The Compound: A Thriller

by Ben Follows

  Jake nodded. “I get you.”

  “Last fall, the first snow had fallen onto the ground. Only a few inches, but enough to really mess up a town that only has a few snowplows, mostly run by good Samaritans, no businesses. Early in the morning, don’t remember what day it was, there was a fire at one of the big farmhouses up on the outskirts of town. The Lewises, big family, something like eight kids between the ages of two and fifteen.”

  “What happened?”

  “We aren’t entirely sure. Cigarette butt, burner left on, gas leak, arson. It could any, all, or none of the above. The point is that Mr. Lewis only barely managed to get out two of his kids before flames engulfed the house. This is an old house, wooden walls, filled with asbestos. It started crumbling like a house of cards. The fire department wasn’t able to get there in time to stop the inferno, but Zach Cameron was.”

  “How?”

  “He happened to be driving by and saw the fire. He jumped into action, ran through the snow, and asked the Lewises where the rest of the kids were. All by himself, without any help, he ran into the house and carried the kids out. He managed to wake up the fifteen-year-old, who helped with a few of them, and he somehow managed to get all of them out of the house just before it collapsed. It collapsed just as the fire department finally got there.”

  They pulled into the parking lot of the bar and parked. The chief paused for a few moments, looking forward vacantly. After a few moments he sighed and continued.

  “Zach Cameron took the worst of the injuries, worse than any member of the Lewis family. He inhaled a huge amount of smoke, and his lungs were barely working by the time they got him to the hospital. The hospital managed to clear his lungs, but they weren’t able to fix the damage to the linings. He can’t breathe if he exerts himself even slightly. On top of that they had to completely rebuild the muscles in his leg from when he jumped out of the house. He’s still on crutches, probably won’t be able to walk without assistance again. He had to quit his job. He was awarded the key to the city and a charity was started in his name, which was meant to support him since he couldn’t work anymore. He didn’t take the money. He donated it all to a charity suppoting underprivileged kids.”

  He went silent for a few minutes and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “If anyone asks, you didn’t hear this from me. It’s been really hard on Obrasey and their relationship. She’s supporting both of them, and his new celebrity has been difficult as well. If you run into her, cut her some slack, all right?”

  Jake nodded. “I will. Thanks for telling me. I appreciate it.”

  The chief leaned across the center console and put a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Jake, I think it’s really stupid what you did last night, but you’re just a kid, and you made a mistake. Your sentencing hearing is probably going to be within the next week or so, and I’m going to try to convince the judge to give you a fine. You didn’t hurt anyone or anything, other than your own pride and your car, and you learned a lesson. Stick around Crescent Point for the next week or so, and we can get this all sorted out. Don’t worry about Obrasey. I’ll take your side against the judge.”

  Jake swallowed, trying his hardest not to ruin the illusion he had created and which the chief had fallen into believing.

  “Thank you,” said Jake. “I really appreciate that.”

  The chief frowned. “You got a job?”

  “I just got laid off a few weeks ago. Why?”

  “Girlfriend?”

  Jake paused and looked out the window. “No.”

  “Just wondering if there was anyone missing you,” said the chief. “You sure you’re all right with staying here until the sentencing hearing?”

  Jake shrugged. “Seems easier, and I don’t have a car.”

  The chief laughed. “That's true. You got somewhere to stay?”

  “I’m at the Bishop Hotel.”

  “Oh yeah,” said the chief. “Agatha’s a nice lady. Come on, first round’s on me. Water for you.”

  The chief stepped out of the car. Jake hesitated for a moment, watching the chief’s body language, the way he carried himself, for some indication that his questions were anything other than friendly questioning from a worried authority figure.

  He took a deep breath, mentally put on his mask, and stepped out of the car. Tomorrow he would go about getting a gun and information on the locals, but tonight was about seeing what information he could get out of the drunks at the bar.

  He intentionally hadn’t mentioned anything about Frank Frederickson to make sure the chief didn’t start believing anything Obrasey told him. He needed to seem as though he had no idea who Frederickson was.

  He followed the chief into the bar and prepared for anything he might find.

  Chapter 4

  The place was busy but not crowded. It was a basic pub-style bar with wooden tables and chairs. Lights hung from cords on the ceiling. There were tables to the left and pool and foosball tables on the right. A few bartenders took orders from behind the bar, which took up the back wall. Classic rock music played just loud enough that the patrons had to raise their voices. More people were coming in every minute. The sound of billiard balls clinking together came across the bar every few seconds as a large man with a handlebar mustache beat all challengers.

  All eyes turned to the chief as they walked in. People began yelling out to him. The chief waved Jake to a nearby table and began introducing him to the locals, ringing off their names so fast that Jake couldn’t remember a single name, let alone who it belonged to.

  Chief Williams began rhyming off questions to each of the members of their table, about their kids, jobs, or hobbies. He listened and answered all questions and never let anyone feel as though he wasn’t giving them the maximum amount of attention.

  They moved through the bar toward the counter, and Jake began adopting a pattern of saying, “Nice to meet you, I’m Jake,” over and over. He listened whenever he heard “Frank” or “Frederickson” pop up in conversation, but the chief just laughed and avoided the questions.

