Kill Monster

by Sean Doolittle

‘I don’t know why.’

  ‘You never did,’ she said, leading him toward the Queen Anne living room. ‘Want anything to drink?’

  ‘That’s not very funny.’

  ‘I meant like water,’ she sighed. ‘Or I can make tea. I think there’s diet soda.’

  ‘I’m good, but thank you.’

  She plopped down on the sofa and crossed her leg over a knee, pointing the toe of one fluorescent running shoe toward an expensive-looking wingback chair. ‘So.’

  Ben eased himself into the chair, which propped him in an overly vertical, almost royal posture. He felt royally silly. ‘Charley’s fourteenth is coming up,’ he said.

  ‘That rings a bell, yes.’

  ‘I thought of something you and the new hubby could get for him. It’s 100 percent guaranteed to please.’

  ‘What are you getting him?’

  ‘That’s the beauty. Your present would go perfectly with mine.’

  ‘Well, I’m stumped.’

  ‘Promise to hear me out?’

  ‘Now you’re making me nervous.’

  ‘This rock-and-roll camp in Cleveland,’ he said. ‘It’s all he talks about when he’s at my place.’

  Her face saddened almost immediately. ‘I’m sure it is.’

  ‘You know he was gutted to miss it. But they just announced a winter session. Between the holidays. Technically it’s already full, but I know one of the guys on the board, and he said he’d make an excep—’

  ‘Ben.’

  ‘I know, I know. I haven’t said a word to Charley about it, I swear. I keep telling him to get his grades up.’

  ‘You’re aware that we caught him ditching summer school?’

  ‘He mentioned it, yeah.’

  ‘Which he wouldn’t have had to attend in the first place if …’

  ‘If he were holding up his end of the deal. I know.’ Ben nodded to indicate how much he understood. ‘But this is something he’s actually into, and it’s a killer opportunity. Who knows? Maybe it’ll help turn things around. Give him something to work toward.’

  Absently, Christine grabbed a nearby throw pillow and put it in her lap.

  ‘You could always think of it as my birthday present, too,’ he offered. ‘One-stop shopping.’

  ‘Is this about him turning fourteen, or about you turning forty?’

  ‘Jesus, Christine. Are you pissed at me about something in particular, or just generally?’

  ‘I’m not angry with you about anything.’

  ‘Then why are we already arguing about this? I sort of thought you’d agree with me.’

  Her stepdaughter Francesca came into the room just then, decked in teen wear, popping out an earbud as she moved. ‘Can I go to Markisha’s?’

  Christine shifted gears smoothly, smiling at the girl. ‘Homework?’

  ‘All finished.’

  ‘Home by—’

  ‘Ten. I know. Hi, Ben.’

  Ben shook his head. ‘Stepmothers. Am I right?’

  She grinned. ‘Bye, Ben.’

  ‘Later, gator.’

  ‘Have fun,’ Christine said.

  ‘Peace,’ Frankie answered, popping the earbud back in and departing the room as breezily as she’d entered.

  Ben looked at Christine. Christine looked back at him. Francesca’s final word seemed to hang in the air between them: Peace.

  Rueben sat under a tree down the street from the big brick house, wishing he’d chosen a different spot. Or that a different kind of tree had grown out of this one. Acorns kept falling, large ones and small ones, pinging off the Challenger’s hood and the roof over his head. Lord only knew what they were doing to the paint job.

  While he waited, he pulled out his laptop and downloaded the long-range digital shots he’d taken of the cute suburban mom-type Middleton had come to visit at this address.

  It really was quite a house. Owned by somebody named Antonio Montecito, according to the county assessor’s website. Reuben felt an energizing spark as another puzzle piece fell into place. He spent a few minutes on his phone, cross-checking the new photos against a Facebook page he’d already bookmarked. Then he consulted his notepad, where he’d scribbled the word Affair?

  He crossed the word out and wrote a new word beneath it:

  Ex-wife.

  Christine Montecito – formerly Middleton, maiden name Hubble – represented a branch on the other tree now dropping bothersome acorns all over Reuben’s life: the family tree leading from Ben Middleton all the way back to a bloodthirsty frontier-era meshugener named William Wolcott.

