The Lost: Book Two, The Eddie McCloskey Series (The Unearthed 2) (2 page)

Kindle
r
said, “We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot and I want to make it up to you.”

This reeked of a set-up.

Kindler closed on him and snaked an arm around Eddie’s shoulder and continued talking like he’d just ingested a kilo of speed.

“Crazy cold, huh? Maybe the Mayans were right, maybe 2012 is the end, huh? You know, Nostradamus predicted it. So did Aramis. Or Dumas. Or that other frog … Hugo? I don’t know.” Kindler let go of Eddie. “End of the world, or a new age, or both. Nobody knows. Nobody knows. Buy you a drink? You thirsty?”

Whitmore watched this whole display stoically. He didn’t roll his eyes but his left eyebrow arched due north. His cold gaze never left Eddie.

Eddie was still suffering from acute awkwardness but managed to blurt, “I’ll have a drink.”

Kindler gave George the nod, and the bartender went to work.

“Let’s grab a booth. More privacy. We can talk.” Kindler looked around like the place was crowded. But other than them, only Lenny the Drunk was patronizing the bar, and he was busy checking his eyelids for holes.

Kindler led the way to the last booth and sat with his back to the wall so he could watch the bar. Eddie didn’t want his back to the door, but Kindler didn’t move over for him so he sat opposite. The booths were designed for one person a side, so when Lieutenant Whitmore nudged Eddie over he felt trapped.

Nobody said anything.

Kindler’s lips smiled but his eyes declined to join the fun so Eddie just stared at him, perplexed.

Whitmore made a big production of peeling his gloves off one finger at a time.

George brought a tray of drinks. He deposited a shot and a beer in front of Kindler, a pint of lager in front of Eddie.

George had another beer on the tray, but Whitmore held out a palm like he was directing traffic. “On duty, George. No thanks.”

George put the last beer in front of Kindler too. Before he left he managed to look disapprovingly at Eddie.

Eddie laughed. He didn’t know how else to react to the bizarre situation.

Startled, Kindler almost tromboned the shot of Canadian Club but managed to keep it down which of course only made Eddie laugh more. Even Whitmore cracked a smile in spite of his earnest Dirty Harry demeanor.

“I’ll cut to it,” Kindler said. “Something I want to ask you.”

Eddie assumed they were about to go First Blood on him so he might as well have a good time before he got his head bashed in or before he was run out of town. “I didn’t kill Kennedy.”

Whitmore frowned at Eddie’s joke. Kindler didn’t seem to get it.

“Look, Kindler, I know you’d like nothing better than for me to leave your little fiefdom, but I like it here so I’m going to stick around for awhile.”

Eddie swigged his beer and looked from Kindler to Whitmore. Nobody said anything.

Eddie put his beer down. “Last night, you and the manbots were about to do the Mexican hat dance on my face and now you’re buying me a beer?”

“Forget last night. I was just playing, wanted to see if you had any bottle. All in good fun.”

“I get it. You want me out. But I won’t go willingly.”

Kindler frowned. “Eddie, that’s the last thing I want.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say so he sipped some more beer. Whitmore made a big show of looking away as if he didn’t approve of this conversation.

Kindler’s frown flipped to a smile. “I want you to stay.”

Eddie couldn’t square the Marty Kindler sitting across from him with the guy who, less than twenty four hours ago, had been ready to use him as a punching bag.

Eddie had broken one of the unwritten rules of this town: never talk back to Marty Kindler. The Kindler family had opened the Mill sixty years ago and for fifty-nine of those years had provided good jobs to the locals. At least, that was how some of the people saw it. Others feared him for the same reason they loathed him, because he had money. Many in the town just thought of him as a dangerous but incompetent twit, somebody who couldn’t figure out where to put his dick even after watching a porno.

“You’re thinking about last night.” Kindler waved a hand in front of his face as if to suggest the details were meaningless. “Forget it. I was just seeing what kind of soul you had. Two kinds in this world.”