  The chief was less than stellar at police work—at least according to Harold—but he was loved by the people, and he cared about them in return. Jake had wondered how he rose to such a position of power, and now he felt as though he knew the answer.

  They made it to the bar, and the chief leaned over the bar toward a bartender dusting a glass.

  “Karen!” The brunette bartender turned around, her hair falling over her shoulders. Jake caught himself staring at her eyes before shaking himself and focusing on the conversation.

  “How ya doing, Chief?” said Karen, leaning backward against the liquor cabinet, continuing to wipe the glass.

  “I’m doing pretty well.” The chief took a seat, adjusting his gut as he did so. “How’s your mother?”

  “She’s been better,” said Karen, placing the clean glass in front of her.

  “Sorry to hear that. Give her my best, will you?” said the chief. “This here is Jake. I’m just making sure you don’t sell him any alcohol tonight. He’s here because he was blackout drunk and crashed into a ditch last night.”

  Karen eyed him and held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Jake. I’m Karen.”

  “Nice to meet you,” said Jake, taking her hand.

  “How’s the car look?” asked Karen. “Is the insurance going to pay out, or are you taking it on the head?”

  Jake froze. He didn’t have an answer. He’d been given the car by The Compound and had never considered insurance. He didn’t know if The Compound had insurance or what company they would use. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask about the state of the car, which was supposed to have been owned by him for three years, according to his cover story. He could almost feel Harold watching him.

  The chief thankfully came to his rescue. He patted Jake on the back and said, “This boy’s car is a disaster, and the police report won’t be much help. No insurance company’s going to touch that.” Jake stared at him, and the chief
shrugged. “Wanted to be honest. Everyone makes mistakes.”

  Jake thanked him, and the chief turned to Karen. “A beer for me and something non-alcoholic for Jake here.”

  “Coke,” said Jake.

  Karen nodded. “Coming right up.”

  “Excuse me, chief?” said a new voice on the chief’s other side. The chief turned away, and Jake didn’t listen to their conversation, allowing his mind to focus on listening to the rest of the bar. He looked for someone who fit the profile of a criminal. Most of the time, when a crime was committed, it was done by someone who fit a certain profile. It was only when everyone fitting that profile had been ruled out that he could move on to the others.

  He felt someone watching him and met Karen’s eyes. She was grinning and holding a glass of Coke in one hand and bottle of rum in the other. She darted her eyes toward the distracted chief and then at the bottle of rum in her hand. Jake shook his head, then reconsidered and held up his thumb and forefinger close together.

  Karen grinned and poured a small splash of rum into his glass.

  “Chief,” she said, holding out a bottle of beer.

  The chief turned back and accepted the beer. Jake accepted the rum and Coke and took a small sip.

  “So, anyway, Dirk,” the chief was saying. “How have you been? Still looking for a job?”

  Something about the way the chief spoke made Jake’s ears perk up. There was an undertone of suspicion in the chief’s voice. Jake looked forward but watched the chief and his conversational partner in the mirror behind the bar. The man was well-built, the kind of physique you got from working in a factory.

  “Actually, Chief,” Dirk said, “I got a job working for the new owners of the factory on the north shore.”

  The chief frowned. “Someone bought the factories?”

  “Yeah,” said Dirk. “Guy named Dimitri Kulovich. He's Japanese or Russian or something like that. Anyway, he’s a steel manufacturer, and apparently we have some mutual connections through my father, because when he heard I was looking for work, he hired me as his local liaison.”

  “You?” The chief’s voice was dripping with suspicion so heavy, anyone could have picked up on it. Jake was quite certain Karen had, because she started polishing the same glass she'd just finished as she kept an eye on the two men.

  “Look,” Dirk put his hands in the air, “I’m as surprised as you are, but I’m turning my life around. I mean that. I can see the look on your face, Chief, and I understand that. I really do. But I’m different now. I’m done with that stuff.”

  The chief sipped his beer. “Go on.”

  “They wanted me to talk to you about what’s happening tomorrow. About twenty or thirty trucks are going to be coming through town to the factories. Mr. Kulovich wanted to be certain that they won't be stopped. They’re bringing in equipment from one of their old factories that shut down. There was some debate about rent prices and wanting to finally own their own land.”

  “What did you say they were making?”

  “Steel or something. Stuff made out of steel. That’s all I know, Chief.” Dirk paused and looked forward and put both his hands on the bar.

  Jake watched him. There was something in his delivery that sounded dishonest, something Jake couldn’t distinguish but knew was there. One of the first things he’d been taught was to trust his instincts. The next was how to making those instincts as fine-tuned as possible. Before any training with martial arts, firearms, or vehicles, they were experts in detecting lies. For this reason, no one at The Compound lied, only making the strangeness of someone being dishonest that much more profound.

  Dirk said, “Oh, that was the other thing, Chief. Mr. Kulovich told me to invite you to the factory tomorrow to say hello and meet the team. He knows his factory will be employing a lot of people in Crescent Point and wants to start out on the right foot with the local law enforcement.”

