I Warned You_Welcome to Fall River

by Shawn Underhill

  “I mean the two guys.”

  “They’re a couple, yes. And they have names. Skip and Randy.”

  “Let me guess. They’re fresh in from a city somewhere, moving to the country.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, as long as they leave the city stuff in the city.”

  “Providence isn’t that big of a city.”

  “A lot bigger than Fall River.”

  “Your point?”

  “It looks like they’re moving in and dragging politics with them. We’re talking bagels in a town of seven hundred people, with a little political innuendo on the side.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Go look at the chalkboard. You tell me.”

  “I thought it was a nice touch.”

  “All are welcome. All is underlined. As if to imply some weren’t welcome before, when it was plain old Ray’s.”

  “So?”

  “If they think we’re all such a bunch of mean bastards, why’d they move here?”

  “They’re not implying that.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Did your brother have anything to do with this?”

  Kerry straightened up rigidly on the bench. She crossed her legs and took a sip of green stuff.

  Ryan said, “Take it easy, willya? I love you guys.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I’ll just ignore the fact that you have to belittle everyone and every little thing. What else is new?”

  “Should I mope around miserably all the time?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Speaking of moping, you need to back off on the food allergy stuff with Clay. He’s thinner every time I see him.”

  “I have no control over his allergies.”

  “He didn’t have any until you convinced him.”

  “So now you’re attacking Clay?”

  “I’m saying I don’t want him to blow away.”

  “No,” she said. “You’re mad about Skip and Randy and you’re taking it out on me. That’s what you’re doing. Well I’m sorry, Matthew, but you’ll have to accept the fact that things change. Even a small town can change. And for your information, we’re only a few dozen shy of eight hundred residents now.”

  Ryan nodded, said, “Fair enough. I’ll accept changes when you accept the fact that life gave you a little brother, not a little sister.”

  “Please don’t go after Clay because you’re upset about other things. It’s only a chalkboard, Matthew.”

  “I agree it’s only a chalkboard. With a message written on it.”

  “An inclusive message. An inviting message.”

  “A message that’s subtly trying to stir something up where there really wasn’t a problem to start with. Once something starts, where does it end?”

  “It’s a sentiment, not a conspiracy.”

  “Okay, so maybe I’m worried about a traveling snow blower salesman that nobody will give the time of day to down in Miami. How unfair can the world be?”

  “Matthew, please.”

  “Ray sold them the space?”

  “Obviously, yes.”

  “Without discriminating?”

  She took a slow breath, probably silently counting to ten.

  Ryan said, “That’s my point. Nobody around here would give a shit if two gay guys took over the bagel shop and just talked about bagels and raisins. Tell me one person who was ever turned away from Ray’s Bagels for anything, let alone for some political reason.”

  “Please don’t swear.”

  “Stir the poop, then.”

  “Matthew.”

  “Poop, Kerry. Poop. They’re stirring poop with that chalkboard. On purpose. That’s my point.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  She kept quiet. Which meant that she did see the point, but there was no way in hell that she’d agree with it.

  He said, “Fine, I’ll let it go. I’ve had an interesting morning. How has your day been so far?”

  Kerry stared ahead. Said, “You don’t even know them.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know them. And I’m still waiting for you tell me some names of oppressed people barred from the old tyrannical bagel system.”

  “Nobody, Matthew. It’s just a nice idea. That’s all. They’re trying to add some positivity to our community. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

  “How was the old system negative? They’re bagels, Kerry. If you want one, you buy it and you eat it. Case closed.”

  She said, “Let’s change the subject, Matthew.”

  “You know I get sick of being called Matthew in that tone.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “It’s your name. Shall I call you Blockhead instead?”

  He nodded and decided to retaliate nonverbally. Because every rational person knows that actions speak louder than words. He reached into his pocket and got out a cigarette. Then he made a big deal of getting out his Zippo, flicking it open dramatically, holding the flame to the cigarette, taking exaggerated puffs. Then he leaned back on the bench and blew a big cloud of smoke up over their heads.

  Kerry said, “Seriously?”

  “What?”

  “I really wish you wouldn’t smoke here.”

  “That’s so insensitive of you.”

  “Don’t play games, please.”

  “You know how much I enjoy smoking. It sooths me.”

  “You’re killing us all.”

  “Hey, I was nearly killed this morning, in case you’ve forgotten. Now you’re making me feel unwelcome, here, where you know I love to come and visit you and the dogs.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Nicotine and caffeine work well together as brain fuel. It’s science.”

  “You shouldn’t be smoking at all, anywhere, regardless. You’re trying to provoke me, Matthew. You know how much I hate it.”

  “Hate, from such a loving person.”

  “Grow up, please.”

  “You mean accept nonsense? That’s growing up?”

  “You’re a child.”

  “Look at Sharky,” he said. “I think he heard you over there.”

  Sharky looked over when he heard his name and stared for a moment.

  Ryan said, “Look at his little face. Did you see the pain in his eyes? You know how that hurts his feelings to hear you trying to verbally neuter me like this.”

