“A crevice tool?” Ty said. “It sounds like something in a porno movie.”
Tony laughed. “Oh, they’re gonna have fun with you!”
On their way back to the car, a frantic woman burst through the front door carrying a box in both arms. She yelled, “Tony! Wait! I have something for you!”
“What is it?” Tony asked.
“Harvey called. He said to give you these laptops.”
Tony took the box, told Ty it would have to sit on his lap because there was no room in the backseat or trunk. As they drove away, Ty asked Tony if there were any dojos in this town while Cory looked out the window at a parking lot full of new and used cars and a big sign that promised a price to fit any budget. He knew he should be thinking about Benny and Detective O and Harvey and how the world had been spinning in one direction and now it was spinning in another. But all he had room for in his head at this moment was the amount of time he needed to accumulate enough money to buy noise-canceling headphones and whether or not the laptop had enough muscle to run Dark Souls III at fifty-five fps.
Their next stop was Bravo Burgers, the restaurant with the waving cow on the roof, except it wasn’t waving now. Tony took them inside to meet the manager, Rebecca. Cory guessed she was maybe eighteen, definitely under twenty, and was certain that Ty was appreciative of how she looked in her tight orange Bravo Burgers T-shirt and cap. Tony introduced them and told her that they would be staying with the Motts through graduation next year. Cory noted the way Tony emphasized staying with the Motts. Like dropping that name was all he needed to do. He also noted that Tony did not include their last names in the introduction.
“You related to the Motts?” she asked.
Before either could answer, Tony said, “I’ll explain later. We’re on a schedule.”
“Oh, right,” she said and nodded at Tony, as if an explanation wasn’t necessary. “Is he putting them to work?”
“At the lot.”
“Too bad. Londa quit last night. She’s moving to Bend.” Rebecca gave Ty a hopeful look. “I could use another busser.”
Tony said, “I’ll tell Harvey.”
“Since they don’t need jobs, and you’re not here to eat, why the visit?”
“Just showing them the highlights.”
“In that case,” she said and winked at Ty, “you better not sneeze or you’ll miss it.”
The last stop before meeting Charlene at Walmart for the shopping spree was the Drip ’n’ Sip. Cory remembered that Stellah was going to stop here last night. While they stood in a line two customers deep he asked Tony if he’d heard from her today.
“Not yet.”
“Like I told you,” Ty said to Cory. “We’re yesterday’s meat.”
“I can text or call her if you want,” Tony said. “It’s really not a problem.”
“No, I’m good,” Cory said. “If she calls, she calls.”
With steaming beverages and bagel sandwiches in hand, they sat at a table overlooking the sidewalk shoppers and cars backed up at the light on Constitution Ave. The sky had clouded up since morning. Rain, or possibly snow, lurked in the very near future.
Tony gave them each a sheet of paper titled Bic Support Team with a list of contact names, numbers, and email addresses for himself and Lacey Sharp, the other caseworker in Luster. The contact info also included an attorney assigned to the team (they would meet him next week), a school psychologist, and a grief counselor that Tony said was on vacation until next Monday. In the meantime they could—
“Grief’s not an issue,” Ty said, “at least not with me.”
“Maybe not now. But it’ll hit once the newness of everything wears off. I know from personal experience.” Tony gave them each a steady look over his coffee, then said to Ty, “Speaking of issues, your file stated that anger management therapy is strongly recommended. What’s up with that?”
Ty shrugged. “I have an allergic reaction to assholes. My fists get all puffy.”
“Are your fists getting puffy now?”
Ty flexed his right hand. “Too early to tell. Keep asking questions. We’ll see what happens.”
“How long have you had this…allergy?”
“As long as I can remember. I think I was overexposed when I was little.”
Tony looked at Cory. “Do you have the same problem?”
Cory had a mouthful of bagel sandwich. Before he could answer, Ty said, “Assholes don’t seem to bother him. I think he’s immune.”
Tony said, “Then Cory’s the lucky one. Unfortunately, you had a reaction this fall that put a kid in the hospital. Criminal charges were filed.”
