The Christmas List
Page 7
He looked again at the name before him: Eddie Grimes. He didn’t need to read the file to remember the man or what he had done to him. Grimes had once owned Grimes Construction, a small but well-regarded and profitable local construction firm that was growing quickly. Grimes had bid against Kier on a large development and won the job. Kier didn’t need the work—in fact he was struggling to keep up with his own workload—but he was angry at losing the project and threatened by the success of the upstart competitor. Kier decided to squash the burgeoning company. With the information he had gathered in the project’s bidding process and his knowledge of the market, he knew that there was a problem with the availability of certain supplies, especially drywall.
With his substantial cash reserves Kier bought up all the drywall in the Rocky Mountain area, enough to stock his next three projects and, in the short run, to create a regional shortage. When it was time for Grimes to order the needed material, there was none to be had in the state or any of the surrounding areas. The soonest he could find was more than thirty days out. Grimes’s project was brought to a complete standstill, costing him substantial late fees and overhead each day his crew sat idle. Another contractor, also caught in Kier’s manufactured shortage, informed him of Kier’s purchase. As humiliating as it was, Grimes went to Kier to ask him to sell him some of his drywall. Kier not only refused, but berated Grimes for his poor planning, calling him a “donkey among thoroughbreds.”
As his losses grew, Grimes was forced to lay off his workers and to eventually abandon the project altogether at a huge financial loss, forcing his company into bankruptcy. Also lost was his reputation. With such a public failure, no one would work with Grimes Construction again.
The development was awarded to Kier, who not only capitalized on Grimes’s completed work, but raised his price to complete the job, forcing the investors to pay nearly 20 percent more than his original bid. Kier bought himself a villa in Palm Springs to celebrate the project’s completion.
Pouring salt on the wound, Kier named the back road leading to the development’s garbage Dumpsters “Grimes Street.”
At the height of his success, Grimes had built himself an eight-thousand-square-foot home on the east bench of the valley. Kier had driven by it with Sara. She gasped when she saw it. Though Kier wouldn’t admit it, he was also impressed. It was a beautiful French château-style house impeccably landscaped with cobblestone walks, statuary, and potted kumquat trees lining the front walk. Kier could only assume that the home was lost with everything else. The house Kier now sat in front of was a far stretch from what he’d seen before. This place was small and badly in need of repair; ironic, Kier thought, for a homebuilder.
What do you say to a man you’ve destroyed? Kier wondered. How could he make things right? As he considered his dilemma he had an idea. Kier’s company could use the talents of a building contractor as skilled as Grimes. He could offer him a top-level position, eventually even stock options. And even better, the extra 20 percent Kier had made from the sabotaged project would more than cover the cost of hiring Grimes. He suddenly felt good about the meeting; they’d work something out. Who knows, he thought, by afternoon they might be laughing and swapping stories.
Kier climbed out of his car, walked to the gate in the chain link fence, and let himself in. The walk leading up to the front porch had not been shoveled. The curtains in the front windows were drawn and the only indications that there was life inside the house were the paw prints in the snow of a large dog leading to and from the front door.
Kier trudged through the snow and climbed three steps to the porch. There were two pairs of skis leaning against the house. Kier pushed the doorbell. He didn’t hear anything so he rapped on the door with the back of his hand. His knock was answered by the low, menacing growl of a dog that soon erupted into fierce barking. A minute later the doorknob turned. A pretty teenage girl with short brown hair that perfectly framed her face opened the door. She wore ear buds that ran down her shirt. She positioned herself between the excited dog and the narrow slot between the door and the doorjamb. With the door open the dog barked even more fiercely.
“Is this the Grimes residence?”
She pulled a white earbud from her ear. “Sorry, what?”
“Do the Grimeses live here?”
“Yes.”
“Is your father here?”
The girl, still struggling with the dog, grimaced. “Yeah, but he’s watching TV.”
The dog pushed its nose past the girl. It was a large black and brown German shepherd, its teeth bared. Kier watched somewhat anxiously as the small young woman strained to push the dog back. “Stop it, Samson. Sit! Sit!”
“Do you think I could speak with him?” Kier asked.
“I think so. I’ll see.” She reached back for the dog, then stepped back from the door, pulling the dog by its choke collar. “C’mon, Samson.” Even with her commands the dog strained against her. “C’mon, stupid dog.” She left Kier alone on the porch with the door open. Kier looked inside. The room was simply furnished but tidy. There was a large family picture of Grimes, his wife, and three children. On the side wall was a Catholic icon with candles and a large picture of Jesus with an exposed heart. He could hear a distant conversation.
“Dad, someone’s here for you.”
“Who is it?”
“Some man,” the girl replied.
A moment later Eddie Grimes appeared from the darkened hallway, wearing a San Francisco 49ers T-shirt and denim jeans. At first he just stared, not recognizing Kier. It was evident when he realized who was at his door. “What are you doing here?”
“Eddie, I came to—”
“You came to what?” He shouted angrily. He walked up to the door. “What are you doing on my property?”
