An Intimate Deception

by CJ Birch

  “I’ve got it. But thanks.”

  “No problem. Want me to start on the report about that dog?”

  Elle nodded. “Please. I’ll have Neil follow up with the owners in the morning.” Before making her rounds she’d been called to a convenience store just outside of town. Someone had broken in and beaten a dog to death. What had started out as a quiet night had turned into one of their busier ones.

  Elle motioned the boys to lead the way to the basement.

  “You guys are going to smoke that pot, aren’t you? I bet you’ll be going back for our keg too.” Dan handed her his bag.

  “You’re right. I will be going back for the keg, so I can return it to Finnegan’s where you stole it.” Elle tucked the two bags under her arm and followed them down the stairs to the basement. The hallway continued for several feet beyond with doors on either side. The coroner’s office was through the door on the right, the morgue at the end of the inky, uncarpeted hall. To the left stood a single diminutive cell, complete with a stony cot and staunch bars.

  EJ studied the windowless cell with its cement walls and water-stained floor. “Are you really going to lock us up in here all night?”

  The floors had been scrubbed with vinegar recently and the pungent smell was prickling EJ’s nostrils. This combined with the harsh florescent lights above, and the fact that he was sobering up, made his head begin to throb.

  Elle checked her watch. “Not that there’s much of it left,” she said. But she squeezed his elbow when she was sure Dan couldn’t see.

  They both turned, Dan with a look of disdain, EJ with accusatory eyes. “Sit, sleep,” she ordered, pointing to the lonely cot.

  “What if we need to make pee-pee?” Dan asked, folding his arms and kicking the side of the cot with his scuffed shoe. The cot was basic. It had a thin pad as a mattress, an even thinner pillow, and clean sheets. The laundered smell mingled with the vinegar. Like much of Turlough, the cell functioned. Any frills were best left for the cities.

  “If you’re sleeping, you shouldn’t need to go.”

  Elle closed the door, jiggling it to make sure it was locked. “Stan will be down to check on you in a couple of hours.” She turned and walked back down the hall and up the stairs.

  They could hear the lock from the door click back into place. The silence was painful. The kind that bounced around in your head, knocking things off shelves to fill the void.

  “Well, this is the shits.” Dan plunked down on the cot and began taking off his Chucks. “I’d much rather be banging Tully and her big, fat husband than down here, surviving the night with you.” He threw one shoe, then the other against the far wall, each with its own loud echo ringing through the basement. It made EJ flinch. “Why’s your sister such a bitch anyway?”

  Without any warning EJ punched Dan in the arm fast and hard. He stood quickly, with his back to the bars, ready if Dan came at him. “Don’t call her that.”

  But instead of showing anger, Dan laughed it off, rubbing the outer part of his bicep. “Why? What would you call her?”

  EJ still hadn’t completely relaxed, but his fists were starting to drop.

  “Because where I’m from, locking your brother up overnight doesn’t inspire the warm and fuzzies.” A grin spread across Dan’s face, big enough to take up the entire lower half. His teeth were so white they almost managed to brighten the cell. He patted the cot next to him. “I’m sorry, all right?”

  EJ nodded and took a seat next to him. Shrugging off his jacket and shoes, he passed Dan the lone pillow. “Where you’re from they probably don’t worry so much about this kind of thing. I’m guessing big cities have more important things to worry about.” EJ crumpled up his jacket to use for himself.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call Evansville a big city. It’s more like a trough for big city runoff.” Dan fluffed up the thin pillow. “How come your sister’s like that anyway? All stiff like she’s got a fire poker up her ass?”

  EJ shrugged. “You should’ve seen her before…” He trailed off, unable to finish.

  With their bodies in the fetal position at opposite ends of the cot, they settled in for what was left of the night, awaiting the consequences of what only morning could bring.

  Chapter Two

  “The mayor’s on the line, boss,” called a voice from the other side of Elle’s office door. Sitting up with a groan, she tied her hair back and stretched out the kinks.