  So absorbed in this minor deductive triumph was Reuben that he almost didn’t notice the teenage hottie pulling out of the driveway in a Subaru sportwagon. He pulled the bill of his cap down over his eyes and scooched down behind the wheel, not sure why he felt such a powerful urge to hide, feeling silly when the girl turned out of the driveway and drove off in the opposite direction. He could see her singing along to music inside the car, not an evident care in the world, least of all the strange car sitting under the oak tree in her rearview mirror. Get a grip on yourself, he thought.

  Then he jumped inside his own skin at the sound of something hitting the car overhead. Ping!

  Stupid acorns.

  ‘Look, it’s not just his grades.’

  ‘What else, then?’ Ben said. ‘We both know he’s not a bad …’

  ‘You don’t see the way he is around here,’ Christine said. ‘Disrespectful to me. A straight-up shit to Tony. And Tony tries to connect with him, believe me. He bends over backward.’

  Ben didn’t want to hear about Tony Montecito bending over backward. But he didn’t want to fight, either. Anyway, he was intimately familiar with Charley’s attitude toward all three of them these days. ‘The kid’s had a weird couple of years. And now he’s made of zits and testosterone. It won’t last forever.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

  ‘Trust me, I’ve been there.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. There’s more.’

  ‘Lay it on me.’

  Christine paused, as if she’d started down an unintended road and was uncertain whether to proceed or turn back. ‘Promise you’ll hear me out?’

  ‘Now who’s making who nervous?’

  ‘It’s Tony.’

  ‘Who?’

  She glared at him. ‘That’s not funny, goddammit.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry. We were talking about Charley. I thought you were going to tell me you found a joint in his sock drawer or something.’

  ‘I’d know how to deal with that. Plus I’d have a joint for later.’

  ‘So what’s going on with Mr Superdude, then?’

  ‘Tony has an opportunity of his own,’ she said. ‘A career opportunity.’

  ‘Good for him.’

  ‘At your company.’

  ‘I won’t even ask if you’re kidding.’

  ‘That’ll save time.’

  Ben couldn’t help chuckling. This news made perfect sense, somehow. ‘Your new husband is taking a job at the company that’s about to fire me? Sure, why not?’

  ‘Well, it’s not … wait. What did you just say?’

  ‘Nothing. So! Hubby’s the new VP of Humiliating Ben Middleton, huh? Solid choice.’

  ‘If he accepted the offer, he’d be your new chief financial officer.’

  ‘That’s the guy who decides when to lay people off, right?’

  ‘Among other things,’ she sighed. ‘But it would mean he’d work in the head office.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Where your company’s headquarters are located.’

  ‘It’s good and rubbed in now, thank you.’

  She seemed to be watching him too closely. ‘Which is in—’

  ‘Hey, wait,’ he said. ‘My company’s based in, like, Alabama or somewhere.’

  Christine nodded slowly. ‘Atlanta. Yes. That’s why he’s out of town, in fact.’

  At last the penny dropped. Right to the bott
om of Ben’s stomach. ‘You’re talking about moving,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not supposed to be talking about it at all, yet. Nothing’s official.’

  ‘You’re talking about moving a thousand miles away.’

  ‘God only knows how Charley’s going to react,’ she said. ‘He already hates me. I don’t know how—’

  ‘You’re talking about moving a thousand miles away with Charley.’

  Christine finally dropped her eyes, hugging the pillow a little closer. ‘I’ve been wanting to speak to you about all this. But Tony hasn’t even accepted the offer yet, and we’re still—’

  ‘What about your job?’ Somewhere in this giant house, she had her own photography studio. Weddings and high school graduation portraits, mostly. The odd local band, corporate head shots for rising CFOs-in-waiting, that sort of thing. But she did her own personal work, too. She usually kept at least a few art prints rotating at a co-op downtown, and they’d always sold steadily. Once upon a time, Ben had done all her framing for her.

