The Boulevard Monster, page 16
When I opened the driver’s door, a blue jay swooped down and dropped a note on the hood. My gut knotted up as I picked up the note.
Ryan’s too close.
I hated Luther’s perfect fucking fancy handwriting. I wadded up the note and hurled it. The blue jay swooped down, plucked it off the ground, and disappeared into the night. Another one followed me as I drove away.
Twenty-Two
Only Pussies Can’t Make Decisions, Boy
After driving around for a while to make sure I wasn’t being followed by the cops, I drove to our latest construction site—a two-story ranch house and accompanying barn two miles past the BNSF station, south of Mercy. After parking and rolling down the windows, I sat in the Chevy with my 9MM on my lap. I knew I didn’t have much time, but I couldn’t make up my mind about the Ryan situation, didn’t feel confident on any single line of action.
As I sat there debating, worrying, waffling, watching the blue jays in the red oaks lining the dirt road leading to the house, something my dad had told me when I was a teen came to mind, the message coming across so loud and clear it was as though he were sitting next to me, whispering it in my ear.
My sophomore year my baseball coach, Coach McKinney, had been riding my ass about my grades (All C’s except English where I had an A), and he’d been threatening to suspend me from the team anyway ever since me and Jack Simmons had been caught drinking in the alley behind Moore’s Pharmacy. I was a better than average player but knew baseball wasn’t a real future for me. I did it because I thought my dad wanted me to, no other reason.
When I went to my mom for advice on whether I should quit or not, she sent me to my dad. He said, “You’re a young man now. It’s your decision.” I said, “I don’t know what to do, though.” He shook his head and looked at me with disdain, the way he often did when he was blistering drunk. Like I wasn’t worthy to be in his presence, to be his son. “Only pussies can’t make decisions, boy,” he said, then walked away. “Man up,” I heard him yell just before he slammed the garage door. I quit the next day, and that was the last time in my life I asked for his advice.
Luther would take swift action against Ryan. He didn’t take well to uninvited intrusions on his world. I couldn’t just let it happen. I couldn’t let Ryan go through what the naked Colorado man had. I was the one who had fucked up and allowed him to get close to the truth. Ryan’s only mistake was being too damn observant. And nosy. And caring. But to Luther, he was bothersome. He was nothing. He was a stain that needed to be cleansed before it ruined the fabric permanently.
Running my finger up and down the 9 MM’s barrel, I watched the birds watch me and made a decision—a decision that I will regret and not regret, as odd and unexplainable as that sounds, until the day I die. I didn’t know exactly how things would turn out with Luther or Ryan, or Brianne, Sera, the baby, or Dad for that matter, but I had to make a decision. I had to man up. I couldn’t let Luther dictate the fate of my family any longer. I couldn’t let him decide when and how Ryan would die.
I shoved the gun under the seat, took a scrap of paper and pencil out of the glove box, and wrote a message to Luther. My handwriting looked elementary to his, all uneven and sloppy, and I was certain he would chuckle at it, see it as a sign of my weakness, his superiority. With my eyes locked on the closest blue jay, I held the note out the open window, whistled, and shook it. When the bird landed atop the side-view mirror, I said, “Take this to your leader, shithead.” Then I laughed a maniacal laugh that I didn’t know was coming, and I’m sure frightened all the wildlife in the area. It felt good to let it out, though. Refreshing. Like a floodgate inside me had been opened, releasing a torrent of pinned-up tension.
The decision was made. There was no turning back. And there was a strange mixture of fear and relief accompanying that.
Twenty-Three
Of Monsters and Men
The note I wrote Luther asked him to please meet me at the ranch house south of Mercy before sunrise, and to please not do anything to Ryan until we talked. I added that Ryan was family. Like a real brother. No matter how callous and reptilian and self-serving Luther was, I assumed he remembered the pain associated with losing a brother based on what he’d told me that night in Colorado. That was one of the few times I’d seen real emotion in his eyes. I hoped calling Ryan my brother would touch on that sensitive nerve, and he’d decide to hear me out before taking care of Ryan. I signed the note, Your friend, Seth.
