“I see. Who’s your primary target?”
“Sheriff Mondale.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, he split pretty quick. Packed light and left town. I lost him, I’m embarrassed to say. You have any idea where he might’ve gone?” Chowder shrugged. “Well, if you have any ideas, lemme know, huh?”
“Why would you want to follow Jimmy Mondale?”
Jordan put his hand on top of a bag of chips and his voice became mock sincere. “No offense, Charles, but you’re just not the bigger fish here. When I take down Jim Mondale it’s going to make my career.” He stifled a grin and added, “I’m sorry, you didn’t think I was really spending all this energy coming after you, did you?” He broke out that movie-star smile and amped up the wattage. “Now that’s cute.” He let the smile slack a little. “You’ve made a good name for yourself, Charles. Really. Good for you. You wanna keep that good name, though? Help me help yourself and your family. Mondale’s lost it. He’s going down and who knows what he’ll do to keep that from happening?”
Chowder’s stomach bubbled audibly.
“Just saying, those who come to me first, before accusations start flying? Usually get the better shake.” He picked up his groceries and popped a handful of chips into his mouth and munched them noisily. He started to leave, but stopped and turned to Chowder. “Speaking of accusations flying. Any truth to the rumor it was your daughter who ran the sheriff’s little girl off the road that night?” He studied Chowder’s face for a moment. “No? Hmm. That’s good. I’d hate to see something bad happen to her when the sheriff gets wind of the same rumor. I hope people quit saying that. She sure seems like a real sweet girl.”
He walked out the front door and toward his car parked on the far side of the lot where it’d been for an hour. Chowder wiped the counter free of crumbs from the chips and found Assistant State Attorney Dennis Jordan’s card left there for him. He picked it up and held it close to his face to study.
He started to throw it away, but stopped. Then he put it in his wallet.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TERRY
The Mexican population was a small, but growing minority in Hamilton County, a fact that alarmed most of its citizens. They were a cluster that were rarely spotted outside the borders of Beantown, but were large enough to have their own grocery store in Spruce that stocked mini tortillas and a rainbow coalition of salsa and beans. They also had their own video store with Mex titles starring big-tittied, big-hipped Mex starlets. The movies were big on guns and mustache wax. They also had their own liquor store.
The volume wouldn’t be large enough to make a worthwhile score of the cash register, but there was a neighborhood Mex lottery held on Friday nights and Heck figured they could hit that stash tonight for enough to make a good weekend for the three of them at a brothel he knew in West Memphis.
One advantage, Heck figured, was that it probably wouldn’t even be reported to the police, seeing as how the lottery was unregulated. “Rock on,” agreed Cal as Terry opened the window so that the breeze would brace him enough to be a getaway driver.
They parked across the street and Cal put the car in neutral and pulled the parking brake. Terry slid beneath the wheel and rested one palm on top and one on the stick. “I got this bitch,” he said, confident on adrenaline and racial superiority.
Cal popped the glove box and grabbed a mask, then he and Heck strode across the pavement like it was the streets of Laredo. Heck kicked open the door unnecessarily and the cowboys charged in brandishing weapons. With the windows rolled down, Terry could hear the muffled shouts and make out the flailing of arms between the window posters for exotic Mex liquors and Budweiser, the king in any language. He wished that he were in there too. The testosterone surge had produced instant facial stubble and he thought about what kind of whore he’d select for the weekend.
It was taking longer than usual for one of these jobs, but he figured that was to be expected since there would be a separate safe for the lottery money. Maybe the greasers were giving them trouble about it, denying it and playing dumb.
Fucking beaner trash,
he thought.
Give it up.
A small contingent of civilians was beginning to collect on the sidewalk, somehow aware that something was going down. Spooky how the ethnics were connected like that. A couple of them even turned and looked at Terry who extended his bandaged middle finger to them out the window. He revved the motor as the front door burst open and a masked Heck emerged pistol in one hand, grocery bag in the other. The glass door shut behind him and was instantly painted red in a single blast.