“Yeah. The living and the dead ones,” Eddie said.

Whitmore groaned like he had kidney stones and rolled his eyes. Kindler did a double-take as if Eddie had just laid some profound truth on him.

“Exactly right. Exactly. But we’ll get to the dead ones later. I was only talking about the living ones. You know, two kinds of living ones.”

Eddie looked to Whitmore again. So far, the cop hadn’t given him the MIranda or otherwise invoked his authority.

Whitmore patted down his unpat-downable buzz cut. “We’re just here to have a word.”

“You’re not here to arrest me?” Eddie said, heavy on the skepticism.

Whitmore stiffened. “You done something worthy of arrest?”

“Not unless you want legal trouble.”

Whitmore’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “I don’t have much of a sense of humor about arresting someone.”

“I’d say you don’t have much of a sense of humor about anything.”

It was an incredibly dumb thing to say. But Eddie said it anyway. He didn’t like being boxed in, didn’t like cops trying to push him around when he hadn’t done anything.

Kindler reached across the table and patted Whitmore’s shoulder. “Ease up, Lieutenant.” Kindler looked at Eddie. “Eddie, cops are a necessary evil. They’re just part of the simulation.”

Eddie had no idea what Kindler was on about and Whitmore might as well have been a cigar store Indian the way he was sitting there. Eddie decided to listen and suck down as many free brewskis as Kindler was willing to buy.

Kindler said, “George, my man’s dry over here!”

Ove
r
the last year, Eddie had almost gotten used to the questions.

He waited for Kindler to start the interrogation, deciding he would be truthful up to a point. He was prepared for the usual bullshit:

Where do you come from?

Why are you here?

How long are you staying?

Ad nauseam.

The answers:

Eddie McCloskey.

From Jersey, South Jersey.

I don’t know how long I plan to stay.

I have a job.

Eddie had found this town on a map through a quick Google search. Small town. Hit hard by the devastating one-two combination of the economic recession and the impending closure of the Mill. Before arriving, he’d called around, gotten a few non-committal answers about employment, had landed on a conditional yes from a local grocer. The guy wasn’t old enough to be a real hippie, but he was trying hard. His name was Victor and he answered the phone by saying, “Think Global, Buy Local.” Victor had told Eddie that he could probably give him a job but he’d have to interview face-to-face first.

Victor had asked him one question. “You going to work hard for me?”

Eddie told him yes, which was true, and was grateful Victor hadn’t run a background check.

Eddie started working on his fresh beer while he eyeballed Kindler. He had a round, puffy face that looked shot up with collagen and unstylishly long hair. He had really bad breath. Really bad. He also had the unfortunate habit of leaning forward when he talked which compounded the breath thing.

Kindler leaned in close like they were a couple Greeks drinking ouzo.

Kindler said, “I really believe in a higher power. Somebody’s up there watching. Fate. Things happen for a reason. You’re here, I’m here, this bar was put here, George is the …” indler’s voice dropped off and he shook his head as if that would clear his jumbled thoughts.

“What I’m saying is, the timing is key. We’ve reached critical mass and here you are.”

Eddie said nothing.

Kindler started up again suddenly, like an old lawn mower. “The Mill is, unfortunately, going to close. Nothing we can do about it. That’s how it is. You know? And you’re here now. Just when things are heating up.”

Eddie took a long drink from the beer.

“Not to strike a discordant note, Kindler, but I’ve got no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Kindler gave Eddie the stiff one eye then shook it off. “I know who you are, Eddie McCloskey.”

This caught Eddie off-guard. He tensed and wondered if that explained Deputy Dog’s presence. He hadn’t done anything illegal.

Kindler leaned ever closer. His pupils were dilated. Guy was probably on something and the booze was amping up the effects.

Kindler killed his Canadian Club and chased it with the beer. “I know who you are and I could use your help.”

“I don’t know what you want but I promise I can’t help.”

Eddie tried to stand up. There wasn’t enough room in the booth, and the table butted against his thighs. Whitmore again didn’t move and his eyes went from neutral to hostile without stopping at interested.