Friend—I hoped that would help, too. He seemed to like calling me that.
I kept the 9 MM on my lap and both windows down while I waited. I wasn’t sure how long it would take Luther to arrive, but I figured if he planned on killing Ryan, it wouldn’t be long.
I was right. He appeared behind the row of red oaks lining the dirt road that lead the ranch house less than an hour after the blue jay took my note. I watched him move toward the Chevy, his legs and arms gliding beneath his Guayabera and slacks effortlessly, as though he were made of liquid. That wide, cocky unbreakable smile was on his face as he opened the passenger door and slid into the truck without making a sound. His eyes fell to the gun on my lap, then rose to mine as the smell of lavender consumed the cab.
“You going to shoot me?” he asked.
I lay my hand on the gun. “Would it work?”
His head tilted back and a raucous laugh bellowed from his mouth. Once his laughter faded, he slapped my thigh, and my grip tightened on the gun. “Good one,” he said, then gestured at my hand. “You need to relax, friend. You’re going to give yourself an aneurysm.” He held his hand in the air and wiggled his lithe fingers, reminding me he could induce relaxation anytime I wanted. “I could help you out you know.”
I shook my head. “It’s kind of hard to relax when…” I looked away.
“When your brother-in-law has to die?” he filled in.
I could tell by his tone that his smile was gone. I nodded, took off my lucky Rangers cap, ran my hand over head.
“You don’t have to worry about it, though,” Luther said. “I’m going to take care of it for you. You don’t have to see anything. You can pretend he was in trouble with the government and went to live in the Bahamas or something. The imagination can be a beneficial tool if you use it right. I’ve been using that trick for longer than I can remember.”
I put my hat back on. “It’s not that simple.” I took in and forced out a deep breath. “I…I…” I could feel water building in my eyes, a lump forming in my throat.
“It is that simple.”
Slowly, I moved my eyes to his. “I saw the terror in that guy’s eyes in Colorado. I’ve seen the terror frozen on the faces of some of the…the people in the…the…the…sacks I’ve buried. I don’t want Ryan to experience that terror. He doesn’t deserve it. I’m the reason he’s in this situation. He’s done nothing wrong. He was simply smart enough to catch on to the mistakes I’ve made.”
“The guilt’s getting to you, isn’t it?”
“It’s eating a hole right through my chest,” I said.
“I get it. I’ve been there.” Luther slid his eyes across the horizon. “So what is it you want to do with him then? We can’t let him—”
“I want to do it myself,” I cut in. “I want to kill him.” A tear fell from my eye.
Luther shook his head. “That’s not a good idea. How’s that going to alleviate any of your guilt? It’ll make it worse if you kill him.”
“I’ve already killed him anyway, haven’t I?” I bit my lip, lightly shook my head. “I don’t want him being horrified in his last moments. I don’t want him to see it coming. If you come at him, he’ll see it coming.” I wiped the wet off my cheek. “I know it sounds selfish, but I want to make amends with him before he goes. We’ve been fighting a lot lately, and I’ll feel better knowing we were good before he...”
Luther remained still and silent for a long while. I don’t think he saw my request coming. I don’t think he thought I had it in me to kill. “How do you want to do it?” he eventually asked.
“I figured I’d tell him I want to drive out to Plemons and have a few beers and talk things out.”
“You think he’ll agree to that.”
“I used to take him out there to ride dirt bikes when he was a teenager. I think he’ll agree to go with me if I remind him of all the good times we had out there. It’s a place where we bonded. The place where we shared our first beer together. Where we talked about things we couldn’t in front of Brianne. Tits and blow jobs and porn. In a way, the riverbed out at Plemons is to us what the pond where you and your brother hung out was to you.”
Luther nodded.
