Paper Alley, page 22
“I’ll go up with the boys and call him.”
“I’ll stay down here while you get dressed, Klaare.” Julie dropped onto the couch.
Dan stopped to assess the damage to Klaare’s door. He looked at the stakes in the driveway. Plastic danger ribbons fluttered in a light breeze. He didn’t know for sure if this new incident had any connection to the alley, but there was a strong possibility. This alley isn’t worth it. They’re all dead. Who cares, what does it matter? It’s time to end this.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Dan sat on the front porch enjoying the change of season. The birds were returning from their southern migration. The threat of snow was gone. Crocuses and daffodils bloomed. A warm breeze carried the fragrance of new life. Dan closed his eyes in thought. He had applied for jobs all around town; the hardware store promised to hire him, but they had hired three new people since the promise had been made. He didn’t feel up to working anyway. His involvement with the community action group was taxing enough. He had driven down to see Lee on a couple of occasions. Lee’s wife had somehow managed to survive the winter.
###
Val’s luck seemed to have taken a bad turn. The company insuring his main student rental had refused to renew his policy after conducting an inspection of the premises. The building had at one time been the largest building in town. Constructed in the 1940s, it had never been upgraded to meet new standards. It lacked a sprinkler system, fire and smoke detectors, and proper fire escapes from the upper floors. Without insurance, the building could not be occupied. Several town council members had resigned over the threat of the state’s investigations into the university and surrounding community. New council members had been elected in a special election.
The town council began to put pressure on Val. The first thing they did was make the student rental owners responsible for paying for garbage pickup. The building inspector was replaced, and new occupancy permit applications for all rentals were required. Things were changing, but not in a steadily positive manner. The new politicians were quick to develop greedy attitudes as their lust for power and authority grew. They played out their vengeance on Val and pursued the new bigger boys moving in with their large crews to construct student housing.
Val’s rental office occupied an old red brick house on the far end of Main Street. He had parked a large moving van there, which never moved. With his name painted on the side, it had been a way to get around a law on sign restrictions. He kept the truck inspected and functional, so there had been little to prevent him from circumventing their sign restriction. This spring he had begun posting signs on the truck, political signs protesting the new council members and their new rules. The wording on the signs seemed like a cry for help. One sign offered a free can of soda and a bag of chips to anyone who would stop in to talk about the political changes taking place in Stony Grove. Dan had even thought about stopping in, but he didn’t.
Stony Grove was a small town. Val and Dan encountered each other occasionally, at store entrances or at the gas pumps. Val always stopped, his face frozen in a scowl. The dark circles under his eyes enhanced his psychotic stare. Dan avoided eye contact so as not to give Val the satisfaction of an acknowledgment. He didn’t know for sure if his tactic worked.
As the days lengthened and new life blossomed everywhere, Val sat on the edge of his bed, struggling to breathe. He held a Colt .45, flipping it from one hand to the other. He kept it polished and well-oiled and was a deadly shot. His skill with a pistol was one thing his mass had not impacted. These past few weeks, when he visited the game lands to shoot, he didn’t even get out of his car. He fired out the window. Fred Black did all the running, posting the targets and then fetching them so Val could admire the pattern of holes tight to the bull’s eye. Val’s sphere of influence was shrinking. He loaded the Colt.
###
The spring semester had one more week as Julie and Klaare strolled from the university toward home. Klaare voiced her anxiety over her inevitable departure for Estonia. Her visa was good for studies and did not allow her to remain to work and live. She had come to love her adoptive family. Every Sunday she attended church with Julie. She prayed for Dan’s health and for peace to come to the town. Most of all, she had fallen in love with Tim. Julie had been brainstorming, trying to figure out a way for her to stay.
The black Escalade slowed as it approached them. The windows’ dark tint obscured a view of the driver. The SUV slipped by, its presence bringing a knot to Julie’s stomach. Their mood turned somber, and Julie struggled to focus on God and good in the presence of such evil.
Dan rested on the front porch swing, waiting for Julie and Klaare, his eyes closed. He had maintained his diet of probiotics, even having increased his intake of oregano oil, mushrooms, and garlic. Every few weeks his blood test indicated slight improvement, though his symptoms remained. Dr. Cohen decided to write a paper detailing Dan’s case, which he planned to present at a seminar in Paris in August. He remarked on Dan’s ability to remain steady, even to be improving.
Dan had begun to pray with Julie in the mornings. It was the point in the day where he chose to be positive and thankful for his many blessings. Now he sat in silence offering additional prayers.
Julie and Klaare perked up when they saw Dan waiting for them. They always tried harder to be positive in his presence. Dan’s eyes opened when he heard the first step creak beneath Julie’s foot.
“Hey, girls. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Julie agreed. “You look good.”
“Thanks, I feel pretty good.” He didn’t feel much different than he had in the last several weeks, but he refused to say it.
Julie sat on the porch swing beside him. Klaare smiled and turned toward her side entrance. Tim would be picking her up in about an hour.
“How were your classes?”
“Same old stuff. I hate the game. I think I’m too old to buy into the rhetoric. They teach opinions, not facts. Not much sense in talking about it.”