Heck didn’t even turn around. He sprinted across the street and began fumbling with the door handle. Terry stared at the shop door as the red paint began to slide down, effluvia separating and streaking the now-cracked, spider-webbed glass. It was flung open again and a stout Mexican woman with a shotgun stepped over the headless corpse of Cal and took aim at the car.
“Go, go, go.” urged Heck.
“Shit, shit, shit.” countered Terry. The car lurched and died at the same moment Heck was flung across the seat and into Terry’s lap. He was missing the right side of his face. “Shit, motherfuck!” The car started again and Terry pushed Heck to the other side of the cab. He clipped a parked car and had to use the back of his right hand to clear the blood and hair from the windshield. He succeeded only in smearing it before he had to shift again.
The car lurched a second time, but didn’t die, and he picked up speed while the back window exploded. A sharp pain in his neck turned warm instantly and he gunned the car. Reaching to the windshield again, he scrubbed harder and cleared a window just large enough that he was able to register the streetlight before he struck it.
MONDALE
He found the hospital by calling each one on the list he got from information, asking for Elizabeth’s room number till he got a hit. He trolled the gift shop for an appropriate card to express himself and settled on a tasteful black and white image of a woman with a newborn baby cradled against her. Inside, the sentiment was rhymy and he didn’t quite follow it, but figured that wasn’t too important. He had to borrow a pen to sign it with and then froze up deciding what to sign. “Dad?” “Your Father?” “Love?” “Sincerely?” “Jimmy?” He ended up scrawling “I love you,” and left it at that. Then he folded the card gently into his breast pocket.
He had no intention of barging in there uninvited, but made himself comfortable in the waiting room and settled in for the night.
Shirley found him a little past midnight, on her way to find some food. “Jimmy, what are you doing here?”
Mondale smiled at his ex-wife and the reality of the situation broke through to him for the first time. He reached out to hug her without thinking. “Hey, Grandma, how’s our girl?” He kissed her neck and took a deep sample of her smell.
“Liz is great, Jim, and Lilly is beautiful. You should go in and see them.”
“Not yet. I don’t want to intrude. I know nobody is expecting me tonight.”
“You’re right, there. But it’s great you could make it. Liz may give some attitude, but she’ll be happy to see you.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m on a mission. We’re starving.”
“Can I come with you?”
Shirley hesitated only a second. “Of course. Come on, Grandpa.”
They took Shirley’s car to the twenty-four hour Dunkin’ Donuts where they loaded up on pastries and coffee. Jimmy insisted on paying and listened to her recount the story of the labor and delivery. The two of them should be proud, she’d said when they got back in her car, their little girl had done so well. Neither spoke for a moment and Shirley didn’t start the car. Jimmy looked at her and saw the tremble in her lips. It triggered his own and they both began to cry simultaneously.
Jimmy reached for her and she allowed him to hold her, sliding her arms under his and around his back. She snorted and Jimmy squeezed her tighter. “I’m so sorry, Shirl, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault, it’s –”
“No, no, it’s not, Jim. She was –”
“God, I miss her so much.” She gripped him so tightly he didn’t think he’d be able to breathe. He cried harder than he had since childhood and completely lost control of it. There was no reigning it in now. Great heaving sobs racked him and he buried his face in her shoulder.
For ten minutes they clutched each other and Jimmy never let up. After some time, Shirley took his head and laid it in her lap and stroked his hair. He let her do it while he continued to shake. “Shhh.” She soothed him until he was finished.
“I’m sorry I was no use at the funeral.”
“Shhhh.”
“I fell apart, Shirl.”
“We’ve got a beautiful granddaughter waiting for us to spoil her.” He picked himself up and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Shirley reached into the Dunkin’ Donuts bag for napkins, which she used on her shirt and jeans.
His phone began to vibrate in his pocket and Jimmy fished it out. He checked the number. Chowder’s disposable again. He ignored it. “Oh, man, Shirl. I’ll buy you some new clothes.”
