The Butcher

by Jennifer Hillier

  “There are a lot of financially good reasons why you guys should move in together.” Jason sounded infuriatingly reasonable. They were in their usual fifty-yard-line seats at CenturyLink Field, courtesy of Jason’s three years playing quarterback with the Seahawks. Though his friend had retired from the NFL four years ago, football fans still recognized Jase, and going anywhere in public with him was always an ordeal. The Hawks were down 17–14 to the Niners, and Matt could not believe that Jason Sullivan, of all people, would initiate a conversation about his relationship during a football game. The sacrilege. He munched on garlic fries and tried to drown out the annoyance of his friend’s well-meaning voice.

  “She’s got cash on hand for the renovations you want to do, she can pay half the bills, and she’s almost as good a cook as you are,” Jason said, using his fingers to tick off each point as he went. He sounded a lot like Sam. “And she’s a neat freak, so you can finally fire your weird cleaning lady. Think of the money you’d save. That could mean another food truck next year, my friend, maybe even another restaurant. How about that.”

  Matt sipped his beer, squeezing the plastic container so hard it warped. He didn’t care if his friend was a famous ex-quarterback and that people all around them were surreptitiously snapping pictures of him with their cell phones, he was seriously considering dumping his beer over the guy’s head. If it hadn’t cost nine bucks, he might have. “No. And I don’t want to talk about this with you anymore.”

  “I’m just saying, think about it. Everything in your life is falling into place. The food trucks are hot, the restaurant’s doing well, you’ve got those people from the Fresh Network calling, and now you’re moving into the big house. Don’t you want someone to share all that with?”

  “I already have someone to share all that with.”

  “Elmo doesn’t count.”

  “He would beg to differ.”

  “Consider how Sam feels.”

  “Let it go, Jase.”

  Jason sighed. “You’ve been with her for a long time. You haven’t asked her to marry you, which, okay, I get, because marriage doesn’t exactly appeal to me right now, either. But you don’t even want her to live with you? In that big-ass house? Have you stopped for a second to think that maybe you’re being a tiny bit of an asshole here? You gotta throw her a bone, man. Relationship Advice 101. You don’t give a little, they leave.”

  Matt said nothing.

  “Is it even an option at some point?”

  Matt scraped up the last bit of garlic from the bottom of his paper cup, wishing his friend would shut up. “I don’t know. But don’t you fucking tell her that.”

  “Why not? Why waste her time then, man? She’s paid her dues.”

  “She knew the drill when we first hooked up.”

  “She thought you’d come around.”

  Matt was a quiet for a moment. “I love her. She knows that. I don’t get why that’s never enough.” He thought about saying something else, but decided against it.

  Jason shook his head and took a long swig of beer. Belched loudly. The woman in front of them in the Russell Wilson jersey turned around and glared at them. Jason flashed her a grin and winked. It seemed totally obnoxious to Matt, but it worked; the woman’s dirty look melted into a smile.

  “Oh my God, you’re Jason Sullivan,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Can I take a picture with you?”

  “Of course.”

  The woman handed her phone to Matt, who refrained from rolling his eyes even though he wanted to. This kind of thing happened all the time. He took their picture and the woman turned back around, squealing to her friend beside her.

  “Sam’s a good girl,” Jason said, jumping right back into the conversation. “Just, you know, give it some more thought. All I’m asking. Not that I’ll ever get what she sees in you, anyway.”

  “She’s with me because I’m a swell guy,” Matt said, his jaw tight. The crowd roared as the Seahawks made a first down. “And hey, I don’t see you putting a ring on Lily’s finger.”

  “It’s Lilac, you asshole, and we’ve only been seeing each other for three months. Completely different thing.”

  “And Rachel?”

  “Fling. Never destined to go anywhere.”

  “What about Susan?”

  “Suzanna. And she was already married. With two kids.”

  “She was?” Matt couldn’t help but laugh. It was hard to stay mad at his friend. “I didn’t know that. Who’s the asshole now?”

  “You are. Sam’s one of the good ones. And you’re going to fuck it up.”

  Instantly Matt’s face flushed, and he clenched his fist. Jason glanced down.

