by R.M. Haig
FORTY-EIGHT
Secrets Kept
July 4th, 1996. 7:30AM
Burlwood, Indiana
Jacob strolled up to Our Mother Of Sorrows where Chucky had his mother's Buick parked near a maintenance shed in the out-lot. It had been seven months since Janet Gigu?re was released from psychiatric care and the stint in jail that it led to after her overdose. In that time, Jake had seen Deputy Ron practically every day, as he was once again essentially living in the Gigu?re household.
Among the many trademarks of his residence were the loud naps he took with Janet, which seemed to grow more obscene each time, and the now familiar smell of nail polish remover and ammonia that generally preceded or followed each session. Jake knew from his encounter with the Burlwood Bees varsity team that those smells were the product of smoking crystal meth, or ice as it was more commonly known on the streets of Burlwood increasingly as of late. He also knew, from what he heard Boudreaux speaking to his mother about, that Deputy Ron was knee deep in supplying the drug to the small town he was charged with serving and protecting. It sounded as though he'd started reaching out too, spreading his influence into the surrounding communities and building an empire that was fit for a king.
The fool had loose lips, and his thunderous voice carried the tale of his sins through the paper-thin walls of the trailer he sought to usurp, likely informing the neighbors of his practices just as well as Jacob. Of course, the neighbors were probably customers of his as well, so there was no harm in his broadcasting the details of his deeds.
It was this knowledge he'd learned that got Jacob out of bed so early on this, an otherwise precious day of summer vacation. Recently, he'd heard the deputy speaking of a familiar address in his bragging that had his curiosity and interest peaked. Boudreaux had spoken of eight twenty-six Route 4, the address of the old Super Socket Fasteners building. Jake was aware of the now abandoned facility because his father had worked there before his suicide, and because of all the media coverage that occurred when the factory moved its operations to China and left so many residents of Burlwood Meadows unemployed and set them up to get on the dole.
According to the things Jacob heard through the walls of his trailer, Boudreaux had some sort of operation running in the building, and Jake suspected it had everything to do with his seemingly never-ending supply of ice. The information was important and actionable, because he desired nothing more than to get that creep Deputy Ron far, far away from his mother and to sever the arteries of supply that she and so many residents of the town had grown to appreciate with their latest addiction. Janet had been in a steady decline since the bastard started spending so much time with her, and the townsfolk were succumbing to the struggles that come with expensive and harmful habits just the same. People were losing teeth, losing cars, sometimes losing their homes and ending up living in the streets. It was like a plague of poverty, and the first symptom was the smell of acetone spewing from a patient's mouth.
All anyone seemed to care about was getting their next pipe full of meth no matter what the cost, and Jake's mother was no different. Many people seemed to be snorting it too, except for Janet whom Ron had strictly limited to smoking the dope since her accident the prior year. Misses Gigu?re had reached a level of addiction at which she often got very agitated when she had to wait for her fix, and she seemed only a few steps away from the theft and robbery that had captivated the rest of the addicts in The Meadows. When she had no ice, Janet was crazy. Far more so than she had been when she ate Xanax like Pez and tried to do things that still haunted her son's memory. During these new fits, she didn't try to unzip his pants or reach for his crotch like the fits of old. Instead, she screamed like a lunatic and beat on things in the trailer, punching holes in the walls and breaking formerly treasured knick-knacks in her desperation. This would eventually lead her to defer to the Xanax and other medications if she didn't get her hookup, downing more than she was supposed to of them and probably a good deal more than was safe. There had been many moments in which Jake thought she was knocking on Heaven's door again, and sometimes he wished she would just kick it in and march on through to put an end to all of the mayhem.
Even her pharmaceutical zombification of the past was preferable to the woman she'd become since the drugs came into the picture, and Jacob felt it was incumbent upon him to restore the balance. If he could bust Ron Boudreaux in the process of building his crime syndicate, if he could eliminate him from the equation, then that was exactly what he wanted to. This was for his mother's sake primarily, but he'd grown to hate the man just as well, so it would be a win-win in his eyes. Boudreaux was cocky, he was self-righteous and he treated Jacob like shit on the bottom of his shoes. As a result of these things, Jake had made it his mission to see the man exposed to the community and all of the world for what he was. He imagined all of the flashing police lights, like the ones on the night they found Joshua Banks, and he pictured fat ol' Ron all cuffed up and headed for the back of a police cruiser, which was where he more deserved to be than in the driver's seat.