  After rejecting the idea of going home around four a.m. last night, she settled for the love seat. Her office wasn’t large, or even grand, but it was more of a home than her house as of late.

  Elle picked up one of many mugs at random and sniffed, taking a tentative sip she lifted the receiver to her ear. “Ken, what’s up?” Her voice echoed into the mug.

  Contrary to her sparse cruiser, Elle’s office overflowed. Every surface was blanketed with orderly stacks of files rising like saplings from the forest floor. An ancient Cary safe stood stoic in the far corner. With the weight and girth of a cruiser, it acted as the station’s evidence locker. The doors were propped open, revealing various size wooden drawers.

  “I wanted to talk to you about something that’s come up.” He had the kind of voice that belonged to game show hosts and radio personalities.

  “If this is anything to do with the festival, direct it toward Neil.” Elle made an unpleasant face as she took another sip of cold coffee.

  “It does, but only indirectly.”

  “Then talk to Neil. He is the grand poobah of the festival this year.” She stifled a yawn and sat down in a huff. Not generally a morning person, this was shaping up to be a bad start.

  “There’s no such thing as a grand poobah of the festival. That’s not a thing.”

  “Yes, it is. I just made it a thing.”

  “Elle, this is serious. I need you to be serious.”

  “When am I not serious?”

  A deep sigh drifted through the receiver. Elle didn’t even try stifling her grin. She lived for winding Ken Brady’s crank.

  “Have you ever heard of Verve Magazine? They want to send a reporter down and do a story on us.”

  “Have you ever heard of Verve Magazine?”

  “It doesn’t matter if I’ve heard of it. It’s a Chicago magazine. All that matters is people read it. Their website says it has over a million subscriptions. Just imagine how many people we could potentially reach.”

  “We’re not exactly a tourist destination.”

  “No, but we could be. The festival is coming up in a little over two weeks. This could be a chance to get people interested, you know, for next year.”

  “In the Beer and Berry Festival? In Turlough? Ken, you’re dreaming if you think anyone wants to trek all the way out here to get bitten by mosquitos and consume flat beer and stale pie.” She tried to keep her hands busy by organizing the stacks of files into even taller, less stable piles.

  “Goddammit, Elle. It’s not like it used to be when the brick factory was still running. In fact, the council is trying to find ways to cut money. We need this. We need to bring in some tourism dollars. And if someone from Chic—” But she didn’t let him finish. She calmly replaced the receiver and trudged toward the door.

  In the outer office Neil Dell, Elle’s senior deputy, perched his considerable bulk on the edge of the reception desk. “Heather’s sick today,” he said as she swept past. “And Mr. Rutherford’s been hounding us to speak to you.” But she was already out the station door before he could finish.

  It was late spring in Turlough, which meant peach blossoms. They had a way of becoming the next season’s carpet. They coated benches and stoops and cars that hadn’t moved since the night before. The sun hadn’t yet risen over the buildings, adding a sleepy dreamy effect to the morning mist. The sight reminded Elle of a Dr. Seuss book she’d read as a kid. It was like you could take the whole world in your arms and give it a big hug.

  Less than a block down, Elle pulled at a large wooden door,
rushed past the reception area and through a door in the back. Behind the oversized desk sat Ken Brady, Turlough’s mayor. He was still questioning the connection when Elle barged in.

  “Ah.” He replaced the receiver. “So you did hang up.” Brady’s golden brown hair appeared glued to his head. Combined with the bronzing moisturizer he wore, it made him look plastic.

  Elle stood with her hands on her hips and gave him a let’s have it look.

  Brady raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, I know I kinda sprang this on you, but let’s face it, you’ll make a better PR front than me.” He placed his hand to his heart. “As much as it pains me to say that.” His teeth were fake, covered in veneers that were too white and perfect. When he smiled his face looked fake.

  “Don’t schmooze me, Ken. You know I hate it when you do that.” Without asking, Elle skirted behind Brady and helped herself to a cup of coffee from the sideboard. She inhaled the steam before taking a large gulp.

