and it made him feel like he was working, the way a grown man should be.

  The stars were clear and hard and bright and when he breathed in he could feel the snap in the air, feel the ice crystals on the way down to his lungs. He got to the woodpile and brushed the loose, light snow off the top with one bare hand, then stacked a few sticks of wood in his arms. When he turned to go back he looked over across the field at Frank’s house, wondered how he was doing. He hadn’t talked to Frank in a long time. He’d gotten out of hospital before Billy, and he hadn’t gone back to visit him or anything. That made Billy feel sad because he didn’t have any friends except for Frank, and even though they lived only a couple of hundred yards apart they hadn’t talked, hadn’t seen each other at all, and Billy wondered if somehow he’d done something wrong, if Frank was mad at him.

  A few days ago Billy had finally screwed up his courage and gone over to Frank’s, just knocked on the door. That was something they’d always done, just dropped by once in a while to say hello. Frank hadn’t done that since Billy had gotten out of the hospital.

  It had taken a long time for Frank to come to the door, and they’d only talked for a few minutes. Everything seemed different in a way Billy didn’t have the words or understanding to describe. Frank hadn’t looked drunk but he’d been drinking, and Billy could smell it on Frank’s breath and in the house. Billy liked a drink now and then, sometimes too much, and usually Frank would have poured one for him too and they would’ve just sat there in the kitchen for a while. That didn’t happen this time, and after a while Billy just didn’t feel right and left.

  Maybe they weren’t friends anymore, and Billy didn’t know what he’d done wrong. He looked over at Frank’s place. There was a light on inside the house but not enough light spilling onto the driveway for him to tell if Frank’s truck was there.

  Billy wasn’t sure why but he dumped the wood on the porch and started over toward Frank’s. Normally by this time of year they would have already worn a path through the snowy field that separated the two houses but he’d hardly gone that way at all this year, so the snow was still deep in places and he decided to walk along the road instead.

  He got out on the shoulder of the road and remembered he was only wearing a heavy woolen shirt instead of a coat. There was snow on the road too but the walking was easy so he kept going, his head lowered against the wind. By the time he looked up again he was nearly at Frank’s driveway. Frank’s truck wasn’t there.

  Billy kept walking anyway. There were no lights that he could see on the other side of the house and its dark hulk disappeared back over his right shoulder, the darkness enveloping him as the wind bit harder and got even colder. He and Frank had the only two houses on this long straight stretch of road, so when he saw a faint glow of light up ahead he wasn’t sure what it was, couldn’t tell what it was coming from. He looked back behind him, saw that he’d already gone a long way. It was too far to go back and get a coat, then turn around again and walk all the way back up the road to where the light was coming from. He kept going, and after a few more yards he saw that the glow was coming from the culvert that ran alongside the road.

  Billy started to run, his long legs carrying him in an ungainly lope. He nearly slipped on a hidden strip of glare ice underneath the snow, and when he managed to regain his balance he looked ahead again and saw the glow was coming from the headlights of a truck. It was in the ditch with its engine still running, its nose tilted downward and covered with snow. A thin cloud of steam was rising from its grille.

  Billy was close enough now to recognize the truck. He didn’t slow down, just kept running until he could jump into the culvert beside the truck on the driver’s side. Billy was big and heavy but when he jumped in he didn’t sink as far into the snow as the truck had, so the driver’s side window was just at waist level when he landed. He craned his neck down, saw Frank slumped over the steering wheel. The window was closed, and Billy knew the door was sunk too deep into the snow to open it but he reached for the door handle and tried anyway. He could hear the click of the latch but the door opened only about an inch before all the heavy snow stopped it. The opening was too small for Billy to reach in and try to lower the window. He banged on the glass with the flat of his hand, yelled at Frank to wake up, but Frank didn’t move. Billy thought of just punching the window out with his fist but hesitated. If it turned out Frank was okay, had just banged his head or something, then Frank would be mad at him for breaking the window of his truck and he thought Frank might be mad at him already.

  Billy started to scoop the snow out around the door with his bare hands.

  37

  Frank’s eyes felt like they were fused shut. He heard the sound of an engine, felt the motion of a vehicle. He managed to open his eyes, saw who was driving.

  “Billy?”

  The snow was heavy now, broad soft flakes big enough to reflect the old truck’s headlight beams right back into his eyes. They’d taken the plows off the roads and Billy’s old pickup slewed a bit on its bald tires. Billy didn’t drive much, didn’t like it, and he risked only a quick sidelong look at Frank.

  “You all right?”

  Frank didn’t understand the question, didn’t know why he’d be driving somewhere with Billy. He tried to collect himself, remember something. There had to be a reason. Billy glanced at him again, his face a curious mixture of concern and fear.