“You’ll hear Mr. Kindler out,” Whitmore said. “Or there’ll be trouble. Just like us folks, I’m sure the good people of New Jersey take a dim view of parole violators.”

Kindler grabbed Eddie’s wrist. “Please. Just hear me out.”

Eddie broke Kindler’s hold of his wrist by executing an elbow flick he’d learned in tae kwon do as a kid.

“The hell are you talking about, parole violation?”

“Pot’s illegal in this state, McCloskey.”

“What’s that got to do with me?” Eddie said.

“We both know what I’m talking about.” Whitmore’s eyes narrowed to venetian blinds.

Eddie could see the meanness behind those eyes now. Whitmore was enjoying himself. He was waiting for Eddie to do something stupid. He would show the drifter who the man was. He was Hitler, without the charm.

Drifting was proving to be problematic. Third town this year, since he’d left the joint.

And he was starting to like this little town. Nice library, couple of passable bars, some willing women both single and married, though nowadays he shied away from the married ones. He’d been on the receiving end of one too many cuckolded fists. There was nothing as disconcerting as a wronged husband armed with an assault rifle.

Whitmore’s accusation surprised Eddie, but he knew the source of the problem. His co-worker, Ana, had thrown an impromptu get-together two weeks ago. He had no business hanging out with a bunch of twenty-year-olds, but he had nothing better to do and he liked Ana. Then someone broke out the ganga and passed around a community joint. It had been so long that Eddie was tempted. He looked at the joint for a moment, knowing that one drag was harmless, but all the same drugs had landed him in prison and he wasn’t going back.

He’d passed the joint along, not taking a hit.

“I haven’t smoked any pot, Lieutenant.”

“Let’s not get excited.” Kindler was trying to smooth things over. “We’re all reasonable men. Rational animals. Homo sapiens.”

Eddie ignored him. “Charge me. I know a good lawyer.”

“All the trouble you’ve been in, I’ll bet you do,” Whitmore said.

An iceberg slid down Eddie’s spine. These guys had done their homework. They knew about his past. They had him and everybody knew it. He was cornered. Fear and anger washed over him. He had to listen to this Kindler clown now and make like he was interested in what he had to say. First chance he got he’d be tail lights and find another little town, maybe head down south.

Eddie sat back down.

“There’s money in it, Eddie,” Kindler said. “A man should be paid for his work.”

With this, Whitmore rose and went to the bar, apparently disgusted that he wouldn’t be making an arrest.

Eddie knew what Kindler wanted from him. He had heard the rumors. Ana had mentioned to him that she and her friends were already investigating the strange goings-on.

“This town is haunted,” Kindler said.

“Cal
l
the Ghostbusters,” Eddie said.

Kindler guffawed. Ordered two more beers, which Eddie did not object to.

“I’m serious, Eddie, something big is going down and this town is the epicenter.”

Epicenter
? Eddie looked over at Whitmore. “Why are you here, Lieutenant? Don’t tell me you’re buying into this bullshit.”

Whitmore faced Eddie. “Just for the record, hot shot, I’m here to warn you.”

“About Casper the friendly ghost and his buddies?”

Whitmore smiled in spite of himself. Then he went for the kill. “We all know how your last investigation turned out. One child butchered, your brother gutted, almost two more dead.”

Eddie almost burst out of the booth and strangled Whitmore. But that was exactly what the cop wanted. He was seeing red but forced himself to stay seated.

“What’s your stake in this, Whitmore? Police Chief, the next go around?”

Once again, Eddie had gone too far. Whitmore approached him, violence in his eyes.

“I don’t care if you take or leave this job. I’m not going to force you to do anything. But your criminal history is a matter of record. You’re on parole. A drug charge right now would throw your sorry ass right back in the hoosegow where you’ll have to worry about dropping the soap. I’d also be in my rights to let your employer know about your checkered past. It’s your choice.”