  “I need you to do this interview,” he said. “Just show him your smile, flap your gums about community and safety, I’ll handle the rest.”

  Elle took another sip before responding. “Don’t you find it kind of odd that a journalist from Chicago wants to come all the way down here to do a piece on us? Some no-name town?”

  “City. That’s no-name city. We’re incorporated.”

  “Ken, I know how you love your ego stroked and everything, but nine hundred people does not a city make. Get over yourself.” Three years ago, Turlough had incorporated. The purpose of which was to leverage more money from the state. It had only succeeded in giving a few people more impressive titles. The county commissioner became the mayor of Turlough, and the board of county commissioners became the city council. The lobbying for this change, of course, had come from Brady himself.

  She sank into a seat across from him and eyed the picture frames sitting on his back wall. There were several she knew to be fake. The one with Arnold Schwarzenegger was a Photoshop job, as well as the one with Pat Quinn. The only real photos were the one with his mother the day he moved her into the retirement home in Mason and the one from the breaking ground ceremony for the new hockey arena. It was also the only one with a genuine smile on his face. His arms were in an upward swing as a shovel full of dirt flew over his shoulder. His eyes, which were crinkled at the edges, followed the arc of soil. That was over a year ago and the foundation had yet to be poured.

  “I think we should put our past differences aside and focus on being professional. As sheriff, it’s your job to schmooze occasionally, throw a little PR voodoo around and make us look good. Besides, I already said you’d do it.” He muttered that last line quick. Instead of answering she just eyed him over the brim of her mug. As long as she’d known Brady, the only way to win any argument was to let him do the talking. The longer she stayed silent, the more concessions he’d be willing to make just to get her to leave his office.

  He steepled his fingers and leaned back, as the seconds turned into minutes. Elle took another long sip of her coffee, relishing the caffeine coursing through her bloodstream.

  “I need you to do this, Elle.”

  She shrugged one shoulder, continuing to stare.

  “Dammit, Elle, this is part of your job.”

  “Ken, don’t tell me my job. I know it may not be as impressive as yours, but it sure as hell doesn’t involve kowtowing to some shithead from Chicago who thinks he can poke fun at hicks, ’kay?” She stood, straightening the creases in her pants as she did.

  “Elle, come on, they’re not here to make fun of you.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean me.” And she left, taking the mug of coffee with her.

  * * *

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Dan asked. He looped around potholes in his ’89 Dodge Dakota like he was dancing with an unseen partner. The truck grumbled as it rode the hard back roads.

  EJ poked his head out from under the passenger seat. “I’m looking for my knife. I think I dropped it in here last night.” The sweat from EJ’s hairline was creeping down his face one stream at a time. It invaded the corners of his eyes and the creases around his nose and settled at the edge of his jaw.

  “I haven’t seen it. We’ll have a look when we collect the keg.” Dan turned a sharp corner fast.

  EJ grabbed for the oh-shit bar. “I told you, Elle would’ve gone back for it last night.”

  “Right, like her and Deputy Do-Right could lift that thing into the back of a cruiser.”

  EJ shook his head. “Elle’s stronger than she looks. I’ve seen her lift a tractor wheel just because someone told her she couldn’t do it.”

  “You think she’ll give me my pump back?”

  “Doubt it.”

  EJ grinned as he pulled a tiny silver key from under the seat. He slipped it into the lock of the glove compartment and turned. It gave a groan, then a pop as it flipped open. EJ shoved his hand inside and began pulling things out at random and piling them on his lap. “Ugh! That’s disgusting,” he said as he pulled out a clump of melted condoms. They had fused together in a congealed mass of latex. He threw them out the window into a damp ditch where they sank to the bottom.

  The morning was setting the stage for a brilliant spring afternoon. It was the kind of day people made excuses to be out. The kind of day that made you forget winter existed and carried the promise of summer vacation on the wind.

