“That simple?”
“Not everything in life is as complicated as you make it out to be, Wendell. It’s the right thing to do. And it’s a gift. What do you think?”
“I think it looks bad.”
“Well, thinking is a disease, and sight is deceptive. So said Heraclitus.” After his pronouncement, the Judge took two deep pulls on the pipe, burning the last of the tobacco in the bowl.
Kamp had accepted long ago that the Judge would always have one more card to play, and another one after that. And he accepted that he would likely never even know what game the Judge was playing or how tall the odds were against the Judge’s opponent, whoever that may have been. But Kamp knew he wouldn’t see a better deal than this one.
Kamp said, “Put it all in writing.”
The Judge banged the dead ashes from the pipe by rapping it on the table. “Consider it done.”
KAMP WALKED OUT the kitchen door and into the night. A big moon in a clear sky lit the landscape, and he figured he’d have an easy enough walk home after all, in spite of the distance. Kamp needed the space outside to sort through the messages he’d received during the day, to find their meanings, if they had any. He needed to feel the cold air in his lungs and the life in his leg muscles if he were to have any chance of picking apart the Judge’s “gibberish stuffed with horseshit,” as Druckenmiller liked to call it. It would take a while to understand it, take a while to see the ramifications of the day’s events, and take even longer to walk home in the dark. It would all take longer than he wanted. Everything does, Kamp thought.
By the time he made the turn from the road to his farm, purple light had begun to filter through the trees. Kamp imagined the sun rising on the hunting camp, on the mound of dead birds, considerably smaller than the day before, the raccoons and opossums having pilfered their hefty share in the dark. Footsore and dead tired, Kamp tumbled backward in his memory. He recalled the hours spent on the front steps of his house, awaiting his father’s return from the hunting camp. He recalled the elaborate tales he told himself about the adventures his father must have undertaken, the battles he must have engaged with the ferocious beasts of the mountains. And when his father made the turn from the road, the young boy Kamp’s heart leapt in love and exultation. But now, having seen it with new eyes, stripped of the protective delusions of childhood, Kamp reimagined his father for what he must have been and how he must have felt those mornings as he trudged the path back home from the hunting camp, just fucked-out, shot-out and hung over, a worn out cog in a nix nootz murderous machine.
FIVE
JONAS BAUER NEVER FRETTED that he didn’t possess a fine education or a lofty position in life, nor did he begrudge those who did. Life had shown him “clear enough and day by day,” as he reminded his wife, that hard work, a clear conscience and a right attitude are the foundations of a good life. Bauer often reminded himself, especially on mornings when he might otherwise have wanted to stay in bed that “he becometh poor that dealeth with a slack hand.” He reflected, too, on the many ways the Lord had blessed him, beginning with his and Rachel’s health, his three beautiful daughters and the rich bounty provided by the place where they lived. It surely wasn’t paradise, but it gave them a full pantry and plenty stored up to last them through the winter.
Perhaps due to the many blessings the Lord bestowed upon him, Jonas Bauer was prone to worry now and again, worry about danger in mines, the pain he sometimes felt in his chest, the future of his daughters, and on and on. Bauer pictured the severed head of his friend Roy Kunkle and worried about the next explosion. He worried that the “Room for Rent” sign he placed in the window wasn’t doing any good. It had been two weeks since he’d put it there. They didn’t need a boarder’s rent in order to survive, he reminded himself. But the extra money would help him breathe easier and give them something to put toward a better day tomorrow, even if he weren’t there to see it. And so Bauer felt considerable relief and anticipation when he heard a knock on his door.
He opened the door and saw a young man, probably in his twenties, tall and lean. The man avoided Bauer’s gaze.
The man said, “Good morning, sir. I come to see about the room.”
Bauer studied the man and realized that he’d seen him once before. Then he heard a commotion in the hallway behind him. His girls must have heard the knock, and they wanted to see who it was.
Jonas Bauer said, “Good morning. Let’s talk outside.” He walked down the front steps and into the small front yard.
The man said, “I work for a living, and I’ll pay my rent.”
Bauer noticed his daughters in a second floor window, pressed against the glass and laughing. He said, “Weren’t you here before?”
“Yes, sir, I was. I come here before when the Judge wanted me to ask you to go to town. To help that lady.”
“I remember. What’s your name?”
The man looked Bauer in the eye. “Daniel Knecht.”
“I’m Jonas Bauer. Do you live close by, Daniel?”
“No, sir. Right now, I live in Easton, but I want to move out this way. When I was here before, I seen that sign in your window. I wasn’t situated to be able to move right then.”
“Where do you work?”
“Coal mine.”
“Which one?”
“Up the line.”
Bauer couldn’t tell if this man Knecht was being evasive or simply terse. He said, “Up the line where?”
“Out of Mauch Chunk.”
Bauer said, “You say you’re a miner?”
“Yah.”
Bauer saw Knecht glance up at the window where the girls were standing, then immediately look back down.
Bauer said, “I work there, too. How come I never seen you?”
“Well, it’s dark down there.”