“I just came to—” He didn’t get another word off. Grimes threw a punch to Kier’s face, connecting with Kier’s nose and knocking him backward off the porch and down the stairs. He landed on his back on the snow-covered walk below, smacking his head on the surface. Kier saw stars and had there not been a couple feet of snow on the ground the fall likely would have knocked him out. A flash of pain shot up his leg. He groaned as he looked up, wet, aching, and dazed. Grimes was standing above him on the porch, red-faced. “I told you if I ever saw you again . . .” He let off a string of curses in machine-gun fashion. Kier put his hand to his nose. It was bent at a slight angle and when he drew his hand away it was covered in blood.
“Eddie, listen . . .”
“I’ll give you five seconds to get off my property before I break you into a million pieces.”
“I just wanted . . .”
“I don’t care what you want. No one cares what you want.” He turned back toward the house. “Lucy! Let Samson out.”
“But Dad . . .”
“I said let him out!”
Kier struggled to his feet. “Eddie . . .”
Grimes was made even more furious at his daughter’s refusal to release the dog. While Kier struggled to his feet, Grimes went back inside, emerging a moment later holding the dog by its choke collar. The dog strained against his grip, worked up by his master’s shouting. “Get him, Samson. Sick ’em. Tear the bum’s legs off.”
The dog lunged wildly against Grimes’s grip. Kier staggered backward toward the gate, searing pain shooting up his leg with each step. Then the dog pulled loose. Forgetting his pain, Kier turned and ran the last few yards to the gate, slamming it shut behind him. The dog bounded through the snow and smashed against the gate, its body bouncing off the chain link. The dog was just inches from Kier, snarling and frothing at the mouth.
Grimes stood on his porch shouting and shaking his fist. “If I ever see you on my property again, you’re dog meat, Kier. Dog meat! You stinkin’ . . .”
Kier didn’t hear his final words as he had climbed inside his car. He wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve, then started his car and drove off.
CHAPTER
Twent
y-one
As instructed, Linda arrived at Kier’s house at four o’clock that afternoon. She pushed the doorbell; Kier answered on the intercom.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Linda.” She paused. “You sound different. Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“I brought some papers you need to sign.”
“Just sign them yourself. You can forge my signature.”
“You know I don’t do that.”
There was a long hesitation before he relented. “The door’s unlocked. Let yourself in.”
She pushed open the door and stepped inside, stopping in the foyer to remove her coat. “Where are you?”
“In the living room.”
She gasped when she saw him, “Omigosh . . .” Kier was lying on the couch. His nose had been set and bandaged and he had a bag of frozen peas on his forehead. His braced ankle was elevated on a stack of pillows. Both eyes were blackened. She quickly walked to him.
“What happened?”
“Grimes wasn’t all that happy to see me. Or maybe he was. I’m not sure.”
“He hit you for apologizing?”
Kier grimaced. “I didn’t get that far.”
“What can I do for you?”
“You can get me another cold pack from the refrigerator.”
Linda lay her coat and the documents on the coffee table in front of the couch and went to the refrigerator, returning a moment later holding a blue cold pack and a bag of succotash. “Do you want the ice pack or the vegetables?”
“I’ll try the ice pack.”
She sat down next to him, lifted the bag of peas, then gently laid the ice pack on the bridge of his nose. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
“It was a great idea. One of my best.”
She couldn’t tell if he was being facetious. “Maybe you could just phone everyone . . . or write a nice note.”
“I destroyed their lives and you think I should write them a note?”
“It would be safer.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“It’s a good thing he didn’t have a gun.”
“He didn’t need one. He had a dog.”
“Exactly. So you’ll write notes?”
“No.”
She stood, shaking her head at his stubbornness. “It’s your funeral.”
“No, I’ve been to my funeral. This isn’t so bad.”
“The documents are right there—on the table. There’s a drywall contract for the Bunten job and Tim Brey needed you to sign off on the development contract for the Allen property.”
“I’ll look at that later.” He adjusted the icepack. “How is Brey?”
Linda grinned. “Like a death row inmate with a commuted execution date. I think he’s waiting for the old James Kier to return.”
“Good. It will keep him humble. Did he decorate the place?”
“Decorate?”
“Decorate, for Christmas.”
She smiled. “Yes. It looks nice. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Oh, Robyn at Le Jardin called this morning. Someone wants to rent the Garden Reception area on New Year’s Day. But they want a discount.
“Robyn knows we don’t do that.”
“She knows. But in this case she thought she should ask.”
“I pay her not to bother me with these details.”
“It’s for your son’s wedding.”
Kier lifted the cold pack to look at her. “Jimmy? Why didn’t he call me?”
“According to Robyn, the bride and her mother chose the place. She was pretty certain that they didn’t know you owned it.”
“But Jimmy does . . .” He lay back down. “He doesn’t plan to invite me.”
“You don’t know that,” Linda said.
