Kill 'Em With Kindness, page 6
“Unfucking believable,” Nick said, as they sat in the VW. The top was down and the smell on the summer breeze was honeysuckle, but it did nothing for the unnerving dread that had been rising since she told her story. She told him Chief had shot and killed three men in a city with exactly zero intentional shooting injuries, police or otherwise, in one-hundred fifty years. She said he was known to provide many services beyond the routine work of police chief. He was a dangerous man and now here Nick was playing lookout while Kimmy searched for her coins.
“You don’t even know if they’re still there.”
“They’re there.”
They watched Chief step out; huge, he lumbered down the steps of the station and got into the already running, AC-cooled cruiser. His destination was unknown but he seemed in a hurry, lights flashing but no siren. The cruiser bottomed out hard as the steep drive met the road. The V8 rumbled away and Kimmy got out of the VW.
“I’ll look for the coins. When I signal, you back up to the front steps.”
“We’re going to die, Kimmy. Both of us.”
“Not today,” she said and slammed the door. She walked across the street and went in the front entrance of the unmanned station, and Nick realized Kimmy had lifted a ring of keys from the station after Chief had burned her over the coins, the driving to Nick’s and turning on the faucets.
Nick tuned the radio but quickly shut it down to focus on the station. Two girls on bicycles pedaled past, in and out of Nick’s gaze. He dreaded a run-in with Chief, another dangerous man inserted into this bizarre fiasco. Nick managed to stay off the man’s radar for all his dealing years, but now he was front and center with Kimmy’s story. Would they go through with it? Would she hold fast to the lie she told the camera? Best he could hope was that she was successful in her plan. Chad dead and gone, things would go back to normal. Maybe Grete wouldn’t haunt his garage with the smell of exhaust anymore. Perhaps she would be alive again and not stuck in bed with a sadness he resented as he shuffled to work every morning at four, then found her in the same place when he returned in the afternoon. At first Nick had tried attentive care, but he couldn’t understand why she couldn’t snap out of it. After two months Nick began to waver between feelings of resentment and the general frustration he’d had since he first mentioned a doctor.
“I don’t want a doctor.” The words came out of her like hot spit.
“You don’t want to get better?”
“I don’t want to get better.”
She rolled over and hid from him, as she did now, and he stormed around the bed to face her.
“No!” he said. “What is this?”
“It’s my life,” she said. She was rubbing her swollen belly beneath the blanket. Her face was black, gaze empty, the brick of the old walls reflected in her wet eyes. She turned her eyes from the wall. “This is me,” and she punctuated her reply by rolling away from him.
It was then he began spending his evenings at Nate’s, drinking himself tired then coming home to her, sometimes watching her sleep before passing out in whatever corner of the house he’d end up. But first he watched, and her hands were never away from the near full-term baby inside her. And he wondered how long he should wait, for the baby’s sake, to have her committed. But he never got to make that call. She’d surprised him. Showed up at the golf course for a reason he never learned. He was up at the clubhouse talking to that fucker Kurt DeVries about the rumors going round. Kurt spoke in hushed tones and Nick tried to listen. He knew it was serious but she caught his eye, giant sunglasses hiding her face. She was in their car and wearing the pink bathrobe he hadn’t seen her out of in a trimester.
“These are serious allegations, Nick,” Kurt was saying. Nick looked at him.
“Allegations,” Nick said. “That’s all.” Then his attention was on the lot. The Shelby began to move, behind a stand of pines that blocked the lot from the practice range, and she was gone.
“If I go to the board with this.”
Nick shrugged it off, confident that a club member’s privacy would trump any complaint of illicit activity. He sold to some folks in the community who, though it was just a little marijuana, still had to maintain certain appearances. But Nick soon learned how serious Kurt was. He did go to the board, and Nick was pulled in that very day. And there on the table, between Nick and the five white-haired men, was a plastic bag containing a quarter ounce of pot. Nick knew it was his, but could they prove it? Didn’t matter. They didn’t have to. He could leave quietly with a small severance. “Baby on the way and all.” Or he could fight them, and yes, he might damage a reputation or two, but he was certain to find himself in a world of legal hurt. He didn’t want that, did he? Again, “baby on the way and all.”