  “What, you gonna hit me?” his friend said quietly. “Thought we were all done with that shit.”

  Matt forced himself to relax. “We are.”

  “Good, I’m glad those classes you took weren’t just for show.”

  Gritting his teeth, Matt didn’t respond. Truthfully, there was nothing he could say. He’d lost his temper one too many times in the past, and after a bar brawl and a night in jail, had been forced to undergo a three-week anger management course over a year ago. The Chief had had to pull strings so he could avoid jail time. It wasn’t something he was proud of.

  Finally he said to Jason, “I thought you were on my side.”

  “I’m on both your sides.” Sighing, Jason finally threw up a hand. “You know what? I tried. And I’m done, I’m out of it. Buy me a beer and I’ll shut the hell up, because God knows we both want me to.”

  And that, for the most part, had ended it. He didn’t know what Jason had said to Sam after the game, but she’d backed off once and for all, and for that Matt was grateful.

  3

  His grandfather’s house was in the center of Sweetbay, one of Seattle’s oldest neighborhoods, and also one of the most desirable. A little to the north and west of downtown, Sweetbay was situated on a small tip of land that jutted into Puget Sound, and quite a few of the homes had water views. The houses were a mix of Tudor, Victorian, and Craftsman, and they all had perfect green lawns dotted with bright flowers and trimmed shrubs. Trees decades older than Matt lined the streets, and on a summer day when the wind from the ocean rippled the leaves just right, the whole neighborhood seemed to smell of good fortune.

  If you asked one of the old-timer residents where they lived (and there were a lot of old-timers in this neighborhood), they would answer “Sweetbay,” not Seattle, as if the place was a town all by itself. And in some ways, it was. It was completely self-sufficient. It had its own little shopping area complete with a Whole Foods, a movie theater, and an assortment of cafés and coffee shops. There was even a farmers’ market on Saturdays (not quite big enough for Matt to justify a food truck, but it was cute nonetheless). Most everything was within walking distance, and the best part of all? Sweetbay was only a ten-minute drive to downtown Seattle, making it the ideal yuppie neighborhood for those who could afford a house in the city.

  Though he’d moved out of the Belltown apartment and into the Sweetbay house a few days earlier, Matt had just bought a new bed from Restoration Hardware, and that was what was inside the second U-Haul truck he’d rented this week.

  The truck was brand-new and not too big, easy enough to maneuver through leafy Poppy Lane. Jason and another friend, PJ Wu, who was also his assistant head chef at the restaurant, were following behind him in Matt’s utility van, because the bed was heavy and would be a bitch to unload. Matt took his time driving, minding the signs posted everywhere that said SPEEDING ENDANGERS OUR KIDS, which was interesting considering there were hardly any kids in Sweetbay. It would make more sense to change the signs to SPEEDING ENDANGERS OLD FARTS.

  He pulled up to the house and reversed, backing the truck halfway into the Chief’s long driveway. Smiling to himself, he wondered how long it would be before he stopped thinking of the house as his grandfather’s. The paperwork had been completed the day befor
e and the house was officially in Matt’s name. It felt absolutely right; he’d grown up here, after all. His grandparents had raised him after his teenage mother had died in a fire when he was just an infant.

  Stepping down out of the truck, he looked up at the old Victorian and felt a sense of peace wash over him. He was almost there. He almost had everything he wanted. The house was another piece of Matt’s personal success puzzle. Home sweet home.

  His utility van pulled up beside the curb and Matt turned to see Jason and PJ laughing about something.

  “Not too shabby, buddy,” PJ Wu said, stepping out of the van and snapping his gum. It was an irritating sound, and Matt could see the wad of pink rolling around on his friend’s tongue. Stepping onto the grass, PJ clapped Matt on the shoulder with a grin. The two looked up at the house together. “Jase said this was a gorgeous place, but I didn’t realize it was so damned huge. What are you going to do with all this space?” Snapping his gum one last time, PJ hawked, and the gum flew out of his mouth and landed on the grass.