  “Where are we going, Billy?”

  Billy hesitated. Frank decided to look out the windshield and see for himself. The road was still dark, but Frank could see the scattered lights of houses up ahead. He heard Billy exhale with relief. There were lights now, and while the snow hadn’t let up any at least he could see where the edges of the road were. There was an intersection coming up and Billy slowed down, started to turn left.

  “Why are you going to the hospital?”

  Billy concentrated on negotiating the corner, didn’t look at him. The truck fishtailed a little in the turn and then straightened out.

  “You were in an accident, Frank. I’m taking you to the doctor.”

  They were taking the back way in, and the lights had thinned out again, this road no better than the one they’d just left. It was worse, a serpentine series of roller coaster inclines and turns cutting upward and through a heavily forested hill that stopped just short of being a mountain.

  Frank looked down at himself, took stock, then rubbed an exploratory hand across his face. No blood, but when his hand got to his forehead he could feel a dull ache and some swelling. He thought he could remember driving home but didn’t remember anything else. He looked up again, realized they were already pulling
into the hospital’s ER entrance. Billy jerked the truck to a stop and got out.

  • • •

  Ellen Tanner sighed when she saw the old pickup truck rattle into the parking lot. She’d finally signed out, deep into overtime, and she’d just walked outside. Not out of here yet, she thought, and headed for the truck. The driver was already out and stumbling around the front to yank the passenger door open. She recognized him right away–Billy Dancer was hard to miss. He was reaching in for the truck’s passenger but Billy’s huge frame obscured whoever was inside. She heard a muffled, angry voice and saw Billy take a step backward as if he’d been shoved away.

  It was the strangest thing. Billy just stood there hanging his head, a giant version of a little boy being scolded by his father. Ellen looked more closely, saw who was in the passenger seat.

  “Frank?”

  The man in the passenger seat looked up. Billy stepped back farther, gave her room, as if aware of his size and wanting to make sure she wasn’t frightened.

  She and Frank Stallings had a history, but he was looking at her as if he didn’t know her at all. He was still sitting in the passenger seat of the pickup, turned toward her, and she looked up into his eyes. They were glazed, unfocused.

  “It’s me, Frank – Ellen Tanner.”

  He didn’t look good. He wasn’t a big man anyway – a little under six feet – but even slumped in the truck’s passenger seat it looked like he hadn’t gained back any of the weight he’d lost in the hospital.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” his voice was slurred a bit but she couldn’t smell anything on his breath.

  “Stay put,” she ordered.

  It didn’t look like he had the energy to go anywhere anyway. Ellen turned to Billy, looked up at an absurd angle so she could speak to him.

  “What happened?”

  “I found him,” Billy sounded scared and proud of himself, all at the same time. “he had an accident. His truck was in the ditch.”

  “Was he unconscious?”

  He paused for a moment, maybe to decipher the meaning of the word.

  “Yes ma’am. He just woke up a couple of minutes ago.”

  She knew Billy was in his forties, older than she was, but she felt like she was talking to a shy, overgrown teenage boy. He stood there patiently, waiting for another question or to be told what to do. She turned back to Frank, reached over and put a hand on his arm.

  “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

  “No.”

  She tried to make light of it, jerked her chin back in Billy’s direction.

  “Frank, we can do this my way or his way.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She looked back at Billy, about to tell him to just scoop Frank up, take him inside whether he wanted to go or not. The look on Billy’s face was enough to tell her he wouldn’t do that. She turned back to Frank but he was staring at the front of the hospital. She glanced over her shoulder, saw what he was looking at. A Strothwood police cruiser was parked near the ER entrance. They’d brought somebody in a few minutes before, the aftermath of a minor domestic skirmish.

  “I’m not going in there,” Frank told her.

  She was tired. It had been a long day and an even longer night, and Frank Stallings was a grown man. From what Ellen had heard around town the last thing he needed was another rumor. She put a hand on his shoulder, waited until she had his full attention.

  “Okay, Frank – no bullshit. What day is today?”

  He sighed, recognized what she was doing.

  “Wednesday.”

  “Where are we?”

  “The hospital.”

  “The hospital where?”

  “Strothwood.”

  “What were you doing when this happened?”

  “I was going home.”

  “Where were you before that?”

  “I was at Saunders’ place – the bar.”

  “I know what it is.”

  I should know, she thought – most weekend nights Saunders’ place generated a lot of the E.R.’s clientele. She brought up her right hand, held an index finger in front of Frank’s eyes.

  “I wasn’t drinking,” he said suddenly.

  “Frank, I don’t care what you were doing. Now shut up and do what I tell you. I want you to reach out and touch my finger, then touch your nose, fast as you can.”

