by Tim Garvin
Dean Fleemer said, “I don’t know a thing about a murder.”
“Where did you have lunch yesterday?”
“What do you mean? I didn’t kill anybody.”
“Where did you eat your lunch, Dean?”
“What do you mean?”
Belle said, “He means where did you fucking eat. He ate with me, in our home, which is right there, trailer three. Right there.” She pointed across the drive to a blue-and-white trailer with a plywood window, a line of three outdoor cookers, and a chain-wrapped, tarp-covered lawn mower.
Seb looked across the benches to Elton Gleen. He smiled. “How about you, Elton. Did you eat with the Fleemers?”
“No. I do not eat with Fleemers.” He laughed.
Dean said, “Is lunch against the law now?”
Belle said, “He’s checking alibis. Somebody got killed at lunchtime.”
“That’s right, Belle.” Seb crossed the lawn to stand at the foot of Elton’s lounger. “You know a guy named Leo Sackler?”
Elton, still with his hands laced behind his head, appraised Seb with disinterest. He said, “Is that who got killed?”
Seb said, “Did you know him? Ever speak with him?”
“Never once. Never saw him with my eyes.”
Dean said, “Did he get killed? Who was he?”
Belle said, “He was that black that got the lodge.”
Seb said, “Where’d you eat your lunch, Elton? Yesterday.”
“I have given up lunch as part of a weight-control regime. Instead, I have a mixture of applesauce, prune juice, and psyllium. I got that from my refrigerator. The rest of the day I spent here and various ones can testify to that. There’s two right there.”
Belle said, “He was here.”
Seb turned to Cody and spoke across the lawn. “How about you, Cody?”
Cody’s mouth opened. He tried to think, but his mind tightened. He had been on the Marine base, digging flytraps. He couldn’t say that. He could say he ate with his sister. Which could be checked. He was pausing too long. He said, “McDonald’s.”
“McDonald’s out on 24?”
“Yeah.”
Seb took out his cell phone, crossed to Cody’s hot tub. He said, “Sit up out there a minute, Cody.”
Cody pushed himself out of the water so that his thin shoulders emerged. Seb took his picture with the cell phone. Seb said, “In case I have to check your alibi.”
Elton said, “You want my picture? Feel free.”
Dean said, “Who got killed?”
“Leo Sackler. He was found last night with a rope around his neck. The rope went under his arm, like this.” Seb pantomimed the death scene, tracing a line under his arm. “So we don’t think it’s suicide. We’re seeing if it was a murder.”
Dean said, “Did someone say they saw me out there or something?”
“Out where?”
“Out where he lives. Where does he live?”
“Right behind the trailer park, about a half mile through the woods. On the inlet.”
Belle said, “He’s the one, goddammit, Dean, that got the Ford place.”
Dean said, “Oh.” He added, “Well, I sure did not kill him.”
Elton said, “You killed him and robbed him, didn’t you, Dean?”
Dean looked at Elton, then at Seb. He said, “He’s joking.”
Seb crossed to Elton again. He straddled the end of the lounger and sat, forcing Elton to spread his legs and drop his feet onto the grass.
Elton said mildly, “What the fuck, Detective.”
“What about the morning? I wonder where you were yesterday morning.” Seb kept his voice low, as if between him and Elton. The Fleemers and Cody listened attentively in the quiet of the yard.
“Right here.”
“I’m thinking you might have walked over to meet your new neighbor. Just a stroll through the woods.”
“I did not.”
“And you told him a thousand a month for peace.”
“I did not.”
“He told his daughter you did. He recognized you, Elton.”
Elton let a moment pass. He said, “That’s not a dying declaration though, is it? That’s hearsay, if I know my law.”
“Which I know you do. But what you don’t know is that he was videoing everything. Or maybe you do and that’s why you took the phone. But did you know he had it set on automatic upload? That video is on the cloud.”
Elton let another moment pass. He said, “How about play it for me.”