  They’d met Dan’s first day of school. He’d moved with his family from Indiana halfway through the year. EJ huddled in a corner near the back of the school, lighting a smoke in the cold November wind. A couple of guys Dan could tell were football players by their bulk and swagger strolled up and started rolling EJ for money.

  At first Dan held back, listening, taking stock of the situation, enjoying his own smoke at the edge of the tree line.

  One of them laughed loud and punched EJ’s shoulder hard enough that EJ slammed back against the brick wall. “What else you got in that jacket? Got any money?” EJ shook his head. “Why? Your sister make your lunch today? She make you a chickenshit salad sandwich?” The group all laughed.

  EJ didn’t say anything, just stared back at the wall of football players, wary, his eyes darting between faces, waiting for the next blow. One of the bigger guys, the one going through his wallet, pushed him against the wall. “Hey, retard, where’s the rest of my money?”

  “It’s not your money.”

  “Well, my fist says it is.”

  “Yeah? Well, my mouth says it isn’t, so go jerk off or something.”

  Before EJ had even finished the sentence, a meaty fist smashed into his face. Blood exploded from his nose and mouth, but he stood up straight again as if he wasn’t bleeding and stared at the group.

  “You’re still not getting how this works, Ashley.”

  The taller one wearing a hoodie with the J.P. Flynn Cavaliers logo on the back pushed EJ back against the wall. “You going to go cry to your big sister now? Little baby Ashley.” They all laughed again.

  “She wouldn’t give a shit anyway, guys, she knows he’s just the retard in the family.”

  Dan dropped his smoke and it fizzled in the wet grass. Ten strides and he was face to chest with the bulkier one of the group, his fists clenched, jaw tight, ready to go.

  They’d all ended up in the office sitting across from the principal’s door. Dan was the only one not bleeding on his clothes, and he had a great big smirk on his face. He and EJ had been friends ever since.

  They arrived at the clearing to reclaim Dan’s pump and, with any luck, the stolen keg. The glade was empty save for a makeshift fire pit and forgotten red cups, left behind as a memento and calling card for future partiers.

  “What now?” EJ asked as he foraged along the tree line, scanning for his knife.

  “We find your sister and give her a talking-to.”

  “Come on, she’s just doing her job. It’s not like she pressed charges.”

  “Aren’t you pissed?”


  EJ shrugged his left shoulder, still in search mode.

  “You should be. Your sister just locked you up for the night like it was no big deal.” He applied a falsetto voice. “Oh, boys, underage drinking is bad. It’s my mission to see all you hooligans sent to camps.”

  EJ laughed. It came in one loud spurt. But Dan’s eyes made him stop. He sighed instead. “She’s the sheriff.”

  “That’s not an excuse.” Dan punched him playfully in the arm. “It’s a cop-out. You need to cowboy the fuck up.”

  “Elle always says I need to put my big girl panties on and deal with it.”

  Dan stared at him. “No. See? This is what’s wrong with being raised by a single woman. They rip your balls off and serve them up for dinner and bitch at you for not having any over dessert.” Dan checked the air pressure on his tires for the fourth time that morning.

  “Doesn’t look like it’s here.”

  “What’s the big deal? So we buy you a new knife.”

  “It belonged to my granddad.” EJ desperately tried to remember the last time he’d seen it. He wasn’t even supposed to have it. He’d taken it from his dad’s toolbox a couple of months ago. Elle had caught him with it a few weeks later and confiscated it. He’d found it hidden in the back of her underwear drawer. Even when they were kids she’d always thought the fear of her underwear was enough of a deterrent. If Elle found out that not only had he been through her private things but he’d lost their granddad’s knife, she’d be furious.

  His grandfather had been dead long before EJ was born, but he’d seen pictures of the tough Irishman. He looked like someone who didn’t take any shit. EJ liked carrying the knife; it made him feel like he didn’t take shit either.

  Dan smacked him on his back. “Don’t worry, it’ll turn up.”

  “We should get going, Tanya’s probably waiting for us by now. Maybe I dropped it somewhere over there.”