On The Devil's Side of Heaven

by Roger Peppercorn

  “When did she go missing?”

  “A few days ago, apparently. He wasn’t real clear about some of the details.”

  “Look, I know this guy could really cause us problems. I can take care of him, no problem.”

  Fritz was shaking his head as the words were spoken. “No, it’s like I told you before, Ronald Jacobs is not a man you mess around with unless you’re seriously okay with looking up from the wrong side of the grass. Besides, if you were somehow to get compromised or one of your people were to get discovered, that man would be all over us. That’s the last thing we need right now. So you and the girl you’re using should ease on down to Fruita and Loma, and see what there is to see. More importantly, see if you can get up on the contractor. Maybe be there when it happens.”

  Pete crossed one leg over the other. This was hard because his legs were short and more importantly, the dress pants he wore became so tight that they began to cut off circulation when he stressed the fabric. “I’ll make sure it’s done right,” Pete said.

  Fritz unsteepled his fingers and then rocked forward so that he could stand up. “I know you would Pete but this time it’s in everyone’s best interests if I farm it out to a contract. Safer for all of us… all the way around.”

  Pete stood up too, and reached out to shake hands. “You’re the boss.”

  “Thanks, Pete, your attention to detail has always meant a lot.”

  Pete just shrugged and then turned to walk out. As he was reaching for the door, he turned back to face Fritz. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but what’d he do to get this kind of attention?”

  “Better if you don’t know,” Fritz said, shaking his head, but then changed his mind. “Hold up a minute Pete. There’s a guy staying out there I would like to know more about. I’m told his name is Walter Walker, big brother to the missing wife. See what you can find out about him and put someone on the girl. See if you have better luck with finding her than our contractor. I gave him the green light, but now I’m wondering if I need to know more before he retires.”

  “Whatever you need. I’ll put someone on it right away and get back to you,” Pete said as he turned back toward the door to leave, pulling the door closed behind him. Fritz picked up his pen and threw it at the door in frustration. He then silently cursed.

  ***

  Max stared at the phone for a minute, not believing what had just happened. The son of a bitch had just hung up on him! Dismissed him like a bug! Max wanted to throw the phone out the window. He cursed Jimmy Dix again for screwing up. Thanks to him, Max was going to have to get serious about relocating. He thought about calling Freeze again, just to make sure he was going to do the job tonight like he had promised, but decided against it. He reached down and relit the joint he had been smoking. Max took the smoke deep into his lungs and held it for a long time before he tilted his head towards the ceiling and exhaled, the smoke rising quickly to the ceiling before it started to spread out and dissipate into the walls.

  Max dialed up the local news outlets for Grand Junction and checked the headlines for anything new. Still nothing, but he hadn’t really expected to find anything either. He looked around the room and started to do a mental inventory of the things he was going to take and the things he was going to leave behind. But for now, all he could do was wait.

  His best bet was that Freeze would get the job done and would be long gone before anyone was the wiser. The problem with Freeze was that he had a tendency to freelance rather than staying to the script. If he thought he could take Ronald up close and personal, then the ‘one shot, one kill’ method was out the door. Max hadn’t been as specific about the interloper staying with Ronald, which meant his chances of getting this off the books cleanly weren’t looking good at the moment.

  Max got up and went into the bathroom to splash water on his face. He needed to clear his head and think this thing through. Now he doubted the decision to leave Freeze alone. Maybe he should reach out one more time and make it crystal clear that both targets needed to be cleared at a distance. Tell him no bullshit up-close stuff. Max looked at himself in the mirror while he dried off his face. He was still clean as far he knew. None of his tripwires had been set off. As such, he didn’t need to run right now, but it probably would be a good idea to go check his bags just in case he needed to leave in a hurry. The money man for this job bothered him a little. His voice was always altered, and his calls were filtered electronically through the cloud in a way that had made it almost impossible to find. However, his security was airtight. As good as, or even better than his own making. His stomach did flip-flops every time he thought about it. Max had made millions just off of his contracts alone, so it was important to keep him in the family. Taking the towel over to the hamper and dropping it inside, he lingered for just a minute. A smile began to crease the corners of his mouth as he thought of the ridiculousness of his situation. Max was a multi-millionaire who paid people to kill others and yet here he stood, over his clothes hamper, thinking about getting the laundry done. Just goes to show you that life goes on.

  Maybe Max wouldn’t panic just yet and run away. In fact, he thought if it came down to it, he could always make a trade with Ronald to keep the “voice” off his back. Nodding to himself, Max went back over to his desk and got serious about tracking down where the money man was calling him from. If he was lucky, Max would have a physical address he could trade his life for.

  Chapter 19

  Ronald and I were quiet for the first ten minutes. The road rolled by just outside the truck windows. I alternated from looking out the passenger’s side window to over at Ronald. I was more than a little mad at myself, but mostly I was mad at Ronald for once again sticking me in the middle of something I wanted no part of. It had been just a little over three days since I had taken a drink of anything stronger than pop. I hadn’t felt the need for a drink until now. My throat was dry and my forehead was getting slick with sweat. I needed a shot or two to settle my nerves. Maybe a beer to straighten me out. I licked my lips with alcoholic need.

