by Dave Conifer
“You staying for dinner, Uncle Russ?” Joanie asked. Fargo thought it odd that she could talk about rape and murder in one breath and invite her uncle for dinner the next. Then he laughed at himself. I can do it. Why not her?
“No, I gotta’ run, and I want to get this car out of sight while I’m at it. Matter of fact, I better get going. Bedtime’s coming fast.”
“Before you go, listen to this,” Fargo said. “Two different reports say that the first law on the scene was a state trooper. Makes me think about how the staties have been on my case since I got out.”
“They have jurisdiction everywhere,” Bismarck pointed out.
“I know, but you’d think a Ewing cop or the fire department would get there first. But no, some random state trooper shows up real fast after it happened. And not only that. He says he passed the van speeding away from the fire, but didn’t think nothin’ of it. But he thought about it enough to look at the driver, and he was gonna swear in court on a stack of bibles that it was me.”
“Like Uncle Russ said,” Joanie argued, “a state trooper’s got a right to be there. Maybe he was in the neighborhood and heard the explosion.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what he said. But I ain’t done yet. His name was Ryne Colfax, right? That name don’t mean nothin’ to you but it means everything to me,” Fargo said. He looked at Joanie. “See, while I was in jail, I got all the files on the rape case. I had a right, seein’ that they convicted me for it. That’s the same goddamned guy that found the girl’s body under the bridge later that night! The same guy! I’d like to see somebody explain that shit.”
“You never told me this,” Bismarck said.
“I just found out today. I never looked it up before. So this Colfax just happens to be in the neighborhood when the house blows up. Then, a few hours later, from the New Jersey side of the river, he spots a body under the bridge, in the dark, all the way over on the fuckin’ Pennsylvania end? You believe that? That’s like a mile away. I always knew I got fucked. I never needed to look anything up to know it. But after today, I’m more sure than ever.”
~~~
He thought he’d be on the couch for the night, but it turned out there was a spare bed in a cluttered alcove behind the laundry room. “It’s all I got,” she said.
“Better than what he had at my place,” Bismarck said.
“I’ll take it,” Fargo said. “Gladly. Thanks.”
After Bismarck left, Joanie fried half a dozen eggs while Fargo shuttled a loaf of Wonder Bread through a toaster piece by piece and swiped some butter on each one. He wanted a beer with his and he knew she wanted a cigarette with hers, but both settled for a glass of water. He was halfway through a third slice of toast when he heard her snickering. “What?” he asked.
“It’s just weird how you’re all hunched over like that. Worried that I’ll steal your eggs?” she asked with a smile.
He sat up straight and moved his hands away from the plate. “Guess I need to loosen up some.”
“I’m just busting your chops. Sit however you want.”
That was it for dinner conversation. They were both hungrier than they’d realized. “Best meal I had since I got out,” he told her after everything had been devoured. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“So Billy,” she remarked as she stacked dishes on the table. “What are you going to do? You aren’t letting any of this go. Are you really going after somebody?”
“Wouldn’t you? You heard what we we’re sayin’ before.”
“I never walked in your shoes,” she answered. “But I think I’d let it drop and get on with my life.”
He sighed. “I still might do that. When I got out I was pissed off. Try sitting in prison for something you didn’t do, you know? But I didn’t know the score. I can see now that I don’t have a fuckin’ chance.”
“You could try,” she said. “Just don’t get your hopes up.”
“I’m not sure what I want anymore. I got screwed the first time around. Why would it be any different this time? I guess I forgot I’m at the bottom of the food chain. Even worse, now. I’m an ex-con. I’m kinda’ thinking about dropping the whole thing after today.”
“I’d hate to see you go back to jail.” She picked up the stack of dishes and carried them to the sink. There were a few she left behind, so he brought them over. Might as well make good on his promise to help out around the house.
~~~
“I’m pretty beat,” he said after she washed and he dried. “Long day.”