“I was praying when you got here, made me feel better.”
“Dan, have you considered getting baptized?”
He didn’t answer. They had discussed it before. He had been contemplating it, but he didn’t want to do it in his weakened state. He wanted to come to God without looking like he had an ulterior motive. He wanted to do it with strength but knew the day might be far into the future.
“I would feel better if you would do it—you will too.”
“It wouldn’t hurt, I suppose.”
“Oh, Dan!” Julie kissed him on the cheek.
“I’ll go to church with you this Sunday. We can talk to your pastor.”
“Our pastor . . . he’s our pastor. You’ll like everyone at the church. They’re nice people.”
“Maybe we can get a two-for-one deal.”
“What do you mean?’
“My brother. He might be ready to do it too.”
“Oh, that would be great . . . what if Klaare . . . ?”
“I’ll bet Klaare will if Tim does.”
“Awesome . . . simply awesome.”
###
Lee sat beside his wife’s bed, a soup spoon in one hand, steadying a cup of broth with the other. As he held the spoon to her lips, she would pucker and sip. Her eyes never opened, but they did twitch. Her sipping was more of an instinctive response than a conscious effort. Lee dabbed her chin with a napkin. He whispered apologies to her and asked the Lord to forgive him for his weaknesses. Buck lay nearby. It had been a week since he had been to the bait store. He had plenty of bait on hand with an honor pail for money collection. He needed to fetch it and restock the bait supply. He knew her time wasn’t far off and didn’t want her to die alone. When he began to sob, Buck came to him, placing his paw on his thigh. Lee scratched Buck behind his ear and sniffled.
“She’s still with us, boy. I’m just a mess.”
Buck let out a whimper, lowering his head to rest his chin on Lee’s leg.
###
Pete Peterson sat in his patrol car up on Cemetery Hill. He looked down on Stony Grove, curled his lip, then licked the wrapper on a joint. He twisted the ends, holding it up to admire his handiwork. He dangled it from his lip without lighting it and reached for the report on the passenger seat. He gave the cover page a hard look: “Police Brutality, Excessive Force.” Peterson’s hand fell hard on the passenger seat, releasing the report. He struck a match and cupped his hands, igniting the end of the joint.
###
Jack Monroe sat in Mayor Whipple’s office, the door closed. Whipple had scrambled to save himself and his job. He had made a deal with the State Attorney General to add to the state’s evidence, spilling his guts. It had been agreed: no charges would be filed against Whipple, and he could serve out his term in office. He agreed never to run for office again. The evidence Whipple had turned over was still being processed. He had kept accurate documentation of behind-the-scenes meetings with dates, times, and names. Whipple knew Val had the goods on him. He just wanted to be quicker on the draw and nail things down before Val could produce the evidence, ruining his marriage and therefore his financial future and any possibility of a comfortable retirement. It was all risky.
Jack Monroe had never liked Joe Whipple.
“Well, Jack, have you thought about the promotion?”
“I’ve been thinking on it.”
“And? You know we’re coming down on Pete, never liked him much.”
You would have never guessed it, Jack thought. Only now that the state has stepped in do you decide you don’t like Pete. It’s the truth. Jack studied the mayor’s face.
“I’ll be honest, Mayor, I never liked much about anything around here, and Pete’s ways have caught up to him.”
“What are you saying, Jack?”
“I’m saying you’re surviving all this, but it doesn’t make you clean. I’m saying I don’t like politicians. The police force is just Pete and me. You’re taking Pete down, but it isn’t a noble gesture, and offering me his job is no bargain. I’m not for sale, Joe. I’m looking forward to my day in court. I’m going to tell all I know. I’ll figure out my next career move after all is said and done.”
“Jack, don’t be a fool. Nobody cares if you’re straight and noble.”
“I do, Mayor. I do.”
###
The black Escalade pulled into the fire department lot. Val laid on the horn several times until Hank Davidson appeared from a side door. Val powered down his window.
“Val . . . how you been?”
“Have you seen Fred around?”
“No. What’s up?”
“He doesn’t answer his phone and he’s not at his house.”
Hank leaned against the Escalade looking in at Val. The forty-five rested on his lap.
“Looks like you’re going huntin’.”
“I wanted to go target shooting. Fred always sets me up and checks my score. You busy?”
“As a matter of fact, we’re working on the pumper.”
Val gave Hank a hard stare. Everybody was turning on him, bunch of liars. Val grabbed the forty-five with his right hand and stroked it with his left.
“Too busy, huh, Hank? Too bad. Seems like all my old buddies are bailing on me. Seems like I’ve got one friend left.”
“That’s not true, Val, we’re still friends.”
Val narrowed his lips in disgust, shaking his head.
“If you see Fred, tell him I’m looking for him. I’ll be over at my office.”
“Sure, Val, if I see him, I’ll tell him.”
Hank backed toward the side, not turning his back on the forty-five. Val gave him a dead man’s stare, soulless and cold. Val didn’t restart the Escalade for quite some time. He just sat and caressed the pistol.