“We’re getting a court order. But listen, Elton. I’m on the murder, not the extortion. I’ll kick extortion to the side if they’re not connected. If they’re connected, well then, I can understand your silence. I mean if you went there yesterday morning and then came back and killed him. I can’t see you being that stupid, but maybe you went back and something happened, and now we’re on different sides. But if you didn’t kill him, and only extorted him, and you don’t talk to me, we’ll take it hard, me and everyone else downtown. Plus it’ll be obstruction, which is a five-year crime, and for you probably a shit ton more. So consider—if that video comes in with you on it, even just your voice on it, and we have to go through all kinds of expensive electronic shit proving it’s you, that will create intensity and hard feelings. On the other hand, if you relate to me that you had a conversation with Mr. Sackler, and he misunderstood something—maybe you were offering your services, and he took it wrong—I’m here to understand that.”
Elton gave a flat stare, then, as if chest-punched, broke into shrill hee-hees. “Goddamn, that was pretty.” He said loudly to the Fleemers, “I love this Seb Creek.” He turned a flat stare to Seb. “You must play me the video. Which there is no video. Nobody’s a child right here. And I guarantee you, you folks get any sniff of crime on me, you’re going to the bank, no doubt. You wouldn’t be pressing on me if you had anything. All that about a phone. What’s a man doing videoing himself digging a well? Nobody’s a child right here.”
Seb delivered a lengthy, methodical gaze. He said, “You know what? I doubt you killed him. The timing’s off, and it’s too stupid for Elton Gleen. But I’m keeping an open mind. Next subject. I’ve got to give you a warning. I hate to do it, but I said I would.”
“You hate to give me a warning?”
“I do, because I’d rather arrest you. My warning concerns a girl named Rubella—I forget her last name. Her mother and the school counselor found you playing strip poker with her this morning. Recall that?”
Elton smirked. He said, “It’s not coming back.”
“She’s sixteen. If she walks into your trailer naked, you best call 911.”
Elton laid his head back and watched the sky indifferently.
Seb stood. He said, “I’ll catch you for something one day, if I don’t catch you for murder.”
Elton said to the sky, “Well, keep on.” Then he added, “I got a call from my nephew this morning. He said you beat him unmercifully.”
“Carl Peener?”
“He said he’s going to sue you good.”
Seb crossed again to Cody, who saw him peripherally, took a fast breath, and submerged. When he resurfaced, Seb was standing at the foot of the hot tub, gazing intently at him.
Seb said, “You ever hear a song called ‘The Parting Glass’?”
Window Courage
Cody sat at Elton’s poker table while Elton clattered up a spoon from his silverware drawer. He handed him the spoon and said, “Try it. It will keep you regular as a clock.”
Cody lifted the lid of the ceramic teapot, peered in, and inspected the goop, as Elton called it, a cold brown applesauce–prune juice–psyllium jelly. He scooped out a spoontipful and put it in his mouth. It was grainy and tasted pruney. He nodded deferentially. He said, “Nice.”
&nbs
p; Elton said, “Get some now. Get a glob. It keeps your gut clear and clean. They should use it in the pornography industry.”
Cody nodded and took a larger spoontipful.
Elton said, “You didn’t get that, did you? Because of anal sex. Which is perversion on top of perversion, in my opinion.”
Cody swallowed and nodded. This was his first time in Elton’s trailer, the park palace, and he was waiting to see what was what.
Earlier, as Seb Creek drove away, Keisha and her mom had entered the Coopertown driveway in their station wagon, and Seb had talked window to window with the mother, a large black woman. As the station wagon proceeded past the hot tub yard, Cody saw Keisha say something to her mom, and they backed up. So she had said, hey, there’s Cody. Cody was the landlord’s son and was polite, and so was approved of by Keisha’s mom, who did not know his history or that her daughter and Cody were having sex.
Keisha got out of the car and shoved Cody’s head under the water. He surfaced and suitably sputtered. He said, “Ms. March, your daughter’s trying to drown me.”
