Evil in Hockley

by William Buckel

  That was quick.

  “No but I hear you did.”

  “Well I guess. After a year without a word…”

  She looked over her shoulder. People were staring.

  She paused then whispered,

  “For fuck’s sake Harry I needed someone, something to remind me I was alive. I wrote your commanding officer to find out if you were still among the living. I gave him my phone number and asked him to give it to you. Did he?”

  “He did.”

  “What more was I supposed to do?”

  “Nothing. It wasn’t you, had nothing to do with you.”

  “There were only two people in our relationship, you and me. That’s as simple as it gets. I say hello and you don’t fucking answer and then you say it had nothing to do with me. It had everything to do with me. As a matter of fact it was all about me. You let me sit awake nights wondering what I did wrong. I cried…”

  Sandy stood then rushed out the exit. Harry dropped a few bills on the table and followed.

  She was on her way home, three clicks away. Harry caught her then held her tight. She slapped him hard, over and over, crying with every blow. He refused to let go.

  A stranger approached.

  “Want me to call the cops, miss?”

  Sandy returned to the world of the living. Sobbing she finally said,

  “No I’m all right. He forgot my birthday. Three as a matter of fact.”

  The stranger uttered a humourless laugh then said,

  “Find another guy miss.”

  She pushed away and Harry let her go.

  “I knew going out with you was a bad idea. I only did it because of what happened to Jarrod.”

  She sighed.

  “You’re going back after the service, aren’t you?”

  Harry didn’t have to think about that.

  “Not for a while. Some business to take care of here first.”

  “Revenge? You’ll get yourself killed, is all. Or in jail.”

  “Would you come to my funeral?”

  Sandy laughed.

  “Yah, to dance on your grave.”

  She was all right.

  He hugged her and she pushed herself into him.

  “You’re a son-of-a-bitch Harry.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  They stood in the parking lot holding each other.

  “You hungry?”

  She nodded then gestured toward the restaurant.

  “Not in there though. I think we’ve worn out our welcome. Let’s grab a burger.”

  Sandy did most of the talking that night bringing him up to speed on who did what in the last three years. It was almost midnight when he turned onto Broadway toward her home and she said,

  “You’re not getting rid of me that easy. Let’s go to your place.”

  Chapter 4

  The house smelled fresh and clean but was a little chilly. He closed the windows and drew the curtains. When he turned from the last one Sandy stood behind him, completely naked.

  “Has it been three years or did you screw around, Harry. They have goats over there I hear.”

  She laughed.

  “No it’s been three years, Sandy.”

  “Don’t lie to me. A woman can tell.”

  Harry stripped then pushed her onto his bed. They made love for about ten minutes.

  She had a grin, ear to ear.

  “I believe you. It’s been three years.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Come on Harry. Four strokes?”

  “A compliment. You’re a sexy babe.”

  “Don’t compliment me the next time. Satisfy me.”

  They both showered then an hour later made love again. She groaned and dug her fingernails into his arms. If she was faking then she was a good actress.

  After they finished he asked,

  “How many strokes this time?”

  She laughed,

  “Two hundred and eight, not counting the two misses.”

  They were up all night but she had the following day off. They showered again and went out for breakfast, not so much as a crumb in the house.

  At the local donut shop Harry stepped up to the till to order. Karen Fosset was dressed in her waitress uniform on the other side. He remembered the face from three years ago, but not the bosoms. He couldn’t help but stare then looked out the window as he ordered. She was about fifteen when he last saw her in this very spot. His order was filled then he and Sandy sat at a table.

  She said,

  “You didn’t miss ‘The Twins,’ did you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “That’s what the guys around here call her breasts, ‘The Twins.’”

  “Oh, I didn’t know.”

  “You didn’t notice them? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  Harry swallowed.

  “No, I noticed, but they’re only breasts. They’re for kids.”

  Harry laughed then added,

  “She could nurse the whole county.”

  “That’s not funny. You had to stare didn’t you? You centered her out. Like everyone else you made her feel like a freak.”

  “Why are we having this conversation?”

  “I don’t know Harry. She’s of age you know. Most women hate her.”

  Harry chuckled.

  “You’re jealous. I’ll have to keep my eyes to myself around you. You want me to stare at the floor?”

  “Stare wherever you like just as long as I’m the one sharing your bed.”

  They spent the day together in Orangeville. It was an old town but was well maintained almost to perfection. The main street, Broadway, was split in two by an island that ran the length of the old shopping district. Stores were refurbished, some knocked down and rebuilt. Tourists labelled it “Quaint.”

  He took Sandy home to pick up some clothes then they drove back to his house. They’d done some shopping during the day so that Sandy could put together a home cooked meal. That would be another first for Harry in three years: he’d eaten slop in a mess tent or out of a tin can when on patrol.

  Roast beef, mashed potatoes with gravy, and cauliflower, his favourite, were ready four hours later. He ate his fill then they sat and talked like they used to before he went overseas.