The timing couldn’t have been worse. Eddie had yet to receive his first check from the store. Victor, his boss, seemed a good egg but you never knew about people. Once they knew you were an ex-con they looked at you differently, like they couldn’t trust you and more often than not they were right.

He’d split the life insurance proceeds with his dead brother’s fiancee. At the time, it had seemed liked a lot of money. He’d thought he’d invest some, maybe buy some real estate. His investing skills proved to be less than exceptional and … then there were the lawyer’s costs. He’d racked up legal fees like they were bar tabs. The best laid plans ...

“Now, now Lieutenant, let’s all calm down,” Kindler said.

Whitmore’s mouth twitched and he gave Kindler a look that could freeze the sun. “Marty, you want this vagrant to help you, that’s your deal. I don’t have to like it though.” Whitmore returned to the bar and gave them his back.

Kindler watched the cop for a moment before facing Eddie again. He lowered his voice. “Listen, Eddie, I know what happened all those years ago wasn’t your fault. If anything, I’d say you saved two lives out there on that terrible day.”

Eddie grimaced. One of those he’d saved was Sean McKenna, but McKenna didn’t see things that way. He blamed Eddie for the death of his son and wanted Eddie dead. In fact, Eddie was reasonably certain McKenna had already tried to have him killed once.

Kindler’s voice rose to full volume again. “Eddie, what’s happening here is far past exciting, it’s life-changing. You can be a big part of this, with your experience and knowledge. It’s why you came here of all the places you could have gone. You were drawn here.”

“I picked the name of this town off Wikipedia. It was the third name on the list. I like the number three.”

“Don’t you see, Eddie? Three, the number three, the trinity. All things holy. I’m telling you Eddie it’s as plain as the nose on your face.”

“What about Ana? What has she done?” Eddie asked.

Kindler leaned in conspiratorially. “Ana! Ana, Ana, Bo-bana. Good-looking little philly and I bet she’s hell in the sack.”

Kindler had a way of saying things that would creep out Jeffrey Dahmer. Not that Eddie hadn’t had some impure thoughts himself about the nubile Ana. But she was young and innocent and nice. Eddie did not want to be the one that tainted her.

“Nice girl,” Eddie said.

Kindler touched the side of his nose and pointed at Eddie like they were in on some joke together.

“She gets all her info about this sort of thing from movies and idiotic TV shows where these frauds are stumbling around in the dark with flashlights. Don’t get me wrong—she’s motivated and wants to do a good job, but she doesn’t have the tools. Hasn’t come up with anything solid.” Kindler had said this last part more to his beer than to Eddie.

“Maybe because there’s nothing solid to come up with. Ockham’s Razor.” Eddie was just talking to talk. He was really trying to figure out an exit strategy.

“Or more like the razor’s edge.” Kindler mumbled to his beer.

The guy wasn’t making sense again but Eddie let it go.

Kindler finally looked up at him. “Lots of people have seen things. Wondrous things. Things that will make your hair stand on end. This is all prologue to something huge. Mark my words. Something truly amazing is happening.”

Kindler had the eyes of a zealot but the sales skills of a used car peddler. If the phenomena were as prevalent as he was claiming, a professional team would have already ransacked the town. Each event would have been painstakingly researched, recorded, and reviewed. The three Rs.

Kindler leaned in. “I know what you’re thinking.”

Christ, I hope not, Eddie thought as he enjoyed more beer.

“I can read you like a book, Eddie. You’re wondering why no one else has come and looked into this yet, aren’t you?”

“The thought did occur to me.”

Kindler smiled. “You’ve got something to prove. You’re bruised. You need this to be true, even more than me. This is your chance, Eddie. Climb out of that hole you’ve dug for yourself.”

Maybe Kindler was smarter than Eddie gave him credit for.

“Three days work, Eddie. You’ll be handsomely compensated. Can you afford not to take this on?”

Eddie pretended to think about it. “If I do this, Kindler, I’m the Honcho. I don’t want anybody second-guessing what I do.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”