Nick hated that he still had to think about this shit. So much later but here he was, still thinking as he waited, his mind a slave to the past. Nick felt the breeze and listened to the rough rustle of leaves shivering in his ears and making him nervous. He thought she’d be in and out but she was taking her time and Nick was nervous. He’d spent as much time with Chief as he cared to. But the alternative was Chad, and even though Nick knew that everyone involved was likely to end up in a worse spot if Kimmy were good to her word, Nick couldn’t argue that the man needed to go. After seeing what he’d done to Kimmy, not that he’d hurt her, but to the extent Chad was able to do so and laugh about it—or show nothing but a glow of privileged confidence, mistaking the ability to hurt with the right to do so.
If Nick already knew he’d be in a worse spot, he knew it completely when Chief’s cruiser returned.
Nick stepped out of the car and Chief turned to the running footsteps just as he began climbing the station steps. Nick stopped two steps below, craned his neck to look up at the towering man. He said the first thing he could think of.
“I want the tape.”
The big man grinned. “I’m sure you do. You’re in quite a spot now, aren’t you?”
Nick looked past Chief’s shoulder into the front glass for a glimpse of Kimmy. He looked into Chief’s brown aviators. “What’s it going to take?” he said.
“More than you got I’m sure. Now if you don’t mind,” Chief said. “Fucking go. Be a good little shit and get the fuck out of my face!” Chief stepped quickly toward him and Nick took a defensive step back down the stairs, stumbling. Chief laughed and left him be. Nick watched him climb the stairs—with Kimmy still inside.
Nick stood helpless as Chief entered the building. He didn’t know whether to go inside or run. He did neither as Kimmy was then at the glass, waving him up to the door.
Inside, past the small lobby, Chief lay on the floor, moaning and bleeding from the head. Kimmy stepped over him and hovered, the extendable baton at her side.
“Get the cuffs on him,” Kimmy said.
“What the fuck did you do? Where are your coins?”
“Not here. I didn’t have time to ask him. Now get those cuffs on him ’fore he wakes up!”
Chief began to stir and Kimmy gave him another hard crack on the skull. Nick hesitated as he thought about his spot. Realized he was fucked upon fucked upon fucked. He dropped to his knees and fished Chief’s cuffs from him. Nick closed them tight around the thick apish wrists behind the man’s back. Then he removed the man’s belt and all the accompanying gadgets.
Chief stirred again and this time Kimmy helped get him to his feet. He began to struggle as soon as he got up. A beast, he threw his shoulder hard into Nick and sent him sprawling. Nick watched the man turn on Kimmy, sending her to the floor with a hard kick in the stomach as she raised the baton, then going to work on her hands with the sole of his heavy boots as she tried to retrieve the metal club skittering across the dirty black linoleum.
Nick launched himself hard and drove his shoulder into Chief’s back. The big man squealed and there was an unnatural pop. For a moment no one moved, Chief on one knee, Nick ready to strike, Kimmy crawling on stomped hands for the baton. Then Chief took a hard step up. Another pop and a gentler squeal as he turned, face a fire of red and sweat and snot. It was only a moment but that was all he needed as the handcuffs dropped to the floor. Chief tossed the key at Nick who let it bounce off his chest.
“Always keep a cuff key in your ass crack,” Chief said. “First rule of surviving a couple of dumb shits like you.” The giant felt for his back and winced, dropping again to his knee, but only long enough to pull a .25 caliber from his boot. He drew on the pair and as Nick’s guts nearly fell through his asshole, he lost any interest in the sincerity of Chief’s statement about where he hid spare keys.
“I should kill the both of you right now.” He stopped and looked at Nick. Something of a smile stretched across his face. “I figured you’d bring this one around,” he said to Kimmy. “Didn’t figure you to ring my bell though. Capable girl.”
The trio stood silent, still huffing and tired, sweating from the burst of exertion, cooling in the frigid air conditioning of the Horton Police Station.
