by E H Davis
“I thought it would speed things up,” he said, as he walked them to the front door, which was propped open, giving Jens a view of the foyer crowded with canvases.
“Hey, Nola,” Teddy said with a smile.
“Hey!” she answered, hanging back until Jens looked her way. “You two don’t mind if I wait in the truck, do you? I’d rather not come in.”
Jens nodded his understanding and then clapped Teddy on the back.
“Hey, big boy, where’s my hug? You’re not too old to give your old man a hug, are you?” he said, reaching his arms around Teddy, who bear-hugged him back with a husky “Naw.” Jens felt the power in his son’s shoulders — man’s strength, no longer a boy’s.
Jens pulled back to look into his eyes, wet with emotion like his own, yet darting hinkily, like one of Jens’ fictional characters grilled by the cops. Jens let it go, happy just to be reunited with his son.
“Your mother around?”
Jens stepped into the foyer, peering inside warily, on the lookout for Vivian. This had to be one of the most awkward moments in a divorce, he thought. The distribution of family assets.
“She’s gone to town on an errand.” Teddy stepped in front of his father, blocking him from going beyond the foyer into the house.
“Dad, why don’t we get this all loaded up and on our way? I know she doesn’t want to see you, and you likely don’t want to see her, right?”
“Teddy, what’s going on?” Jens pushed around him and stumbled into the living room.
“What the hell?” His voice rose angrily. “It looks like a wrecking crew’s been here.”
He surveyed the punched out walls running from the living room into the open-plan kitchen and dining room, up the winding staircase to the hallway and rooms upstairs. Some holes were fist-sized, the handiwork of concentrated, explosive jabs; others were cave-ins, knee to shoulder height, as though from a body blow or a karate kick.
“I can explain,” cried Teddy, trying to cut Jens off again.
“You’d better!”
He walked around the room, once the center of family life, redolent with memories of his son’s journey to manhood and all the precious moments along the way.
“Jesus, Teddy!”
“Well, you know I’ve been training in kick-boxing— it’s something I can do well, even with my lousy coordination,” he said shyly, “and ... see, me and Mom haven’t exactly been getting along since you left —”
“Wait a minute, Teddy, I didn’t leave you —”
“I know, that’s not what I meant —”
Jens was too stunned to say anything.
“I offered to fix the walls, but Mom said she doesn’t care anymore about what happens to the house — or about anything — she’s in a bad way ... and she’s been taking it out on me, now that you’re gone. You know how she can be.”
“I just don’t understand what could make you mad enough to take out one wall, let alone,” he swept his arm at the damage, “this.”
Teddy stared at the floor, started to answer, fell silent. Finally, he met Jens’ eyes.
“I know who Mom’s been crying on the phone with,” he blurted. “His name’s Warren. He’s a real bastard — a lot worse than Laurent, believe me.” He tensed up, fists balled, muscles rigid. “I’m going to kill him if I ever catch him bothering Mom again.”
Jens recoiled from Teddy’s anger.
“Warren who?”
“I don’t know, I just know he’s been blackmailing Mom, threatening to tell about her past.”
“That’s all out in the open now. He can’t hurt her anymore.”
“I know.” He gestured at the damage inflicted on their once safe and secure home. “I was trying to cope with Mom’s refusal to go to the police. She finally explained why she couldn’t — he’d threatened to hurt me.”
Jens nodded slowly, forcing his breathing to return to normal.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you.”
“I know — Mom got rid of you and you had to write your book.”
“I’m here now, son.”
They hugged for a long time.
“Let’s get loaded,” he said softly, leaving the rest unsaid for the moment.
________
While Teddy loaded the van, Jens stepped into the bathroom for privacy and called Ferdie, telling her what Teddy had told him.
“This might explain her behavior the past few months — she was protecting Teddy,” rejoined Ferdie.
“All of it,” added Jens. “The appropriated bank account, the maxed-out credit cards, the vanished art.”