  “Pumped up like a vulva. Pretty good stuff, Walt.”

  “Knock it off Ronald.”

  “What are you so bent out of shape for?”

  “Ronald, you went out of your way to taunt those two deputies for what, your amusement?”

  Ronald shrugged. “It’s a bad habit I have, when I get braced. I forget now, was it you or your evil twin who called Tom ‘a big blood-filled vulva and the other one an ‘oversized mouse’?”

  “Look, I don’t think you get it, those two cops are now going to be looking for any reason to roust us. Which reminds me, how did you register this truck?”

  “Why?”

  “Well, for starters, you didn’t seem to be all that concerned about them running your tag.”

  Ronald shrugged again, which was really starting to annoy me. “Because I have nothing to hide and the plates aren’t under my name or anyone else’s.”

  “So what, it’s listed under a company?”

  “Sort of…”

  “Care to elaborate just a bit more than that?”

  “When I decided to get out of the life I knew I was going to have to get off the radar. So I had someone I know create documentation to hide the house, cars, bank statements, and anything else that could lead someone to my doorstep.”

  “Which is why whoever sent that killer after you had to have serious backing.”

  “Pretty much, but it’s more than that. In order to disappear, I went to great lengths to hide my whereabouts and identity. You can’t just get out of the life. Some guys I’ve known have put all their money into overseas accounts, had major work done on their faces, and created new identities out of whole cloth. All of that takes money, serious money. The last thing you want is to leave a trail right to your front door. The people who hire out my services tend to get anxious about loose ends, which means every day you have to be worried about someone deciding to put a contract on you.”

  “I ge
t that, but it really doesn’t answer the question. The list of people who hire out hit men and have the means to go looking for them must be pretty extensive. So who would have the motive and more importantly the resources to want you dead?”

  “You’d be surprised. Walt, I took a lot of jobs from people who have a lot of money and could come looking for me. But I never dealt with anyone directly, I always used someone in the middle and even then, I made sure there were plenty of cut-outs between me and them. So even if they were inclined to sell me out, it would be impossible to find me.”

  We rode in silence after that. Neither of us spoke or stated the obvious. I thought about what he had said. On the one hand, I understood, or at least I thought I did. But even if what he said was true, someone had gone to a lot of trouble to find him. “Have you talked to Jess?”

  He shook his head. “Nope, I told her I would reach out when I had found whoever was looking for me and they had been dealt with.”

  “Why’d she go to Florida?”

  “Because I couldn’t convince her to stay anywhere else.”

  “What’d she tell Lori and the Earl of Dentistry?”

  “Nothing really, just that you were coming out here and she thought it’d be a good idea, since the divorce was final. You know, let the kids know that their Aunt Jessica loved them and wasn’t going anywhere.”

  I let that slide for now. No way was that the truth but for now, I wouldn’t push it. I could have pushed him into telling me the truth but my gut was telling me to back off. There was something tickling the back of my brain, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

  My thoughts went back to Marcie and the date she wanted to go on. My life had been running at full steam for the last few days and a night out with Marcie, without Ronald running amuck and creating problems, made me feel good.

  As we pulled into the drive, Ronald slowed down and looked the place over. I had noticed him do the same thing the other day when I arrived, so I really didn’t put any thought into it at the time. Ronald had always been a little paranoid even when we were kids and considering what had just happened, I couldn’t really blame him. Satisfied, he pulled all the way into the drive and put the truck in park. Both of us turned, reached into the bed of the pickup, and removed the things we had bought earlier. Ronald took another long look around the property before we went inside. I ignored him.

  Later that night, my dreams were filled with images from my childhood. I dreamt of my father and mother during the good times. In the dream, my parents were still alive and were happy and proud of me. My father played with Thomas and Cassandra in the front yard. Marcie and my mother were in the kitchen, making dinner. Our home was filled with the smells of fresh bread and apple pie. The laughter of children painted the walls. Even though I was in the dream it felt like I was detached, as if my presence went unnoticed. Then I saw Chaney Shannon lying in a pool of blood in my parent’s living room. Marcie and the kids were oblivious to the body on the floor or the smell of blood. Ronald sat in an overstuffed chair, watching football. In his hand was the gun he had used, smoke still curling out of the barrel; the smell of cordite mingling with the iron-like smell of blood. I could feel myself talking but my words came out muted and even I had no idea what I was saying.

  When I woke up, the room was dark and warm. I lay in bed for a long while thinking about the dream and what it meant, but my thoughts were labored and disjointed. Rolling over, I sat up and stared into the blackness of the room. I questioned again what the real reason was that Ronald had insisted I come out, but no good answer came to me. Rubbing my hands over my face, I stood up and went into the living room. Ronald was asleep on the floor, several guns lay nearby.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” Ronald asked me. His body never moved and I wondered if this was still a dream.

  “I guess not. What’s with the guns? You expecting an armed invasion?”

  “Habit,” he said.

  “What about you? You still awake?”

  “Heard you get up.”