Jake couldn't be positive that anything untoward was happening at the old SSF building until he saw it for himself, but that was certainly what all of the talk he'd overheard led him to believe. Armed with that information, he intended to check the place out. Since Chucky could drive, he'd arranged to meet with him at the church this morning. He would provide the ride,.
Keeping in mind that Louie Rambo and Launchpad were still equal members in what remained of The Burlwood Boys, he'd asked them to come too. They would meet at Our Mother and Jacob would brief them on their mission, then they would set off to change the layout of their neighborhood by bringing down the house of ill-repute.
In the best case, they would find a full-fledged meth operation headed by Ron Boudreaux and turn him in to Sheriff Rambo and Agent Gomez, who was still hanging around town. In the worst case, they would gather more information that would eventually lead them to that goal. Either way, this was a key mission. It was important to get it done and out of the way whether with precision or with brute force.
As Jacob approached Chucky, he heard strange noises coming from inside the shed which his friend had just closed. There was no sign of the others yet, and there seemed no good reason that Chucky was fiddling with the maintenance shed at all. He wasn't working today, there was no need for him to be taking things from or putting things in to the structure.
"What's going on, Chucky?" Jacob asked, wondering what the noises had been.
Immediately Chucky's face changed, and it almost looked like he wanted to cry at the question.
"Nothing," he replied, very unconvincingly. It was clear in his voice as well as his countenance that something was troubling him, but he seemed hesitant to reveal exactly what it was.
Curious, Jacob stepped between the Buick and the shed quietly to see if he heard any further sounds. At first there was nothing noticeable, but as he drew nearer, there was a barely audible and irregular panting that captured his attention.
"What's that?" He asked, pressing his ear to the aluminum door for a better handle of it.
"What's what?" Chucky asked, feigning ignorance.
"It sounds like --" he listened a moment longer, "it sounds like a dog!"
"There's no dog in there," Chucky insisted. "Why would there be a dog in the shed?"
Sure of what he was hearing, Jake pulled at the door and wondered the same thing. Once it was open and he saw the wiry white and brown fur down at ground level, he knew his friend was hiding an animal of some sort. Slamming it shut in shock, he recoiled and looked up to Chucky.
"If it's not a dog," he began, horrified, "then what the hell is it?"
Chucky's head dropped, as it often did when he was caught doing something he thought was wrong, and he nearly broke into tears. "It's a dog," he finally admitted.
"Chucky, why are you hiding a dog in the shed?"
"He's sick," Chucky volunteered. "I'm tr
ying to make him better."
Examining the shed, which was putting off a strong heat under the July sun, Jacob wondered how locking it in what amounted to an oven was supposed to help the animal.
"You have to let him out of there!" He insisted in the kindest tone he could manage. "Chucky, it's way too hot inside there for him! He'll die in there!"
Reluctantly, Chucky approached the door and opened it just a bit. "Come out, Ruger," he said half-heartedly.
Reacting to the cooler air as opposed to being called by a name that had likely just been bestowed upon it, the miserable looking thing slowly marched its haggard body out of the shed. Jacob's initial impression was that it was some type of mutt with a heavy influence of Jack Russell Terrier, but it was barely recognizable as any breed in its condition. It was anorexically skinny, and there was some strange discharge oozing from around its eyes and its nose. It was salivating all over the gravel lot and seemed to be chewing something, though there was no indication that it had anything at all in its mouth. Chucky didn't have anything that resembled food, and Jake hadn't seen him feeding it.
"Oh my God, Chucky!" Jacob said, in shock at the image of its horrific state. "Where did this thing come from? It looks like it is dying!"
The scolding hurt Chucky's feelings, and his head dropped further yet as he did finally shed a tear. "I found him walking down the road yesterday," he explained. "I could tell he was sick, so I put him in here and tried to feed and give him water, but he won't eat or drink! I even tried giving him steak from the church kitchen, but he won't take it!"