“Same here,” she said as she hung the dish rag on the oven handle. “King of Queens is on,” she said as she left the room. With nothing else to do, he joined her in the living room, where she was apparently content to watch sitcom after sitcom in the growing pall of the lightless room, working steadily through another pack of menthols.
“So where are you working at, Joanie?” he asked during a laundry detergent commercial. He watched by the light of the TV as she pulled her sweater off, revealing a light colored tank top. “Must be some big, fancy office judging by your work clothes.”
“Shit,” she said. “I work for a coupla’ bail bondsmen. One of them’s a private detective. Nothing fancy about that. They make me dress up because law enforcement drops in a lot. Got to keep up appearances. That way business keeps coming in. Sometimes it gets old, but I gotta’ eat.”
He wanted to ask about her husbands. He didn’t even know how many there’d been. She didn’t seem interested in talking. When he heard a sappy ballad signifying the start of yet another show, he’d had enough. After going so long without television the draw just wasn’t there. “I think I’ll go lay down on my rack for a while, if you don’t mind,” he said before heading for his backhouse bunk room without waiting for an answer. Five minutes later he was horizontal. He hadn’t even managed to stay upright long enough to turn off the light or take off his shoes. On a visit to the kitchen a few minutes later Joanie stopped by long enough to do both for him, but only after watching his chest rise and fall while she finished off one last smoke. The room dark, she didn’t see him craning his neck to watch her silhouette in the doorway as she slipped away.
~~~
He had no idea what time it was when he heard what sounded like a chair dragging across the floor in the kitchen. For a man who’d lived in prison for so long, he surprised himself by being so sensitive to noise at night. It was nothing to worry about, he was sure, but he felt obligated to check it out. Bismarck would have wanted it that way. Besides, he could go for something to drink.
He pulled himself to his feet and padded through the laundry room and into the kitchen, illuminated only by a tiny nightlight next to the refrigerator. Only after he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes did he see Joanie, staring out the back window with a cup in her hand. “Everything okay?” he asked.
She startled at the sound of his voice. “Damn. You scared me,” she said, turning to face him. She wore a terrycloth robe that hung open above the waist. As he walked over she saw him staring but made no adjustments, except to turn partially back toward the window. “I couldn’t sleep. This is the best window at night. The sky’s so dark over there that the stars just pop out. Especially when it’s cold like this.”
He moved behind her. “You’re right. Nice view from here.”
“I don’t know why I can’t sleep,” she said. “Sometimes I feel so tired.” She shrugged. “Whatever that means.”
He moved in tighter and put his hands on her hips from behind. She flinched, but that wasn’t enough to slow him down. Before either of them knew what was happening, his hands slid up her rib cage to cup her breasts. He leaned forward, but before his lips reached her neck she wrenched away while burying an elbow in his gut.
“What do you think you’re doing,” she said calmly. Too calmly, he thought. “What made you think you could do that?” She stepped away, jamming herself against the window.
“I—I’m not sure. Sorry. I don’
t know why I did that.”
“I’m not a tramp,” she said. “Just because I live in a shitty house and have a shitty life doesn’t make me a tramp.”
“I know,” he said. “I didn’t mean it that way.” He looked at the floor. “I fucked up. Sorry.”
She pulled the robe closed. “We won’t tell Uncle Russ about this.”
“Maybe I should leave.”
“Nah. What the hell,” she said. “I’ll take it as a compliment. You just surprised the crap out of me, mostly.”
~~~
He’d already decided by the time he was back in bed that he’d leave the next day. He wasn’t sure which felt worse, the embarrassment over misreading the situation, his obvious desperation, or the humiliation of rejection. It didn’t matter anyway. She would let him stay, out of pity and as a favor to her uncle. He didn’t want that. He’d rather leave.
“You awake?” It was her, in the doorway. This can’t be good.