  “Matthew.”

  “The damage is done. Now I’ll have to take him to doggy therapy sessions. He may never recover. And think of the bills. I’ll have to sue you for the costs. Then Brokeback Bagels can take over your share of the building.”

  Kerry stood up with her green drink and started marching to the back door of the Barking Lot.

  “You look like a million bucks, Kerry,” Ryan called. “Even in scrubs and Crocs.”

  She whirled around and said, “Don’t make this about me. You’re the ten-year-old here, not me.”

  “What?” Ryan said. “You mean you’re downing green stuff and jogging every morning in those tight outfits because you just don’t care?”

  “It’s called taking care of yourself, Matthew.”

  “Bullshit. It’s all about your image.”

  “Exercising is healthy.”

  “So exercise in some ugly clothes. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “I can’t talk to you.”

  “Because you shovel more crap than farmer Joe up the street. Quit the farm work, Kerry. It doesn’t suit you, and it doesn’t work on me.”

  She spun back and headed for the door.

  “And you straighten your hair every morning,” he called. “Even on Sundays. It’s called vanity, Kerry. Just admit it and I’ll drop it.”

  She kept on angrily marching and said over her shoulder, “I guess I should live with hats on my head like you, right? Look at me. I’m Peter Pan. I don’t have to care about anything.
”

  “Hats make life easier,” he called as she disappeared into the brick building. “Give it a try!”

  She got through the doorway and then turned back for her parting comment.

  “I thought you were going in?” Ryan said before she could speak.

  “Your beard looks terrible,” she said. “You look homeless.”

  “Oh, I see. Now you’re picking on homeless people?”

  “Make sure you get the last word,” she said and slammed the door.

  ***

  Ryan sat there smoking. He let her have the last word. He didn’t think his beard looked that bad. He trimmed it every third or fourth week. Usually. Besides, it was a matter of principal, not fashion. Kerry simply refused to accept that fact.

  The shaving strike had all started with a condescending razor commercial, years before, during a football game. The scene was like an auto garage, but instead of cars there were overpriced razors up on lifts, with men checking them over as if they were cars. Effectively aligning the screwing of razor costs with the screwing of automotive costs. A razor tech was telling a customer that when the razor’s moisture strip dried up, it was time for a new blade. Like a mechanic telling him his vehicle was screwed.

  Your blinker fluid is way low, man. And your hamper sensor is all messed up. Better cough up the dough.

  All bullshit. Asshole marketing.

  Ryan changed the channel that fateful day and hadn’t touched a razor since. Those bastards wouldn’t get a dime from him ever again. He didn’t care if they sponsored the Patriots or not. To hell with them all. He hoped everyone in authority positions at that company suffered from chronic poison ivy and UFO abductions.

  Now, sitting there on the bench behind the Barking Lot, he saw Kerry upstairs, in her apartment. She appeared by one of the windows. Looked out. He waved. Smiled. She lowered the blind.

  He stood up and called Sharky.

  “That was worse than usual,” he told the dog. “We should probably get going before she has us arrested for felony disagreement. Let’s go get you a cookie.”

  Cookie was enough to convince Sharky.

  Chapter 8

  An hour later a cruiser pulled up by the brown-sided building.

  In the meantime man and dog had gone to Dunkin’ Donuts again for a medium regular and half a dozen assorted donuts. Sharky had some dog cookies and Ryan had a few donuts. They parked on the sofa and Ryan started the recorded Alexander show from the beginning. Sharky took a nap.

  Thirty-five minutes into the show Chuck Reynolds pulled in and knocked on the apartment’s back door and then stepped inside. In his uniform, ready for duty. He had his own coffee and donuts. As with Rosie Clare, Sharky was so accustomed to him that he never made a peep when Chuck walked in. They were both okay in Sharky’s book. Nobody to worry about.

  “Look at you,” Chuck said. “Man of the day. Got your jammies on and everything.”

  “I’ll order you a pair since you’re so jealous.”

  “Tall, not regular.”

  “Deal.”

  “Wrap them up nice for Christmas.”

  “Now you’re pushing it.”

  “Hey, Sal told me to have you come see him.”

  He was referring to Salman, Hometown Market’s owner whose real hometown was not Fall River. Sal spent his first ten years of life in Pakistan and now considered Fall River his true home.

  “Yeah, what’s he want?” Ryan asked.

  “To thank you for this morning.”

  “No need.”

  “Tell him that. He appreciates you looking out for his place.”

  Ryan said, “About that. It turns out the guy wasn’t really trying to rob the market. It only looked that way.”

  Chuck pulled a kitchen chair away from the small table and set it so he could see the TV. Because it would have been awkward to get between the man and dog on the sofa. He shifted around and got comfortable, settling in for a good talk.

  “How do you know?” he asked. “Chief told me the guy wasn’t saying much of anything so far.”

  “I have my sources.”

  “Tell me.”

  Ryan ejected himself from the recliner and went into the bathroom. Chuck watched him, wondering. Ryan came back wearing a funny smile and carrying the plastic Dunkin’ Donuts bag. Packed with cash. He set it on the floor before Chuck, stood back and watched him taking in the sight.