  I nodded but he didn’t see me. Ronald hadn’t moved and I wondered again if I was still asleep. “What time is it?”

  “Morning time.”

  “It’s too early for this. I’m going back to bed.”

  “Night or morning.”

  I turned around and went back to bed, but I didn’t sleep. The images from my dream kept running through my head. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling. Sometime later I drifted off again, but instead of the pleasant dreams from before, I was visited by the gargoyles that over the years had taken refuge in the depths of my subconscious. They had begun to visit my dreams during the times when the cork stayed nestled in the neck of a bottle. Their gothic images causing me apoplectic distress and not allowing me the benefit of action. Red leering eyes were a reminder that when the dark hooded figure sought me out, he would keep me on the wrong side of heaven for an eternity.

  The faces of the dead whom I had seen hours or days later roamed my subconscious in the form of stick figures. The men whose deaths I had contributed to also failed to stay away during these times. The gangrenous puss-filled cancer in my past always haunted me. The bottles of booze I had always sought comfort from stayed close at hand, while I fought the urge to rip their tops off and inhale the meaty sweetness of self-loathing that would wrap me in its warm embrace. When I woke up, light streamed into the room and my sheets were damp from the night sweats that had rung me dry. I needed to drink, as I always did after the gargoyles faded into the background.

  Doctors will tell you that addiction is a disease and should never be treated as anything but just that. What they don’t tell you about though, are the gargoyles that latch onto your psyche with a vengeance, or the earthworms that crawl through your head during the waking hours. Little children are at times afflicted with night terrors, but a drunk who has forsaken his affliction and given himself over to his higher power has dreams that could rival a Machiavellian Sonnet. Often times, my dreams at night would haunt me for days, leaving my body weakened and my soul depressed. It was not unusual for me to go days without long-term REM sleep. My battle with the bottle raged horrific wars on my soul.

  That morning was no exception. I sat up in bed and inhaled large amounts of oxygen into my lungs in an attempt to put my world back on its axis. Then I began the ritual I had adopted many years ago. First, turning my head from side to side in an effort to crack the bones in my neck and release the stress from the night before. Slowly I worked my head in circles to relieve the knots in my shoulders. Then I worked my fingers and toes until I felt limber. I thought about my latest trip down the rabbit hole of sobriety and I knew it was only a matter of time before I would find a bottle without a cap. Nothing would or could stop me from plumbing the depths of its bottom. I shook my head from side to side and felt sweat beginning to pop out on my forehead. Today was going to be a long day and so I promised myself I would stay at a safe distance from temptation.

  Whatever plans Ronald had cooked up were going to have to wait. I thought about Marcie and what I had felt when our fingers had touched and I remembered the smell of her hair, and I knew it wouldn’t be fair for me to introduce her to the gargoyles that would not abate themselves during my nocturnal hours. Or at least not today. I stood up and stretched some more until I was sure my legs would carry the burdensome weight from the night before. Then I ventured out of the bedroom and down the hall, where my family stared back at me in happier times… without me. My gut roiled as if I had been on a bender from the night before and I almost turned around and went back to bed. However, Ronald looked around the corner from the kitchen.

  “Jesus, you look like shit, Walt.”

  I blew my breath out and then extended my hands out to call for a truce. “Not today, okay?”

  “You know what you need to do right now?”

  “Adopt an iron diet and get it over with?” I said sarcastically.

  He nodded his head at me as if he was agreeing with me. “Or
we could go for a nice morning run.”

  “I’d rather be gang raped by a band of marauding monkeys.”

  “Well, lucky for you there are no monkeys about or I would help arrange it.”

  “Ronald, for the love of god, please just leave it be. I’m begging you.”

  “Come on, a run would be good for you.”

  “Kinda like you getting butt-fucked by a chainsaw?”

  “Nice imagery. You’re in luck, I just happen to have a pair of running shoes that will fit you.”

  “And I just happen to not have sweats or a T-shirt. Besides that, it’s not what I would call summertime outside.”

  “Which is why it’s the perfect time for a run. It will clear the cobwebs and give you a good mental cleansing. You know, you cry and yell a lot when you sleep?”

  I stared at him. “You’re full of shit.”

  Ronald turned and headed for the master bedroom. I shook my head at the stupidity of running in freezing weather and then silently prayed he would just let it go. I knew better though. A moment later he came back bearing shoes, sweats and one of those cold weather undershirts you see ballplayers wear under their pads.

  “Here you go. Now hurry up and change so we won’t be late,” he said.

  “Late for what?”

  “Well, Marcie sent you a text this morning saying how happy she was to see you and that she was looking forward to your date tonight.”

  “So what? I didn’t see it so I can just ignore it until later.” Ronald’s eyes were downcast and I could see a smug smile creeping out from the corners of his mouth. “What did you do? No… where’s my phone?”

  “It’s around here somewhere. I knew you wouldn’t want to disappoint her, so I told her ‘why wait until tonight?’ You’ll meet her at the middle school track.”

  I could feel my mouth fall open and the heat rise into my face. My hands coiled into fists. “You INSOLENT BASTARD! What would possess you to do that?”