  Matt frowned. The sight of that bright pink wad of chewing gum resting on top of his perfectly manicured green lawn was ugly. “Seriously?” he said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Don’t you have any manners? Pick that shit up.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t spit your goddamn gum out on my grass. I said pick it up.”

  PJ blinked and took a step back. “Dude. Chill.” He bent down and picked up the gum, holding it gingerly between his thumb and forefinger even though it was his own. Turning, he flicked it into the sewer grate beside the curb. “It’s just gum. You can ask nicely.”

  “I don’t have to ask nicely. I shouldn’t have to ask at all.”

  “Hey.” PJ’s dark eyes furrowed. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not working for you today. Shit, dude, I’m here as a friend, not your employee. I’m helping you out, remember.”

  Matt snorted. “Helping me out is what friends do. Cooking at my restaurant is what I pay you to do. Spitting your nasty-ass gum on my clean lawn is what assholes do.”

  “Did you just call me an asshole? Are you kidding me?” PJ squared his shoulders and took a step toward him. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  Matt laughed, but there was no trace of humor in the sound. PJ was eight inches shorter and probably weighed forty pounds less, and Matt would pound him. “You’re my problem, asshole. Don’t ever leave your shit on my lawn.”

  “Wow.” PJ’s mouth hung open, but before he could say anything more, Jason intervened, stepping in between them and slinging an arm over each of their shoulders.

  “Come on now, boys, simmer down.” As usual, Jason’s tone was easy with a side of snark. “What are we fighting about? My delicate ears don’t appreciate such rated-R language. Today’s a happy day, isn’t it? Please tell me we’re not arguing about gum. What are we, little girls?”

  “Talk to your boy, Jase,” PJ said, his face still hot. He shrugged off Jason’s arm. “He’s the one who needs the attitude adjustment.”

  “From where I’m standing, you could all be little girls.” The gruff voice, naturally loud and commanding, carried across the lawn, and all three guys looked up in surprise to see Edward Shank standing in the open doorway. A lit cigar was in one hand, and the aroma of smoke and cherries wafted over. “Bunch of pussies you are, standing around crying over a little bubble gum. You boys trying to embarrass me in front of the neighbors?”

  On cue, they all straightened up. Jason dropped his arms from around their shoulders and smoothed his hair. PJ made sure his shirt was tucked into his pants. The Chief had that effect on people, whether they realized it or not.

  “Chief.” Matt took a step away from PJ and Jason. “Didn’t realize you were here.”

  “Walked over. It’s a nice day. And I still have my key.” The old man took his key chain out of his pocket and shook it. “Should I have called first? Maybe I should have; looks like you boys are gearing up for a fight.”

  “Of course not.” Matt exchanged looks with Jason and PJ. PJ dropped his eyes and looked away.

  Jason let out a laugh, but it sounded forced, and it was obvious he was trying to break the tension. “Good to see you, old-timer,” he said, giving Matt a stern look before bounding up the porch steps to shake Edward’s hand. “Still got your iron grip, I see.”

  “I could still kick your sorry ass.” The Chief’s eyes were alight with good humor. He punched Jason in the shoulder, then winced and rubbed his knuckles. “Goddamn it, I think you’re bigger than when I last saw you. You juicing or what? And what do you need all those muscles for, anyway, champ? You don’t play football anymore, and it won’t do you a bit of good when I get my foot up your sphincter. Mind you, you’d probably enjoy that, though I’d hate to muss up that hair.”

  “You must be looking forward to moving into the old farts’ home.” Jason’s grin was equally wise-ass. “I hear they got tuna casseroles and backgammon going on every night. How will you possibly handle all the excitement? You might keel over if you’re not careful.”

  “Son, I haven’t been excited in twenty years. Not since my wife surprised me on the night of our thirtieth anniversary.”

  “Oh God, I didn’t just hear that.” Finally relaxing a little, Matt shot one last glare at PJ before stepping onto the porch to give his grandfather a hug. “Chief, I think my ears are bleeding. That’s my grandmother you’re talking about, for God’s sake. May she rest in peace.”

  The old man ruffled his hair fondly. “Ha. So what? And how did I manage to raise such a pussy?”