  If Sandy wanted to make love she’d let him know with her touch. If she wasn’t in the mood he had the manners to leave it be. They lay in bed that night barely touching.

  “I meant it when I said I didn’t want to think of you overseas. Some soldiers need something to drive them, I didn’t. I didn’t want to associate you with…”

  “I got it the first time, Harry. You didn’t want me there in any way shape or form.”

  “Yah.”

  “Do you love me?”

  “More than any other human being alive.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “Hah, don’t get analytic on me. You can’t analyse every statement I make. Otherwise I may not make anymore. I’ll become one of those pussy whipped guys who never expresses an opinion and only agree.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’ll never be pussy whipped. I don’t think you’ll be around long enough for that.”

  “Go to sleep.”

  Days pass quickly when you’re with someone you love. It was the day of Jarrod’s service and both Harry and Sandy were in a sombre mood. They drove north on Highway 10 to Shelburne, to Dave and Iris’s home. Their house was located on a farm that hadn’t been worked in years. Dave was a mechanic running his business out of a garage in Shelburne.

  Harry was three years older than his brother Jarrod so both had a different sets of friends when growing up. He recognized faces but couldn’t put a name to them. No matter, as they were here to pay last respects to Jarrod before surrendering his ashes to the wind. The service lasted for an hour then everyone began to idolize Jarrod. Some admitted not seeing him in years yet had comments to make. Harry only nodded wanting it all to end. Sandy was a n
atural at small talk cutting in on delicate issues and rescuing him. Then one by one they all had to leave. Thank God.

  Dave and Iris accepted a quick good bye: they probably felt as uncomfortable as he did. The old saying, “Life is for the living, not the dead,” ran through Harry’s mind.

  The drive home was as sombre as the drive to the farm. Sandy tried in vain to lighten the mood then gave up. Harry had a lot on his mind now that his brother was taken care of. He could feel that Sandy knew what he was thinking.

  Someone killed Jarrod and that someone had to pay.

  “You’re taking me home, aren’t you?”

  Harry was silent for a moment.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Is there anything I can say to talk you into taking me to your house? Can we love and make love for the rest of our days?”

  He was silent again then said,

  “I wouldn’t feel right. Unfinished business.”

  “Men and their fighting. What good will it do?”

  “You can’t let the Joe Sharkys of the world make the rules.”

  “You know it’s him?”

  “It’s a place to start.”

  “Oh Harry, no good will come of this. I can feel it. You think Sharky’s going to let you walk all over him? If nothing else he has an image to uphold. He can’t look weak in front of his crew.”

  Harry nodded.

  “I have a self image that will haunt me if I walk away from this.”

  Sandy threw her hands in the air.

  “Oh, it’s no use.”

  They were silent until Harry dropped her off at her front door. He bent to kiss her but she pulled away.

  He said,

  “I’ll call.”

  She didn’t answer, went inside, and slammed the door.

  Chapter 5

  The following morning Harry drove north to Shelburne again, to Dave’s garage. He stopped on the way and picked up a couple of donuts and two large double, double coffees. Dave was busy changing an oil filter, swearing when he burned his hands on a hot exhaust pipe.

  “Hey, watch the language.”

  “Morning Harry, didn’t see you come in. They design these things so that the oil filter sits right over the exhaust pipe. I get a burn and oil drips down onto the pipe. The customer thinks I don’t know what I’m doing cause it smokes for a day.”

  “Maybe the design engineers think you have the time to let it cool for an hour.”

  “What’s up buddy? You didn’t drive here to buy me breakfast.”

  “I need the Cuda on the hoist for an hour or so. I need a couple of metal boxes welded to the frame.”

  “For?”

  “It would be better if you didn’t know.”

  Dave stopped working and stared at Harry.

  “I got a wife and a kid. If I didn’t I’d be with you on what you’re about ‘not’ to do.”

  “I know Dave. I’m just going to have a look around. See what runs from cover.”

  “I’ll put yours on the hoist after I finish this one.”

  “Drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

  They both ate their donuts and sipped coffee then Dave started to lube the car, his grease gun hissing.

  Dave said,

  “I talked to Jim Albright. He came home after being wounded. Actually came to look up Jarrod. He told us what you did in the service… Or should I say out of the service.”

  That shocked Harry to some extent. He hopped Albright hadn’t said too much. All the soldiers in his group were under a gag order and shooting your mouth off could get you discharged, even jail time.

  “Oh, yah. What did he say?”

  “Told us you were an assassin. Kind of looked up to you. I guess there’s more to that than it sounds.”

  Harry knew his friend wanted some sort of comforting explanation.

  “Let’s just say that there are times when you have to kill one man to save hundreds, maybe thousands.”

  “Like the trade towers?”

  “Something like that but not on that grand a scale.”

  “Well, I can’t see you plugging some guy for no reason. You never were one to take shit from either direction, up or down. If you didn’t believe in something you’d call in sick,” said Dave then laughed.

  Harry could tell that his acknowledgement of being an assassin put a damper on their friendship. Killing changes everything.