  ***

  Chuck leaned forward in his chair. His eyes widened and his mouth hung open.

  “Are you joking?” he finally asked.

  Ryan said, “A tad under three hundred grand.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “How’d you fall into this?”

  “Easy.”

  “How the hell?”

  “I found it in a lapsed unit. In a backpack. Nothing else in there. That guy from this morning had the unit number written down on a slip that didn’t belong to him. So he came for that, not the market.”

  “Holy Moses,” Chuck muttered. “You know how long it would take me to save this much?”

  “Same with me.”

  “Frig you. Your folks are loaded.”

  “They were before they got a place in Cali. Besides, you get free coffee most days. What are you bitching about?”

  “Please, Matt. You’re here eating spaghetti all day, watching cartoons with the dog.”

  “For dinner. I have spaghetti for dinner, not all day.”

  “Excuse me terribly.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Hey, I got a wife that actually likes having me around. And a nine-year-old daughter begging me for new dresses and a pony.”

  “So take some money,” Ryan said. “Take five or ten. Go for it. I don’t care. Put it in the pony fund.”

  Chuck stopped smiling and said, “Are you kidding?”

  “No.”

  “This is drug money, Matt. It has to be. Nobody keeps their college fund in a metal storage building. This stuff is bad news for anyone that gets near it.”

  “It’s just money.”

  “Tied to bad people, I’d bet a hundred to one.”

  “Rosie’s scared of it.”

  “She’s smart.”

  “And timid.”

  “You tell the chief yet?”

  “I don’t tell him when I find an old boom box or a toaster in a lapsed unit.”

  “This is different. Somebody definitely wants this money. It’s like that movie there, with the old sheriff.”

  “No Country.”

  “Yeah. That’s a great movie.”

  Ryan said, “This is a lot less money than in that movie. That was two mil.”

  Chuck stood up. He was six foot five, built lean, still filling out in his thirties. He sometimes slouched his way down to six foot three, the same height as Ryan.

  “Holy shit,” he mumbled.

  “What?”

  Chuck said, “I spend my evenings watching this town. What if this guy ripped bad people off and hid their money? They might show up in town at two in the morning with guns.”

  “One already showed up,” Ryan said. “Couple of hours ago. Said he was looking to rent.”

  “With a gun?”

  “No. I’m only guessing he had one somewhere.”

  “What happened?”

  “I sent him home. He didn’t like it much when I mentioned what street he came from.”

  “What?”

  “Rosie looked it up. The guy from this morning and the guy who stashed the money are neighbors. So I guessed the third guy was another neighbor. He took the bait and reacted noticeably.”

  Chuck paced around a bit. A Glock he barely used on his belt. Long legs, long arms. He couldn’t pace very far in a small apartment with such long legs. His formerly carrot hair was darkening with age. He was used to pulling people over on Main Street for doing forty-five in a thirty-five. Only giving out tickets when they breached fifty miles per hour. Minor fender benders. Helping peo
ple jump-start cars in sub-zero weather. Little town problems. There was no real crime in Fall River. Never had been. The local bad boys drank a few beers and did burnouts at stop signs. Smoked cigarettes at the park by the river.

  House calls and thefts were very rare, and usually involved smooth criminal bears whose crimes of passion were typically limited to stealing bird feeders and sometimes knocking over garbage cans foolishly left outdoors overnight.

  Ryan said, “Cool your jets.”

  “Sure.”

  “This money was already a problem before I knew it was here. They knew about it, I didn’t. At least now we know, thanks to the idiot this morning.”

  “Okay,” Chuck said under his breath.

  “And the guy who stashed the backpack supposedly overdosed. Rosie looked it up. I’m thinking maybe someone helped him along with the process, because they wanted his money.”

  “I’ve heard some stuff when I talk to troopers,” Chuck said. “They see it all. Sometimes smaller guys do try to rob bigger guys. All sorts of rivalries within the pipeline. Different products, newer products, stronger products. It’s a mess out there.”

  Ryan said, “If I were king, I’d send out the National Guard. Roadblocks and sniffer dogs for anyone coming into the state. That would slow it down pretty well.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “They’re already having to watch the mail. Why not watch the roads closer?”

  Chuck said nothing.

  Ryan said, “We had to know it would reach us sooner or later.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ve been watching stuff about Alexander the Great.”

  “That’s great, Matt. Giving the Garfield cartoons a rest?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Sorry,” Chuck said and sat down again. “I just don’t want to deal with this nonsense. I don’t want some sketchy bastard following me home some morning, seeing where my wife and kid are. The troopers worry about that crap when they get put on the news for some big thing. You know that?”

  Ryan said, “I’m saying strategy is everything. The main battlefield is in the mind.”

  “Sure, okay,” Chuck said. “You and Alexander. You guys got this one covered. I’ll just relax. Let you two handle it.”

  “What does a fever do, Chucky?”

  “What’s that got to do with tea in China?”