  ‘I can do my stuff anywhere,’ she said. ‘Believe me, I know how big a deal this is. And I don’t want us to end up in court again. That’s absolutely the last thing I want.’

  Ben was having trouble hearing her over the sudden seashell echo in his head.

  ‘Say something,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think that would be wise.’

  ‘Ben …’

  He stood up from the couch. ‘You’re right. I should have called.’

  ‘Look, don’t just leave. You wanted to talk to me alone; you’re here, we’re alone. Let’s just sit a minute and—’

  ‘Seriously, Christine. If you want me to react to this right now, it’s not going to go well.’

  She caught up with him again at the front door. ‘Can I ask you one thing at least?’

  He stopped and waited, one foot already on the stoop.

  ‘What are you getting Charley? For his birthday.’

  ‘I was making him something.’

  ‘What are you making him?’

  Ben didn’t feel like talking about it. He pushed out on to the stoop.

  He was about to head down the front steps when he heard Christine say quietly: ‘Are you making Charley a guitar?’

  When he turned to look at her, she was standing in the doorway, one hand on the inside knob. It occurred to Ben that they were standing now in more or less the same position as when they’d started this visit. Back to square one, as usual. He didn’t answer her question.

  ‘I thought you sold off the workshop,’ she said.

  ‘Been buying a few things back.’ He shrugged. ‘Doing repairs on the side. No big deal.’

  Ben didn’t notice that her eyes were wet until she wiped them.

  ‘He’ll be floored,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘I know the feeling.’

  Though Reuben may have been fulfilling his promise to his big brother now, he hadn’t exactly kept up with the homework along the way. The most recent intel the Wasserman family had compiled more or less stopped where Eli had left off when he’d shipped out, leaving the past ten years of Ben Middleton’s life something of a dark spot on the radar. But an afternoon on the Internet, along with $89 in background-check fees, had filled in a few of the blanks.

  For example, Reuben had been able to find where Middleton lived and worked easily enough. The guy had what amounted, in this day and age, to a reclusive streak – no active social media accounts that Reuben could find – but Reuben had managed to Google up a few scattered personal photos related to a defunct business called MiddleTone Labs: Middleton sanding a piece of wood; Middleton at a soldering bench; Middleton standing with various tattooed degenerates who appeared to be happy customers.

  There had been a personal bankruptcy five years ago. A DUI the year after that. Followed by divorce records filed the year after that. A tough patch for middle-aged Middleton.

  And now this.

  Reuben honestly felt sorry for the poor schlub. Not sorry enough to enjoy a single moment of this fool’s errand, no, but sorry enough to see it through. He would, against every personal instinct, continue taking this seriously. Just as he’d promised Eli he’d do.

  Meanwhile, Middleton emerged from the big brick house again, pausing on the front steps. He turned and said something to his ex. Reuben tossed his notepad into the passenger seat and put on his seatbelt. At least it was time to move again. Thank god.

  When he looked up, however, he saw something unexpected in the street that seemed, in his judgment, like cause for immediate alarm:

  Ben Middleton walking directly toward him.

  Stalking, more like. Fists clenched at his sides.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ Reuben Wasserman said.

  THREE

  Ben pounded on the driver’s-side window of the radioactive-green Dodge. ‘Hey, asshole,’ he barked.

  Inside the car, the driver cowered behind the wheel, fumbling with his keys.

  Ben knew that he should keep his volume down – it wouldn’t do to make a scene in front of his new CFO’s house – but the day had finally gotten the better of him. ‘I see you in there.’ Pound pound pound. ‘Open up or prepare to be boarded.’

  The driver’s shoulders slumped. He pulled the brim of his Sox cap low over his eyes and gripped the wheel with both hands, as if pondering his next move.

  Ben pounded on the glass one last time. The guy finally rolled the window down, looking sheepish. ‘I guess you knew I was following you, huh?’

  ‘Gee,’ Ben said. ‘I don’t know how I ever remembered seeing this same car three times since this morning. Plus Gary showed me your picture.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I … huh?’

  ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘My name is Reuben Wasserman.’ He reached across his body, extending his right hand through the open window. ‘Wasserman means water carrier.’