Chief stepped forward and neither Nick nor Kimmy dared move. Chief kept the piece on Nick and grabbed his baton from the floor. He raised it without looking and gave Kimmy a hard tap on the headgear that made it sing, before using the prod to usher her out of his blind. Chief stood her with Nick, who took a quick look over his shoulder for the exit. Chief glared at them the way a father looks down on the bad children he’s caught red-handed in some deed so ridiculous only a child could have thought of it.
“I got the money. It’s mine and you’re not getting it back,” he said to Kimmy. Then he looked again to Nick. “But the job will get done. Don’t worry. I’m going to subcontract it. Payment is your life, Nick. Free and clear. You keep growing. I’ll take your harvest. Name your price. Fair price. You decide to hang up the spurs, knock yourself unconscious, I won’t force you.”
“Why don’t you just do it?” Nick said.
Chief laughed. “I’m not strong the way Chad is. I mean I could whip him in a fair one, no dogs. But even that ain’t worth a sack of sand. See, what I’ve got is Power. And Power means I don’t need to do it.”
Chief turned to Kimmy. “I’m sorry about the boot and I’m sorry I led you to believe I’m less than fair. I make a deal and I stick by it.” He looked at Nick again. “And that’s what I expect out of anyone I deal with. I see how far you’re willing to go. You’re going to go a little further and you’re going to take care of this. You got every reason in the world far as I’m concerned.” Chief grinned and Nick couldn’t do a thing but take the big man’s outstretched hand. Chief pumped it vigorously and held that all-knowing grin. Nick returned the smile and wondered how a single pawn stood a chance in three simultaneous games.
EIGHT
LIFE SEEMED REASONABLY normal for Nick during the next few days, which was a surprise seeing as he had such abnormal business to take care of. Like the cosmos were playing a joke on him, making the job ahead of him loom darker and more oppressive by comparison.
He hadn’t heard from Chad, Kimmy, or Chief in a couple days, but the trio were still on his mind, waking him in the night from dreams of dogs and blood. He thought about Hobo and looked at the clock. Time for a drink.
When he stepped into Nate’s the twisted man looked at him with a grin before scuttling to the tap to get him a beer. Nick took his stool at the end of the bar. The Gebbins Hardware bag still sat on the back of the bar on top of the mini-fridge.
“Getting right on that lock, huh?” Nick said after a long pull on his beer. Nate just smiled and shrugged.
“I’ll get to it.”
Nate turned on the TV and left Nick while he tended to business at the other end of the bar, filling small plastic containers with supplies for the night: lemon and lime slices, cherries, olives, and baby onions. Nate was never much of a talker, but he was quiet tonight even for him.
“Cat got your tongue? Or maybe a dog or two?”
At first Nick thought he wasn’t going to answer. But finally Nate looked up from the fruit and vegetables that had demanded his attention.
“I’m sorry for you, Nick. I wish I could have warned you.”
Nick wondered how much Nate knew about his situation, and how much of it was simply experience as one of Chad’s lackeys. He’d surely seen a lot over the years.
“I’ll be okay.”
“You think?” Nate said.
Nick watched the twisted man as he continued to wipe down the clean bar. He wanted to be angry, wanted someone to blame, but he knew there was no one at fault but himself. Everything that had happened since the night he’d driven Kimmy home was nothing but part of a natural progression of events that should have been seen—would have been seen by someone with a little more sense. But he felt for Nate, knew that Chad’s patronage was the thing that kept Nate’s going. And Nick couldn’t expect old Nate to help him, if Nick himself couldn’t refuse to submit, how could he expect it from old, twisted Nate? But still, he sensed an advantage, and perhaps it was the company he was keeping. He decided to use it.
“Play a song for me, huh?” Nick said. The man looked at him, his lips twitching from side to side, like the wagging tail of a dog that can’t quite make a decision.
“Okay,” he said.