“Yeah, I’m just layin’ here,” he answered, sitting up and swinging his feet onto the floor. “Look, Joanie, I feel like shit over what I did. I don’t know what happened. I’ll leave in the morning.”
She walked over and sat on the bed. “It’s okay. It felt good to be touched. Even by somebody as hard up as you.” He could hear her smile. “I know how it is. I haven’t gotten laid in nearly eleven years, either. A least it feels like it sometimes.” One of her hands slipped behind his neck as she pulled him closer. Her other hand slid gently up his thigh until she found what she was looking for. An hour later, when they were both breathing hard and slick with sweat, she kissed him on the cheek and returned to her own bed.
~~~
He slept better than he had in years, and he knew why. Just like the day before, he woke up with no clue as to what time it was. Sun was streaming in through a small window that he hadn’t noticed before, so he knew it was morning. Not sure if it was a work day for Joanie, not even sure what day it was at all, he yanked his clothes back on and scrambled to the kitchen. He’d told her he’d leave, and if that’s what she wanted he’d live up to his promise, but he wanted to find out for sure. Nobody was in the kitchen and the house was deathly quiet. Either she was still asleep or she’d left for work.
He walked into the living room and there she was. “Morning,” she said between drags on a cigarette. Parked in her customary spot on the couch, she was still wearing the bathrobe.
“Hey,” Fargo said.
“Before you get any ideas,” she said, “last night is ancient history. Don’t get used to it. There’s no more where that came from.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “Don’t worry. I’ll move out if you want.”
“No, you can stay. But last night doesn’t change anything. I still think you’re nothing but trouble. In fact, I know you are.” But he could see she was trying not to laugh. Maybe he’d stay a while after all, if she was okay with that. And she seemed to be.
-- Chapter 6 --
Later that Sunday morning, Fargo invaded the small garage of the house, resolved to earn his keep. There was a sizable store of lawn tools accumulated by previous tenants, most of them unfamiliar to him because he hadn’t gotten much further than the rake and shovel when it came to yard work. He found a set of hedge trimmers and loppers, and guessed that those were what he was looking for. Neither was usable until he found a can of oil and squirted some into the joints, which eventually loosened. The garage door was stuck in place, probably corroded up the same way the tools were. That’s a job for another day, he decided as he shoved a dusty box of trash bags under his arm. After wiping the drips of oil onto his sweatshirt he carried the tools through the house and out the front door. When Joanie laughed at him as he passed through, he laughed back. If he’d ever done this kind of work he couldn’t remember it, and she knew it just as well as he did.
Working outside felt great, even though he had no choice but to wear a woman’s coat for protection against the bitter cold winds that had blown in from the north overnight. For three hours he clipped, hacked, and bagged, working his way across the front of the house. Despite the embarrassment of being encased in a quilted pink layer from the waist up, he celebrated whenever anybody passed, proud to be like every other weekend warrior on the block. He was determined to outlast the cold and finish the job, and he did. After lugging five plastic bags bulging with leaves and branches to the curb he admired his work from the sidewalk. Just as he was about to gather his tools and go inside, Joanie came out to see what he was looking at.
“Wow,” she said. “It didn’t even look that good when I moved in.” She linked her arm in his. “You’re good. Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It was fun,” he said. Plumes of vapor blew from their faces, reminding them of the cold. “I’m ready to go the hell inside, I’ll tell you that.”
“Let’s go,” she agreed. On the way he scooped up the tools without missing a step. “I’m gonna fix that garage door, too,” he said once they were inside. She didn’t seem interested. She’d probably never even tried to open it and most likely never would. While he stripped the coat off and rubbed his aching hands together she went into the kitchen and made a cup of instant coffee for each of them, which they sat down with at the table. He wondered how long it would be before she whipped out her cigarettes and rapped on the top of the pack before pulling one out. The first came before her cup was half empty.
“That felt good,” he said. “It was almost like I was a normal person for a while there.”