“Ryan’s got a big heart, and I believe he loves me like a brother, too. I think he’ll give me a chance to explain.”
“How do you plan on killing him?”
“I’ll…” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “I’ll wait until he goes to take a piss or turns his back to me or something and I’ll just… you know.” I lifted the gun off my lap. “In the back of the head.”
“You sure?”
I nodded as an image of Ryan collapsing with a hole in his head and a smile on his face flashed across my mind’s eye. “My hope is that we’ll have made up, and he’ll die happy and never see it coming.”
A quirky smile crossed Luther’s face. “Like in that book about that retarded guy who loves rabbits and his friend shoots him?”
“Right,” I said. I knew the book, had read it in high school my junior year. I hadn’t made the connection, though. “But Ryan’s far from retarded. He’s got a quick wit.”
“Which is why you’ll have to be very careful how you do it. You’ll have to make sure no one else is around. Have a hole already dug. An alibi for when the cops come asking about him. When Brianne does.”
“I will.”
“He thinks you’re a murderer or working for one so you’ll have to be very convincing in your explanation about what’s been going on, too.”
“I will.”
“You can’t be emotional. You can’t be hesitant. You can’t be scared. You can’t allow the guilt to break you. You can’t mention the real truth.” Luther counted these statements out on his fingers.
I looked at the blue jay that was standing on the hood of my truck like a hood ornament, then at the group of them clustered around the red oaks lining the dirt road. “I won’t,” I said. “I owe him that much.”
After a long silent stretch, I asked, “Will you let me do it? Please.”
Luther smiled and put his hand on my shoulder. I worked hard not to flinch, but must’ve anyway. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to do anything to you unless you want me to.”
“I don’t,” I said, glancing at his hand. “I don’t deserve to feel relaxed right now.”
Luther removed his hand. “When you kill him, I will be there, though.”
Just what I figured he’d say. “You don’t think I can handle it? You think I’ll fuck it up?”
“No. I like to think of it as supporting you in your time of need.”
“I can handle it,” I said.
“And I’ll let you handle it. But I will be there just in case. I have a lot at stake here, too. Remember? This isn’t just your dilemma. Ryan has put a very uncomfortable thorn in my side.” He opened the truck door and stepped out. “You have twenty-four hours to get this done, or I will do it myself.” He slammed the door. “My way.”
“How will you know when I’ll be there?”
He looked at me hard, like he couldn’t believe I’d asked the question. Like I should already know the answer. And I did: the birds.
“Right,” I said, my eyes moving to the hood ornament bird. “Your pals.”
He smiled, shut the door, and glided away as effortlessly as when he’d arrived. When he passed the red oak trees and dirt road, I yanked my binoculars out of the glove box. Beyond the tree line was forty acres of flat plain. I wanted to see where he was going, how he was going, but in the few seconds it took to grab the binoculars and put them to my eyes and focus, he was gone.
Twenty-Four
Bathroom Talk
I didn’t sleep a wink that night and left for work early, before Brianne and Sera woke up, hoping to talk to Ryan and start buttering him up before the workday started. Sitting in my truck, I watched the oak tree-lined dirt road until a little after eight, watched all the other guys file in, but Ryan never arrived. After I gave instructions to the rest of the crew, I tried Ryan’s cell a couple of times, but he didn’t answer, and I didn’t bother leaving a message.
A few hours later while we preparing the rounded back porch for cement, I glanced at the dirt road and I saw Dan’s truck approaching, kicking up dust. He pulled up twenty yards from where I stood and motioned me over. When I reached the driver’s side window, he wedged his diet soda between his thighs and greeted me with: “What the hell’s up between you and Ryan?” He’d gained at least another forty pounds over the past year, and his hair had continued to rapidly abandon his scalp.
“What do you mean?”
“He called me this morning and said he quits. When I asked why, he said it was because of you. That he couldn’t work with you anymore.” He slurped his soda. “So what’s going on? I thought you two were thick as thieves?”