  ‘And Reuben means sandwich. What do you want?’

  ‘Um, that’s kind of a long story.’ Wasserman retracted his unshaken hand. ‘Do you think we could go someplace and talk?’

  ‘I do not. And I turned your little note over to the police, by the way. They said it looked like a threat to them.’

  ‘Wait – no, you didn’t. I followed you all the way here.’

  Ben gritted his teeth. ‘Followed me why?’

  ‘I realize this is a little strange. You don’t know me at all, but if we could just …’

  ‘You know what? Never mind. Scram, waterboy.’

  Wasserman didn’t seem to want to go on sitting there in his flashy hot rod, not scramming. Yet that was exactly what he appeared to be doing.

  Ben felt like an idiot standing there. He supposed that he probably should call the police for real, which would have been easier if he knew where he’d misplaced his phone. It occurred to him that walking up to this car in the first place had been a terrible idea. How was he to have known that the owner wasn’t the type to pull out a gun when confronted?

  The truth: it wouldn’t have mattered. He’d been guided by a single thought alone: this son of a bitch followed me to the house where my son lives. Now that the adrenaline had subsided, he found himself wondering how Corby McLaren might handle a situation like this.

  ‘Let me bottom-line this for you,’ he told Reuben Wasserman. ‘If I see you or this car again, together or separately, I’m not sure what will happen. But I can’t promise that I won’t become unreasonable.’

  Wasserman seemed to have reached the conclusion that he was not in immediate physical jeopardy. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, do random strangers warn you that your life is in danger very often?’

  ‘You’re the first in recent memory.’

  An acorn bounced off the car’s roof. Wasserman flinched at the sound of it. ‘And you’re really not curious enough to know why that’s happening now to give me half an hour of your time somewhere other than under this tree?’

  Ben
’s head was spinning. He wanted very badly to be alone. And for this day to be over. ‘I’m curious about lots of things,’ he said. ‘That’s not the same as giving a shit.’

  ‘You maybe sort of should on this one. Trust me.’

  Ben glanced over his shoulder and saw that Christine had re-emerged from the house. She stood in her activewear between stately white columns, arms crossed, watching the whole exchange from the portico. When she saw that Ben had finally noticed her, she raised her palms as if to ask, What’s going on out here?

  Ben turned his attention back to the creepy little snoop who called himself Reuben Wasserman.

  ‘It’s, like, super important,’ Wasserman said. ‘I promise.’

  Another acorn pelted the hood of the car.

  Ben sighed.

  Lexi Cortland couldn’t remember the last time she’d crossed the north pasture without Lord Vader trying to kill her to death.

  ‘I thought you said something exciting was supposed to happen,’ Chip hollered, raising his voice above the growl of the ATV beneath them.

  ‘Just wait,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘And keep your head on a swivel back there.’

  Vader, their black Brangus bull, was 2,200 pounds of bad mood. He had great knotted shoulders, a villainous-looking neck hump, and balls the size of buttercup squash. Her dad would probably kill her if he knew that Lexi was out here playing matador on the four-wheeler again; on the other hand, he might think it was better than Chip trying to figure out how to unhook her bra through her flannel shirt. To be 100 percent honest, Lexi still hadn’t decided which activity she preferred. She knew that scaring the ever-living crap out of Chip would be fun, though.

  ‘It’d be a lot more exciting if I was the one driving this thing,’ Chip yelled.

  ‘You just wait,’ she yelled back, jouncing over a series of ruts. Wild sage and brome grass whipped at their jeans. She sort of wished he’d put his hands back on her hips like before, but Chip had decided he was too manly for that, apparently. Ha.

  Meanwhile, Lord Vader was nowhere to be seen. The sun had already dipped below the western tree line, setting the horizon afire, and it would be full dark soon. The rest of the cattle were grazing the bottoms at this hour, the cows all getting drinks from the river with their fall calves, but Vader rarely left the pasture. Which left their arena wide open, which made this a perfect time to put on a show for Chip. But the KingQuad had a busted headlight, so it was also getting to be a little bit dangerous.