“Warren. Is that a first or last name?”
“Teddy didn’t say. He thought he was a friend of Laurent’s.”
“Laurent doesn’t have any friends. Oh my God, I’m so stupid.”
“What?”
“I forgot to check his prison record for known associates and cell-mates.” She went into overdrive. “Jens, I gotta go. I’m sending troopers to both Lee and Jackson to keep an eye on things.
Chapter Fifty-Five
A few houses down from Warren’s, Laurent found himself shivering in the thin poplin Members Only jacket he’d brought with him from prison. Only months since his release, it seemed like several lifetimes ago.
He’d called Warren on his burner, informing him that his truck was back, along with some good faith cash on the seat, for its rental and repair.
Laurent had then begged for Warren’s understanding. He’d been thinking with his dick, he confessed, not with his head. Now all he wanted was to put things right with his partner. That bitch, Vivian, had scorned him — but not before he’d commandeered her laptop, which was all he needed to get into her bank account, he lied, pretending he didn’t already know Warren had sucked her dry. They’d split it, he went on; it would make up for the money they’d planned to extort from her husband.
Now, he watched from his hiding place in the bushes as Warren cautiously peeked through his living room curtain, probing the dark, no doubt with his Glock at his side.
Laurent patted the laptop in his backpack; he’d found it in the trash behind a computer repair shop. Misdirection, the key to besting Warren, he’d decided. The broken laptop would serve that purpose. Laurent did not for a minute believe that Warren was buying any of his bullshit. But that didn’t matter— smoke and mirrors was all it was. How could Warren know that he knew? Laurent mused.
________
Naturally, Warren knew that Laurent was conning him, knew that the trip to Jackson had been window dressing, knew he’d been blackmailing Vivian. But he went along with it, believing himself wiser, stronger, superior.
From his perch at his front window, he called Laurent back on his cell phone.
“So, can I trust you to meet me in a public place, with witnesses?”
Waiting for an answer, he scanned the street. Laurent, he knew, was out there — under a parked car, behind a fence, hunkered down somewhere in the bushes — ready to pounce.
Warren had been desperate — his investors, up from Boston’s North End, had paid him a visit — in his home — leaving him no choice but to put the squeeze on Vivian. Laurent, lovesick, would never have agreed.
“Not a problem,” said the voice at the other end. “Great minds think alike, eh?”
“Just so you know, I’ll be packing.”
“Warren, this is me. Your celly, remember?”
Warren guffawed.
“You got the laptop with you? With her bank access?” He played along.
“I do. Indeed.” Laurent had told Warren that he’d set up a bank account on the dark web, where he could deposit her funds as bitcoins and get the cash.
“The Cafe in ten minutes. They’ve got Wi-Fi. We can do the whole thing from there.”
Neither believed either was going to the Café. Each believed himself the winner.
________
Warren slipped out the front door, hugging the hedges and stealthily making his way
, his Glock cocked and ready. No street lamps. The surrounding houses cast shadowy light from behind drawn shades.
Reacting to what sounded like a twig snapping underfoot, he swung his Glock up. His hearing grew attenuated. Panic mounting with every step, he knew he had to see this through. For his family: indoors, unsuspecting, oblivious.
He made his way to the pickup, elbows locked, blindly sweeping the way before him like SWAT. From the grapevine, he knew that his pickup had been used in an attempted murder. It would have to disappear along with Laurent. This had to end fast: the cops were probably already on to him.
Once at the truck, he risked a look inside. Clear. Edging around to the driver’s side, he risked another look inside. Incredible — a wad of bills on the seat, just as Laurent promised.
Skeptical, he wondered if it was a dummy pack, with a few bills on top and the rest paper cut to bill-size. He wouldn’t put it past Laurent. It’s what he would have done.
Ducking down alongside the truck, he looked underneath.
Clear.
A rustling nearby!
He whipped around and strafed the hedges.