  “Same question I’m asking myself,” PJ muttered as he pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

  “Oh let it go, already,” Jason said, rolling his eyes. He looked pointedly at PJ, who sighed and turned away. The two of them headed back to the U-Haul, opening the back door to reveal Matt’s new bed frame, headboard, and mattress set.

  Clapping Matt on the shoulder, Edward leaned in to whisper in his grandson’s ear. Sweet smoke curled up toward their faces from the Chief’s cigar, which he held down at his side. “You know, I always thought that PJ kid was an idiot, too, and you can bust his balls when you’re at the restaurant tomorrow. But right now you need his help, so it doesn’t do you any good to get in his face. Always pick your battles. You got me?”

  Matt had to smile. His grandfather always knew the right thing to say. “Yeah, I got you, Chief.”

  “I understand, though,” Edward said, taking a drag on his cigar. His voice was low. “If this had still been my lawn, I’d have ripped his face off. Disrespectful little shit.”

  4

  First order of business: build a deck and buy a hot tub. Matt loved the outdoors, and he had big plans for his new backyard.

  Though tired from a long day at the restaurant, he was exhilarated to see that work had begun. As he stood alone at the back door, surveying the progress, a light rain drizzled over him. At present, the yard was a giant mess. Holes and piles of dirt marred what used to be a neatly manicured lawn, but unlike the gum incident, it didn’t bother Matt. He could envision the end result—a stained wood deck, the hanging lanterns, the giant barbecue grill, and the hot tub. He had initially wanted an inground pool, but Jason had put the kibosh on that idea, reminding Matt that the weather in Seattle was only conducive to swimming between July Fourth and Labor Day. Eight weeks of summer was hardly worth the thousands it would cost to build a pool.

  His cell phone rang in his back pocket and he pulled it out. Recognizing the name and number, he answered quickly.

  “Hey, Matt.” The raspy voice of Duncan Hastings, the contractor Jason had recommended, was in his ear. “Just wanted to check in. We made good progress today. Tomorrow we’ll start pouring the cement for the deck, so long as it isn’t raining too hard.”

  “Looking good so far, man.” A speck of rain landed on Matt’s brow and he wiped it away, moving back under the bright yellow awning covering his back door. “Can’t wait to see the fini
shed product.”

  “If all goes well you’ll be having a party to celebrate in two weeks. Anyway, the reason for my call.” The contractor cleared his throat. “We dug something up in the backyard, almost ripped right through it.”

  “You dug something up? What was it, a dead body?”

  Hastings chuckled. “The crate wasn’t big enough. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I moved it to the side of the house. Beside your raspberry bushes.”

  “I have raspberry bushes?”

  Another laugh. “Anyway, hope we didn’t cause any damage. It was buried pretty deep. Seems like it’s been there awhile, as the soil was pretty settled around it. I’m guessing it was the Chief’s?”

  Everybody knew who Matt’s grandfather was, and everybody knew that Edward Shank had been the chief of police of Seattle. Like everyone else, the contractor was referring to the old man by his nickname, as a matter of respect.

  Matt started walking toward the side of the house. “I see it.” A large plastic crate, measuring four feet by two feet by three feet, sat innocuously beside a bare bush. He knelt down to examine it. The crate was sealed with two locks, one on each side, and there was a long crack down the side of one wall. Matt ran a finger over it. The crack was probably where Hastings had hit it with his equipment. “Wonder what it is.”

  “It’s buried treasure, of course. Loot from a high-end robbery case your grandfather worked. Illegal guns. A million dollars in cash.” Hastings paused. “No, make that two million. It was a big crate.”

  “If only.” Matt laughed. “Thanks for calling.”

  “Send the Chief my apologies if we damaged anything. We weren’t expecting to find anything buried that deep.”

  “Will do.” Matt disconnected and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Reaching forward, he attempted to lift the crate. It didn’t seem that heavy, but it was more awkward than he expected, especially with one side of the plastic cracked. Taking a moment to position himself, he knelt down and hoisted the crate up, hauling it carefully toward the back door that brought him into the kitchen. He sat it down on the rectangular wood table with a harder thud than he intended.