"Do Rusty or Father Lovett know he's in here?" Jacob asked, concerned for the animal's welfare.
"No," Chucky replied plainly. "Nobody knows but me, they would take him away if they knew. When he's better, I'm going to take him home to live with me and momma."
"Chucky, this dog needs a vet if he's gonna get any better!" Jacob insisted. "Look at him, he's really sick! We've got to get him to Doctor Morris!"
"Oh no!" Chucky whined. "Doctor Morris kills dogs, I don't want him to kill Ruger too!"
Watching the animal struggle to stand, Jake knew exactly what was in store for the poor creature when he finally did see the doc. Most likely, Chucky's prognosis was right on -- unless someone had the money to pay for lots and lots of care and medicine. The creature wouldn't survive his visit, but the looks of him he was probably too far gone even for the expensive treatment route..
"Chucky, we don't have a choice!" Jake insisted, thinking about his other plans for the day and how this jeopardized them. Something was going to have to wait; either the inspection of the SSF building or the medical treatment of the dog.
As he thought about the conundrum, he heard the crunching steps of Launchpad and Louie approaching from opposite directions on Route 4 in nearly identical time. The dog just stood there as they drew closer, drooling and trembling like he had been, not interested in the strangers in the least. Before long, both of their old friends were standing with Jacob and Chucky with their eyes locked on the poor pooch.
"Jesus Christ!" Louie exclaimed at the sight.
"What the fuck is wrong with it?" Donnell asked.
"There's nothing wrong with him Launchpad!" Chucky insisted. "He's just a little sick!"
"Nuh-uh, fuck that!" Donnell barked, "I told you not to fucking call me Launchpad, and you're gonna start right up with it? Do it again and see what happens, bitch!"
Jake heard Donnell's retort as a threat, something he'd never known to come from his friend's mouth so long as he'd known him. It shook him, rattled his spirit and preconceived notions he held about his gang of buddies. It had been a long time since they'd all been together, but he never considered the fact that they might have grown apart in the time that stood between them. Based on the intro to their meeting, it seemed they had.
September 24th, 1994... nearly two years ago. That was the date that changed everything, and that was the last time they'd all been together. Jacob had tried mending fences with Louie and Launchpad since then, and he'd always maintained some level of a friendship with Chucky, but the loss of Timmy Lane had forever changed the dynamic between this group as a whole. It was only now that Jacob realized this, just when he'd called them into unison once more, for one more mission.
"That's enough!" He defended Chucky more than he scolded Donnell. The twenty-two months between them meeting in conflict when they locked eyes with each other.
"It's not enough!" Donnell chirped back. "I've been telling this fuck for ten years not to call me that shit! It's the name of a retarded fucking cartoon duck, man! That's what Launchpad is, and that's not me! That's far from me, and I'm tired of that shit! After all this time, he's still stuck on that shit, man! Like we're still the years old!"
"Everybody relax," Louie tried to calm them in his diplomatic manner. "It's been a long time, and this isn't what we've come back together to do... is it?" Upon the conclusion of his question, he looked at Jake for reassurance.
"That's right," Jacob seconded, breaking the adversarial staring contest he'd been maintaining with Donnell. Neither gave looks or words of apology, and neither backed away from their positions.
"Then what the fuck are we doing here?" Donnell asked. "I've got shit I gotta do, man, I ain't got time for this bullshit! I don't even know why I came! Ain't none of you fucks said shit to me since Timmy, why you calling me out here now?"
"Look," Jacob said, nobody paying an ounce of attention to the sickly dog between them anymore. "I need you guys to help me, that's what we're doing here! I'm sure you guys have seen this ice that's been all over town, and I hope you all see it as the serious problem that it is!"
"Yeah," Rambo commented after a moment of silence. A moment in which each of them reflected on their experiences with substance. It had touched all of their lives, in one way or another, and they considered the various ways internally before Louie broke the quiet. "My dad's been talking a lot about it, it's everywhere."