  The chief nodded and sipped his beer. “I’m going to be honest with you, Dirk.” He placed his beer down hard on the counter and turned to face the man straight on. “I don’t like that they hired you. I respect that you’re trying, but your resume isn’t exactly gleaming with good references. You said you had changed once before.”

  Dirk’s face twisted up for a few moments before settling in a calm and tranquil expression. “I’m going to try to change your mind, Chief. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Dirk withdrew, and the chief said nothing, turning back to the bar. He took a deep breath, and the stern and serious expression was gone and he was joyful and buoyant once again. He tried to sip his beer, only to find that it was empty.

  “Hey, Chief!” came a cry from a nearby table. “Come sit with us!”

  Jake turned to see that a table of men—about a dozen gathered around a large table—who had the clean-shaven, serious look of civil servants were waving him over. Jake guessed were firefighters, based on their physiques. He wondered if Obrasey’s fiancé was at the table.

  He guessed not.

  “Coming,” said Chief Williams. “Karen! A round for all the boys at that table. I’m going to leave you in charge of this one.” He grabbed Jake’s shoulder. “Make sure he doesn’t get any alcohol from you or the other tenders. Can I trust you on that?”

  “You got it, Chief,” said Karen.

  The chief left them and walked away.

  Karen turned to Jake and then glanced down. “You want another one?”

  Jake looked down and found, to his surprise, that the glass of rum and Coke was empty. “Why not?”

  When Karen brought him another drink, he swirled it around in his mouth before swallowing. Karen was gone to help another customer—apparently it was the chief who had commanded her full attention—so he slipped back into listening for the signs of dishonesty and suspicion around the bar. It was difficult to distinguish whether a lie had criminal intent or was just another sensible social lie.

  The chief was leaning back and laughing at a story, while the rest of the bar seemed to be acting normally. Many people came up to the chief to ask about the rumors of the factory reopening. He wasn’t committing to anything concrete, only that he had heard the same rumors and he was checking it out in the morning.

  Dirk was nowhere to be seen, but his news had spread throughout the bar. It would soon spread through the town. There was an unease among the chief’s pleasantries, assurances, and deflections.

  Jake kept glancing behind him and then waved down Karen when she walked past. She turned to him with a sweet smile.

  “What’s up, guy who legally isn’t allowed to drink but I’m serving anyway?” She grinned at him.

  Jake grinned and leaned in toward her, so close he could see the small dimples on her right cheek.

  He laughed and grinned before he found his words. “What can you tell me about that Dirk guy? Why is the chief so suspicious of him?”

  Karen cocked her head to one side and tapped an index finger on the counter. She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Why should I tell you that? Why do you care? You a reporter or something?”

  Jake hesitated. She was on his side but could turn on him in an instant and blow the entire operation. She was a local—he wasn’t. She had contacts that could publicly defend her, and he didn’t.

  “Just curious,” he said. “From what I’ve seen the chief seems like a really nice guy. But he did a one-eighty when he saw Dirk. What’s up with that?”

  Karen bit her bottom lip then looked around the bar. “Swear you to secrecy?”

  “Sure.”

  “I mean it. You tell anyone I told you this, I will get fucked over. I will tell the chief that you stole drinks from me. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  “Okay, you seem like a good guy.” Karen gestured for him to lean in and listen. The music was loud, and they were almost certain not to be heard. Even still, Karen spoke softly. “Buy me a drink later and maybe I’ll tell you.”

  Karen leaned back and walked away, leaving
Jake sitting there like an idiot.

  He sipped at his rum and Coke and laughed, writing a short note on the napkin under a twenty to cover his drinks before turning back to the crow. He finished his drink and joined the crowd.

  Soon enough he had challenged the giant with the handlebar mustache to a game of pool. The man was wearing a black t-shirt underneath his vest. He was smaller once you approached. On the back of his vest was a skeleton driving a motorbike.

  The man, who introduced himself as Carl, had won a series of pool games, normally with most of his opponents’ balls still on the table. He and his friends were working their way through the ice bucket full of beers the bartenders had left for them.

  He sipped yet another as he considered Jake’s challenge.

  “You’re that kid the chief brought in last night, right?” he said.

  “I’m not a kid,” said Jake, “I’m twenty-five.”

  Carl didn’t seem to hear him. “That’s not cool, you know? Drunk driving? People get hurt when you do that.”

  “Are we going to play pool or are you going to preach at me?”

  Carl paused mid-sip, watching Jake. The others gathered around the table, some dressed the same as Carl and some not, interspersed in no clear order. This was a town where everyone knew everyone, no matter what group they belonged to.

  Carl laughed from deep inside his chest. “Touché. Let’s play.”

  He placed the beer on the side of the pool table and passed a cue to Jake. The game started, and Jake jumped out to an early lead. He had only played pool a dozen or so times before, and he found himself wondering whether or not he was a natural or if everyone else was drunk or terrible. Then his lead grew, and he began getting excited. Then he was down to just one ball and the eight ball, while Carl had six balls remaining. Jake took the shot and banked the ball just right of the corner pocket.