  Dave put the Cuda on the hoist and welded two empty war surplus ammo boxes behind the frame on the driver’s side, out of sight. When he finished he tapped Dave on the shoulder then made an excuse to leave.

  Harry drove into the backyard of his property parking near the back door. He went inside to his bedroom and retrieved three objects wrapped in cloth. He sat near the driver’s side of his car and unravelled his Beretta M9 service revolver and a spare clip. He ejected the clip and checked the gun then snapped the clip into place. He rewrapped the gun in cloth then slid under his car and placed the weapon into one of the metal containers. He unwrapped the second package containing two boxes: plastic explosives and a detonator. He placed those in the other container and slapped the lid shut. He unwrapped the third and smallest rag containing two blades that he slid into a slender sheath in his boots.

  Harry had come into the country on a troop carrier aircraft landing near Sudbury. It was checked but in the service no one ratted out a buddy. If someone saw what he brought into the country then they said nothing. If he was caught by an overzealous soldier he’d plead ignorance. It was his first trip home.

  In was only two in the afternoon and he didn’t plan on arriving at Joe Sharky’s place before six. He wanted to recon the area in daylight but wouldn’t enter the bar until after dark.

  He drove into Orangeville and bought a late lunch at a burger joint. He only ate half and drank little coffee. You wouldn’t find a toilette handy on a recon mission and he was at his best on an empty stomach. He filled up his tank which set him back one hundred and twenty dollars. The Barracuda had a big tank and the price of gas wasn’t what it used to be. Back in the seventies a guy could gas up with twenty bucks. Nowadays it cost that to cut the grass.

  He drove home and walked around his property which consisted of a house, garage, and shed set on an acre of land. The backyard was overgrown and needed at least six months work with a chain saw. His brother had kept the lawns cut but they needed to be cut again. He had neither the time or inclination to be a gardener so he’d hire someone. When he was a kid he used to pump gas, cut lawns, and did odd jobs to make a few bucks. Kids didn’t work anymore and why should they: they get money free.

  Chapter 6

  It was six o’clock in the evening when Harry pulled out of his driveway and drove north on Airport Road. It was a hilly drive but barely taxed the five hundred horses his Hemi poured out to turn the rear wheels.

  It was a scenic half hour drive to Joe Sharky’s Bar and Grill. The lands on either side of the road were too hilly for farming so had not been completely cleared. Farm animals grazed on lush grasses.

  Sharky’s place was huge surrounded by large parking lots, trucker’s were welcome. Harry sat in a farm laneway across the road from the bar, an open map in his hands looking every bit like a lost tourist. Maples and other hardwood trees grew behind the main buildings on an ever steeper hill. This would be his back entrance or emergency exit if he could find and disable the cameras he knew would be there.

  There was a house a hundred yards north of the parking lot which he knew were the living quarters of Sharky and a couple of his most trusted men. There were three expensive cars parked near a fence surrounding the yard. He wondered precisely what kind of activity went on in that house. Harry knew Joe by sight but had never had the pleasure of meeting the man.

  The parking lot was slowly starting to fill as the sun sank low in the western sky. When he counted over a dozen customers entering the front door he drove to the lot, parked his car, and joined the festivities. People entering a bar were a d
istraction as they found tables and ordered drinks. Two high priced bouncers stood at either end of the main room, just as they did when Harry was last here three years ago. He didn’t however recognize either one. New talent was always moving through.

  There were about twenty tables and some cubby hole nooks along the walls. The backroom door was shut so a poker game was already in progress. Unlicensed gambling was illegal unless one played for chips. It was what those chips represented that made or broke men over the period of the night. Harry had heard of a drunken hubby that had lost the family home. When he protested his losses both knees were broken in an auto accident. Failure to sign over the house would have cost him his life so rumour had it, he did.

  Harry found a corner nook and eyed the action as a waiter brought trays of drinks to three tables of customers. He approached and Harry quickly ordered a whiskey on ice. He didn’t recognize the waiter either, or any of the customers. A new crowd: he wondered what happened to the old one. Probably arrested, dead, or grown up the way he had. One could only take drunken Saturday nights for so long.

  Karma walked out of the back room scouting the room for marks. She raised her head in recognition then nodded, a gesture which Harry returned. She was an older hooker, at least not a teenager which men preferred. She had retained her looks, although a reputed cocaine user. That couldn’t be true; the drug addicts he knew lost their shape in a few years.

  She approached his table and sat across from him. She wore black and a symbolic dark feather hung from the right side of her hair. Her black hair hung loose over her shoulders, her eyes were a piercing deep brown.

  “Hello Harry. How have you been? Haven’t seen you for a while.”

  “I’ve been out of the country. Just got back.”

  “I know, so do yourself a favour and get the hell out of here. Joe’s expecting you. Know what I mean?”

  “He have something to hide?”

  “I don’t know. What I do know is that he thinks you suspect he’s behind your brother’s ‘accident.’ You go after him and he’ll feel he has to return the favour.”

  “What do you think, Karma?”