Shirley began to chuckle. “I am a mess.”
TERRY
He woke up in a hospital room. Nurses came in every half hour, police too, but he wasn’t speaking yet. He barely registered anyone’s presence. Someone snapped their fingers and he followed the sound to a deputy who spoke his name.
“Hickerson. Terry Hickerson. You hear me?”
He must have nodded his head because the next thing he knew they were wheeling him out of the hospital and taking him to the police station. At the station Terry was seated at a folding table in the break room that doubled for an interrogation space. His head cleared disturbingly quickly as he eyed the Doritos in the vending machine and his stomach bubbled. The deputy came back in the room ten minutes later with two Styrofoam cups of weak government coffee. In the light, Terry read his name:
Musil
.
“What the fuck time is it, Deputy Musil?”
“Two-thirty.”
“What time you feature I might get to bed?”
“Just depends on your willingness to cooperate.”
“Shit, then I am never going to sleep tonight.”
“I just want you to answer a few questions.”
“See, and I don’t want to.”
Musil took a sip of coffee and swished it around his mouth. He smiled a sad smile at Terry like he pitied him. It pissed Terry off. Musil leaned back and turned his attention toward the snack machine. He said, “These damn apple pies are making me fat. See, the problem is that coffee is a necessity and what’s available here is shit.” Musil indicated the coffee in front of Terry, which did look poor. “The only thing that makes it drinkable are these sugar bomb ‘pastries’ and the only thing that makes them tolerable is the bitter-ass coffee.”
Musil punched a button and the machine shat out a green paper-wrapped apple pie. The policeman peeled it lengthwise, like a banana, and tore off a corner causing white cracks to shoot through the sugar coating. “I bet I could leave one of these in a bowl of milk overnight and it wouldn’t be soggy in the morning.” He popped the piece into his mouth, took another swig of the coffee and swallowed. “Terry,” he said, “this has got to be your shit year.”
Terry had no objections to that statement, but he had some designs on turning it around. “I know, y’all are about as tired of my ass as I am of yours, so how ’bout you just lemme get on home and go to sleep.”
Musil chuckled. “You’re half-right. But you’re gonna have to do a lot better than saying ‘please’ to make me let you go home.”
“I know how this works, so how bout this: how ’bout I give Chowder Thompson to you on a plate?” He let his offer hang in the air and settle over the fat cop. It looked to be having the desired effect. He had the policeman’s full attention. “He’s a drug-running pimp parked in your very own back yard, and I will bring him in. Would that interest you? Why don’t you go ahead and get me a lawyer while you consider what that’d be worth to you?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHOWDER
Irm was on the couch in Darlin’s office, half-baked and watching TV when Chowder arrived. Randy peeked his head in from the kitchen and Chowder told him to get lost. Randy grabbed his breakfast and took it outside while Chowder looked at Irm watching
Ren & Stimpy
.
As soon as he was out the door, Chowder walked over to the television and snapped it off. He turned to Irm who looked up at him, impishly amused by his frustration. After a moment, she said, “Yes?”
“You heard any interesting rumors lately?”
She shrugged.
“About yourself?”
Irm straightened and shook her head. “Like what?”
“I’m hearing that you ran Eileen Mondale off the road.” The control he had on his voice was slipping. Irm was stonewalling him. “Killed her.”
Irm looked him in the eyes for ten seconds then tried, “Sorry?”
Chowder turned around and kicked the TV off its stand, but when it failed to shatter on the rug he put his fist through the kitchenette wall. “Tell me it’s not true.”
“It’s not true?”
Chowder’s face turned purple and Irm chuckled.
“Was an accident. She was driving that asshole’s truck. I was just trying to fuck with him. Who the hell is saying this anyway?”
“Assistant State’s Attorney. Wants me to help him bring down Mondale.”
Irm looked interested now. Invested. She sat up. “Well, I hate the sheriff, but fuck that.”
“Yeah, well it’s all of it fucked now, Irma. If I don’t turn on the sheriff, he’s going to tell Mondale what you did.”