The piano in the corner was as clean as the bar though he knew Nate rarely played it anymore. But he kept it dusted and shined, and Nick had seen him tune it on several occasions. Nate took a seat on the bench and lifted the key cover. Nick watched from behind as the skinny little man’s fingers came to life and descended on the faux ivory. Then his digits danced like a man who hadn’t been afflicted by an archaic virus. He leaned heavily to the right, and to compensate for the reach, Nate had to slide his body left to reach the lower notes. But it was just as natural as the ease of his fingers on the keys.
Nate had known the song to play. And Nick thought of his wife, the nights he’d spent with her alone in the bar, making small talk while they listened to the music—alcohol fueling their honesty and their joy. Until it didn’t.
A case of the “baby blues” she had called it, this pregnancy thing. And the descent was absolute, but gradually so, though he wanted to be her rock and did what he could. There was the golf course to care for, especially since she had quit teaching and his was the only income. It was stressful. And when he found the group of club members who relished a good crop of marijuana, things became easier, though not at home. So Nick kept up appearances at Nate’s, alone, drinking into the night, and arriving home to find her where he’d left her in the blue light of the television. He always tried not to wake her as he used the restroom, draining an evening’s worth of beer. But always when he came back to the living room he knew he’d been too loud. Grete would have already retreated into the darkness of their bedroom, unreachable.
Still listening to Nate play, Nick fished his vibrating phone from his pocket.
“Hello?”
The sound of crashing bowling pins and cheers drowned out the low voice.
“What?”
“Chad wants you at the bowling alley,” Russell repeated.
“What’s going on?”
“Business. Get down here.” Another crash, then silence as the phone went dead. Nick noticed the music had stopped and Nate was pulling himself from the piano bench. He was done playing, debt paid.
“Told me he’d be calling for you,” Nate said.
“What’s he want?”
Nate shrugged as he closed the wooden lid over the piano keys. “I don’t know. What do I look like? The guy who knows shit?”
Chad Toll’s truck sat taking up two handicapped spots closest to the door of Horton Lanes.
“You just getting up?” Chad said as Nick entered. “Looked for you at Nate’s. Wanted to make sure things were okay. Want to bowl, man?”
Nick stood silent as Chad kneeled to scratch his dogs’ heads. Behind him Russell threw a hard ball down the middle of the lane, leaving a single pin.
“You need to hook it, you dumb bastard,” Erik said. “Only way to hit the pocket right.”
“Yeah,” Nick said to Chad. “Sure. I’ll bowl.”
“Get you some shoes. Let’s go.”
“Let’s fucking bowl,” Nick said.
Clown shoes in his hand, Nick joined Chad and the crew and the dogs on lane forty-two. The dogs lay out of the way under a high top table, guarding Chad’s boots.
Nick was a terrible bowler and Russell and Erik let him know it. After two miserable games Nick volunteered to get another pitcher. When Nick returned, Chad was sitting at the high top and he motioned for Nick to join him. Erik and Russell had disappeared. The bowling alley was smoke free per the state ordinance, but Chad lit a cigarette and slid his pack across the table. Nick took one and lit it. Chad topped off their beers.
“You enjoying yourself?”
“Bowling’s okay.”
“Not that. I mean, working with us. You happy? I know it’s an adjustment, but you can write your own ticket you do right by me.”
Nick just nodded. “Where are Erik and Russell?”
“Told them to go have some fun for a few hours. Russell’s probably looking for tail in Grand Rapids. Erik might be with him. I really don’t know. Don’t care.” Chad took a long drag off his cigarette. “I’m not a slave driver. May seem that way, but it’s just this isn’t democracy. Democracy won’t work. We’re a boat set to be sunk at any time. Think the captain of the boat wants to listen to everyone’s opinion on the iceberg floating ahead? Shit no. He turns the fucking ship. We got Chief, but I don’t trust that son of a bitch. County could come poking around. Hell, I can’t trust anybody’s intentions.” He tapped a finger on the table, thumping it adamantly as if the idea was under dispute. “Just these bastards under the table.” Chad slammed the rest of his beer and poured another. “I trust you though, Nick. You’re the last of the good men.”