###
Zane jiggled the lock on his locker. It always took a little extra tugging to open. It released, and he slid it from the latch, opening the metal door. He needed to exchange his English book for his trigonometry book. He felt the presence of someone standing close, too close. A hand brushed the back of his neck, chilling him. Zane shrugged his shoulders and twisted his neck in defiance.
“Hey, Zane, what you been up to?”
It was Liam, Professor Bell’s son. He pressed against Zane, whispering in his ear. Zane pushed back, and Liam backed away, his hands raised.
“Leave me alone, Liam.”
Liam’s face contorted in sarcasm. He lowered his hands. “Just trying to be friendly, dude. I want to invite you to the rave this weekend. It’s going to be the biggest blast yet.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Everyone will be there.”
“I won’t.”
“Mom and Dad won’t let you? My old man says you Bible thumpers are a bunch of hypocrites. Loosen up, dude. Don’t let your old man run your life.”
Zane paused, giving Liam a cold stare. Liam mocked his pose. Zane turned toward his locker, slamming the door and setting the lock. Liam leaned into Zane, whispering his vulgar intents for the girl he had lured to the rave. Zane spun around and pushed Liam backward.
“Hey, man, just having some fun!” Liam chuckled as he spoke.
“No, man, you’re the one trying to manipulate everybody. Don’t listen to my parents, but listen to you. I have free will. That bothers you, doesn’t it? My parents let me think for myself. I make my own choices. You aren’t even on the list.”
“Your parents have brainwashed you with a fairy-tale book. It’s all hogwash.”
“Is it? Did you ever read the Bible or try to understand it? You’re in the book, Liam. It tells you what your future is.”
“Who are you to judge me? You can’t condemn me to hell. You don’t know.”
“Who said anything about hell? You are just starting down a trail of misery for yourself and everyone you infect. Your dad is the one who can’t tolerate a differing opinion.”
“F-you.” Liam gave Zane a shove. Zane grinned and strode down the hall.
###
Val pulled into the game lands, all alone. Fred be damned, he didn’t need anyone. As he slogged through the spring mud, the clay caked to the soles of his shoes. Even with his cane he barely maintained his balance. He removed a couple of bottles and cans from a plastic shopping bag and staged them on a board. It began to drizzle. His hair fell flat, and cold rain ran down his face. He cursed it, looking skyward. He would not let it stop him. He waddled back to lean on the Escalade.
He brought the pistol level and fired. A bottle shattered; a metal can flipped, and he hit it three more times. He felt a release of tension. They weren’t targets, but people. He mumbled names under his labored breath. They’ll be sorry they betrayed him. Backstabbers they were.
He knew he had never had any real finesse. He just always had the upper hand because he had inherited so much. His father had conditioned the community to accept his way, but his father was the one with finesse. Finesse coupled with ruthlessness. Val had inherited his family’s ruthless nature, something he struggled to keep in check, even in the best of times. These were not the best of times.
Val reloaded, emptied, and then reloaded again and again. The drizzle had turned to a downpour. Unfazed, he fired away.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Castleton, once a thriving blue-collar mill town, now held the title as the rust belt’s buckle. Unemployment sat at 30 percent although those who had dropped off the unemployment rolls were no longer included. Another 50 percent could be classified as underemployed, holding part-time, minimum-wage jobs. The social structure had broken down, although not along economic lines. Everyone was just poor. The social structure of Castleton now consisted of lazy or bad. Up on the hill above town there was an enclave of older wealthy residents living off investments not of a local flavor. One such family was the McKenzies.
Castleton seemed lawless. The police did their best, but the town had reached a hopeless state of depression. Summer heat now kept the streets clear until the sun started to retreat. Monday the state would issue its findings regarding the charges against Peterson.
Pete Peterson devoted much of his off-duty time to a seedy sports bar, the one thriving Castleton enterprise still hanging on. A place where he knew all the regulars, the bartenders, and the owner. He spent a substantial portion of his pay feeding the poker machines. Both of Pete’s ex-wives frequented the place. His first taste of alcohol had been near the pool table. For his sixteenth birthday, his old man had bought him a beer.
Pete’s old man hustled pool and drank. He had little to do with raising Pete. He never married Pete’s mother—or a few other women around town blessed with his children. One thing Pete’s father did, though, was look up each of his kids in their teen years to introduce them to pool shooting and drinking. It was best he stayed away from the kids when they were young, as he had a violent temper. Pete’s old man died of liver failure before reaching fifty.
Pete had idolized his old man. Nobody could say anything bad about the guy within earshot of Pete, or they would find themselves flat out. When people told Pete he was just like his old man, he considered it a compliment. Criminally selfish, they both associated with the darkest elements in Castleton.
Now Pete slouched at the bar staring up at an old episode of CSI. He had reached the point of just sipping his beer, having already downed ten. During commercials, he stared at the golden liquid, poking his finger through the foam. He rarely showed signs of intoxication, having achieved professional status. At the beginning of the evening he had downed several shooters with tavern clients as they passed through on their way home. Whisky amplified Pete’s anti-social tendency, freeing his ugliest side, and Pete was known as a man who suppressed his best side even when sober. Tonight he was a ticking time bomb.