Keisha said, “I’m baptizing you.” She was a trim nineteen-year-old black girl with short hair, a flat, faintly Asian face, and a gap between her front teeth.
That was when Elton Gleen got up from his lounger, produced a towel from his sundries cabinet, and tossed it to Cody, who caught it two-handed before it hit the water. Elton said, “Cody, dry off and come in here. I got to show you something.”
It was a command, demeaning to a guy in front of his girlfriend, but Keisha had kindly turned away, pretending interest in the Fleemers’ murder account. Cody dried off, wrapped his cutoffs in the towel, and was now seated at the famous thousand-dollar-pot poker table. His bare feet rested on the thick sponge of the blood-hiding rug, and the cheerful face of Harvey Clement fluttered through his mind. He could see Keisha through the sliding glass door. She and her mom were still standing, not settling. Keisha threw him a glance. He lifted his head, but she looked away.
Elton said, “You still eat at McDonald’s? I don’t consider McDonald’s even food.”
Cody met his gaze, then let his eyes wander. He didn’t bother to speak. Something was coming.
Elton said, “That Seb Creek will get behind you. You saw him sit on my lounger and press on me? That was police work right there.”
Cody said, “That was the debt, wasn’t it?”
“What debt?”
“The one I was supposed to collect.”
Elton said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you have any idea what you’re talking about?”
Cody glanced at Elton, then back at Keisha, with her mother, speaking to the Fleemers. He watched her shoulders, her thin arms gesturing. That’s why he was here then, in the sanctum, to clean his memory. He said, “No idea.”
“That’s correct. No ideas. Now then, I saw you freeze up when he asked you where you ate. You said McDonald’s, first thing that came to you. But you were out flytrapping, weren’t you?”
Cody said, “Yes.”
“That’s the tangled web of crime, son. Right now, Creek’s thinking, why did that fucker lie to me about where he ate? Because what the hell, even Dean Fleemer could see you lied.”
Cody looked at Elton. After a moment, he said, “Not necessarily. You knew I was lying because you knew I was out trapping. Maybe he thought I hesitated because I couldn’t remember where I ate.” This was a clear, faintly defiant, un-Cody-like response and left an odd disquiet in the room. And Cody thought, it’s because of Keisha, who again glanced through the glass door at him. She was sending courage.
Elton folded his arms and leaned against the counter. He pursed his thin lips into an air kiss. He said, “Well.” He let a moment pass. He said, “How many traps did you get?”
Cody stared at Elton. What was it then? Blackmail? Maybe a flytrapping partnership. Let me hold you in my wisdom and be your guide. For a fee. Keisha had looked away but now looked back again. Their eyes lingered together.
Cody said, “You know why those feds were here?”
“No, I don’t.”
Cody let a silence go. He lifted the lid of the teapot and tested its perfect fit. It was a white, handmade teapot, tall with a long spout, like a watering can. It had several rose-colored marks at the base and one at the top on one side but not the other, which seemed odd, then right. He said, “I bet I know.”
“What do you know, Cody?”
“I stole three of their Stinger missiles.” Cody sent a one-hand-clapping wave to Keisha, and she trilled fingers back.
“You did?”
Cody glanced at Elton, then into the air. He felt his body pressing into the chair, heavy and clear. He was seated at the famous poker table and had made a famous bet. He said, “When those choppers crashed.”
Elton swung his arms out of their fold, retrieved the teapot, and deposited it in the refrigerator. He put his hands behind him and leaned against them on the counter. He said, “Let’s hear it, little man.”
Later Cody would see how it had happened, how he’d been at first exalted by the theft and fate, then fear-stricken and numb, then unsettled by his father’s bullying apology, then, through the glass door, had imbibed Keisha’s assurance and grown strong again and spoken truth, spoken it to wild man Elton Gleen, who he might be in league with about a murder, if Elton had actually killed the black man, and who could now destroy him, which made the truth worthy and strong. Plus, when he thought about it, Elton was the natural refuge for this kind of truth, the dug-in criminal.