  His eyes flickered in protest but he obeyed, then dropped his own hand.

  “Are we done?” he asked.

  She felt a flash of anger. It was like he’d been humoring her, doing her a favor when it was actually the other way around. She was stretching the envelope here, laying herself open to trouble if he went home and fell down the stairs or something.

  She stared back at him.

  “Yeah, Frank. We’re done.”

  38

  Kenny had always tried to keep Sherry out of his business. This time, though, he had to make an exception. Darryl was too spooked to go anywhere near Hendricks and Nason, and after that first night at Saunders’ place they had him made anyway. Kenny didn’t like to get Sherry involved, but there was no one else he trusted to do it.

  Sherry hadn’t made it easy. She had too many questions he didn’t want to answer, and finally he’d just told her he was trying to look out for Saunders, warn Hendricks and Nason off. He knew she thought a lot of the old man, like he was some kind of uncle or something. She’d looked skeptical but she’d gone along with it.

  All he needed from her were two phone calls. One to let him know as soon as those two assholes came back to Saunders’ place, and the second to let him know when they were about to leave. She’d already made the first call, and now he and Elway were sitting in the parking lot waiting for the second. It was a miserable night, a combination of snow and sleet obscuring the windshield.

  If Sherry didn’t call they could come out and walk right past them. Kenny swore to himself. He’d wanted to keep the car and the wipers going. Elway had said no. Too obvious, and even in the darkness of the car they might be seen. Kenny didn’t like that, didn’t like how Elway had taken charge, but he needed Elway for this.

  “This is taking too long,” Kenny said, more to fill up the silence than anything else. Elway didn’t say anything, just sat there like an inert piece of machinery. Kenny’s cell phone rang. He let it ring twice before he answered.

  “They’re getting ready to leave,” Sherry told him.

  “Thanks.”

  Kenny ended the call before she could say anything else. He looked across at Elway.

  “They’re coming out.”

  Elway didn’t answer. It took another couple of minutes before the front door opened and two figures emerged from the bar and came down the steps into the parking lot. They were talking to each other, from their movements maybe a little drunk. They weren’t paying enough attention to where they were, probably thinking they’d scared him off, taken him out of the picture.

  One of them fumbled with some keys and a moment later lights flashed from somewhere in a row of parked cars off to the side. They disappeared between the rows of cars and a few moments later there was the rasp of an engine starting up, headlights blooming across the parking lot. Kenny reached out to turn the ignition key but Elway stopped him.

  “Not yet.”

  Kenny glared at him but obeyed. Elway craned his neck to watch, caught the car’s lights tracking off to the left as it swung out of the line of parked cars and headed for the street.

  “Okay.”

  Kenny turned the ignition key, started to pull out.

  “Stop,” Elway told him.

  Kenny hit the brakes, exhaled noisily through his teeth. He sagged back in the driver’s seat and waited. Elway ignored him, kept leaning forward so he could see. The other car had stopped suddenly, was just sitting there at the edge of the street. It was a dark grey BMW 735i sedan, an older model that looked like it had some hard miles on it. Still a nice ride but an idiotic choice
if you were trying to run a low profile in a place like Strothwood. Kenny thought they might be checking to see if they were being followed but based on the casual way they’d ambled out of the bar he didn’t think they were that aware. Then he saw that they were just waiting for a taxi to go by. The taxi passed and the Beemer made a left turn onto the street and accelerated away.

  “Take your time,” Elway cautioned.

  Kenny glanced at him, pissed off at the coaching, but he did what he was told and trundled the Camaro slowly out of the parking lot and out to the street. Kenny looked off to his left, saw the taxi come to the intersection in a rolling stop, then go straight through. The BMW rolled up to the same intersection and turned left.

  “Okay,” Elway said.

  Kenny turned the Camaro onto the street. He punched it and the Camaro accelerated hard toward the intersection.

  “What’s out there?” Elway asked, “where they’re going.”

  “Not much. Couple of old motels, back way to the hospital.”

  They reached the corner and turned left to follow. There wasn’t much traffic this time of night and it was easy to pick out the BMW’s tail lights. The guy was taking his time, no indication he thought anyone was behind him.

  “Stay back,” Elway said.

  • • •

  Elway could tell Kenny was still pissed off but he didn’t give a shit, not as long as he did what he told him. The Beemer kept going, accelerated though a yellow light.

  “Shit,” Kenny said.

  “It’s all right,” Elway told him, “We need a little space anyway.”

  Kenny coasted up to the red light. The road ahead looked pretty straight for a mile or so, with one more set of traffic lights near the end. It forked after that, one branch curving up and around to the left and the other continuing in a straight line. Elway kept his eyes on the car ahead. It looked like it was going to catch a green on the last set of lights.