by Wes Markin
“It’s a nice offer, but I’m not prepared—”
“And I’ll give you half a million dollars to quit your job and walk away from Blue Falls.”
Gabriel widened his eyes. Unexpected. He snorted. “And then I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life!”
“You’ll be doing that anyway. You might as well hope I’m telling you the truth.”
Charles coughed, and Priscilla ran her fingers through her husband’s thinning hair.
“Why don’t you just put a pillow over his head?”
She glared at Gabriel. “Because that’s not who I am.”
“It’s exactly who you are.”
“You think you have the measure of me, Gabriel, and I believe I have the measure of you. So, my offer should interest you. Go away and think about it; accept it as soon as you can, because if, and when, things get worse, you may not find me in such an accommodating mood.”
The existence of Davis Conveniences repulsed Mason, and he’d never even driven past for a sly peek. He looked at the store front, licked by a light green paint, for the first time. The displays, most notably one of a well-known brand of dogfood, were meticulously organized. The sign above the shop was written in a fashionable font, using an array of colors, and even came with an eye-catching logo: Davis Conveniences wrapped around a heart. It was a warm and welcoming store, certainly not befitting of its cold and unapproachable owner, Cam Davis.
Despite being on the verge of losing everything, potentially even his freedom, Mason felt strangely elated as he strode through the shop door to confront the spectacled Cam Davis, who was preoccupied by his cash register at the counter. My last stand, he thought. There was something romantic in that.
“As I live and breathe, Mason Rogers!” Cam looked up from his cash register and plucked off his spectacles.
Mason nodded. “Cam.”
Cam looked him up and down and smiled. “Wow! Now this is something I never thought I would see.”
“We need to talk.”
Cam nodded and studied his cash register. “Maybe you could help me out first. New technology, eh? Driving me nuts. They said it would make things easier.” He chuckled and eyed Mason. “Ah shit. Hang on, sorry, I’m forgetting. They cost a fucking fortune; you probably don’t have one at the moment. I heard business was bad.”
Mason smiled. “You heard, did you? Did you not just assume it from the fact that most of my customers are now coming to your shop?”
Cam shrugged. “All’s fair in love, war, and business. You left the market wide open, Mason. People were desperate for quality and hurting over the high prices you were charging.”
Mason cracked his knuckles.
Cam grinned. “Aren’t we a little old for a tumble in the aisles? I have a reputation to maintain.”
“Ha! And what reputation is that, Cam? Local bad boy turned good?”
Cam nodded. “Sounds about right.”
“I think you’re underestimating the memories of the folks around here.”
“They’re coming in droves, Mason.”
“Times are tough, and people are desperate.”
“Maybe,” Cam said, rolling his shoulders and loudly cracking his back. “Or maybe those memories you speak of take them back to a time when the Davis family were upstanding members of society until their livelihood was cruelly snatched away from them?”
“After everything you and your family have done, do you really think people will accept your family into their world again?”
Cam opened his hands to gesture the shop around him. “The proof of the pudding is in the eating! I don’t know, maybe they’re happy to see balance restored? After all, it was your family who wronged mine, not the other way around.”
“It was my brother. It wasn’t my family.”
“Same difference.”
“Not really.”
“Okay, so tell me where the disappearing Rogers boy is then?”
“I don’t know. We never heard from him.”
“Bullshit. Are you telling me Ma and Pa Rogers never spoke to him again?”
“I don’t know, but I’m certain I didn’t.”
“Liars make my skin crawl, especially when they’re on my property. The fact is that you and your family protected him. Rather than have him face up to what he’d done, you hid him away.”
“What was the alternative? What would you have done to him if he’d stayed?”
“How little you think of us.”
Carson Davis came out through a door behind the counter. In contrast to his burly father, Carson was a wiry man. He had a moustache so thin it looked like it’d been pencilled on. He nodded a greeting at Mason; there was no malice in the nod. Mason didn’t know Carson, but, unlike his father, he possessed a reputation of being introverted and well-mannered. He was probably a large part of the reason that locals had become more trusting of the Davis clan and had frequented their new store.
“Is it tidy back there, son?” Cam asked.
“Yes, Dad.”
Cam smiled at Mason. “At the moment, we’re having to bring in so much stock things get messy quick.”
Mason narrowed his eyes.
“Which reminds me, Carson,” Cam said, “can you head over to the Stevenson farm?”
“Yes, Dad.”
Cam was still smiling at Mason. “You could stick around if you want. The quality of the vegetables is superb. I could fix you a box.”
Mason gritted his teeth. His deliveries from Stevenson had dwindled recently—not only because the demand in his shop had deteriorated, but because Stevenson was sending most of his produce here.
“So, what brought you in here today, Mason?”
“I got your messages.”
“Messages? What messages?” Cam looked at Carson. “Did you send any, son?”
Carson shook his head.
Cam refocused on Mason. “Sorry, you must have made a mistake.”
“Kyle. You’re a cruel man, Cam Davis.”