“And dropped. This is a delicious sandwich. The sausage freakin’ makes it.”
Tony smiled at Ty’s effort to deflect the conversation. “The Motts are aware of your past and they took you in. But it is a concern. They want you to go to therapy. Your first appointment is Wednesday at three o’clock at this address.” Tony pulled a business card out of his wallet and slid it across the table to Ty. “Charlene said she’d take care of your transportation until you start driving the Volvo. The therapist’s name is Erica Sanchez. You’re lucky. In my opinion she’s the best between here and Redmond. Very hard to get an appointment. But good ol’ Harvey, he found a way.”
Without looking at the card, Ty said, “What if I don’t go?”
“There are two ways that can play out, and Harvey made them very clear. You won’t be left alone with the kids until you complete the sessions without a miss. If you refuse to go, then your placement is terminated. I expect you’ll be sent to a lockdown facility until you age out.”
“What about Cory?”
“He didn’t come up.”
“Cory stays.”
“That’s the Motts’ call, not mine.”
Ty slid the card back to Tony. “This is bullshit.”
“I’m afraid it’s not.”
While Ty and Tony glared across the table, Cory thought about the crunching sound he heard when Ty’s foot hit Benny’s face. He remembered the kid just after school started, Francisco, and the picture in the paper of him in the hospital with his face all bandaged up. Cory said, “Just go to the sessions, Ty. Just—”
“Just what? Shrink-wrap my head just to make some rich dude I don’t know or care about happy?”
Ty’s leg was shaking under the table. He was starting to vibrate. Cory said, “Tony, can I talk with Ty outside for a minute?”
“Sure. But keep it short. We’re on a schedule.”
As soon as they were out the door, Ty jumped all over Cory. “We should bail. Leave tonight. You an’ me. Say screw you to milestone man with his six-thousand-dollar fishing poles. That’s just sick, Cor. We don’t need it.”
“You need to chill, Ty.”
“And you need to grow a pair.”
“You’re not thinking.”
“Oh, I’m thinkin’, bro. Clear as a fuckin’ bell.”
Benny mode was closing in. Cory had to act fast. “Just listen, okay? We have zero money. We don’t even have something to sell. But we have jobs with—”
“With crevice tools, whatever the hell that is.”
“He’s letting us use a car. A Volvo! I say we work for a few months, save up some money. If this situation doesn’t work out, then we talk about bailing.”
Ty looked unconvinced.
“Plus,” Cory added, “even if we left, we don’t have a place to go.”
“Not true.”
“Where would we go?” Cory hoped Ty would say, Find Mom.
“Stumptown.”
“Stumptown? Are you shitting me? Stumptown’s a dream. And that dream died with Benny. We need something real. Something we can even find. Let’s see if we can make this work. Please.”
Ty looked down, kicked a cigarette butt off the sidewalk. In that moment, behind Ty, Cory saw a girl round the corner and walk toward them. She had long black hair, jeans, a black jacket with a hood—and then it hit him. She was the g
irl in the window at the ski lodge. Kayla. She walked a few steps in their direction, saw Cory looking at her, and froze.
Still with his back to her, Ty said, “I seriously don’t want a shrink rooting around inside my skull.”
The girl crossed the street in the middle of the block. A car slammed on its brakes to avoid her. She took one more glance over her shoulder in their direction, then hurried away.
Ty was saying, “…win. I’ll do it for us. We stay together. That’s all I really want.”
He held out a fist. Cory bumped it.
“Well?” Tony asked.
Ty picked up the business card, acted like he was going to rip it up. Then shrugged and slipped it in his pocket. “I’ll see the shrink. But it’ll be a huge waste. Because I don’t have a problem. Just so we’re clear.”
“Got it,” Tony said. “You are a problem-free dude. I wish I could say the same about me.” He dropped a five-spot on the table for a tip, turned for the door. “By the way, your friend Stellah called while you were outside. I told her you were busy, but that you would call her back.”
“What’d she say?” Cory asked, relieved, but trying not to show it.