Kier sighed. “Yes, I do.” He closed his eyes. After a moment he said, “When I went to the other James Kier’s memorial service I met his son. He said his father was his best friend. Mine doesn’t even want me to come to his wedding. How could I have gone so wrong?”
Linda didn’t say anything.
“Tell Robyn to just give them the place. The catering, flowers, everything they need.”
“I’ll call.” She put her coat back on. “So now what?”
“Back to the list.”
“Who’s next?”
“The Wysses.”
“The Wysses,” she said thoughtfully. “Estelle’s in her eighties. At least you know she can’t beat you up.”
“After what I did, she still might try.”
“Well, keep your guard up this time. I think you can take her.”
He smiled in spite of his pain. “Thanks.”
“I’ll put the peas back in the freezer. Would you like me to get you something for dinner?”
“No. I’ve got instant noodles in the cupboard.”
“Noodles. Great. Call if you need anything else. Good night.”
“Good night.”
She stopped at the edge of the room. “Mr. Kier?”
“Yes?”
“I know your first visit didn’t exactly go the way you hoped. But I’m proud of you anyway.”
He looked at her. “At least someone is.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She let herself out. Kier held the icepack closely to his nose. Why didn’t you call me, Jimmy?
CHAPTER
Twenty-two
Lincoln walked past Kier as he meandered through the steak house, looking for him. Kier called out, “Hey, lawyer.”
Lincoln looked directly at Kier but still didn’t recognize him, which was not surprising, since Kier wore a Yankees cap and sunglasses perched gingerly above his bandaged nose.
“You’re late.”
He looked at Kier quizzically. “Excuse me?”
“Lincoln, it’s me, Kier.”
Lincoln stared at him. “Good heavens, man. What happened to you?”
“Accident.”
“What kind of accident?”
“An accidental accident. Quit gawking. You look like a trout.”
Lincoln sat down, still staring at him.
“So what’s the difference between a lawyer and a bucket of pond scum?” Kier asked.
“What happened to you?”
“You have to answer first.”
“The bucket.”
Kier frowned. “Try this one. You’re stranded on an island with Hitler, a lawyer, and Attila the Hun. You have a gun with only two bullets, what do you do?”
“Shoot the lawyer twice. Enough, already. What did you do? What happened?”
“I knew it would happen someday,” Kier said seriously.
“You knew this would happen?”
“I knew I’d run out of jokes.”
Lincoln drew forward. “Kier, give me a straight answer. What are you up to?”
“What makes you think I’m up to something?”
“You mean besides the fact that you look like Mike Tyson’s sparring partner? I’ve known you a long time, Kier. I can hear the cogs turn in that head of yours.”
“All right, I’ll tell you. Just don’t freak out on me.” He leaned back. “I had Linda compile a list of people I’ve hurt. I’m going to see them all before Christmas.”
“Is that what happened? You went to see one of them?”
“Yes.”
“Man, have you lost your mind?”
“No, I want to make things right.”
“As your lawyer, I strenuously advise against this.”
Kier lifted his glass. “Strenuously? That sounds serious.”
“Just look in the mirror, man. You never apologize after a car accident; it creates an expectation of guilt. What if these people decide to sue you? Or worse.”
“What’s worse?”
“Break your face.”
“Could happen,” Kier said.
Lincoln shook his head. “You have lost it. You’ve finally lost it.”
“I think you’re out of your freaking mind.”
“No really, Lincoln, don’t hold back.”
“Listen, Jim, I know what you’re doing. You read all those comments about you on the Internet and you’ve had a sudden flare-up of conscience. Am I right?”
“Maybe.”
“I know I’m right. The same thing happened to me when Pam left me. But you know what I did?”
“Got drunk for a week?”
“Well, after that. I did nothing. And I’m glad I did. Let me tell you, just ride it out. The guilt will go away. I promise.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Kier rolled his glass between his hands. “What happens when it doesn’t bother me anymore?”
“Then you sleep well.”
“I’ve hurt people, Lincoln.”
“And people have hurt you. It’s a big fat give-and-take. It’s what makes the world go round.” As he leaned back his eyes narrowed. “You need to tell me who did this. I can have them taken care of. I have friends in low places.”
“You’re not going to do anything. This is nothing compared to what I did to him.”
“Good, so you got a few pokes in.”
“That’s not what I meant. This is about restitution, not retribution.”
“No, this is now about retribution. Was it Gifford? Park? Shelton? How about Pinnock or Mitchell? Or that Johnson guy over at Plastiform.”
Kier shook his head. “It’s pathetic that it took you all of two seconds to come up with your own list of people who hate me and none of them are on my list. It just proves my point.”
“What point?”
“That I deserved this.”
“Listen, Kier, if you’re going to make omelets you’ve got to break some eggs. And you, my friend, are a master chef.”
“Enough of the omelet thing.”
At that moment the server walked up to the table. “You gentlemen ready?”
“Get me a raspberry pilsner,” Lincoln said.
“You betcha. Anything else for you?” she asked Kier.