Cam shrugged. “Kyle? Sorry, I really don’t know what you’re talking about—”
Mason slammed his palm on the counter. “He was a pup, you sick bastard.”
Cam shook his head. “Still not following.”
“I got your threats on my cell too.”
Cam looked at his son, and then back at Mason, his eyes wide to demonstrate his disbelief. “Listen, I know you lost your boy recently, Mason, but you can’t just come in here—”
Mason pointed at Cam. “Don’t you dare! You don’t get to mention my boy.”
Carson flinched while Cam raised his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. I respect that. Like I said, I don’t want any trouble in my store—”
“And you raped my wife!”
Cam scrunched his face in disgust. “Really? You honestly believe that?”
“Believe?” Mason sneered. “I know.”
Cam touched his chest. “Do you think I need to rape anyone?”
Mason was breathing quicker now. He was struggling to keep himself calm but knew he had to. Fighting was not the purpose of this visit.
“Why am I still a free man then?” Cam asked.
“Because you wore a mask. You wore protection. You were careful.”
“You’re delusional, Mason. Absolutely delusional. According to your family, your brother was a schizo. Ever wondered if you are too?”
“So, did I imagine what you did to me outside my shop that day?”
Cam lifted his eyebrows. “No. That definitely happened. But what do you expect? You were a suspected child killer. Actually, maybe I should change that were to are.”
Mason looked at Carson. His head was lowered. “I’ll head off now, Dad.”
“You do that, son.”
After he’d left, Mason said, “He’s different to you.”
“Soft, you mean?”
“No, just not a prick.”
Cam smiled. “Time you got to the point. As fun as it is being stuck on this
record with you, I’ve got shit to do.”
“I didn’t come here to fight; I came to make you an offer.”
Cam snorted. “You want to make me an offer! What could you possibly offer me? Your business is on the verge of collapse—”
“You can have my shop.”
“What?”
“I don’t want it anymore. I have enough money saved. I’ll sign my shop over to you so you can expand the delightful Davis Conveniences onto Main Street.”
Cam snorted again as he regarded Mason. Then he shook his finger at him. “Nice try. Why the hell would you do that?”
“Because I’ve had enough. There’s nothing for me in Blue Falls. I’m leaving. Let’s just say I owe you for the damage my family caused you. Let’s bury the hatchet.”
“Bullshit. You think I raped your wife and killed your dog!”
“Enough is enough. Take the store.”
“I could just buy another property on Main Street if I wanted to expand. What makes you think—”
“There is no better property for a shop than mine. You’ll save a fortune in renovations too. Look, I’m going, one way or another, just take the fucking shop. I’m repairing the damage my brother did.”
Cam considered and shook his head. “No. I’ll decide when it ends. And it ends when I see your brother.”
“My brother could be dead for all we know,” Mason lied. “You going to let your pride fuck up this lottery win for you? No bullshit. Take the property. We owe you. I can make peace with that.”
Cam chewed his bottom lip. He rubbed his tattooed knuckles against his chin. “Interesting idea. How does it work?”
“I’ll sign it over tomorrow.”
“That easy?”
“That easy.”
“And then what? You leave Blue Falls?”
“If they don’t succeed in putting me in jail.”
“Did you kill that young girl?”
“Would you believe me if I said no? Do you even care? Really?”
Cam smiled. He wrote a number on an old receipt by his till. “Put your lawyer in touch with mine by tomorrow, and you have a deal.”
Mason said. “Fuck you, Cam. I will.”
14
“DO YOU WANT to talk about it?” Peter asked.
Jake glanced at the Vietnam Vet riding shotgun in his rental car. “What makes you think I’ve anything to talk about?”
“Your eyes are like two piss holes in the snow. Something kept you up last night.”
“Observant.”
“I was a soldier. It paid to be vigilant. So, do you want to talk?”
“Like a hole in the head, old man. Cheers for asking.”
“No worries. Was worth it to be so politely declined.”
Jake entered the Davis farmyard and weaved around the battered, old vehicles. He wondered how many years they’d get away with leaving these old metals to rust before the environmentalists descended.
“Dirty bastards.” Peter was a descendant of the region’s natives, so he took wanton destruction of his ancestor’s lands very personally indeed. “Jesus … I hope she’s okay.”
Jake pulled up alongside the chicken coop that had repulsed both him and Lillian the previous day.
“I don’t want any trouble. Do you think they’ll still buy that you’re a cop?” Peter asked.
“He didn’t seem suspicious of me yesterday. My name’s Officer Reynolds, by the way.”
A loud clunk on the windshield made Jake flinch. “What the fuck?” A small dint had appeared on the outside of the windshield exactly in front of Jake’s head. Tiny cracks were already emerging from it. He’d seen this happen before, of course, when, on a motorway, a pebble had hit his windshield—never when he was stationary though. Jake leaned forward and touched the glass. Smooth. The crack had not come through.
“Someone taking pot shots at you?” Peter asked.
“I think I know who.” Jake pointed ahead at the porch where a young, round boy cradled an air pistol. “Damien over there.”
“That’s Felicity’s boy, Brady. Where did you get Damien from?”