“Not a lot. She only had a minute. She wanted to confirm that you guys were doing okay. I said you already have jobs and are looking forward to school. She said to call or text her when you get phones. Oh, and, Cory—she said she has the package you requested, and that someone wants to talk to you.” Tony handed him a napkin with a phone number scrawled on it with blue ink. Cory recognized the number. It matched the one on the business card in his pocket. “She said it’s urgent. You can use mine.” Tony offered him his phone.
“I know what this is about,” Cory said and waved off the phone. “It’s not that urgent. I’ll call later.”
Ty grabbed the napkin, read the number, and then stuffed it in his not-quite-finished mug of coffee.
Tony studied them for a moment. “Okay, then. Moving on. I also got a text from Charlene. She’s on her way to Walmart.” He stood. “Let the shopping begin.”
While they approached Tony’s car, Ty asked Cory, “What package does Stellah have?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“What did the donut eater want?”
“Probably wanted to know if we’d seen any interesting donut shops.”
Cory climbed into the backseat and closed the door a little harder than he meant to. He didn’t want to get into it with Ty about why he asked for Benny’s cremated remains. Some questions didn’t have answers. As they headed for Walmart with huge white flakes drifting down and Tony tapping the steering wheel to “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” on the radio, Cory tried to think about what he would buy at Walmart, but all he could come up with were images of a little girl next to a playground slide opening a garbage bag full of severed heads.
LUSTER, OR.
ELEVEN MONTHS AGO
31
The Toshiba wasn’t a complete dog. The processor was fast enough to handle most of the games Cory played. But favorites like Dark Souls would be a stretch, and Witcher 3 would turn the onboard Intel graphics card into a steaming puddle of mush. Upgrading the card and doubling the RAM would solve that problem. Cory didn’t see it happening in his immediate future. But Cory could surf and that scratched a more immediate itch. With his brother snoring three feet away, Cory googled Harvey Mott, Luster, Oregon.
He scrolled through three pages of results: Mott Accepts Luster Entrepreneur of the Year, Mott Announces Grand Opening of New Restaurant, Chairman Post on School Board Goes to Mott, Mott Turns Down Third Term on Bench. Link after link celebrated the impressive accomplishments of Harvey Mott, hyper-successful businessman, civic leader, philanthropist, and apparently soon-to-be former judge. The Luster Sentinel ran nonstop front-page features about Harvey launching a new business, receiving an award, starting up a scholarship, or donating yet another big check to another worthy cause. The man was too good to be true. Cory tried to find something negative for balance. The only things that popped up were Harvey getting into a water rights dispute with the llama rancher adjacent to his home.
The videos Cory found had a similar affection for all things Harvey. One memorable clip from the local news channel showed him teaching a gymnasium full of fifth graders how to fly-fish. He donated a rod, reel, and two specialty flies from Perfectflystore.com to every kid in the class but only after promising to embrace the sacred creed of catch and release. “It’s about the skill, not the kill!” he had them chant. Harvey also gave each child a T-shirt, which they proudly wore for the camera. The shirts displayed a smiling trout on the front, and the Mott’s Lot logo emblazoned across the back. Cory viewed this act as a shamefully obvious plug for the business and suspected the love showered on Harvey by the local media was partially due to the huge advertising dollars he sent their way. Even if only 10 percent of that love was earned through his good deeds, the Honorable Harvey L. Mott deserved the Mayor’s Award for Outstanding Service to the Community, a distinction he’d won six times in the past ten years.