Knecht waited to see how the joke went over. Bauer’s expression had not changed. Knecht looked over Bauer’s shoulder and smiled.
“Morning, ma’am.” Knecht tipped his hat to Rachel Bauer who stood in the doorway.
She said, “Guten tag, herr?”
“Knecht. Wie bischt, frau—“
Bauer interrupted. “If you work in the same mine as I do, how come I haven’t seen you down there? How come I don’t know you?”
Knecht focused back on Bauer. “They just put me there. Before that, I was in Sla’dale.”
“How long?”
“Ten years.”
“Ach, how old are you now?”
“Twenty-three. Sir, I won’t cause no trouble. That’s all behind–I’ll be a good boarder. Keep to myself. I need to save as much money as I can. Take care of my sisters.”
“If you need to save money, why not work in the patch town?”
“I need a place where I can breathe, a good place like this. Besides, I like to keep myself busy around the farm, too. I can work extra for you.”
The giggling and gawking continued in the upstairs window.
Bauer turned and said to his wife, “Tell them to settle down!”
“I can move in the first of the month.”
“Why haven’t you started a family, Daniel?”
Bauer saw Knecht’s body stiffen, and he wished he hadn’t asked the question.
“Mr. Bauer, how much is the rent?” Knecht let the question hang.
“Six dollars a month.”
“Five. And I’ll fix anything around here that needs fixed.”
Bauer pulled in a deep breath. He imagined what the extra money would mean and what a pair of extra hands could do around the property. If Bauer saved enough money and made enough improvements, one day he’d own something permanent, something better. Taking in Knecht was a risk, and it would cause him worry, but Jonas Bauer decided it would be a good opportunity to grow in faith. He extended his hand.
“First of the month. Bring the rent. Five dollars.”
Knecht gave Bauer’s hand a vigorous shake and breathed a large sigh.
“Thank you, sir. Thank you.�
�
Bauer said, “I’ll see you on the first, and don’t worry, I’ll be here to help you move in.”
“Very kind of you, sir. Say, can I see inside the house?”
“Why, sure.”
Bauer led Knecht up the front stairs and opened the door and saw Rachel and their girls huddled there. Must’ve been trying to hear the conversation, Bauer thought.
Knecht said, “Well, well, this must be the welcoming party.”
He took Rachel’s hand gently. “Frau Bauer, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Daniel.”
“Good to meet you as well, Herr Knecht. These are our daughters.”
The youngest girl peeked at Knecht from behind the folds of Rachel’s dress.
“This little one is Anna.”
“How old are you, Anna?”
She said, “I’m seven” and began giggling before burying her face in her hands.
“And the middle one is Heidi. Heidi is ten.” She had bright red cheeks, freckles and a red ribbon in her hair.
Knecht said, “Hello, Heidi.”
Rachel motioned to the oldest and tallest girl who had long brown hair and fierce eyes.
The girl said, “My name is Nadine,” and she extended her hand to Knecht, who took it. The other two girls burst into laughter.
Knecht said, “What’s so funny?”
Heidi said, “Her name is Nadine, but no one calls her Nadine.”
He said, “What do they call her?”
Anna answered, “She’s Nyx. Everyone calls her Nyx.”
Knecht said, “What would you like me to call you? Nadine. How about Nadine?”
“That will be fine.”
This sent the younger two girls into a fit of hysterical laughter.
Rachel tried to get control of the situation and said, “Girls!” And then to Knecht, she said, “Nyx—Nadine, Nadine is sixteen.”
The younger girls were laughing uncontrollably.
Bauer said, “Why don’t I show you the room where you’ll stay?” He started up the stairs and led Knecht to the hallway on the second floor. “Up here is where the girls’ rooms are and where your room will be.”
Knecht surveyed the hallway, and Bauer hoped he wouldn’t notice that each door had a shiny, new brass lock.
“And this is where you’ll stay.” Bauer pointed to an open door. Inside the room was a small bed next to the window and beside the bed a wooden chair.
“This will do just fine. Much obliged.” The two men headed back downstairs, where the laughter continued unabated.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Knecht said, “Mrs. Bauer, you have a beautiful family and a beautiful home.”
“Why, thank you, Daniel.”
ON THE FIRST OF OCTOBER, Kamp went to town. He’d received a letter from the Judge the day before instructing him to arrive at the county courthouse at nine in the morning, where someone would meet him. As he made the walk, he reflected on the fact that he’d never been employed, as such. The closest he’d come was being a soldier, and if having this job was like that, he knew he wouldn’t last a week, let alone an entire year. When he told Shaw that he’d accepted the job, she’d been furious, because she didn’t trust the Judge and hated the idea of him leaving every day. He sensed, though, that underneath her indignation, Shaw was relieved that he’d be making money and that he’d have something to get him out of his own head. Besides, he told her, if he kept at it, they’d have the deed to the farm before their baby’s first birthday. On his way out the door that morning, she’d shaken her head in resignation and given him a kiss goodbye.
When he reached the foot of the courthouse steps, he saw a man at the door, outfitted in a top hat and a Chesterfield overcoat. The man had a thick black mustache, flecked with gray. He stood very straight with his chin tilted up and stared somberly as Kamp ascended the stairs.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kamp,” the man said, sounding displeased.