“Have you not seen The Omen?”
“What’s that?”
“Google it. Anyway, that’s one little shit who doesn’t care if I’m a cop. Sure you still want to check in?”
“Desperately, but I don’t want to lose an eye. I brought you for protection not to incite them!”
“He’s a good shot too. You should look in that chicken coop on the way past.”
Felicity stepped onto the porch and shouted her son’s name.
He then relinquished his air pistol.
“A firm hand. I like it,” Peter said and stepped out the car.
As they approached the house, Jake asked, “Can I bill them for the dint in the windscreen?”
“Just let me do the talking. I’m here to see that everything is in order, not instigate a war.”
“At least that smell has died down. They must finally have gotten rid of the dead chickens.”
Felicity finished admonishing her son with a swift hand to the back of his head, and he stormed into the house. She approached the steps, wearing a much darker dress than the previous day, although it was still flowery.
When she reached the top of the steps, Jake noticed the black eye, and he gritted his teeth.
“It’s good to see you, Felicity,” Peter said. “Is now a good time?”
“I guess. Why are you here, Peter?”
Peter turned to Jake. “Officer Reynolds is a good friend of mine. He told me about yesterday. I wanted to check that you were okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“Your eye,” Jake said. “It wasn’t like that yesterday.”
Felicity shrugged. “I’m clumsy.”
Peter held up a plastic bag. “I’ve got some treats for the children. Is it okay if we come inside?”
“Other than me and the boys, there’s no one else here, so it shouldn’t do any harm.”
“Where are they all, Mrs. Davis?” Jake asked.
“Carson and Cam are at the shop. I don’t know where Dom is. He sometimes starts early at the Taps.”
Felicity turned and walked through the entrance.
Jake and Peter eyed each other and followed her in.
In the kitchen, Brady sat at the table with another air pistol dismantled in front of him. He was cleaning the parts with a damp cloth.
His brother, Owen, sat beside him with a pack of playing cards. He was organizing them into piles according to their suits.
“How many guns have you got, Brady?” Jake asked.
Brady glanced up at him. “Five.”
“A small armory then.”
Brady looked confused. “Sorry about your car. I wasn’t aiming for you.”
“And here’s me thinking that was a bloody good shot. What were you aiming for?”
“The old cars.”
“I can see how that would be fun.” Better than those poor chickens, at any rate.
After he’d finished organizing the cards into piles, Owen gathered them altogether and turned to his mom, holding them out.
“Of course, darling,” Felicity said. She took the cards from him and shuffled them. “He loves cards. Wants to be a magician. You’re good, aren’t you, honey?”
Owen just stared his mom. He was yet to acknowledge the presence of Jake and Peter.
“He can’t talk, you know,” Brady said. “Mute.”
“Non-verbal autistic,” Felicity said, glaring at Brady as she shuffled.
Peter turned his bag upside down over the table. Lots of packets of Haribo tumbled out. “Used to drive my own mother mad with these, boys. She used to say they’d make my teeth fall out.” He turned, smiled at Jake, showing his new teeth, and whispered, “It seems it wasn’t the sweets that got them in the end.” He turned to Felicity, who was in the process of handing the shuffled cards to Owen. “Can we talk without the children?”
“Brady, take your brothe
r and the sweets up to your room.”
“Shit. Do I have to?” Brady asked.
“Yes, you do, and watch your mouth.”
Brady muttered another obscenity under his breath, and they abandoned his gun to move around the table to gather the Haribo. “Come on then, O.”
Owen touched his waxy quiff, checking it was solid and sharp, and with his cards, followed Brady.
“Brady,” Felicity said. “Are you forgetting your manners?”
Brady sighed and turned. “Thank you for the sweets.”
“You’re welcome, young man.”
Jake watched the boys leave, his heart full of sympathy over their miserable lives.
Peter turned to Felicity. “Did Carson hit you?”
Felicity baulked. “Carson? He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Who did?”
Felicity shrugged and smiled. “You didn’t buy the fact that I’m clumsy then?”
“Let us help you,” Jake said.
“And how do you propose doing that? Peter has been trying for years to help, haven’t you?”
“This is the worst I’ve seen,” Peter said. “Enough is enough. Who hit you?”
“Cam. Dom. Cam or Dom? Does it matter? They’re both pricks.”
“Last time I came here, you said they didn’t hit you,” Peter said.
“They didn’t … then. Well, times change, you know?”
“How have they changed?” Jake asked.
She stared at Jake. “I used to let them fuck me, and now I don’t.”
Jake flinched.
“They don’t take kindly to rejection.” She pointed at her eye. “They think they can change my mind, but I’m stubborn, you know. You just have to look at the state of my arms and back to see how stubborn I can be.”
Jake reached down and squeezed the top of a chair at the kitchen table. He was trying to keep the anger out of his face but, in doing so, risked destroying their furniture.
“Does Carson know about any of this?” Peter asked.
She laughed. “Of course he does.”
“And he doesn’t do anything?”
“Like I said before, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