I put my hand on my hips. “We had an argument this weekend.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Stupid family shit. We both had one too many beers and before I knew it we were on the ground wrestling and calling each other names. Don’t worry, it’ll blow over. We’ve had tons of fights like this, and everything always turns out fine. Give him a break. I’m sure he’ll show up tomorrow.”
“Just because he’s kin to you doesn’t mean he gets special fucking privileges. He quit.” His wide eyes locked on mine, he slurped long and loud.
I glanced at the blue jay on a nearby front loader, back at Dan. I could tell by Dan’s expression that he wanted me to beg. He wanted me to stroke his ego, acknowledge that he was in charge. “Please, Dan,” I said. “I’ll go talk to him after work and patch things up. He needs this job.”
Dan cranked his A/C up a notch and put the truck in gear. “If he doesn’t show up tomorrow, he can’t come back ever.”
I patted Dan’s beefy arm. “Thanks, Dan. I’ll take care of it.”
As he pulled away, he said, “And you better finish that back porch today. I’ve got the sprinkler guys coming to start piping tomorrow and I don’t want you in their way.”
I held up an acknowledging hand. He hit the brakes. “Make sure that detached garage roof is done, too,” he hollered. “It should’ve been done last week.”
“Will do,” I said, wishing I could kick him in the teeth.
Ten minutes later, I put Tim Matthews in charge of the porch project, Roger Ogg in charge of the garage roof, and I left.
The twenty-four-hour window Luther had given me was closing fast.
Ryan’s little Toyota was under the carport at his apartment complex. I grabbed my backpack, slung it over my shoulder, and hurried to his door. The blinds in the window to the right of the door were closed. The light above the door was off. I put my ear to the door and heard voices, TV voices, a commercial about used cars. I banged five hard times, waited a minute, then banged five more and called out Ryan’s name. A few seconds later, the door cracked open, but just a bit. Ryan was in boxers, his hair disheveled, close-set eyes bloodshot from fatigue. His ankle was wrapped with an ace bandage.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I want to talk to you about last night.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Just let me come in for a few minutes. I feel bad about how everything went yesterday.” He stared at me. “I’ll answer all your questions honestly,” I added. “No bullshit.”
He looked me up and down. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“When you didn’t show up this morning and Dan told me you’d quit, I wanted to come and hash this out. I don’t want you giving up your job because of me. And I sure as hell don’t want you thinking I’m some kind of psychotic killer.” I looked down at me feet, back up. “We’re family, man. Brothers. A few minutes is all I’m asking for and then I’ll leave. Please.”
“What’s the backpack for?”
“There’s something in it that I need to show you,” I said.
He just stared at me, wanted more.
“I put it in the backpack because it’s easier to carry that way. You know, since my arm has a knife hole in it.” I gave him an ornery smile in an attempt to break the tension, to let him know I held no grudge, that I thought of our fight as another one of our scuffle stories we’d laugh about over a beer in a year or two.
Following a long pause, he slowly opened the door. Thank God. Step one was complete. I was inside the apartment. Now I had to drop the hammer.
I sat on the end of the couch closest to the door and put the backpack between my legs. He left the room for a moment, and when he limped back, he had on a White Zombie T-shirt and a giant hunting knife in his hand. He lit a cigarette and sat on the opposite end of the couch. He set the knife next to an ashtray on the end table beside him. “Well,” he pushed out in a plume of smoke. “Talk.”
I glanced at the door and noticed it wasn’t locked. When I stood to lock it, Ryan asked what I was doing but I didn’t answer. I peeked out the blinds behind the couch and saw a blue jay in a cottonwood in front of the apartment building. Another one was hopping along the top of my truck. I made sure the blinds were fully closed, then did the same for the kitchen window blinds, and the window in Ryan’s bedroom. When I went back to the living room, I stopped in front of the TV. The Price is Right was on, a fat lady spinning the giant beeping number wheel.