He shivered with rage, his defense against the mounting certainty that he’d been duped. By the fish he’d schooled himself.
Inching forward, he stabbed his Glock into the bushes and rolled to the other side. Tamped grass and broken branches, no doubt left by Laurent.
Where the frig is he?
Huffing with adrenalin, Warren returned to the street.
All clear! Had that idiot really kept his word and gone to meet him at the café?
There was a backpack in the flatbed of his truck, the zipper half down, exposing a laptop. Approaching cautiously, he leaned over to retrieve it.
That’s when he felt a sharp slicing pain on the side of his neck.
“You move, you’re a dead man,” Laurent whispered in his ear. “Carotid bleeds out in ten seconds or less.”
“I don’t move, I’m a dead man.” Muscles tensed, Warren acted resigned, playing for time.
Laurent tore the Glock from his hand. “Get in, asshole!”
He opened the passenger’s door, pushed him inside, got in beside him. Jamming the Glock into his ribs, he shoved him behind the wheel.
“Now, do exactly what I tell you, and I’ll spare Marie and your daughter.”
Warren nodded stoically. “Spare them. Yes. Please.”
Warren stared at him long and hard, searching for a chink in his armor.
“I was jammed up — owed money to the wrong guys. They came here ....” His voice trailed off. He knew Laurent would show no mercy.
“You screw her?”
Warren’s surprise was all the answer he needed.
“It didn’t have to end this way,” Laurent said finally, almost sounding sad.
Warren glanced up at his home one last time.
“Goodbye,” he whispered. He put the truck in gear and drove slowly away.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Once the rental van was loaded, Jens sent Nola on ahead to the storage facility nearby in Greenland, where Jens and Teddy would join her, unload, drop off the truck, and be on their way to Jackson.
But just as Jens was leaving the drive, Vivian pulled in, nearly crashing into them. Jens swerved to avoid her, watching through the rearview mirror as she came to a jerky stop in front of the barn. She stayed in the car, motionless. Jens exchanged worried looks with Teddy, wondering if she was drunk.
“I think she’s waiting for you to leave, Dad.”
“I need to tell her we know and that help is on the way. I called Ferdie, she’s sending officers over for her protection.”
Jens started to get out of the car, but Teddy stopped him.
“Dad, Dad, let me. I need to say goodbye,” he said, choking up.
Jens watched Teddy lean into her open window and coax her out of the car. She glanced in Jens’ direction as she and Teddy hugged. Reaching up, she bent Teddy’s face to hers and kissed him repeatedly.
Teddy circled his arms around her bear-like, hoisted her off her feet, murmuring words of reassurance — Jens’ caught “Call you” and “Don’t worry, we’ll see each other soon” and “I love you, Mom.”
Then something Teddy said made them laugh and left them hiccupping between sobs. She held onto his hand as he pulled away, her arm extended long, long after, forlorn. It was the saddest thing Jens had ever seen. He fought back his own tears.
Teddy got in the car and said huskily, “She said she’d wait for Ferdie’s troopers. Let’s go.”
“Shouldn’t we keep her company until the police to arrive?”
“She’s ashamed, she betrayed you, can’t face you now.”
Jens pulled out onto the road and drove, afraid to look back, afraid she had turned into a pillar of salt.
________
On the ride back to Black Mountain, while Teddy and Nola kept a running patter going — about music, fashion, slang, school, and whatever else came to mind— Jens was silent. He was having a hard time correlating the garrulous, blithe young man in the back seat, reminiscent of the Teddy Jens knew and loved, with the violent hulk who’d decimated the family home in Lee. Teddy must have felt his sidelong scrutiny because he paused in his conversation with Nola to glance at Jens.
“You okay, Dad?”
Jens nodded noncommittally. Their eyes met. Teddy’s were frank with concern. He seemed to nod back, imperceptibly, as if to say, I know what’s bothering you, and I will explain everything, later, if you let me. Jens shook off his worried air and smiled.