“Can’t prove anything.”
“He doesn’t have to, Irm.”
Irm nodded her head and smiled.
“You want to go to prison?”
“I’m not afraid of prison.”
“The choice between going there and not is no choice at all.”
Irm rolled her eyes. “Spare me, dad. He’s your friend and your problem. You want my help, just ask.”
Chowder picked up the cheap metal chair in front of the desk and hurled it across the room. It put marks in the plaster of the wall on the far side.
Irm stood and bumped him with her chest. “I am ready to help you, old man, but I am not prepared to take any more of your shit.” She poked his sternum with two stiff fingers. “You’ve been playing house with the police so long now, you think it’s what you want.” She turned and walked toward the kitchen. “I suppose it’s got advantages, but I’m prepared to live the other way. Just cause you got old and comfortable don’t mean the world did too.” She opened the fridge and grabbed a beer in a can. Popping the tab, she continued. “So just say it, dad. Who do you want me to get? You want me to pop this lawyer? Want me to make sure the sheriff don’t ever hear about it? Say it.”
Chowder pointed at her. “Just stay out of my way.”
He slammed the door as he left.
MONDALE
Holding his granddaughter had sobered him up. Priorities reasserted themselves and all the world’s problems were reduced into neat stacks he organized instinctually into two camps: things I give a shit about, and all the rest. He looked around the hospital room at his daughter lying there all swollen and exhausted, but glowing and proud, her dull husband oozing protectiveness and parental instinct, his ex-wife watching him hold the future in his arms and not a drop of ill will or condescension in her stance, and Jimmy couldn’t deny that even her new husband, the man who made a cuckold of him, belonged here. He realized that everything outside the door belonged in the latter category.
Lilly’s eyes opened halfway and he held her face near his own. They smelled each other. She moved her mouth, opened and closed it twice and that was all. She closed her eyes again and he kissed her and handed her over to proud papa. Then he knelt over Elizabeth lying in her recovery bed and whispered. “So proud of you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, Dad,” she answered.
He replayed the scene non-stop on the drive home. He had elected to leave while he was ahead. Give everybody some space and not push his luck.
He pulled out his phone to hear his messages. His mailbox was full. Everybody thought they had important things to tell him, but they were wrong. Chowder had left three messages of escalating urgency. Bob Musil said that they needed to talk right away, and Julie Sykes was demanding he return her call. He thought he’d start there.
She picked up on the second ring. “Hello.”
“Hey, I thought you might be working.”
“Jimmy? Yeah, I’m on my lunch break.”
“Good. Listen, lemme take you to dinner tonight. I’ve been a jerk and I want to make it up to you.”
She chuckled, a little unsure of herself. “Yeah, you’ve been a pill.”
“Look, Lizzy had her baby last night and I’m on my way back from Kansas City right now.”
“Oh my god, Jimmy, you’re a grandpa.”
“You still want to have dinner with me?”
“Yeah, of course. We’ll celebrate.”
“Alright, I’ll call you when I’m back.”
They agreed to talk later and Jimmy crossed one item off of his to-do list. On to the next. He got Musil’s voicemail. His deputy must have been working the late shift last night and been asleep at the moment. “Bob, it’s Jimmy. I’ve been in K.C. Liz had her baby last night. Lilly Eileen.” He choked on the name, but caught himself and recovered quickly. “She’s seven pounds, six ounces, twenty-one inches, and perfect. Give me a call when you’re up. I’ll be back soon.” He started to hang up, but added, “And Bob, listen, I’m uh, I’m good. I’m better now. Don’t have to worry about me. Thanks.”
He punched in Chowder’s number and turned the radio up as Otis Redding’s “These Arms of Mine” began. He was humming along when Chowder’s gruff voice cut through. “Called you fifteen hours ago.”
“What’s going on?”
“We have to talk.”
“On my way. Hour and a half wherever you want.” They made arrangements and hung up. Jimmy rolled his eyes. Touchy.