“Good to meet you too, Mister—“
“Crow. Philander Crow. District Attorney. We’ll talk in my office.”
Philander Crow led him into the building and up the stairs to an office on the fourth floor. Crow hung his coat on a brass hook and took his seat behind a large oak desk with a black leather top. The desktop was clear, except for two sheets of paper. Crow motioned for him to sit down.
“This is a letter I received from the Honorable Tate Cain.” Crow held the first piece of paper away from his body between his thumb and forefinger, as if it were covered in excrement. Kamp raised his eyebrows.
“What’s it say?”
“It says that you’re the new police detective for the City of Bethlehem, effective today.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
Crow looked at him. “Where to begin.”
Kamp looked around the room. Bare walls. No office supplies or curtains on the windows.
“New in town?”
Crow winced as if he’d been kicked in the shins.
“Mr. Kamp, I believe—”
“Kamp.”
“I believe we can both agree that you’re not prepared for this role. You have no training in the law, no police experience.”
“How much experience did the last guy have?”
Crow said, “In order to become a detective, a man must study the application of criminal justice and attend a police academy to gain an educational foundation. He must learn about the basics of investigation, collecting evidence, writing reports and then pass a written test. If the man passes the test, he works in a probationary fashion under continuous supervision.”
Kamp leaned back in his chair and said, “Is that right?”
He saw Crow’s shoulders tense and the color begin to rise in his face. He felt himself slip out of his body and drift to the corner of the ceiling closest to the window. From there, he watched the conversation happening below, and he found that he was able to keep talking through his mouth.
Crow said, “In addition, the Judge superseded the authority of the county in awarding you the job.”
“That’s between you and the Judge.”
Crow held up the second piece of paper, creased and yellowed with age. “I requested and received a record of your military service from Washington, D.C.”
“Looks like you’re quite the detective yourself.”
“It says you were recognized for extraordinary gallantry in combat and that you suffered a serious injury. What was the injury?”
“I don’t remember.” At the same time that his body continued the conversation, Kamp drifted out of the window so that he could now look down on the street traffic, horses and carriages, people crossing the intersection diagonally.
“The letter states that you were discharged from military service on May 15, 1865 in spite of a very serious incident. A handwritten note states that had it not been for acts of heroism and bravery, you would not have been granted an honorable discharge.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What did you do in the years following the war?”
“I went to the college.”
“What did you study?”
“Natural science.”
“Anything else?”
“Philosophy.”
Crow shook his head. “As far as real work is concerned, none of that will be of any use.”
He shifted in his chair, set his papers aside and geared up for his closing argument. Sensing that the conversation would soon be over, Kamp willed himself back into his body and tensed his muscles to make sure.
“Kamp, your service to the Union is commendable, but you are unfit for this position. You lack the prerequisite skills and training, and you are very likely deficient in some way. It would be a grave disservice to the people of this city for you to be a police detective.”
“Mox nix.”
“What’s that?”
“Mox. Nix. Doesn’t matter. None of it.”
“If you’ll please leave.” Philander Crow opened a desk draw
er and pulled out more papers to indicate that he was about to start working. Kamp felt the fire kindling at the back of his neck. He knew he only had a few seconds before the explosion went off.
Kamp said, “You don’t know what experience the last guy had, because there was no last guy. I’m the first one. You’re new in your job, so you don’t know what you can do and what you can’t do. I’m hired by the city, Judge or no Judge. And as for whether I’m fit for the job, stay out of my way and I’ll show you.”
“Officially, you report to the chief of police. But in reality, you work for me.”
“Like hell I do.”
“You don’t understand how this works.”
“Here’s how it’ll work. I’ll investigate crimes. I’ll assemble the facts, and I’ll put it all in a nice report for you in writing and including all of the evidence, and you take it from there. That’s how I understand it.” Kamp stood up, tipped his hat and left.
SIX
“SETTLE DOWN, KAMP. Settle down. Everybody knows he’s a grade-A louse, a real son of a bitch, and a horse’s ass. And he’s only been here two weeks.”
Kamp walked beside the High Constable as he made his patrol through town. He greeted each person they passed with a hello or a friendly nod. Druckenmiller carried a shepherd’s crook, a stick made of hazel wood with a collar fashioned from a ram’s horn.
Kamp said, “Where’d he come from?”
“Philadelphia.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“No one knows for certain. Rumor has it he got fired down there, and someone around here owed him a favor. He probably just feels out of place here, you know, among the unwashed. Don’t let him get to you. Gives me shit all the time too. I don’t pay it no mind.”
“What kind of shit?”
“Don’t matter.”
“Tell me.”
“Oh, take this for instance.” Druckenmiller held up the crook. “He wants me to get rid of it. Says I should carry a gun instead. But I know the people here. There’s nothing I can do with a gun that I can’t do without it, except shoot someone. And so far I’ve come across no one that needs shot.”
Ax & Spade: A Thriller (Raven Trilogy Book 1) Page 5