So he told it. About making an island camp, about the storm over the ocean, then the wind and lightning and the falling trailer. He even told that he had buried them, the water he had poured to cover his traces. But not where. Sense had reemerged.
Elton said, “Will they shoot?”
“Yes, they’ll shoot.”
“Cody Cooper, you either hit a jackpot, or you’re in one. How much can you get for a Stinger missile?”
“I’m not selling them.”
“The fuck you say.”
Cody did not respond. His eyes shifted around the kitchen, then again through the glass door. Keisha was getting into the station wagon with her mother. She closed the door, looked at him. She clap-waved, and he clap-waved back.
Elton pulled up one of the folding chairs, reversed it, and sat astraddle. He leaned, forearms braced on the chair top. He said, “Cody, look at me.”
Cody looked away from Keisha at Elton’s thin lips. It was like pulling out of one dream into another.
Elton said, “They got a prison in Colorado for guys that do terrorist shit. It’s like eight-by-eight cells, twenty-four hours a day, one guy by himself. Solitary forever. They don’t give a shit if you go crazy. They just feed and water you until you die. They watch you so you can’t kill yourself. Just sitting right here, hanging out, we cannot imagine that. We go outside, have a conversation, get in the tub, smoke a doobie. But right now, as I am speaking, there are guys in those cells. And now you have told me about your amazing crime, you dumb motherfucker. Which I don’t know if it’s true. But if it’s true, what the fuck, Cody. I got to pick up the phone. I’m not going to Colorado.”
Cody’s brow furrowed. He gazed at Elton intently. He did not know what exactly he supposed would happen next with Elton, but it was not, let me call the police. It was, here’s what’s next, here’s what to do. Really, he hadn’t supposed anything. It had come out for another reason, a mystery reason, a destiny reason. He flash-considered strolling into the kitchen for a drink of water, say, then rummaging a knife out of a drawer. That did not attract him though, a bloody miserable fight. Also, Elton was flashy strong. He said, “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“We’re sort of friends, Cody, but I don’t owe anybody life in an eight-by-eight cell.”
“Forget I mentioned it.”
/> “Can’t be forgotten, Cody. Is it true?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie, motherfucker, or I’ll pick up that phone.”
“Okay.”
“Is it true?”
“Yes.”
Elton’s face stretched in a smile. “Fucking Cody Cooper’s got Stinger missiles.”
Cody watched. Something was coming. What was next was coming. One tension began to release. There was another one beneath it. There was heavy weight beneath it. He had invited it.
Elton said, “What would somebody pay for a Stinger missile?”
Cody shrugged. He tried to hold his face normal, but it throbbed.
Elton said, “Ten million dollars is what I think. That’ll do anyway. And I guarantee you the terrorists have got the money. The question is, how do we contact them? Look at me, Cody.”
Cody lifted his head, which had fallen forward.
Elton said, “Don’t fade on me, dawg.”
“Okay.”
“Can you contact the terrorists? Secretly?”
“No.”
“Then I have to make that phone call. Can you contact them?”
“Maybe. Probably.”
“Probably’s bullshit. We can’t run with probably. Can you contact the terrorists?”
“Yes.”
“How will you do that?”
“They have websites. Get on a tor client and write them an email.”
“Let’s do it. Can you do it now?”
“No.” Cody began to undream. He began to think. “You don’t have a tor client, and we can’t download one now. They’ll be watching for that. Anybody downloads tor now the FBI would come in five minutes.”
“Really? Good to know. Then what do we do?”
“I have tor. Thing is, it may be compromised these days. Nobody knows anymore.”
“Explain that, Cody. Be quick and be right.”
Elton drilled him with a stare. The stare said, I need to know the chances. Bad chances, I call the cops. Cody settled, gathered, and lied: “I can do it. I can get to some clean exit nodes. And I haven’t updated my tor for years. So it hasn’t been compromised.” This was drivel. He watched Elton’s head move slowly up, then slowly down, a nod, the reluctant acceptance of odds.