TERRY
He woke up in his cell feeling thick. A pain behind his right eye was his compass, but he was unable to make satisfactory sense of his surroundings. He tried to sit up, but was unable to correctly gauge his vertical and over-rotated, catching himself on his elbow lying on the other side. The weight of his head was like a bag of bowling balls and he dipped forward. He snapped his head up and used his hands to help steady himself.
The light inside was oppressive and he squinted to minimize it. “Hello?” he croaked, barely audibly. There was a scraping sound on the floor as the policeman sitting outside his cell moved his chair.
“Hey, you’re alive.”
“Water?” Terry said, as if he were unsure such a thing existed.
“Sure thing, buddy. You’re in luck, there’s a drinking fountain in your cell, there. Go ahead, help yourself.”
If his thirst were not so severe, he wouldn’t even dignify the policeman’s sarcasm with a glance, but the suggestion of a cold drink was too much to resist. Of course there was no drinking fountain in the cell. The policeman had been referring to the toilet, which, in his present state, did look appealing. Really, it was pretty clean and he was sure the water would be cold.
Fuck it.
He bent over the bowl and heard the policeman chuckle. He cupped his hands and reached into the cool water and splashed his face. It did feel good. The next dip, he came up with a handful that he turned and splashed on the man in the chair.
“Shit!” cried the deputy.
Terry laughed. “I want my phone call.”
“Good fuckin luck, shitbird.” The policeman wiped water off of his face and got up to leave the room.
“Hey, I want a phone call and a lawyer.” But Terry was already alone again.
MONDALE
He was pulling off of the main road onto the dirt path winding into the woods when Bob Musil returned his call. Jimmy picked it up. “Bob.”
“Jim, where you at?”
“Almost home. What’s up?”
Mondale could hear his deputy cupping his hand over the mouthpiece for privacy. “We’ve got a problem. Hickerson and two of his buddies robbed a liquor store halfway to Neosho last night. Cal Dotson and Heck Moeller were killed by the owner.”
Shit. “What about Hickerson?”
“He crashed his car, suffered a concussion, but he’s alright. We’ve got him in custody.”
“What’s the problem, then?”
“He’s not keen on doing any time.”
“No?”
“He’s offering us Chowder Thompson.”
Shitwhore
.
“Says he knows all about Chowder’s drug business and prostitution.”
Mondale parked his car and shut off the engine.
“Jim, you there?”
“How long before you kick him loose?”
“Dunno. He’s squawking for a lawyer. We’ve got him isolated. I gotta go now, so meet me at the Come Back Again in an hour, we’ll hash it out, but we can’t keep a lid on him much longer.”
Mondale folded the phone back into his pocket and opened the door. He looked around him realizing that this land was once the wild west. And that it still was.
He said aloud, “The hell we can’t.”
CHOWDER
The place was a grassy, shady fishing spot outside of Spruce on the northeast edge of Hamilton County. It required a ten-minute hike to reach and that was the main reason they’d used it as a meeting place for so long. The remoteness discouraged spying. Here they could speak frankly and not worry about being seen together.
Chowder had his knife out, methodically stripping a tree branch when Jimmy Mondale appeared. Chowder dropped the smoothed stick and stood. “You picked a hell of a time to go AWOL.”
“Keep your pants on, I’m here now and ready to work.”
“Put your house in order, then. ASA is coming for you.”
“Pencil-dick politician. He got anything?”
“Just a whiff, far as I know. But sooner or later he’s gonna approach the right person.”
“Who is there outside your family and my deputy?”
“I’m just saying.”
“Fine. Meantime, that dipshit with the mangled hands is offering you to the government to keep his ass outta jail.”
Chowder looked down and realized that the decision had been made long ago. “He’s gotta go. Too bad the whole world saw you wreck his beat-off mitts the other day.”
“Much as I’d like to do it myself,” He looked imploringly at Chowder, then added, “we’re gonna need witnesses to say I was elsewhere.”
Motherwhoring shit-ass week.