"Is that the stuff that smells like nail polish remover?" Chucky asked, still just as far behind the curve as he'd always been. "The stuff that people smoke?"
"Smoke it, snort it, shoot it," Donnell added, "yeah, that's what it is."
"I think I know where it's coming from," Jake explained, "and I want to go out there and shut it all down. That's what I've called you all for, I want you to help me step on this bug before it's bigger than all of us."
Donnell seemed perturbed by this, his eyes locking with Jacob's again with notes of concern and angst in them. "And how do you suppose we do that?" He asked.
"We kill it at the source," Jacob said, "where it's all coming from. We cut off the head, and the beast dies."
"Where's that?" Louie wondered, surprised that Jake would know when his father, the sheriff, didn't seem to.
"The Super Socket Fasteners factory," Jake offered. "That is where it's coming from."
This snapped Donnell's head and raised his eyebrows. He was quick to recall the expression, though, and he'd done it before anyone else had noticed. "What makes you think that?" he asked, his eyes unblinking.
"It's all Boudreaux talks about," Jake continued, " and I have reason to believe that he's involved with its production and distribution."
"Wait, that's crazy!" Louie exclaimed with a chuckle. "You think my dad's deputy is responsible for all of this? Do you have any idea how hard it would be for him to do that right under my father's nose?"
"I do," Jake concluded, "and he's doing it! I don't know what the rest of you believe about that man, but I see him every day and he's a monster! The worst kind of monster, and I want to shut him down!"
"You've lost your mind!" Donnell suggested, scanning the group with slightly cloudier eyes than he had at first. "That shit ain't got nothing to do with Boudreaux, and -- what's more -- it ain't got nothing to do with us! We're not ten years old anymore, Jake, like I already said! We're not ten years old and ru
nning around playing detectives, thinking we've really got a clue what the fuck we're doing! And this ain't no game, either! This is big shit, and we've got no business sticking our noses in it! This shit is way over our heads!"
"The murders weren't big shit?" Jake asked defiantly.
"Of course they were," Donnell conceded, "but we never really had a shot at cracking them! We were fucking around, like kids do! It's not like we were really close to anything! We might as well have been playing tag, it was bullshit! If we had been a threat to The Butcher, we would've been up shit's creek! If we get close to this... if we get a hand on this... believe me, man... we'll be far up shit's creek!"
"So what?" Jake asked. "We just let it go? We just let this shit take over the town and don't do a damned thing about it?"
"We be teenagers, man," Donnell said, "and we leave the grown-up shit for the cops!"
"I have to agree with Donnell," Louie added. "If you have proof of something, give it to my dad. He'll take care of it."
Jacob was amazed at what he was hearing, as it was so different than anything the group had ever said to each other in the past. It was as though growing older, and presumably stronger, had totally pussified his pals. They had been brave and fearless in the past, and now they were acting like nothing but a band of terrified children.
As a result, they would not be going to the Super Socket Fasteners factory today. Not as the reunited Burlwood Boys. They wouldn't be doing anything as the Burlwood Boys ever again, because time had pulled them apart and made them incompatible with each other. What once was could no longer be, and it would never be again. The times in which they were a unified force of friends was over, and there was no recovery from what their individual experiences had done to them.
"Alright, well I see this isn't going anywhere," Jake finally admitted. "Just forget I called, just go home and do your own things."
"You ain't gotta tell me twice!" Donnell answered, storming away immediately.
Louie Rambo hesitated for a moment, looking over his old pals and the sick dog with remorse in his face. He wasn't up for what Jake was suggesting either, but he hated to see their friendship end on such a sour note. Hoping to spare some piece of what had been, hoping to hold on to some aspect of what they used to have, he spoke kindly and with caring before walking away. "You guys should take that dog to the vet."
Their trip to SSF cancelled, Jake and Chucky climbed into the Buick with the afflicted animal. Within an hour, Doctor Morris would tell them that Ruger had distemper. Within two, the dog would be dead at the behest of a loaded syringe. Within three, Chucky would be a crying mess and Jake would be planning to topple Ron Boudreaux all alone.
Regardless of how it happened, he was going to bring the man down....
FORTY-NINE