“You are a normal person, Billy,” she said. “Give yourself some credit for once. Nobody else will until you do it first.”
“Maybe,” he allowed.
“Yeah, maybe. Maybe not,” she said with a giggle.
“You know, I was thinking,” he said after she’d lit up and leaned over to the counter top to grab an ash tray. “Do those dudes you work with do anything over in New Jersey?”
“Of course,” she replied. “Any place there’s work, we go. They’re over there all the time. At least Ricky is.”
“I was thinking. Maybe they could get the reports on the murder case,” he said. “The little girls. They have connections, right? I’ll bet they know somebody in the prosecutor’s office that would help them out.”
She laughed. “I think you got the wrong idea. These guys are like bouncers. We do bail bonds and they live for the ones that jump, because they’re natural born bounty hunters. The law don’t like them much. So no, not connected at all. Not in the way you mean. They might know the right people to ask, but that’s about it.”
“Damn. I guess that would have been too easy.”
“I mean, they know stuff, don’t get me wrong. But if it’s the secret files you’re looking for, I just don’t think so. If they went in and asked for anything like that, somebody would just tell them to screw off.”
“That’s cool,” he said before taking another sip of coffee. “Just thought I’d ask.”
“You can give me your notes if you want,” she offered. “I’ll take them in and see what they have to say. It’s worth a shot, don’t you think?”
“That’s kind of what I was thinking. I’ll write ‘em up neater. Maybe on paper instead of napkins.” He downed the last of his coffee. “Can I take a shower?”
“Of course. You live here, don’t you?”
“After that I thought I’d go out and buy some clothes. Gettin’ tired of these rags. You probably are, too. Then I need to go see somebody, if I can arrange it.” He’d always heard other men complaining about having to clear their schedules with their ‘old lady.’ Joanie certainly wasn’t his old lady, but it didn’t bother him to run his schedule by her. He kind of liked it.
“Mystery date?”
“Not hardly. Remember the boyfriend who was there when the house exploded and the kids got killed? I want to hear his story again, if he’s willing to tell it.”
~~~
“Who was that, honey?” Arria Morris asked
after Kevin expertly flipped his cell phone closed in a basement hallway of the Burlington Baptist Church that afternoon.
Kevin whirled when he heard his wife’s voice behind him. “Don’t do that! I didn’t see you there!”
She smiled. “That’s because I wasn’t. Yet. Who was it? Must have been important to drag you out of that classroom. Bible lesson ain’t gonna teach itself, you know.”
“It was Billy Fargo, the guy who just got out of prison. Remember, he showed up at the store a few days ago?”
“That’s his name?” she asked, an edge creeping into her voice. “Sounds like an outlaw. Of all places for a man like that to be calling you. Did he know he pulled you out of teaching Sunday school?”
“He wants to get together to talk again. He has a few questions about that night.”
Her face wrinkled into a scowl. “And what did you tell him?” He could see that she already knew the answer.
“What else could I say?” Kevin replied, spreading his arms helplessly. “I told him it was okay. The sooner he gets what he needs from me, the sooner he’ll go away. No sense in dragging it out.”
“For God’s sake, Kevin. He knows how to use a phone. Why does it have to be in person?”
“It’s probably all he thought about the whole time he was in prison. It’s all he thinks about now, too, I’ll bet. I can spare a few minutes. There’s only so much to say.”
“Do you think he did it?” she asked.
“We already had this talk, remember?” he answered. “But no, I don’t. I always did before, but he isn’t acting like a guilty man.”
“I just hope he’s not planning on badgering you about it every other day, that’s all. You’re too patient with him. But I suppose that’s what deacons do.”
“It’ll be just this one last time,” he promised. “We’re meeting outside the store at five tomorrow. I’m there anyway, and I’m on the clock at six. That way it can’t go on forever.” He noticed the smudged copy of The Philadelphia Inquirer she was holding. She must have been bringing something to show him. “What’s that?”