“I’m fine — just playing around with some ideas for the book,” he lied.
“Writer at work,” interjected Nola ironically. “What, is our conversation not highbrow enough for you?”
“I doubt you would know the music I was into when I was Teddy’s age.”
“Give me a try, Daddio.”
“All right — ‘Heart of Glass.’”
“Easy! Blondie, 1978.”
“I’m impressed,” said Nola. “Your son’s a veritable compendium of music trivia.”
Teddy smiled self-consciously. “Is that your best shot, Dad?”
“Okay.” Jens considered a moment. “If I fell in love with you.”
“Excuse me?”
“The song, Nola,” Jens said with a smile.
“I got this,” said Teddy smugly. “The Rolling Stones.”
“Dringgg!” Jens made a sound half-way between a ringing bell and a clang. “Wrong. Listen.”
He cleared his throat and began singing the lyrics to The Beatles’ “If I Fell”. His voice rose to a crescendo, drawing out the last note.
“Not bad,” said Nola.
“Here’s a clue. It came out in ’64.”
“If it wasn’t the Stones,” Teddy said, “it had to be The Beatles.”
“‘If I Fell’ From the album A Hard Day’s Night,” added Nola.
“Now I’m impressed,” said Jens.
“So, Dad, know any Lil Wayne songs?” He winked at Nola.
“Lil Wang? Gee, I don’t know. You mean like ‘She Will’ and ‘How to Love’? Or what about this?” He rapped the first few military-sounding lines of “6 Foot 7 Foot.”
Nola and Teddy joined in, Nola beating a rhythm on the steering wheel, with an occasional honk on the horn, to the annoyance of the drivers of the cars they passed, and Teddy pounding the back of his father’s seat, syncopating with mouth beats. Oh, yeah.
In this mood the ride to Jackson passed quickly. Soon they were wending up Black Mountain Rd. in the dusk, and Jens was feeling the old excitement of coming home, the home his writing had bought, only now its appeal was imperfect.
Something had changed for him in that frantic moment of disorientation at the bottom of the Piscataqua River, when he didn’t know whether he was thrashing toward the surface and life, or downward, to his watery grave. What had changed exactly, he couldn’t say. But he hoped it hadn’t killed his connection to his stor
y — with Cassie, Tommy, and Emma, and that monster Orozco, who epitomized all the evil in the world, which, Jens could now attest, was real and present.
With his attempt on Jens’ life, Laurent had expelled him forever from his cushy world of the imagination, into a harsher reality, one of cold-blooded murder and the mayhem of life in prison, where a brazen glance is provocation for gouging out a man’s eyes with a spoon. His actions had declared him Jens’ nemesis. No longer could Jens construct his symbolic worlds of fiction without encountering the reality of Laurent. Jens had to stay on guard until Laurent was captured and brought to justice.
And now there was another monster, Warren, whom Ferdie was pursuing, hound dog that she was.
________
The next day Nola drove Jens down to Conway to the Subaru dealer to pick up a loaner covered by his insurance. He soon got used to driving the automatic with one hand, using his sling-arm only to flip the turn signal switch and raise and lower the electric windows. He managed to shop all by himself, though for the first time ever he didn’t turn down the bag boy’s offer to help him load the bundles into the car. Jens made one more stop before returning home, to the liquor store where he purchased a selection of red and white wines and a 12-pack of Belgian beer.
On the way back to the car, his path took him past the local gun shop. He paused to look at the firearms in the window, noting the prices on the double and single barrel shotguns, like the ones the trooper had recommended.
“I can give you a great deal on a shotgun, if that’s what you’re interested in,” said the clerk, who had come out of the store onto the sidewalk to see what Jens was transfixed by.
He was middle aged, like Jens, with a bald, bullet-shaped head and sallow complexion. He wore an oilcloth apron that accentuated rather than hid his belly.
“You prefer a side-by-side or an over-and-under?”
Jens, holding up a hand to ward him off, started backing away.