Cory skimmed most of the pages, but there were three that he read carefully and bookmarked for future reference. The first, “Mott Explores Co-Op Venture,” covered the story of Bennington’s Hardware, a Luster business icon for over fifty years. It was on the verge of receivership after being rocked by an embezzlement scheme. Thirty-two of the forty-eight employees, some of whom had worked there for thirty-plus years, were destined to lose their jobs. Harvey swooped in, bought the property and business for an undisclosed sum, restructured the debt, added a landscaping service, and, in a stunning act of generosity, reorganized the new business as a co-op where the employees owned 35 percent of the company, with a goal of being 100 percent employee owned in five years. It was during this acquisition that Harvey announced he would not be seeking a third term on the bench. The article mentioned rumors that he could be eyeing a state senate seat, but Harvey would neither confirm nor deny the rumor, stating only that “I’m stepping down to pursue other matters of consequence.” There was a picture of him cutting the ribbon in front of the newly minted Mott’s Lumber and Landscaping, while all forty-eight employees, plus Mayor Patrick Tice, watched and applauded. One of the employees caught Cory’s attention and he zoomed in for a closer look. It was Kayla, the elusive girl in the window. But this Kayla was smiling ear to ear. That was a stark contrast to the girl he saw this morning who almost got hit by a car while obviously working hard to avoid him. Something had dimmed the light in her, and he wondered what that was.
The second article was published eight years ago. A star player on the Luster High School boys’ basketball team was involved in a garage-hopping incident that resulted in the shooting death of his friend and fellow teammate, DeShawn Hollywell. The article covered sentencing of the fifty-eight-year-old shooter and father of three (thirty-six years in prison) and the surviving teen (three weeks at a boot camp for repeat juvenile offenders and six months’ probation). The teen was Anthony “Tony” Tanaka, and the county judge was the Honorable Harvey L. Mott.
The third article was the shortest and the most difficult for Cory to read. It was a single paragraph with a brief statement from a fire department spokesperson attributing the house fire on 59855 Chutney Road in West Portland, which resulted in the death of the homeowner, Benjamin Bic, to an explosion caused by the manufacture of methamphetamine. It concluded with Portland Police Bureau investigating officer Detective Bill Ostrander stating: “We are pursuing the death of Mr. Bic as a homicide. There are no leads or persons of interest at this time. Any individuals or family members with information pertaining to this case should contact me at PPB headquarters immediately.”
Cory suspected the “family members” comment was a reach-out to him. Cory looked at Ty, sleeping soundly, then at Ty’s phone charging on the nightstand. He was pretty sure he could get it off the charger without waking Ty, and reached out to do just that—then remembered AT&T had canceled their plan. Whatever desire
he felt to call Detective O passed. Cory shut down the Toshiba and slid it under the bed. He switched off his light and closed his eyes.
After five minutes of tossing and turning he knew sleep would be impossible. He had another itch, and this one would only get worse until he did something about it. He looked at the clock: 12:48 a.m. He’d play for an hour, a couple levels, three at the most. Just enough to clear his head, then sleep till seven, which was when Charlene was making breakfast—a Spanish frittata with fresh cinnamon rolls—and had said he could help. But the problem with scratching this particular itch was the Wi-Fi signal. It wasn’t strong enough up here to get the download speed he needed. Cory listened for sounds from below, heard nothing. He slipped out of bed, grabbed the laptop, headed for the door.
The downstairs was all silence and shadows. Charlene kept the range hood light on in the kitchen and that provided enough illumination for him to go to the pantry, grab an open bag of tortilla chips, and set up on the couch in the rock room. Pavlov gave him a quick glance from his bed next to the fireplace, thumped his tail once, then went back to sleep. Cory pinged the router, tried to hack in with the default passwords, but nothing worked. Then he checked the Wi-Fi signal. As he hoped, it was a solid five bars. He logged into his account on Battlenet.com and started the estimated twelve-minute download for his latest version of World of Warcraft.
With eight minutes remaining he heard what sounded like a muffled voice. Cory waited a few seconds, heard it again. It was coming from the hall that led to the garage; it had to be Harvey’s office. Cory thought about packing everything up, but didn’t want to stop the download midstream. He scanned the Wi-Fi network to see what other devices were on it at this time. The results showed his laptop plus another device, a Samsung mobile phone named HM*2745 with an IP address. Cory had seen Harvey using an iPhone the previous day, so having a second phone was worth noting. He glanced at the download status—a little over five minutes remaining. He was about to snap a screenshot of the scan when he heard a door open.
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